Thoughts on Tripods for Backpacking

On the summit of Ben Nevis

Following an interesting thread on Twitter prompted by AlexRoddie’s follow-up review of the Trailpix ultralight tripod I’ve been thinking about tripods and backpacking.

The first question is of course whether you need one. Say no to that and you’ve saved some weight and bulk but also limited the scope of your photography. I didn’t carry a tripod for quite a few years. In fact it never occurred to me to do so. Looking back at my pictures of the Pacific Crest Trail and Continental Divide Trail I wish it had. Two types of image are missing from those trips. Low light shots –dawn, dusk, night skies – and many self-portraits. The few of the latter I have were taken by people I travelled with or by balancing the camera on a boulder, tree stump or pile of stones - that’s why I’m quite often sitting down in the few pictures I have! 

On the Pacific Crest Trail - camera balanced on a rock

 

So the two reasons for carrying a tripod are low light images and, for solo backpackers, self-portraits that go beyond close-up selfies. Often I’m taking pictures of myself not as a selfie but to show someone hiking, cooking, pitching camp and doing other activities. 

Modern cameras with in-built stabilisation and good results from high ISOs do mean that reasonable images can be taken in low light conditions where it wouldn’t have been possible with low ISO films but even so I’ve not found I can handhold them for starry skies or even a dark sunset.

It was after my 1985 CDT walk that Peter Lumley, the publisher of Footloose, an outdoor magazine I was then editing, asked me why I didn’t use a tripod. I suspect he’d have liked more pictures of me for my articles on the trail. I remember that I replied ‘too heavy’. Rather than argue Peter showed me his own tripod. I don’t remember much about it except that it felt amazingly light. I borrowed it for a forthcoming trip to Iceland and was delighted with the opportunities it opened up. I’ve carried a tripod on every trip ever since. 

On the Moine Mhor

Looking for my first tripod after the Iceland walk with an arbitrary maximum weight of 1kg I quickly realised that most tripods were indeed too heavy, and that included ones described as ‘lightweight’. Only a few budget and ‘travel’ tripods seemed worth considering. I ended up with a Slik 500G tripod which, as the name says, weighed 500 grams. I took it on my walk the length of the Canadian Rockies in 1988. By the end of the walk the centre column wouldn’t tighten anymore but I had taken quite a few pictures I couldn’t have taken otherwise. I replaced that tripod with a 600 gram Cullman 2101 Backpack tripod which I still have and which has proved excellent. It went on five multi-month walks and dozens of shorter ones. Eventually the ball head would no longer hold the camera firmly but given the use the tripod had had I couldn’t complain. At some point I’d also purchased an expensive Gitzo Loisir tripod as a possible replacement. It was more compact than the Cullman but heavier at 790 grams and not as tall. It did have a good ball head though so I transferred this to the Cullman. I still have the Loisir but haven’t used it in many years. 

When I changed from SLRs to smaller, lighter mirrorless cameras some seven years ago I started to think about a smaller, lighter tripod and eventually bought a 281 gram Velbon V-Pod. This has also proved excellent and has lasted longer than I expected. I used it on my Scottish Watershed walk and it’s been on many other trips. 

Night in the Lairig Ghru, taken using Velbon V-Pod tripod

 

There are of course limitations to lightweight tripods. They don’t have the height of heavier tripods and there’s little point extending the centre column as it’ll almost certainly wobble. The V-Pod extends to 80cms without using the centre column which I find just adequate. Only extending the legs as far as necessary is wise too, again to avoid the chance of it wobbling. Perhaps the biggest disadvantage of light tripods is the lack of wind resistance. If there’s more than a breeze they can easily blow over. Something heavy like a stuffsack full of stones can be attached to the bottom of the centre column to stabilise them but this doesn’t stop them shaking in a strong wind. I long ago accepted I wouldn’t be taking tripod shots when it was very windy

What about mini tripods? I’ve tried a few of these and I do have a Joby GorillaPod. I rarely use it though. I find such tiny tripods too low for most uses. Anything much shorter than the V-Pod would be too limiting for me.

From the left: Benro A530F, Manfrotto Digi, Cullman Backpack, Gitzo Loisir, Velbon V-Pod

I also have two heavier tripods, one of which I very occasionally take on day walks. The Manfrotto 724B Digi Tripod weighs 1432 grams and was bought for use at home photographing gear, books, magazines and other stuff. Then just last year I bought a 1330 gram Benro A350F tripod for a very specific purpose – photographing transparencies on a light box, which requires a reversed centre column. I can’t imagine taking either of these tripods on a backpacking trip. I’m aware though that many regard these as lightweight tripods.

From the left: Manfrotto Digi, Benro A530F, Cullman Backpack, Gitzo Loisir, Velbon V-Pod

 

Good though it has been my V-Pod is somewhat battered now. I hope it lasts a fair bit longer but I won’t be surprised if it doesn’t so I’ve been looking for a replacement. Read Alex Roddie’s post to see why I’m not considering the Trailpix. I’d buy another V-Pod but it’s been discontinued. The nearest Velbon offers now is the Summit Tripod at 396 grams. That’s the heaviest I’d consider. Maybe I’ll buy one before it disappears too.

May 16 on the Pacific Crest Trail 35 years ago

Camp in Monache Meadows by the Kern River. Scott Steiner on the left, in a wool sweater - common backpacking clothing in 1982, before fleece. My tent and gear on the right.

On this day thirty-five years ago I was starting my traverse of the High Sierra on the Pacific Crest Trail. The day before I’d left Kennedy Meadows with three weeks supplies, making for a very heavy pack, especially as I was carrying snowshoes, crampons and ice axe for the snow-covered mountains that I knew lay not far ahead. We walked eleven miles in seven hours and that night I noted in my journal ‘really felt it today on my hips and shoulders and this evening my ankles ache’.

Fording the Kern River. That's me in the water and Scott on the far side so I must have given my camera to Dave or Larry to take this picture.

I was hiking with three companions who would be with me until the other side of the snow. After fording the Kern River, which here was wide but little more than knee deep, we camped in Monache Meadows with extensive views all around though not yet of much snow.

The full story of my Pacific Crest Trail walk from Mexico to Canada is told in my book Rattlesnakesand Bald Eagles. 

The photographs are scans from Kodachrome 64 slides taken with a Pentax MX camera and a Pentax 28mm lens.

Update: Recent gear I've reviewed for my column on the TGO website.

Here's what I've been trying for TGO the last few months, with links to the reviews.

Rab Paradox Pull-On

Wigwam Peak2Pub Pacific Crest Pro Socks

Mountain Equipment Firelite Sleeping Bag

Coleman Fyrestorm Personal Cooking System

Lifesystems Infinity 75 Head Torch

Rab Kinetic Plus Jacket

Fjallraven Friluft Abisko 35 Pack

 

 Hydro Flask 21oz

Paramo Bentu & Fleece

Thule Stir 35L Pack

WakaWaka Power+ Solar Charger & Light

Exploring Creag Meagaidh

Moonlit camp

The great plateau of Creag Meagaidh in the heart of the Highlands is a massive complex mountain worthy of much exploration. I’ve climbed it many times in both summer and winter, on foot and on skis, and I still have much to see. With that in mind I headed there just a few days ago intent on a night out high on the mountain and a visit to one of the huge corries that bite into the mountain’s flanks that I’d never entered before.

Coill a'Choire

Spring is a favourite time for Creag Meagaidh as the birch woods that grace its southern flanks and are now advancing fast up the slopes of Coill a’Choire, their regeneration a great success story since the Creag Meagaidh National Nature Reserve was set up, are bright and fresh with new leaves. It’s a long but always lovely walk up through the woods and then out of the trees and past moraine hummocks towards the sombre cliffs of Coire Ardair, which were still spattered with snow. Below the rock walls the dark waters of Lochan a’Choire rippled in a gentle breeze. I climbed past the cliffs up the broad stony gully leading to the prominent cleft known as The Window. Here there were big snow patches but ones easily avoided. Looking across the broken crags of the long north face of the mountain I could see many more.

The Creag Meagaidh plateau

 

A short steep pull led up to the vast summit plateau and then it was over the short grassy ground, boggy from recent snowmelt, to the summit. The views were extensive, sharp and clear to the north and west, haze to the south and east. The sun shone down, as it had all day, but up here there was also a cold east wind. Near the summit cairn three dotterel skittered across the stones, lovely birds that speak of the high places.

The summit

 

Heading south from the summit I descended the gently sloping plateau to the headwaters of the long Moy Burn, its shallow gully packed with snow. A patch of grass had enough soil for tent pegs and my camp was soon set up with a view west over many hills to distant Ben Nevis. 

Moonset

 

An almost-full moon rose into the sky, giving enough light to wander around without need of a headlamp. The cold air soon had me in my sleeping bag though. Before I fell asleep there was frost on the tent and ice in my water bottles. In the morning my Kestrel weather tracker said the overnight low was -3.7°C. A stronger colder wind, now from the west, and a temperature a touch below zero made me glad of my down jacket. Out to the west the moon sank below the hills as the sun began to light the hills.

A chilly morning

A short stroll from camp led to the cliff top rim of Coire Choille-rais. Out to the east hills faded into greyness. Below, the lochan that fills the corrie was a dark lozenge. The craggy slopes above glowed gold in the early sun. A waterfall below a snowfield caught the sun and sparkled brightly. A scene both wild and peaceful.

Coire Choille-rais

 

My way led down beside the Moy Burn into long curving Moy Corrie. Crags rose above on one side, very steep scree and grass slopes on the other. After the space of the plateau there was a closed-in feel here. The burn bubbled and splashed, tumbling over little cascades, sliding down smooth slabs, slowing in deep, rich brown pools. A typical Highland hill stream. The glen was typical too, a mix of boulder-strewn coarse grasses and rushes, mostly brown and grey, summer colour still to come. The ground was boggy in places, with much trampling by deer visible. I saw none of these but their presence was shown by the lack of trees as well as the tracks. The glen felt empty and lacking in life after Coill a’Choire.

The first trees didn’t appear until I was in the mouth of the corrie and beginning to follow the southern edge of the mountain back to my start point. At first there were just a few high on crags and deep in gullies then birches began to appear on gentler slopes and soon there was an old wood of widely scattered trees. At first I saw no new growth but then patches of dense small birches were visible. The wood was renewing itself. The trees brought bird song as well. Chaffinch, blackbird, wren and more. 

View over Loch Laggan to the Cairngorms

 

Further new woodland with a view over the surprisingly bright blue of Loch Laggan to the distant Cairngorms led down to the finish. I knew Creag Meagaidh a little more. And knew there was far more. I’ll be back.

Thoughts on Water in the Scottish Hills

Stream in spate in the Western Highlands. Unable to ford it safely I had to change my route.

Water is a constant feature of the Scottish hills. Only on the highest, narrowest ridges are you away from water for long and even then you can usually see lochs and rivers far below. Often water is close to hand, whether tiny trickles and pools high in the hills or big rivers and lochs in the glens. Water isn’t just part of the visual landscape either. It’s also part of the outdoor soundscape. The sounds of water are an integral part of the Scottish hill experience; from the crashing of a hill burn down steep rocks to the rattling of rain on a jacket hood the noise of water is often present.

The Carnachuinn Bridge in Glen Feshie was swept away by a flood in 2009. It still hasn't been replaced.

Water is also essential in shaping the landscape. Water has carved out glens and corries, both when frozen in the form of glaciers and as free running water, eroding away hillsides and valley bottoms. This process continues each day with rivers and burns slowly wearing away the hills. Every rain storm has an effect too, often unnoticeable but it is there and over time the landscape changes. Floods have immediate effects, shifting rocks and soils, cutting new river channels and sweeping away banks, trees and, sometimes, bridges and paths.

Path washed away by the Allt Garbhlach in Glen Feshie

The beauty of the landscape owes much to water. The lochs and rivers and waterfalls are all essential to the overall appearance of the hills, shining and shimmering in sunlight, contrasting with the rocks and vegetation. Rain too matters, much as hillwalkers may curse it. Without rain the hills would be brown and parched, desert-like. Without rain the rivers would dry up and the lochs shrivel and fade away.

The Falls of Glomach in Kintail

Water also provides challenges to hill goers, both in the form of rain and turbulent streams. Driving horizontal rain isn’t unusual in the hills and will soon find a way through any weakness in waterproof clothing. Keeping the rain out whilst not getting wet from trapped body moisture is a constant struggle for hillwalkers. Whilst staying completely dry on a day of continuous windblown rain is just about impossible, staying comfortable – not too wet, just warm enough – is feasible with the right clothing. Dealing with rain is also psychological as it’s easy to become fed-up when a storm lasts for hours or even days. A philosophical approach and a consideration of what rain adds to the landscape is required at such times!

A wet day in the Cairngorms

The other challenge from water comes when burns or rivers need to be forded as there isn’t a bridge, which is the case in many parts of the Highlands. Hill streams can rise very quickly after heavy rain; a trickle that could be crossed without getting your feet wet can be an impassable raging torrent when you return a few hours later. People have drowned attempting to ford rivers and burns in spate so great care is needed. I’m very wary of fords following a couple of incidents early on in my Scottish hillwalking career when I was nearly washed away. I can still remember realising half way across one deep torrent that if the water grew any stronger or deeper I wouldn’t be able to keep my feet. Happily it didn’t. Now I’m prepared to go miles out of my way to avoid crossing any stream that looks too strong and I have often backed off after starting a ford.

Tony Hobbs fording a stream in the Western Highlands

Water then can be both a pleasure and a threat. Learning to appreciate it and deal with it is essential to the mountain experience. Without water the Scottish hills would be diminished. It’s part of what makes them what they are.

Cam Loch in the NW Highlands

May 1 on the Pacific Crest Trail, 35 Years Ago

On the Sierra Pelona Ridge just outside Acton

May Day on the Pacific Crest Trail in 1982 was my second rest day of the walk, the first for 17 days. In the previous 28 days I'd walked 388 miles. Ahead lay the Mohave Desert and then the still snowbound High Sierra. Having already slogged through deep snow in the San Jacinto and San Bernardino Mountains I knew that I wasn't equipped for 500+ miles of snow. I was staying in the little settlement of Acton with other PCT hikers. A local resident, Delree, offered to take us into Los Angeles to buy extra gear, so May Day was an urban day of vehicles, freeways and outdoor stores. The result was much extra gear to carry across the desert including crampons, snowshoes and gaiters. I wrote in my journal 'I hope I use the snow gear'. It was to prove essential.