In praise of old gear

When is the right time to upgrade?

I recently came across an article on one of my favorite websites/magazines, Adventure Journal, called, “Since When Do You Have to Be Stylish on the Trail?” In it, the author recalls hiking in the wilderness and meeting some Russian backpackers who were dressed in what was clearly old gear and carrying their belongings in burlap sacks. They seemed quite content with their rudimentary kit, and the author uses this experience as a springboard for discussion of our “need” for the latest and greatest gear, much of which is far more expensive than its past iterations. This article really resonated with me, not only as someone who loves old, well proven gear, but also as someone who has spent a considerable amount of my own career buying, selling, and writing about, state-of-the-art hiking/camping/diving/skiing/sailing/cycling equipment. 

On a hike this past weekend, Gishani and I were discussing our favorite gear and we both recalled some soft shell pants we both bought when I used to work at an outdoor shop (REI, for those who know it) and got a hefty employee discount. That led to nostalgic musing about some old boots, a 25-year old fleece, and the backpack I was carrying, which I got in 2011. If I resolved to use only the gear and clothing I’d owned up to, say 2015, I’d still be well set for any outing by land or sea as I would be if I used the gear I’d acquired since then. My old re-soled leather Zamberlan boots, the aforementioned REI pants, an Icebreaker zip neck, a North Face daypack from the ‘90s, would all serve me as well as my swanky Arc’teryx boots, my Fjallraven hiking pants, or my Patagonia backpack do, yet most of the old faithfuls get relegated to the back of the closet in an ever renewing collection of puffy jackets, shells, boots and backpacks. 

The same principle can be seen in other outdoor venues. Dive boats become showrooms for the well heeled vacationer to display his custom drysuit, his carbon fiber strobe arms and his air integrated wrist computer. The slopes are festooned with the latest skis, parkas and goggles. And don’t get me started on the cycling world, where weekend warriors ride five-figure carbon racing machines, upgraded every spring, just as faithfully as the robin returns to the garden.

Hiking kit, circa 2013. I still have it all (I think).

Gear development continues to advance in a quest for lighter, faster, tougher, warmer, more waterproof equipment. The use of social media to promote all this great new gear means that we see the Jimmy Chins of the world in a new jacket for every 100,000-like Instagram post, usually hanging off of some vertical rock wall in a far corner of the planet. Soon, everyday adventurers like me start to think that we need a different layer for every five-degree temperature gradient, or that a carbon fiber gravel bike will make our lunch rides more enjoyable.

Now, lest you think I’m taking the high road here, I’ve been as guilty as anyone. As much as I like the idea of using old gear, I’m a dyed-in-the-Smartwool gear junkie. Back in my days writing for Gear Patrol, new gear would arrive monthly to be photographed and written about—the latest Keen shoes, Topo Designs backpacks, skis, jackets, wetsuits—and unlike watch companies, most outdoor brands don’t bother to ask for anything back. So the basement filled up with an outfitter’s worth of kit, supplemented by my own seasonal “upgrades.” 

Has any of this state-of-the-art gear enhanced my enjoyment of the activities I do? A better rain jacket or warmer parka allows me to stay out longer in less ideal weather. But I owned a carbon fiber racing bike for a few years and, though it was fun to ride, I can’t say it made me any faster. In fact, I teetered near its rider weight limit, risking painful impalement on every ride. So I guess the answer is, it depends. Some upgrades are worthwhile while others, not so much.

Wool jersey, carbon fiber bike.

I bought a Patagonia Retro-X fleece (they used to call it “pile”) jacket in the mid-1990s and its neon green color is evidence of its era. I remember seeing that jacket in their catalogs for years and wanted one so badly, but they were expensive. Finally, one year I found one in an end of season clearance sale and pounced. I wore it regularly for a few winters, but then its dated color and its relatively heavy “weight to warmth” ratio relegated it to the back of the coat closet in favor of lightweight puffies, which became all the rage. But in the past few years, I’ve started keeping the old fleece by the back door, wearing it for shoveling duty or cold weather Land Rover tinkering. I’m not afraid to get some gearbox oil in the sleeve or lie on the pavement with it on, and it shows. The fleece is as matted as a Highland sheep’s, and the wrists are black with smudges of grease. But it feels right to wear it hard and put it away wet. I’ve always liked to see mountaineers with their duct taped down jackets, the dive guides with the threadbare wetsuits, and the old skipper with his scratched up Seiko. That’s proper use. That is respecting the quality and intention of that equipment.

Of course, new gear isn’t always just about improvement. Sometimes we just want the next shiny thing. Though I’ve never been what you’d call an early adopter, aiming to be on the bleeding edge of technology, I am someone who likes good design. My tastes actually tend to run towards the vintage and downright Luddite. I have a weakness for sweaters (or “jumpers” as they’re known across the pond) and find it hard to resist a good chunky roll-neck or commando sweater. At this point, I think I almost own enough to wear a different one daily from December through March. When I go for a hike, I reach for one of them, shoulder a retro Cordura rucksack and lace up some heavy leather boots. It’s all gear that I could have found in an Army-Navy surplus shop or a thrift store which, ironically, is where a lot of people used to source their outdoor gear for a lot less. And you know what? They had just as much fun. Leather, wool, and waxed canvas served countless explorers (and Boy Scouts) well for a long time for some pretty extraordinary feats, something people are rediscovering now, even as brands are improving ways to use these raw materials.

In some cases, upgrading to new gear isn’t just whimsy. Equipment advances can offer big improvements in safety or efficacy. For example, despite our love of diving watches, there’s a reason why digital dive computers displaced them on wrists since the 1990s. Calculating no-decompression times is a safety issue and a diver would be foolish to ignore the state of the art tool that does it for you, on the fly, reliably. The same goes for bike helmets, shaped skis, and anti-lock brakes. The flip side, of course though, is that sometimes the latest gadgets can actually make adventuring less safe if we rely too much on them. GPS is the best example. Reliance on a phone, smartwatch, or nav system has created a population that doesn’t know how to read a map or use a compass.

Analog life.

What is so far missing from this discussion is the role that “inspiration” plays. I can’t discount the way walking through an outdoor shop inspires new adventure plans, or how a new bike makes you want to get out and ride. An upgraded camera may not improve your photos, but it can make you shoot more, even if your old one still had features well beyond your skill level. New gear can also inspire you to try entirely new activities and stretch your comfort zone. A warmer jacket might get you out for a winter hike, a drysuit could be the motivation needed to try cold water diving. It was the purchase of an Omega dive watch that prompted me to take up scuba diving, something that altered the course of my entire professional life.

If you read this far and hoped for a tidy moral to the story, I’m sorry. I come down dead center in the joys and satisfaction of keeping, maintaining, and using old gear, and the excitement of acquiring the latest and greatest. We live in a time of unprecedented choices, presented to us in a steady feed of influencer social media posts and product placements, but there’s also been a movement towards minimalism. I think the former is feeding the latter. Too many choices, too much “stuff” can buffer us from raw experience or the appreciation for well built things that last and become companions. My personal goal is to at least respect it all, use all of my gear, new and old, for its intended purposes. I want to make better decisions, learn to discern “need” versus “want,” and fix and maintain instead of discard and upgrade. One thing I’m fairly certain of though: I draw the line at hiking with a burlap sack.

Got any favorite old gear? Drop a note in the comments. Thanks for reading.