Multi-Day Packs

Beginner's Guide to Backpacking

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Multi-Day Packs
Day packs have neither the capacity to accommodate the gear you'll need for an overnight trip, nor a suspension system adequate to carry the weight with reasonable comfort. As you begin shopping for a multi-day pack, you face the pack world's metaphorical Continental Divide, with external-frame packs on one side, internal-frame packs on the other.

My first multi-day pack was an external-frame Kelty with an olive-drab pack bag, purchased in the early 1970s when I was a young teen. It possessed all the virtues that external frames still have today and served me well on my first backpacking trips into the Sierras with my father. The frame itself was built of stout aluminum tubing in the form of an abbreviated ladder about three feet high. The two vertical members on the sides were curved to fit the curve of my spine. Four horizontal cross members provided rigidity and strength. The pack bag had one top-loading main compartment closed with a simple fabric flap and several zippered side pockets. Broad mesh bands across the back of the pack forced the pack bag to ride slightly away from my back, permitting a cooling breeze to dry my sweat. The rigid frame effectively transferred most of the weight to the padded hip belt, where it belonged – your hips can carry more weight, much longer, than your shoulders. The shoulder straps served primarily to prevent the pack from toppling over backwards. The forward curve of the frame as it rose above my shoulders allowed me to lash heavy items high, with the weight centered almost directly over my hips, so I could walk with a comfortable, nearly upright stance.

The same rigid frame that made carrying my Kelty so comfortable on smooth trails, however, proved to be a liability when my father and I left the trail and scrambled up a long, talus-choked couloir to the summit of Mt. Agassiz, a 13,891-foot peak that provided a stunning view of the surreal turquoise blue lakes at the base of the Palisades. With the rigid frame strapped on tightly with the hip belt and shoulder straps, I felt like I was wearing a body cast that prevented the natural bending and twisting required to keep my balance on the uneven, boulder-strewn slope. Carrying the weight high compounded the problem because it raised my center of gravity and made me top-heavy. The efficient way to travel on talus is to move rhythmically from rock to rock in a flowing, dynamic balance. That goal was thwarted, however, by the pack's rigidity and high center of gravity. Similar experiences in the late 1960s led Greg Lowe to create the first parallel-stave internal-frame packs. His pioneering design is now the basis of most of the internal-frame packs manufactured today.

Lowe's goal was the first winter ascent of the north face of the Grand Teton. For that, he needed a large-capacity pack with a suspension comfortable enough to handle significant weight that would also allow him to climb effectively. His solution was a pack with two internal aluminum staves set vertically and parallel to each other in the back of the pack bag. With no horizontal cross-members to stiffen the frame, the pack could flex enough to permit a long reach for a good hold or a graceful jump turn while skiing steep snow. The staves were bent to fit the natural curve of the back, so the weight rode very close to the body, reducing the top-heavy feeling of carrying an external frame and preventing the pack bag from swaying to and fro and throwing the climber or skier off-balance. Other pack makers jumped on the bandwagon and soon internal-frame packs were the standard for mountaineers, backcountry skiers and an increasing number of backpackers as well. I bought my first internal-frame pack in 1978, shortly before my first expedition to Alaska, and I've been using them almost exclusively ever since.

Not all internal-frame packs have two parallel aluminum stays like Lowe’s original design. Some slant the two stays inward like a V or even crossed like an X. Others use a single stay, reinforced with a polyethylene frame sheet, sometimes reinforced still further with flexible plastic or carbon-fiber stays running vertically along the edges of the frame sheet. No one design has emerged as demonstrably superior; instead, comfort seems to depend on the care with which each basic design is implemented.

Internal-frames do have disadvantages. The back of your shirt is guaranteed to be soaked with sweat after an hour or two of walking because no cooling breeze can force itself into the paper-thin gap between your pack and your back. The load typically rides lower than in an external frame, which is good for balance but more tiring because it enforces a vaguely simian forward-leaning posture. Internal frames are also less forgiving of packing errors such as stowing the heaviest items at the bottom, and it’s harder to lash on a big, awkwardly shaped load, like a hefty tripod, that won’t fit inside the pack bag. (I'll discuss pack packing in more detail later.) Internal-frames are usually more expensive as well.

If you plan to stick mostly to summer trails and want to save money, consider an external-frame pack. If winter snowshoe or ski trips or lots of off-trail scrambling are in your plans, then an internal frame is a better bet. External-frames are usually targeted at budget-oriented consumers, which means manufacturers generally haven’t put as much design effort into the comfort of the harness as the best internal-frame manufacturers. For that reason, I prefer a top-quality internal-frame when I’m carrying a massive load.

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