Backpacking with a Bum Bag?

Balls. Barely a week into 2023 I came off my Vespa and haven't been able to do a lot since.

It was quite a spectacular spill, with the bike hitting an unexpectedly slushy patch in the middle of a fast country road at well over 40mph. I'm still not exactly sure how it played out as it all happened so quickly - suffice to say that both scooter and me slid over the Tarmac for quite some distance, on different trajectories, and we got quite beaten up on our right hand sides as a result.

The fact that I wasn't more seriously hurt is nothing short of miraculous - I was standing up, walking around and talking coherently to the kind motorists who found me stumbling around the road moments after the crash, and who asked if a needed an ambulance or any other help. I rode the wonky vehicle home about ten minutes later, with the handlebars pointing one way, and the front wheel in the other. I wobbled at 10mph past a schoolboy at one point, who giggled. I can't blame him.

It seems I only grazed my right ankle in a small but quite deep area, plus I'm pretty certain that I've broken one or more ribs. I didn't bother going to hospital over this second bit, as apparently there is nothing that can be done about it (no splints or casts or anything of course, as your ribs always have to be moving 24/7 due to the pesky business of breathing). I may just have bruised or strained them again but this time I could feel things 'squishing about' and grinding in a most nauseating way, which doesn't inspire confidence. Anyway, as long as you aren't coughing up blood or shitting your liver out they won't even bother x-raying you. No, the NHS website (and my GP over the phone) said to just take it relatively easy, dose up on painkillers, and it should heal in 4-6 weeks like most other bones. 

Well it's almost exactly 6 weeks to the day since the accident and it doesn't feel remotely mended yet. Every few days, just when I feel like it may be heading in the right direction, I'll do something innocuous like look over my shoulder, try to pull a sock up, or sneeze... and it 'pops', as if the break has opened up again. As well as painful, this is incredibly frustrating as I had so many plans for the new year - plans to up my exercise and lose the winter timber, and of course plans to wild camp - neither of which have been possible. Any upper body motion still hurts, and even jogging would send too much impact up through my torso. Careful walking is about the only thing I can manage, and I have at least been managing some local strolls - anything from 5 to 15km.

As you know I'm used to hiking fairly regularly, usually with a rucksack or haversack of some kind, whether that be to an overnighter, a day camp, or just carrying basic stuff to refresh and comfort me through the endeavour. But the thought of any weight at all pulling down on my knackered bread basket is just too horrific to comprehend just yet. So I've been going minimal, with a small bumbag I've had for years which carries only the essentials (bit of water, sit pad, phone, wallet etc) and which places any weight solely on my hips, leaving my ribcage alone. This got me to thinking... are there any more substantially capacious  'hip only' carry solutions out there which would at least help me to head to the woods, put a small tarp up, sit and cook up a meal and a brew for an hour or two? 

Well turns out there is - yet another bit of quality kit made by Polish firm Helikon-Tex. It's called the Foxtrot Belt Rig and it's the mother of all bum bags.

I've used it a couple of times already and it has been a Godsend - even if it's just for day camps, I feel back in the game. Most recently I wore it on a 7.5 mile hike carrying around 6 kilos of kit and provisions - basic shelter, groundsheet, cooking and brew equipment for an afternoon in a local stealthy spot. Despite the fact it does have shoulder straps as backup, I configured it so that pretty much all of this weight was on my hips and lumbar region. This did mean it had to be fastened tight around my beer belly to avoid it slipping down, which could feel a little uncomfy on occasion, particularly toward the end of the hike. But if my ribs start to heal I can transfer a little more of the burden to the straps, and train myself back to accepting a rucksack in incremental baby steps. and get back to overnighters. That's the dream at the moment anyway.

It was a fairly sunny day and I was amazed at how warm the February sun could feel when you got out of the nippy north west wind. But then it's a funny month in the UK, February - it can be cruelly cold and grim, or it can see sunny heatwaves in the high teens. It is less than a month to the Vernal Equinox, which is a mad thought. When I saw the weather I originally just packed a chair and no tarp, thinking it would be warm enough to sit in the sun which would trump any breeze. But a few yards from the house I felt the 8° air, and the icy wind chill, and went straight back home to swap the chair for a poncho tarp and ground sheet, so that I could create a windbreak when I made 'camp'. 

The walk in was very pleasant and my single layer Buffalo Special 6 shirt was in its absolute element, keeping me warm when needed but allowing me to cool off when exerting myself, due to its tried and tested design. No messing about taking layers on and off! Having owned it for a couple of years now, and practically living in it when outdoors lately, I really can't imagine wearing anything else for walks like this. They aren't cheap but it's one of the single best purchases of outdoor kit I've ever made.

I also definitely made the right decision swapping the chair for the tarp - having the breeze off me made sitting still for a couple of hours very comfortable. With a small alcohol fuelled stove I could make brews and cook up an indulgent lunch of sirloin steak and eggs.

This utilised some more new kit : a small titanium plate which could also be used as a frying pan (with a little help from a Trangia pot grabber) and a very dinky little folding spatula from Snowpeak. I've tried to keep the pan 'seasoned' as much as you can with titanium, in order to build up a natural non-stick patina (thanks once again to Des Cattys for some very useful tips - and for the alcohol burner which provided the heat!).  I was chuffed that neither the sirloin, or the eggs I fried whilst it rested, stuck to it.

Not wanting to risk compromising this 'coating' by scratching it with my Swiss Army knife whilst cutting the steak, I instead sliced the sirloin into bite sized strips on a small cutting board first, then added it to the eggs on the titanium 'plate', so that I could just shovel it all down with a plastic spork. I like my steak just about medium rare, but this was more like rare - and it was bloody ('scuse the pun) delicious.

I was in a country park, and quite near to a popular, well maintained dog walking path. It was also half term, and I could hear what sounded like some teens having some fun nearby somewhere behind the tarp, maybe at the picnic table just out of sight. I wasn't at all worried that they could see me as the Polish woodland camo was particularly well suited to the drab browns of the environs. But I did worry that even if they couldn't hear the steak sizzling, they may well smell it! But nothing - I was well stealthed, innit.

One thing I couldn't justify packing was beer, which was a shame as the steak and eggs, sunshine and half term vibes had put me in mind for lovely pints. I packed up (Leaving No Trace, of course...) and headed off to a potentially great pub. I say that because this was one that I had rightfully slagged off in a previous post - the one which once had a place in my heart because our wedding photos were taken there, but which was later ruined by a psychotic landlord that made Basil Fawlty look like an award winning Geisha when it came to hospitality. It has since changed hands and my daughter (who is now at boozing age) had been there and said it was great, so I decided to give it another chance. I'm happy to report that so far, it seems fine, and that's enough when it has the best views from its beer garden of any pub I've ever been to in the UK.

I managed to persuade my wife and son and mate Jack to join me, although he arrived a few minutes too late to see the chilly sunset over Cadair Berwyn in Wales (the location of my first ever solo wild camp) which played out at around half five. He came back to our house for a fun night of dinner, tunes, giggles and beers in the studio shed, which probably went on a little too late for a week day... aren't they often the best nights though?

All in all a great day, where some research (and a bit of splashing out) on kit had enabled me to safely and comfortably get back on the horse for a trot around the field of the Great Outdoors whilst recovering from a relatively trivial but bloody annoying injury. Spring is in the air and it feels great knowing I can at least spend some of it approximating a wild camp. After a painful start to the year, this will most certainly do for now.

© R. Lane 2023