How to Sleep in the Woods

“Camping is nature’s way of promoting the motel business. ” ― Dave Barry

More than 45 years ago I had my first experience with a sleeping pad. That’s the thing you put under your sleeping bag so that you can theoretically sleep comfortably while backpacking. I was barely a teenager. My middle-aged father had either decided it was time to teach me how to man up or for him to address the midlife crisis of being stuck in an office all day. He had backpacked a lot in his younger days and we were going back. He went out that winter and bought the latest, greatest backpack equipment: Kelty packs, backpack tent, down sleeping bags, and sleeping pads.

The gear was undoubtedly expensive, and it was all very nice and shiny. The sleeping pads looked comfortable enough. They were lightweight foam enclosed in a nylon shell. It all stuffed nicely into the same stuff sack as the sleeping bag. I’m not sure why it didn’t dawn on me prior to our first outing that the sleeping pad was only about 1/100^th the thickness of my bed. Somehow, squishing it between my fingers, it seemed soft and I was convinced of it providing a good night’s sleep in the woods.

The first day we’d hiked in from Mirror Lake to Four Lake Basin in the Uinta Mountains – a wilderness where my dad had spent many days hiking in his youth. We hadn’t seen a soul and wouldn’t for days. Our tent was a little tiny speck of man-made blue between two lakes and below an incredible ridge of mountains. I was tired from a long day of backpacking and anxious for a good night’s sleep.

The sleeping pad can’t be entirely blamed for my being awake the entire night. Previously unbeknownst to me, when sleeping my father’s soft palate would almost completely close his throat while sleeping. This left a small hole through which air made the sound of a freight train driving through our tent. Of course, he fell asleep long before me. While his snoring kept me awake, I was able to appreciate every root, rock and even individual pine needle through my sleeping pad: a clear misnomer.

Now, confronted with sleeping in the woods during the GDA, I’ve found an unimaginable number of sleeping pad options. Miraculously, to me, people not only claim to sleep on them, but they are even lighter and smaller than my not-sleeping pad of yesteryear. I spent hours reading reviews, studying the latest technologies and “top 10 lists”. Lying like a homeless person in REI, I tested each one of them. With my research and testing I was going to be certain I could sleep in the woods. If not, I was going to figure out how to put my Serta on my bike. There were too many options, but I was scientifically narrowing it down to the very best option for sleeping – comfortably – on the ground.

After much careful consideration, a spreadsheet, rating system, and multiple research trips to REI, I was ready for the big purchase. I could tell you about everyone of the many sleeping pads, pro’s, con’s, color options and cost. With the trauma of 45 years ago, still fresh in my mind, I was ready for one of the most fateful decisions in my life. Ok, maybe not quite as serious as marriage and, in fact, I’d invited Gloria with me so she could help with the difficult decision. As I began to drown Gloria with a flood of information and details, while pulling pads out and having her try them, she suddenly stopped it all and simply said: “I like the orange ones”. That was it. I’d previously made a bigger decision on who to marry and now that decision overruled all my sleeping pad work, study, and even fears. We bought two orange sleeping pads.

I called my dad on the way home and excitedly told him I had a new sleeping pad. I then explained that compared to our old, not-sleep pads, our new ones were 4 times thicker (when inflated), significantly lighter, and fit easily in a quart jar. I’m not sure if he believed me or just didn’t remember sleeping pads as a problem. Oh yea, he had snored through most of my sleepless agony.