Are We Risking Too Much by Ultralight Hiking?

How little is too little? As an often ultralight hiker himself, Josh Hamill of Better Hiking weighs up the risks of minimising what we carry in this edition of Relationship with Risk.

The be all and end all of modern hiking is how low your total pack weight is, how small of a bag it all fits into, and what kind of exotic materials it’s all made out of.

It’s all in service of the ‘ultralight’ ideal; moving fast and light, accruing far less fatigue, and enjoying the on-trail experience that a feather-weight backpack provides.

But nothing in this life comes for free, and I’m not referring to the astronomical prices of such ultralight equipment.

Kate Donald’s 680g Hyperlite Unbound 2P which retails for $1250 (poles and pegs not included) | @katealiice

Being ‘ultralight’ doesn’t just come at the cost of your hard-earned savings, but at your exposure to risk – and this key fact is all too often ignored. The failings of the ultralight mentality can be catastrophically exposed in the form of under-preparedness when (not if) your carefully curated itinerary doesn’t go to plan.

Read more: What’s Causing the Increasing Number of Rescues in the Aussie Bush?

Ultralight is an alluring ideal and it’s undeniably efficient; you simply cannot cover as much distance and elevation gain with a traditional 25kg backpack chock-full of solutions to all your fears and endless possibilities. 

Fatigue accumulates regardless of your fitness and determination. You’ll have hiked 20km in 10 hours and feel utterly spent whilst the guy whose personality is his pack weight is still sprinting off into the distance like a gazelle. 

He’ll have finished the week-long trek in four days and capitalised on the weather window while you’re still stuck halfway up the range, tent-bound due to torrential rain – but at least you were prepared, right?

There are two sides to this story. Say our ultralight friend interprets the weather incorrectly, and that the four day weather window slams shut on day three. He’s now stuck in that same torrential rain in a tent made of spider-silk that offers essentially no protection in properly harsh conditions. 

Everything’s soaked, the front has passed and the temperature creeps down towards zero. It’s only a matter of time before hypothermia sets in that has him hitting the SOS eject button – Search and Rescue can deal with his mistake, if they get there in time…

Rescues can take hours, or days, and you have to be prepared to survive until help comes | @jackjbrookes

So what’s the appeal of going ultralight?

It’s obvious why modern ultralight equipment is so appealing – it’s transformed our entire approach to hiking (and its various forms) with seemingly no downside.

As technology advances and designs are endlessly optimised, the result is astoundingly light and effective equipment that fulfills its intended purpose at a fraction of the heft and volume of lesser-optimised alternatives – the only apparent difference is the price. 

This desire for an ever-increasing minimal weight has fed into the cycle of consumerism, which, while it does drive innovation to an extent, is ultimately designed to have you continually interact with it; optimising, searching, and spending on the next best solution to an inconsequential (and most likely manufactured) problem with your existing equipment.

Some ultralight die hards also take their minimalism to the price of products they buy, which can involve some risk | @jessfromoutside

Thankfully, the ultralight and outdoor industry seems to have mostly escaped the scourge of ‘enshittification’. The latest designs are genuinely improvements on earlier iterations in terms of construction and longevity. Outdoor companies are typically conscious of their environmental impact, and many offer lifetime guarantees to their equipment in the event of failure (which lighter equipment will inevitably suffer more frequently).

Watch: ‘Shitthropocene’ – The New Patagonia Film That Questions if We Really Need All That

While there are many problems with consumerism overall, the ‘equipment fixation’ that the ultralight movement supports has other consequences besides a very deep hole in your wallet. 

It’s perfectly fine to be a gear head; to eek out every last drop of performance from your equipment and create a setup that inspires you to get outside and explore, but going ‘fast and light’ is not a new phenomenon, and historically it’s been executed upon with an entirely different strategy to how most novices dabbling in ‘going ultralight’ do so today.

Weighing Up The Risks

Any objective inherently has risks that you need to carefully consider and judge against your preparations and willingness to take such risk. 

Importantly, not every objective presents a high degree of complex risks – a low elevation, long distance trail with sheltered campsites and relatively stable weather (and plenty of opportunities to bail under your own power) is a perfect example of an objective well suited to the ultralight style; the baseline risk is quite low, and the benefits of a lightweight and streamlined setup vastly outweigh the downsides. In this example you have a high margin for error that’s largely unaffected by your equipment decisions.

Let’s then use the Western Arthurs Traverse as an ever popular example of a long distance trail with comparatively high risk: a high elevation traverse of the crest of a mountain range that’s in the firing line of the roaring forties, susceptible to sub-zero temperatures and snow at any time of the year, a reasonably inaccurate long range forecast beyond 72 hours, and an isolated location that’s difficult to escape from in the event of an emergency.

Lisa Gilbert suited up in heavy rain gear during bad weather on the Western Arthurs Traverse | @hike_with_lisa_

The argument for a lightweight setup is that the terrain is highly technical, and a lower pack weight will aid in how quickly and safely you can move along the range, whereas the argument for a traditional approach (as in not optimising for packweight, but for comfort and safety) is that you need the additional margin for error that over-preparedness provides (extra food for zero kilometre days, a bombproof tent even though it might be summer, a slightly warmer sleep system in the event of unforeseen weather changes). 

So which is the correct approach? Trick question – there’s no one size fits all approach. This is why I keep saying we need to cultivate good judgement alongside adequate experience before applying a riskier strategy to a high risk objective – it doesn’t mean that you can’t effectively utilise ultralight equipment, only that you need to really understand the full picture of the risks you’re taking.

The author Josh tackling a section of the Australian Alps Walking Track with a ‘lightweight’ setup | @betterhiking

While you might not decide to implement a true ultralight strategy, you can still benefit from  incorporating lighter alternatives into your equipment setup; like a quilt rather than a sleeping bag, or choosing to leave luxury items at home that have no impact on your safety. You don’t need a completely optimised setup to gain the benefits that ultralight gear provides.

Read more: The Gear I Use the Least Costs the Most – and It’s All My Fault

Understanding the Application

Ultralight becomes dangerous when it’s applied inappropriately.

While I’ve suggested that ultralight is inherently a high risk strategy, that doesn’t mean it’s necessarily highly dangerous – risk and danger are not the same.

When applied appropriately, such as for a thru-hike through fairly inconsequential terrain like I mentioned above, having the lightest plausible setup is undoubtedly the best strategy for what most thru-hikers are trying to achieve: minimal pack weight for maximum on-trail efficiency. 

Thru-hikes covering low-consequence terrain can be perfect for ultralight hiking | @trekkingwest

Largely, this can be transferred appropriately to plenty of other objectives when considering the full scope of what risks are acceptable, and how you aim to combat them.

In Australia, I believe the ultralight strategy gets dealt an unfair hand. This is because it disagrees with the long-standing tradition and ethos of bushwalking – utter preparedness for highly isolated objectives in the harsh Australian bush; but this is no longer a true reflection of modern bushwalking. 

Trail infrastructure and technology have developed to the extent that such a high degree of preparation (in terms of equipment) is no longer required to adequately deal with the risks of bushwalking in many areas. 

Unless you’re tackling an off-track, isolated, walk through dense vegetation, steep, complex terrain, and an unforgiving climate, the traditional approach to equipment for bushwalking is now an unnecessary burden with the advent of widely available ultralight equipment.

Note: It’s not an excuse to forgo safety equipment – I can fit everything I need for a three day bushwalk into a 30L pack without sacrificing any safety items.

The author’s ultralight pack still includes a PLB for emergencies | @betterhiking

I stand by my statement of suggesting that ultralight (or even fast and light) is a high risk strategy; you’re accepting an increased amount of risk by forgoing some aspects of preparedness (think stronger tent, more food, tougher rain jacket, more spare clothes). This is not necessarily dangerous if you have the skills, fitness, and experience to supplement your risky gear decisions, and here is where things can start to unravel.

If you don’t have the good sense and judgement that should coincide with your decision to use a high risk strategy in a high risk environment, it’s far easier for you to get into lots of trouble if you aren’t constantly assessing the risks every single step of the way – this is the sacrifice that you make, you need to be alert to the risk you have taken.

Lets return to our story on the Western Arthurs Traverse; our friend whose ultralight strategy comes undone due to fickle weather. Could he have taken preventative measures and been more alert to the situation?

Once on the range and beyond Lake Oberon, you’re essentially committed to traversing until Kappa Moraine – there are no feasible intermediate exits that aren’t any less challenging than just completing the traverse. Our ultralight friend could have arranged with a trusted friend to have received an updated forecast at this crucial decision point via a satellite communicator. With an updated forecast, they can decide whether or not they have the safety margin to continue. Knowing the nature of the weather, they could have made a few gear concessions as well: extra food and a more robust tent to potentially wait out bad weather if they got caught.

On top of Mount Anderson with a ‘not-quite-ultralight’ pack, reckon that’ll catch on? | @betterhiking

You need to be this critical when you’re planning a high risk objective, and consider all of the possibilities. Deciding to use ultralight equipment is an additional risk that can be managed, but you have to understand how it affects your safety margin. 

Choosing to go ultralight isn’t a free lunch – it has consequences. Most novices incorrectly apply the strategy by having their risk tolerance too high, and fail to act upon signals that suggest they should turn around. That’s the gamble – if you can’t afford to sit out the metaphorical (or literal) storm, you have to avoid it, and sometimes that means turning tail and going home.

Perhaps the wisest choice for most is to simply cherry pick the best of both strategies and sit on the fence. Lightweight hiking? Keep the ethos of traditional bushwalking, but make good use of some of the innovative and modern equipment that the ultralight craze provides.

This article is part of the Relationship with Risk series, in partnership with Better Hiking. Pieces that take a nuanced look at modern hiking safety and the culture surrounding it.