Smoothing It
Between a Rock and a Hard Place?
That's Just the Place for a Pad
By Tamia Nelson
tamia@paddling.net
May 9, 2006
Lapping waves, the muted crash of distant
breakers, the ceaseless chatter of a rushing river — all these are
lullabies to weary paddlers' ears. And sleeping well is one of the rewards of
the active outdoor life. But it's not always that simple, is it? A single
exposed root or unyielding cobble can relegate a good night's sleep to a
distant dream. Remember the story of the princess and the pea? Well, real
life's no fairy tale. The princess didn't have to paddle twenty miles after
breakfast, did she? But maybe you do. So you need your shut-eye.
It took me a while to figure this out. There was even a time when I thought
sleepless nights were a necessary part of backcountry life. I guess I figured
that it wasn't real unless it hurt. I took pride in being "tough," in other
words — in laughing off whatever punishment nature threw my way. But no
longer. Why this change in my attitude? Put it down to two things: growing
older and growing up. Let's face facts. I don't bounce back from a hard day (or
a bad night) as quickly as I did when I was twenty. This is only part of the
story, however. I've also learned that there's a lot more to life than toughing
it out. "Roughing it" has lost its appeal. Of course, whatever you do to make
yourself comfortable, there aren't any guarantees that you'll sleep like a baby
every single night. But you can improve the odds. Start with the right sleeping bag.
That's half the battle won already. Still, a good bag isn't enough by itself.
What you put under you is just as important as what goes over you. After
all, the beds that nature provides are usually both hard and cold, and there
are really only two things you can do about this. You can stay home — not
an option that will appeal to many paddlers — or you can improve on what
nature offers.
Old-time guides like my grandfather
took this idea of improving on nature literally, and they elaborated it until
it was a minor art form. While their "sports" fished or lazed about in camp,
the guides made repeated trips to the closet of the woods, returning with
armload after armload of freshly cut spruce boughs. They then shingled these
boughs to form a springy mattress, finishing the job by putting a fragrant
balsam tip at the head of the bed to insure that all the sport's dreams were
sweet. That was a long time ago, however. Trees are now too
important for us to sacrifice any for a single night's comfort. Given the
number of backcountry travelers today — not to mention the depleted state
of the closet of the woods — bough beds are frowned on even in the few
places where they're not already illegal. They also take a long time to make,
time that most of us would rather spend doing other things.
And we're in luck. The bough bed may be history, but technology has stepped in
to fill the gap.
Engineered materials and innovative designs have revolutionized the camp
bed, and the problem of smoothing the bumps has been reduced to choosing the
right portable mattress. Flip through any outfitter's catalog. You'll likely
find pages of them. Look more carefully, though, and you'll notice that there
are only a few major types. You can sleep on air, on open-cell foam, on
closed-cell foam, or — and this is probably the most popular alternative
today — on a sort of air-foam hybrid. Let's look at the oldest of these
first:
Sleeping on Air
There were air mattresses long before Garrison Keillor dialed in his Sleep
Number®. In fact, air beds were part of many Victorian
canoeists' kit. And they're still a pretty good choice for paddlers. When
deflated, an air mattress rolls into as small a package as you could wish. Puff
in just enough air to get your butt off the ground, however, and the mattress
provides surprising comfort — though anyone trying to sleep on an
overinflated air mattress will end up bouncing around like a dinghy sailor
caught napping by a sudden storm. Old-style air mattresses, like old-style
waders, were made of rubberized canvas. These can still be found, but they're
heavy and prone to rot. Coated nylon is a better choice. An air mattress has to
hold air to be a mattress, obviously, so don't forget a patch kit. And if
you think you may run out of puff at a critical moment, consider a small pump.
Few paddlers will want to bother, I suppose, though if you paddle an inflatable,
you might just as well take advantage of the pump you'll have to bring along
for your boat. (You'll probably need an adaptor for the nozzle, however.)
Downsides? Not many. A bad seam can let go with an explosive bang, and a
blown seam puts any air mattress out of action forever, but bad seams are rare
in well-made and well-cared-for air mattresses. Test yours before each trip by
inflating it hard and then flopping down on it. If it passes the test, seam
failure is unlikely. Of course, an air mattress with a slow leak will also let
you down, usually in the middle of the night. There won't be any bang this
time, and that's certainly a good thing. But it's still no fun to search for an
almost invisible puncture by the uncertain beam of a flashlight at
two in the morning, is it? Prevention is always better than cure. So play it
safe. Police your tent site before you stretch out, removing any thorns, sharp
stones, and splintery sticks — not to mention fragments of beer bottle.
Valves occasionally develop leaks, too, and these leaks are often difficult or
impossible to repair. The remedy? Replace any air mattress whose valve shows
signs of wear.
Is that all? Not quite. Air mattresses can be cold. This won't matter
in high summer at low latitudes, but it can cause you
a lot of misery if you're headed up North, or if you often paddle during
the shoulder
seasons. Fortunately, there's a simple fix. Just put a…
Foam Pad
…on top of your air mattress, and the problem's solved. Or simplify
your life even more and eliminate the air mattress altogether. There are dozens
of proprietary foams, but all of them fall into one of two camps: open-cell or
closed-cell. Open-cell foam is the soft, squishy stuff used in much upholstered
furniture and many household mattresses. No matter how useful it is around the
house, however, it has real drawbacks in camp. Because it's so squishy, you'll
need a thick pad to soften the sting of hard ground, and this thick pad won't
pack small. Open-cell foam also soaks up any water it comes in contact with
— a significant shortcoming in a paddler's mattress, especially as it's
slow to dry out into the bargain. Not a happy combination, I'm afraid.
Maybe that's why the egg-crate-like open-cell foam pads that used to be so
common are rarely seen outside RV parks nowadays.
On the other hand, flexible closed-cell foams like the venerable
Ensolite® absorb very little water. In fact, they're used in making PFDs. But
closed-cell foam isn't altogether free from fault. It's not very soft, for one
thing, and it doesn't compress readily. This makes closed-cell foam pads very
good insulators but rather hard mattresses. And it also makes them awkward to fold
and stow. (In an effort to improve their carrying qualities, some modern
closed-cell pads are scored or segmented. This helps. A bit.) Still,
closed-cell foam makes a serviceable mattress for hardy paddlers who place a
higher value on efficiency than they do on comfort — and it's a lot better
than sleeping on the hard, cold ground. But it's not the holy grail.
What is, you ask? Imagine a pad that combines the comfort and compactness of
the air mattress with the insulating power of foam. Sound good? You bet. And
you don't have to imagine it. This one already exists. You'll never find a
better example of…
Hybrid Vigor
The idea is as simple as it is revolutionary. Take an open-cell foam pad and
wrap it in coated nylon or other synthetic. Now stick on a valve. What do have?
A warm, self-inflating air mattress, that's what. The coated fabric keeps the
foam dry. The foam cradles your backside and keeps you toasty — and its
natural resilience makes it inflate automatically just as soon as you crack
open the valve on a rolled pad, adding the comfort of air to the warmth of
foam. All you have to do then is close the valve and stretch out. Not
surprisingly, you'll find examples in every catalog. Therm-a-Rest®
popularized the concept and made it work. Today they have more than two dozen
different models, from ultralight 20" x 47" x 1" pads for
"adventure racers" to 30" x 77" x 3" mattresses for
car-camping sybarites. And their many imitators add still more choices to the
mix. Obviously, the large mattresses won't fit belowdecks in a touring kayak,
but the smallest pads will. It's hard to think of a paddler who couldn't find
just what she was looking for.
But are these cleverly engineered mattresses perfect? No — although the
downsides are modest. Early versions were covered in fabric so slippery that
many folks wakened in the morning to find they'd slid right off their
pads. Grippier shells have pretty much made this a thing of the past, however.
Of course, any mattress that uses trapped air is vulnerable to punctures, and
Therm-a-Rest® mattresses are no exception. (The synthetic shells don't
warm to embers
from the fire, either.) Unlike an old-style air mattress, however, the
enclosed foam provides some residual insulation and cushioning even after all
the air's gone out. Repairs are usually straightforward, too.
Anything else? Yes. Notwithstanding the "self-inflating" tag, you may find
that you have to add a puff or two of your own wind to get the firmness you
like, particularly in cold weather. It's not a great hardship. And cost? What
about cost? Ah, yes. Cost. Therm-a-Rest® mattresses aren't cheap. Some
models are more expensive than many sleeping bags, in fact. That said, what
price do you place on a good night's sleep? You get reasonable value for
money, in any case. These mattresses last a long time. A very long time. Mine
are still going strong after nearly two decades. Still, if you suffer from
sticker shock on seeing the price tag, you can always opt for a less expensive
imitator.
OK. Once you've decided on the type and taken the measure of your purse,
you're ready to…
Go Shopping
There's not much to say here. All other things being equal, thicker pads are
warmer and cushier than thinner ones. They're also harder to stow. Let your
backside and the climate be your guide as to how thick is thick enough. Longer
and wider pads give you more maneuvering room, to be sure, but each square inch
of real estate adds to the bulk of your pack. It's your decision. Roll or fold
the pad and see if it fits where it has to go. If it does, you're in business.
Short folks and paddlers who are willing to rest their heels on their duffles
get a break here. (There are also women's models, but I'm afraid I've no
experience with any of them. Can't say I've ever found anything wrong with the
old unisex models, though.)
Made your choice? Good. Now try to…
Make It Last Forever
A waterproof stuff
sack is essential for open-cell pads, and a good idea for the others. After
all, even good
paddlers capsize now and then, and rain falls on all of us. Stuff sacks
protect pads from snags on the portage
trail, too. The rest is common sense. Keep your pad out of the reach of
sparks and embers, wipe it clean from time to time, and carry a patch kit if
your comfort depends on trapped air. 'Nuff said?
Ever found yourself between a rock and hard place just as you were drifting
off to sleep? There's no need to suffer in silence. In fact, there's no need to
suffer at all. Between a rock and a hard place is the perfect place for a
sleeping pad. But don't put off shopping for the right pad for too long. You
get it rough enough during the work week. You want to smooth it on the trail.
Now that's the spirit! Sleep tight.
Copyright © 2006 by Verloren Hoop Productions. All rights
reserved.