It should be obvious that we're not going to plan your first trip right here. But we'll talk over a few notions that should make your first trip—and all other trips—easier and more pleasurable. The "planning" we're talking about here is planning for terrain.
The last time you were at your local outfitter, you heard some veteran backpackers talking about what they called a neat, easy weekend trip. Hey! Just the thing you've been seeking for you, your spouse and the ten-year old! So you pick up a trail map and guidebook, and charge on home with the good news.
"Here it is—start out at the Blackfly Brook parking area, go eleven miles—really only ten-point-seven-three miles—across Toothache Ridge and Blister Butte to Dead Hiker Clearing. That's not bad at all. We walked twelve miles last Saturday, and it was a piece of cake!"
Yep, a piece of cake. Flatland walking on old tote roads, carrying a seven-pound day pack. A lovely piece of cake, and well within your capacities. The walk to Dead Hiker Clearing might be shorter, but let's look at the guide book and the map with more attention.
Hmmm. It looks like seven of those miles are going either up or down at a rate close to 1000 feet per mile. The rest of it looks to be fairly easy, except the terrain between Toothache Ridge and Blister Butte—it's rocky, and it has been raining lately.
This isn't exactly a tote road in the jackpine flats of the Huron National Forest. Let's think about this one. In fact, let's divide the whole world of backpacking up into Easy, Moderate, and Severe Terrain. That way, we can remove the discussion from the subjective filter of what I think is easy or what you think is easy.
Easy Terrain
Easy terrain is flat, or nearly so, and the footing is secure. A bog is flat—but there's no way you can relax and open up your stride. Soft sand may be better—but not much. Forest roads, trails following streams that don't come downhill at a severe rate, rolling hills—these are generally easy walking, and you can plan for two miles an hour, including breaks. Sure, you could go faster, but why bother? If you want to race, take up race walking, where everybody is competing and knows it. Don't inflict a sneaky sort of competition on your companions when they know neither the game nor the rules.
Moderate Terrain
I have a tendency to call easy terrain "moderate" when I'm dealing with novices, unless they're gorillas, because if you haven't backpacked, no terrain is really easy. However, to quantify "moderate," I'd call it a trail that's mostly solid underfoot, with either one pretty stiff hill in it somewhere, or a series of small rises of the sort that are great when you're skiing on a well-groomed track, but can take some effort on foot.
You can charge along and still make two miles an hour, but best figure 1.5 miles per hour. This lets you stop to smell the roses.
Which brings up another point. Even if you're tired, you're better off to walking steadily and falling into a mindless rhythm, stopping just long enough to refresh yourself, rather than dragging along and never stopping. Smell the roses, by all means. But take the time to smell them thoroughly, and then let yourself become absorbed in the simple and joyful act of walking.
Severe Terrain
Any terrain in which you ascend or descend over 500 feet over a mile of trail is severe. And don't let any Trail Animal convince you otherwise. When you know the game better, you'll question this statement, too. But don't question it now, don't question it in public, and don't question it when you talk to people backpacking as a family.
The fact is that most trails in mountainous country ascend and descend at about 1000 feet per mile, which is like climbing a long, gentle staircase, except it will vary from flat or nearly so to places where there may literally be ladders to scale. Western trails, which have frequently been designed to accommodate horses, are generally less steep, but take a lot longer to get to where they're going. Is ten miles of 500 feet per mile ascent worse than five miles of 1000 feet per mile ascent? I can't tell you. I know I'd rather descend the longer, gentler slope. Steep descents are as debilitating to your leg muscles as steep ascents, particularly when you're carrying your house on your back.
In severe terrain, plan on a mile an hour. You'll still have time to smell the roses—but you'll be huffin' and puffin' when you do.
With these measurements in mind, we see now that the jaunt back into Dead Hiker Clearing is no piece of cake. Seven miles of those are taken at one mile per hour, three of them are taken at 1.5 mph; that's nine hours so far, and we still have 0.73 miles to finish it off. It's an easy finish, but the end of the day—so factor in another hour. That's ten hours of walking. Too much for a beginner. It may be too much anytime, unless it's a flat walkout.
Were the folks back at your outfitter tugging your chain when they called it an easy jaunt? Maybe. There are some people—all of who swear that they're not competitive—who'll brag on something like this. It's like the paddlers who call a solid Class IV drop a Class II, so when you eat it, they can posture and look like heroes. Sleaze is sleaze, friends. And no pastime, profession, or social order is free of sleaze.
More than likely, though, you dropped in on the weekend warriors swapping stories with the shop people. These are hard people. They carry a minimum of very high-quality, lightweight gear and they're in superb condition for backpacking. You'd find, if you asked them, that they're active year-round. They ski, they paddle, they ride bicycles. They're technicians in terms of learning proper techniques for biomechanical activities. They like to do things well. They probably blaze into Dead Hiker Clearing in five hours, smell all the roses on the way twice, stop for lunch and maybe even a few Z's, and get to the Clearing in time to scramble up the cirque wall on Blister Butte. They're for real.
And you know something? If you went backpacking with them, they'd travel at a pace comfortable for you. Remember that when you become a Certified Trail Animal. As the old-time horse players used to say, "Class shows when there is no class."
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