Chapter One: Inception I understand not everyone is familiar with hammock camping, and so this chapter is dedicated to informing what, when, where, why and how.
There’s two types of hammock: spreader bar, and gathered-end. This illlustration shows the difference. Since the hammock is flat in one plane, spreader bar hammocks are more comfortable for sitting and lounging. Some argue they are more comfortable for sleeping to, but that’s also a matter of hammock quality, and “sleeping technique”. Gathered-end hammocks are undoubtedly superior for camping, since they do not consist of a bulky, heavy spreader bar.
The hammock itself is made of ripstop nylon, thin as anything. Your sleeping bag beneath you is compacted beneath your weight, and the warmth of your body is sucked out in a condition known as “cold bum”.
External insulation is essential. While this insulation can be achieved in other ways, the best is to use an underquilt, which acts as a sleeping bag, creating a layer of air beneath the hammock.
The sleeping bag Together these determine how cold/temperature you can stay.
- it’s also the tarpaulin. Discuss
I love my hammock to bits. It’s not just the hammock alone - these together to make a fun, comfortable and robust camping setup.
briefly discuss how well you sleep, how you can lounge in it, cook in it, read, write.
I was inspired back in 2017 by my German friend Robert, who touted not just the comfortability of his hammock - but also the legal benefits of it. I would later come to understand, discuss the legal implications
Inspired by Robert Stuart island, slept in his hammock for one night, so comfortable Just a basic hammock with minimal accessories
Research and recommend Dutchware Gathering an assortment of accessories Illustrations to explain how the hammock works How it’s set up Tarpaulin options Ground setup options
Chapter Two: Life in New Zealand Discuss your one month hiking trip
Chapter Three: Europe
Chapter Four: Fire and fury
Chapter Five: Repair
Chapter Six:
Friday 26th June
Well, technically I fucked up three weeks ago when I put my name on the delivery for a rather special type of fabric. Or maybe I fucked up when I put a little hole in my hammock, or when I thought Decathlon had the solution. In any case, a culmination of little fuck-ups has led me to sleeping on the ground for the next month.
Travelling by hitchhike, you have to be flexible. I don’t always know where I’m going to sleep. Sometimes it’s with friends, sometimes with strangers, but my hammock has been the shining star. Though I usually take time to find a beautiful spot, in a pinch it sets up almost anywhere with two trees. And if there’s no trees, then a power pylon… but that’s another story. It’s quick to set up, warm, more comfortable than my own bed. By -5° I’m getting too cold. Made of a particular material specifically designed for hammocks - strong, lightweight, breathable. Flammable.
The first fuckup occurred in Salzberg, Austria. I stayed in a hostel a couple nights to sort out some admin. Regrettably, I hardly saw the city, other than on a couple runs. Regrettably, I forgot to stock up on gas for my camping stove; key for dinners and coffee. I was running critically low, and didn’t even realize.
The first night back on the road, I headed to Obenburgau, at the base of of Schafberg, a mountain in Austria. Tomorrow I’d do a mountain crossing - but tonight, well, I’d found in the foothills a cave overlooking a roaring waterfall. There’s no good trees in this cave; fuck the hammock.
Now I’ve just noticed the gas situation. I’m hungry, I want some bloody pasta! No problem - I’ll save it, I’m going to build a campfire instead. Tomorrow will be Saturday, and you’d better make pace tomorrow and get to the other side of this mountain - because on Sunday, because fucking Germany, everything’s closed. The Monday’s a public holiday too. I’ll save the last dregs of gas for coffee tomorrow morning.
Saturday 27th June
discuss the hike more!
Schlafberg – gorgeous, gruelling. One-way crossing, lake-to-lake. Nice to get the legs properly working. Not so many people on the trail, but you get to the top, and there’s everybody and their mum. Literally. A cable car takes you to the restaurant at the top! A skifield in winter, bustling it seems. And for good reason – 360 degree views of the Lakes, the Alps, Austrian towns.
Magnificent views from the top! I hiked down the other side to St Wolfgang at reasonable pace too, to catch the shops before they closed. Time crunch to make it back to town, St Wolfgang. There’s an outdoor store there, I’ll top up my gas.
Actually, I do take an hour-long nap on the trail. I hear noisy, obnoxious people draw closer – and decide not to be stuck behind them. At one point I waited for a few moments for some others to catch up, at an intersection between an unpaved road, and a typical forest path. I asked them which was faster to St Wolfgang – more an icebreaker than a genuine question. They switched to English, and he said, in all seriousness, “We are going this way, but considering the shoes you’re wearing, maybe you should go the other way.” HI was, jogging down a gnarly mountain with my giant backpack, and I’m told my shoes are inadequate? Do I look like such a rookie? They only caught up with me because I took a 30 minute nap on a log! Stunned, all I could muster was a lousy “Come on?” I followed them briefly down the forest trail, then pulled a controlled jog-slide down a short, steep bypass, leaving them in the dust. Though, the rest of the walk I only felt embarrassment.
I made it to St Wolfgang before the outdoor store closed. And who would have known, the only outdoor store in this down doesn’t sell gas. Bother. Well, There’s one supermarket here - I’ll eat cold for the meanwhile – better stock up! What do I need - fresh fruit, cheese, bread, spread, salami… Those few minutes writing down a shopping list ticked me over to 5:01pm, and supermarket closed its doors. For fucks sake.
I went for a swim in the lake, then ordered myself a large pizza.
Monday 29th June
The mesmeric lighting, comforting warmth, smoky atmosphere, delightful smell, the humble crackle. Fuck, I love fire.
I’m strung up in my hammock in a nicely wooded area, nearby some creepy abandoned building in Germany. I’ve gotten pretty good at cooking myself one-pot meals. Recipe: Fry onions, capsicum and garlic until onions turn gold. Add herbs & spices per preference. Add water and bring to boil, add carb of choice, stir, boil, drain. Optional extras include pasta sauce, cheese, salami, chickpeas, beans, vegetables of choice.
Most of the time I’m carrying two-to-three day supply of food. I ate the last of my fresh food today. I’m hungry. These days I’m always hungry (Editor’s note: hungry in a good way - I’m not bloody starving myself!) Cold coffee and cheese-salami this morning just hasn’t cut it. Let’s fucking cook us a meal.
All that to say, I made a little campfire. It was a crackly one, and I definitely built it too close. One stray ember put a garlic-sized hole in my hammock, an onion-shaped tear in my eye. I’m going to sleep in my hammock, a paranoid statue.
Sunday 4th June
The last week I’ve been in Poznan, Poland to celebrate my friend Sachin’s graduation. During that time I ordered a sheet of Hexon 1.6, hammock material, to Lucia’s place in Munich. With it coming from the USA, the shipping time is uncertain. So, the other day I popped into a Decathlon for some repair patches.
This evening I found a lovely spot by a river beach near Bamberg, Germany, and set up shop. I went for a run upstream, then swam back down. Then I retired into my hammock, and – RIIIIP!
In slow motion, I felt myself fall, my ass hitting the soft sandy floor. Defeated, I lay down on the ground beneath me, contemplating my choices in life, blissfully unaware of the brewing storm - the Battle Against the Mosquitoes.
date? must have been a weekday + 1 day
After a couple nights on the ground, I made it to Munich, where I waited out the timer. In this time I co-authored a research paper, aced my GMAT (General Management Admissions Test, generally used for MBA admission) and found a new bone to pick with Lucia’s pretentious landlord-flatmate. Oh, and I ordered a replacement keyboard for my surface, too.
It’s been too long in the city, I’ve been itching to head back into the Bavarian Alps. I’ve studied the maps as usual, and there’s so many options for multi-day hikes. I need my hammock material. I pack my bags and plan to go bivvy mode, but the material, it arrives! Well, it being a slip of paper in the mailbox. Excuse me? I was at home, ya lazy bugger. Alright, let’s go to the PO Box three kilometeres away.
Lucia accompanies me, her name on the slip. We open the PO Box and, aha! A box, printed with “the United States Postal Service”! It’s rather large and heavy, for a bit of material. Precious stuff, amirite? We head to a coffee shop nearby to relax, bringing the average age down at least a decade. We chat, and then open the box, full of paper shreds threatening to blow away in the wind. The waitress finally takes our coffee order, and help us chase down the stragglers. The look on Lucia’s face as she unveils the bubblewrap. A keyboard!?
We check the shipping label, sent from Berlin. This motherfucker had used an old USPS box from a shipment from Berlin! Bewildered, I check the shipment tracking details again, to discover, despite having been made two weeks apart, both shipments had been delivered at the exact same time. That means only one thing: the hammock material must still be in the PO Box! Our coffees arrive, and we smash them faster than two bored bunnies could, and say bye-bye to the wait staff. I wonder what they thought. Worst - or best date ever?
Of course, we can’t open the PO Box again. Eventually we get some help on the phone, but they would have to open it tomorrow. Bear in mind, this whole time I’m carrying my rucksack, ready to jump on the next train out of Munich. And there’s no way I’m allowed to stay another night with Lucia’s landlord breathing down her neck. Fuck’s sake. We call again to get more clarity, wandering the street as we wait on hold, transferred between departments. Eventually Lucia gives them the international tracking code, and I see her face drop…
“Oh, nein, nein, nein, nein, nein, nein nein!” Her tone immediately shifts to one of urgency. After some back-and-forth, she asks the other side to wait. She explains, “The mailman tried to deliver it, but couldn’t see your name on the mailbox. It’s going to be shipped back to the States; there’s nothing she can do!”
I take my pack off and collapse on the sidewalk. What the fuck is this bureaucracy? The package is still in Munich but, but what? Your system is so fucking automated you can’t pull a product off the shelf? This fucking mailman - you didn’t even knock! I was there, an open window apart, working on my laptop - you can literally see me from the road! This package flew halfway across the world, to make it less than five metres away… No email, no notification, not even an update in the tracking system, which just says… “Delivered at 3:29pm.” Well fuck you too!
I’m writing from my farmland campsite in the mountains of Immerstadt, with the most brilliant view of tomorrow’s mountains. I do now have Lucia’s inflatable mattress, compact little thing, which I only brought after much heated debate.
“But I’m TOUGH! How will anyone know how TOUGH I am if I choose to bring a sleeping mat?”
“…What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Her argument did not resonate, but I lost that game of Paper, Scissors, Rock.
date ??
My plan was flawed anyway. It took me three hours of stitching to realize;
1) I barely know how to handstitch 2) Even if I knew how to handstitch, I don’t have the time for this; it’s going to take forever! 3) Even if I had the time to handstitch, I have no bloody idea if this is going to work at all!
Bear in mind, this tear is almost the entire width of the hammock, and it goes under a lot of stress, 100% of which needs to be transferred through the patch. This wonky backstitch just isn’t going to cut it.
I must say a big thankyou to Lucia’s mother, who took it into the tailor for me. And to my surprise, it’s still holding on!
A shitty 10€ hammock from Kiwi (a supermarket chain in Norway) carried me through the next month, until I arrived at Cologne to stay with Lucia’s family.
