The Completely Rational Case for Owning Three Tents

One tent was supposed to cover all of her hiking adventures. But after a few minor floods, some cramped nights, and several highly justified purchases, Lisa has reconsidered.

When I first started hiking, I bought a tent.

It was lightweight, stood up to bad weather, and packed down small.

That should have been the end of it, but as any borderline obsessed hiker knows, oh no, that was only the beginning.

My trusty green Vaude came on many adventures. But like a hiker who plays music on speaker, it started getting on my nerves.

It had a tunnel opening I had to crawl in and out of, over my pack, and so little airflow I felt like I was in a bunker. I’m mad for air, and unless it’s snowing or torrential rain, I have the sides of my tent open (now that I have a tent that has sides).

A couple of years into my hiking love affair, I did the Overland Track in Tasmania. Much of the gear I took on that hike I still use today. If I love it, it stays until it falls apart.

My first hiking tent, good for snow, not summer

Discovering a New Love

I was cruising the campsite, checking out the various shelters, quietly bemoaning my own, when I first laid eyes on a single wall tent.

What was this marvel of hiking infrastructure that sets up with trekking poles, doesn’t require a fly, and weighs 500 grams?! Take my money.

By this point my list of tent requirements was strong: ultralight, double doors, room for my pack and cooking, fast set-up, maximum airflow, and won’t blow away with me inside it. Please don’t sell me a tent that will rip if it touches a stick.

The list of things I hate in tents is much shorter. At number one, the fly.

No other piece of hiking equipment arouses such emotion. The joy of waking to a dry, dewless morning and a pristine fly, ready to be rolled around its inner and taken to its next location. The sadness of a drenched fly, that you will dutifully flap one million times before realising that it ain’t drying, and you’re resorting to stuffing it into a garbage bag. The moment of excitement when you find a flat rock and sunshine where you can dry said fly while enjoying snacks. And the absolute frustration of wrestling a wet fly over a dry tent, trying in vain to keep your inner water-free.

Hence my interest in this single-walled unicorn.

I would not be deterred by nay-sayers who claimed I’d be soaked in condensation and spend hours pitching my tent. For 500 grams I gladly took that risk.

I sold the much-maligned Vaude to a lovely man who hated getting cold at night, and purchased a Zpacks Offset Duo.

Read more: How to Choose a Hiking Tent

The Zpacks Offset Duo

While it looks like a fancy Ikea bag, I have nothing but love for this tent. All the air I desire, a quick shake in the morning and it’s dry, tough, no condensation issues and plenty of room for all my gear.

I boldly declared that I would never buy another tent. I forgave its lack of vestibule space and highly specific pitch that always sees me cutting laps around it, making minor adjustments as I go. I used it in rain and wind, and with much joy in summer. It’s as close to cowboy camping as you can get with a shelter, minus the bugs.

Camped at the Fainters in the Victorian High Country

Then I camped on dry red dirt in a storm. This particular tent has a bathtub floor with mesh above for airflow, and when you’re on hard ground with heavy rain, it comes inside. So does the dust. If it’s not pitched perfectly (if you set up in a hurry because it’s raining, or you’re on a bit of hill), the rain will find that imperfection and stream into your tent. And don’t get me started on setting up a trekking pole tent on a platform! I’ll take the patch of dirt any day.

Rain, tent platforms and trekking pole tents do not mix

After a few minor tent floods and with a trip to the Western Arthurs in Tasmania coming up, the rational argument for a second tent began to form. While my love of the single-wall will never die, I needed a freestanding tent too.

A Second Tent Joins the Fray

Down the rabbit hole I went. Emerging the proud new owner of an MSR Hubba Hubba 2. I could cook with a vestibule door open, and keep my pack on the other side, it was light and roomy… for one.

The Hubba Hubba camped at Lake Cygnus on the Western Arthurs

Two person tents are a lie. Unless those two people are toddlers, you’re going to be way too hot and wake up inhaling your tent partner’s breath. My co-habitant in my 2P is my daughter, and I regularly wake with her lying across me, mat and all.

The sideways sleeper

With Christmas sales upon us, a familiar thought arose. ‘No, don’t do it!’ I half-heartedly thought.

I did it.

Tent Number Three?

The Big Agnes Salt Creek 3P is my fun tent, completely justified by a heavy sales discount and the priceless experiences my daughter will have. The dog loves it too. It has much fewer outings, and it’s a pain to carry on my own, but it’s basically a portable home and makes hiking more enjoyable for my daughter, who I am determined will hike with me until I’m 100 years old.

The Big Agnes Salt Creek 3P

And this is where the story should end. But in another chapter that once again the (perhaps not so borderline) obsessed hiker will understand, I ‘needed’ just one tiny upgrade before my tent family was complete.

When I bought my freestanding tent, I had wanted the Mont Moondance (who doesn’t?). Double entry and vestibule doors that both roll back. Tough as nails, and easy for the vertically challenged to set up in five minutes. But I was a bit put off by the weight, 1.8kg.

Read more: Mont Moondance 2FN 2 Person Tent – Reviewed & Tested

Double doors are the dream

I tested the waters and put my MSR up for sale. It was gone within an hour. The choice was made.

The Moondance is perfect, and I’ve forgiven its weight for what it gives back in peace of mind. It is the GOAT of Aussie tents, in my humble and well-researched opinion.

If you don’t hike, owning multiple tents looks like a shopping addiction, but the inclusive term is ‘gear freak’ and researching and learning is as much a part of this hobby as hitting the trail. One does not simply start hiking and buy a tent, as my pre-hiking self naively thought.

The more remote you go, the wilder the weather and the more gear mishaps you endure, the greater the need for a tent that ticks (almost) all the boxes. After all, your life could literally depend on it.

I’m getting ready to head back to the Western Arthurs, and that 800 grams was playing on my mind. A quick search told me I could save that weight, and just as quickly, lose $800.

Read more: Ultralight Hiking: Tips to Cut Weight, Curb Ego, And Hike in Comfort

Coffee with a view in the Moondance

After a flurry of excitement, my rational mind took hold, for once.

I do not need a new tent. Really.

There’s no single perfect tent, but a small collection of almost perfect tents means there’s always the right choice for the trip. But if you simply must have a tent with inflatable poles, four doors or built-in USB charger, then who am I to judge?