The Tarptent Notch backpacking tent — First Impressions

Recently I blogged about how my old Laser Competition was showing signs of wear and tear, and that for my planned hike of the Cape Wrath Trail I would need to find a new shelter. My requirements for a new shelter were as follows:

1. Lightweight — specifically, under 800g;
2. Big enough for one person plus gear, but no larger than necessary;
3. Two-wall, with a decent inner and bathtub floor (therefore midge-proof and capable of being pitched on swampy ground);
4. Tougher and more capable of riding out storms than the Laser Competition;
5. Supported by trekking poles;
6. Simple to put up and take down;
7. Not costing a fortune!

Simple, right? It turns out that it's fairly easy to find tents that fulfil five or six of these requirements, but not all of them. I narrowed it down to the Tarptent Notch and the Six Moon Designs Skyscape Trekker. The Skyscape Trekker looked like a great option, relatively inexpensive and available in the UK. However, when I did a bit of research I found that people have been having trouble with the zips and the reinforced area at the pole apexes. Additionally, it isn't a true twin-wall shelter; condensation has been reported as a problem by some users.

The Notch, on the other hand, costs a bit more and has to be imported from California. However, every single review I've seen has been extremely positive, and Tarptent has a reputation for quality. It's actually a cottage business, like many manufacturers of ultralight gear, and the designer (Henry Shires) takes feedback from his customers very seriously. In fact, I've heard that improvements were made to the Notch thanks directly to a forum thread on Backpacking Light. This is a shelter specifically designed for thru-hiking.

So I decided to fork out the extra cash and get the Notch. It arrived today and I eagerly pitched the tent. The question is, was it worth the investment?

Unpacking and pitching the shelter

The Notch came in a stuffsack with four aluminium nail tent pegs (reassuringly sturdy, unlike the Laser Comp's titanium pins), an instruction sheet, and a seam-sealing kit. The instructions were basic but sufficient, and provided a link to an online video showing you how to seal the flysheet.

The Tarptent Notch weighs 770g, which is a weight saving of about 200g over the Laser Competition — pretty phenomenal when you consider that this is a twin-wall shelter, not a tarp. The packed size is also very compact.

I pitched the tent in the garden. Pitching was extremely easy. First you peg out each end, which has an interesting tripod arrangement of short guylines radiating from the corners of a venting panel, reinforced by carbon fibre poles. Next you insert your trekking poles extended to the correct height (105-115cm), then peg out the sides. After adjusting the toggles and spacing the poles correctly, you're set.

The end panel. Ignore the dodgy pegging!

My initial pitch. Note that the tent does not come with extra guylines —
what you see here is what you get.

It was very easy to get a taut pitch, unlike the Laser Comp, which always required several adjustments after pitching. And I found myself impressed by the attention to detail that has gone into the design of this tent. There are clips at the end of the vestibule zips to take the strain, avoiding damage to the zips in high winds or heavy snow. It's possible to adjust most of the pegging-out points without leaving the shelter. There are several intelligent venting options to reduce condensation, and I opted for the 50% solid inner tent (instead of 100% bugnet) which will improve its suitability for winter conditions. Thanks to the use of trekking poles set to 105-115cm in length, you get a good amount of headroom too. It's surprisingly spacious inside.

Best of all? You get two vestibules, one on each side, and each vestibule has its own door! What luxury!

A decent amount of space inside. Note the PU-treated walls, to stop cold winds
and drips of condensation. The standard version has a 100% bugnet inner
tent, which is more suitable for hot/dry climates.

The point where the flysheet is supported by the pole is heavily reinforced.
No worries about the point going through the fly here. Note also the plastic
clip — it's trivial to detach the inner altogether and just use the flysheet. This
turns it into something more like a shaped tarp.

One of the vestibules. I suspect I'll use one for storage and the other for entry
and exit.

Both vestibules and doors open. An option for hot and dry nights?

Basic modifications to the Tarptent Notch

In its factory configuration, the Notch is a sturdy tent capable of withstanding three-season conditions. However, even before my tent arrived, I had some basic modifications in mind. Scotland, after all, often throws some pretty diabolical weather at the wild camper.

The manufacturer makes it very easy to add guylines to the Notch. There are two clips, one at each pole apex. I cut lengths of 3mm cord and fitted guylines. It took about two minutes.

Custom guylines

I don't think that lateral guylines should be considered essential, but they do stabilise the entire structure and I'm confident they will add crucial support in the event of high winds — particularly if the wind changes direction overnight and hits you broadside-on. Conditions like this often resulted in an uncomfortable night when camping in the Laser Competition. Most importantly, it takes some of the strain away from the lightweight Silnylon flysheet.

I also added short extra guylines fore and aft:

Extra dorsal guyline

I have no idea if these will make any difference in high winds or not; they didn't actually seem to improve stability, as the tripod structure is already pretty solid. However, two pegging points are better than one in high winds, and the weight penalty is tiny.

I also had to seam seal the tent, as the seams do not come sealed out of the factory. This is a fifteen-minute job and easily accomplished. For an instructional video, click here and scroll to the bottom.

Final thoughts

To say I'm impressed by the Tarptent Notch is an understatement. I haven't used it in anger yet, but I've used backpacking tents for long enough to know a good one when I see it. This is the lightest tent I've ever owned, probably the strongest in high winds, and has many intelligent and thoughtful qualities to its design. It wasn't cheap, and I would have preferred to support a British manufacturer, but when it comes down to it the Notch was the only shelter that fulfilled all of my requirements. I think I'll get on well with it.

As always, I'll return with a full report when I've tested the Notch in the field.

Preparations for the Cape Wrath Trail

The time has come to talk a little about my plans for this summer. It's been ten years since my first long-distance walk in the mountains — a hundred and sixty miles through the Lake District in May 2005 — so I thought it was only appropriate to do something special this year.

The idea came to me back in February, when I was contemplating the snowy Cairngorms and considering a change in direction for my outdoor activities. My interest in Munros was on the wane and my interest in backpacking experiencing a renaissance. Reading the excellent Rattlesnakes and Bald Eagles by Chris Townsend helped to re-ignite that interest in long-distance hiking, and since then I have enjoyed books by Keith Foskett (who is right now walking his first miles along the epic Continental Divide Trail in the USA).

I don't have six months I can devote to thru-hiking one of the world's longest routes, but now that I'm self-employed I can certainly arrange a month off work to take on something shorter. I wanted to tackle a walk of decent length, considerable challenge, and passing through truly wild country. In the UK there can only be one candidate.

The Cape Wrath Trail

The Cape Wrath Trail is not an official long-distance route. It came to prominence in the mid-1990s due to various publications, but there is no one recognised path, and it certainly isn't waymarked like, for example, the Pennine Way. The general idea is to make your way from Fort William to Cape Wrath at the farthest NW corner of the UK. Most CWT thru-hikes are approximately two hundred miles in length.

This screenshot is from the CWT page at Walkhighlands and shows two of the most common variants at the start: the Great Glen variant, and the Glenfinnan variant.

I knew at once that the Glenfinnan variant was for me. Not only is it the wilder route, it's also the most interesting and gives you the chance to trek through the wilds of Knoydart. I have been to Glenfinnan once before but never set foot in Knoydart. The opportunity is too good to miss.

On my last visit to Glenfinnan, in April 2011

I have selected the Iain Harper route as the basis for my CWT attempt. I've consulted his guide, which offers a number of options along the way, including bad-weather alternatives. The route is continuously superb and takes the hiker to some wonderful locations including Knoydart, Glen Shiel, Torridon, the Great Wilderness of Fisherfield, Assynt, and Sandwood Bay.

I have selected June the 3rd, my twenty-ninth birthday, as the date to begin my thru-hike of the CWT.

Beinn Fhada, from near Morvich

Preparations: fitness

Fitness is one of the most important aspects of a long-distance walk. I live in the lowlands and have a job that keeps me at a desk for several hours a day, which means that maintaining the right level of fitness can sometimes be a challenge. I don't get the chance to visit the hills more than a few times a year.

My strategy is reasonably simple, and based on one fact: I enjoy road biking. I don't take it 'seriously' (I don't own any lycra and my bike is about as old as I am), but the Lincolnshire Wolds are great for long days out on the bike. There are enough ups and downs to get the blood pumping.

I sometimes end up working weekends, but I'm aiming to get a twenty-mile route done at least once every couple of weeks. More importantly, I get out on the bike every morning before work. My circuit is only a couple of miles long, and it only takes me fifteen minutes, but it includes a decent gradient and I have already noticed a significant improvement in my fitness since I started this routine.

Of course, cycling alone isn't enough. The only real training for carrying a big pack over long distances is, you've guessed it, carrying a big pack over long distances. I plan to get out walking as often as I can between now and June, and will hopefully have time for another short backpacking trip next month.

The Forcan Ridge of the Saddle

Preparations: gear

When I started planning this trip I thought I'd be able to make do with the gear I had. Most of it was five to ten years old, but still serviceable. However, as I planned I realised I would have to make some changes to my kit. Why? It's simple: my pack was just too heavy, and some items were starting to wear out.

The first thing to be changed was my footwear. For the last three years I've been wearing a fairly clumpy pair of Scarpa B1 mountaineering boots for more or less everything, although I've dabbled in trail shoes for much longer. I decided immediately that this will be the year I switch entirely to trail shoes for everything except winter and full-on mountaineering. I've already blogged about this decision and I've started to reap the benefits.

The Inov-8 Roclite 295 shoes

A critical look at my backpacking load resulted in a number of unnecessary items being removed from the list, including my bivvy bag and various items of clothing. Next I re-appraised my cooking system.

Finally, two of the 'big three': my pack and my tent.

Pack

My old rucksack is a Haglöfs Matrix 60, purchased in 2010. The pack has served me well — it's incredibly tough and holds a ton of gear. I've carried 18kg in it on winter backpacking trips. However, a few niggles prevented me from really loving this pack. First, the main clips holding down the floating lid required modification with a penknife on day one (there were random rubber flaps that got in the way). Second, the shoulder straps tend to slip after about ten miles. Third, the hip belt was never really a perfect fit for me, and is not removable on this model. Fourth, it's a mountaineering / climbing pack so not ideal for thru-hiking, with few external storage options.

I decided to replace it with a ÜLA Circuit 68. ÜLA packs are made in Utah and are specifically designed for long-distance hiking. This model only weighs about 1kg, and I was able to order one tailor-made to my requirements. It's lightweight, incredibly comfortable, and has a number of features I really like such as the roll-top closure and the massive mesh pocket on the back. The total volume is 68 litres including all the external pockets, but the main compartment is only about 45 litres so the pack is far more compact than my Matrix — but still big enough for the Cape Wrath Trail.

Tent

What about my tent? Since 2010 I have used a Terra Nova Laser Competition, and it's a fantastic shelter — again, with a few reservations.

The Laser Comp on its first real test: a week backpacking in Jotunheimen,
Norway

I first used the Laser Comp while backpacking through Jotunheimen in Norway. I was battered by some extreme weather on that trip, and although I liked the small pack size and roomy interior of this tent, it was frankly terrifying to sit out a storm in it. You can see in the picture above how I was forced to use my ice axe to reinforce one of the guylines. The supplied Titanium pegs were useless in anything but optimal ground, and I ended up replacing them with slightly heavier aluminium tri-beam pegs. Also, the structure just isn't that stable in high winds and some big gusts flattened the tent so much that the pole warped and the canvas was blown flat against my body. During one particularly bad gale I had to hold the structure upright with my own body to prevent the tent from being blown into Sweden.

The tent survived some fierce winds on that trip, and after replacing the pegs my opinion of it improved somewhat. Since then I've probably spent about thirty or forty nights in it, including a few more gales. The other major drawback of the Laser Comp is that ventilation never seems to be sufficient and it suffers badly from condensation.

Heavy interior icing while camping near Ben Alder, February 2012

I was prepared to live with these drawbacks for the CWT, but yesterday I read this worrying article by Terry Abraham about how lightweight tents often accumulate unseen damage caused by repeated stress. He had a Laser Comp at the time of writing, and noted a number of points of wear and tear. Worried, I did a proper inspection of my tent.

To my horror I saw a number of issues I had never noticed before. The main pole was bent — not that big a deal, but more concerning was severe wear and tear in several places on the flysheet.

Wear visible near one of the guyline attachment points

Ordinarily I'd be happy to slap on some duct tape and carry on, but these are critical points where the flysheet rubs against the top of a carbon-fibre pole and is attached to the bow and stern guylines. I have heard of catastrophic failure at these points for this model of tent, where the short poles split through the fly and the entire structure collapses. There is also wear to the stitching on several other attachment points, not to mention what appear to be friction burns in places where the fly rubs against the pole sleeve.

Full repairs would be costly, and I wouldn't trust any home-made bodges, so I made the decision to ditch the Laser Comp for this trip and find something else. Preferably something lighter with better wind resistance.

I settled on the Tarptent Notch. This is another American product — they do lightweight gear better than we do — and I think it'll be perfect for my needs. It is supported by trekking poles (why carry dedicated tent poles when you're carrying trekking poles anyway?), weighs less than 800g, and is far more stormproof than the Laser Comp. Unlike many shelters designed for American thru-hiking, this one has a full inner tent with bathtub floors — features I'm not yet ready to give up, despite the recent popularity in using tarps in Scotland.

I have yet to receive the Notch, but I'll be sure to test it out before I start my CWT journey.

View of Skye from the summit of the Saddle, Glen Shiel

Preparations: logistics

Opportunities for re-supply are scarce in the NW Highlands, and I'll most likely be limited to Shiel Bridge, Kinlochewe, Ullapool, and Kinlochbervie. Consequently I'll have to carry up to a week's worth of supplies with me at any given time.

Some CWT hikers organise supply boxes to be sent to post offices along the route, but I'm not sure I can be bothered with the hassle. Most of these remote post offices only have limited opening hours, and if I arrive at the designated location (say) five hours early, I'll have to hang around for five hours, or possibly make camp at an inconvenient location. I'd far rather carry enough supplies and re-equip where I can.

You can't send stove fuel through the post, anyway, so that's something I'll have to source in the field. By my calculations, my new efficient alcohol burner setup should enable me to eke 330ml of fuel out for at least eleven days, so it's hardly a major concern.

I'm going to allow twenty-six days for the route, but may complete it in twenty — it depends on a variety of factors, mainly the weather, final adjustments to the route, and how my feet hold up to the rigours of the trail.

Final thoughts

I'm really looking forward to this trip. I haven't felt this excited about going into the mountains for years — the last expedition that really inspired me this much was probably Norway 2010. The idea of living in the wild for a month, slowly making my way north until there is no more north to travel, is a compelling one. In many ways I've been building up to something like this for years now, and although there is of course no guarantee that I'll actually complete the route, I think that's part of the allure. For its length it is one of Britain's toughest hikes, and after more than a decade of mountaineering experience in Britain and Europe, I know that I'm ready for it.

I won't be blogging on here during my journey, but I'll be posting to Twitter when I can.

Maybe see you on the trail?

Lightweight stoves for backpacking — the alcohol option

Like many a backpacker, I started my outdoor apprenticeship with a classic stove: the Trangia. These stoves run on methylated spirits (denatured alcohol) and include several nesting pots with an integrated pot stand and windshield system. The Trangia system is very reliable and safe when used correctly, but it has one major disadvantage: it's really heavy! It's also slow to boil a pan of water, although I'd argue that isn't really a disadvantage.

In 2004 I switched to a Mini Trangia, which includes the traditional brass burner with a minimal aluminium pot stand and 600ml pot. The weight problem was reduced, but I was seduced by the marketing of more modern, trendier gas burners. I bought an MSR Pocket Rocket in October 2005.

Ten years with a gas stove

The Pocket Rocket is one of the most popular canister stoves in the world, and it's a great option for backpacking. It has given me almost ten years of flawless service. It weighs only 85g, and consists of a valve, nozzle, and integrated pan supports. For cooking a basic meal in a small pan, it works pretty well and the power can be controlled accurately, ranging from a tiny flame to a rocket exhaust (it sounds a bit like a rocket taking off, too!)

Where canister stoves shine is in sheer convenience. You screw the canister in, open the valve, and strike your match. Flame control is superb, and you can bring a pan of water to the boil very quickly. The canister can be used many times until it's depleted. In short, the system works.

However, no stove system is without disadvantages, and over the years I've gradually come to realise the drawbacks of canister stoves.

1. The canisters themselves are inefficient and wasteful. A proportion of the weight you're carrying is the pressurised can, and when it's depleted there is no way of re-filling it. You have to carry that weight back out with you, and when you return to civilisation it will end up in landfill.

2. On a long trip, it can be difficult to judge how much fuel you'll need because there is no way of accurately determining how much fuel you've used, or how much is left in a can. With experience you can guess this to an extent, but it's very hit and miss. Inevitably you will end up carrying more fuel with you than you actually need — and you can't carry less than 100g (the smallest available cartridge), even for an overnight trip.

3. When you near the end of a can, pressure drops and you'll only be able to simmer. After a couple of years you'll end up with a box full of nearly-but-not-quite-empty gas cans in your garage.

4. As a result of the above points, canister stoves are bad for the environment. Don't forget that you're also burning a fossil fuel.

5. Canister stoves are not very stable. If using one in your tent vestibule (which you shouldn't really do, but I've done it hundreds of times) there is always the risk of knocking the whole setup over — at which point liquid fuel sprays from the nozzle and ignites at high velocity! This has happened to me once before, but fortunately I was able to put out the blaze before it spread to the tent fabric. Remote-canister stoves are available, but there is usually a weight penalty.

6. Canister gas is expensive. A 250g can might set you back £6 nowadays.

7. Gas canisters can explode or malfunction. It's rare, and it has never happened to me before, but it remains a (small) risk.

Back to an alcohol burner?

I'm in the process of planning a hike of the Cape Wrath Trail, and I'm evaluating every item of my gear to assess its suitability. At first I took my gas stove setup for granted, but after some thought I realised it may not be the best option this time.

There are only a few resupply points on the Cape Wrath Trail, which means I'll have to carry supplies for up to five or six days at once. With my gas stove, I'd probably take a 250g can along with me and aim to replace it when it runs out, but the difficulty in judging how much fuel remains bothers me — what happens if I run out of gas two days from the next shop? And what if that shop doesn't even sell gas canisters anymore? Alcohol fuel is available more or less anywhere, but it's rare that you can pick up gas cartridges from (say) a petrol station. It's just easier to find fuel for an alcohol stove.

I like the fact that, with an alcohol burner, you can measure how much fuel you will need accurately, and only carry the fuel necessary for your purposes. Boiling times will decrease, but that doesn't bother me on the trail. And I think I've put together a stove that's a fair bit lighter than my old Pocket Rocket setup.

My new setup

My 'new' setup is actually based on my old Trangia Mini. It uses the same excellent aluminium pan, which is just the right size and very lightweight. It even uses my old windshield (bodged from an old MSR petrol stove windshield). The pot stand and pot gripper are also the same.

Where it differs is the burner. The old Trangia burner weighed over 100g and was never particularly efficient, but I've replaced it with a Trail Designs 12-10 burner weighing only 16g. It's a similar idea to the Trangia burner — you measure out some fuel, which sits in the central reservoir and burns until it's used up — but far simpler and made from recycled aluminium cans. It's also much more efficient than my old Trangia burner, and can keep water boiling for longer on the same amount of fuel.

Many backpackers swear by the full Caldera Cone setup, which matches the 12-10 burner to a special conical windshield specifically designed to fit their pot. However, my existing windshield and pot stand rig is already pretty good, so I decided only to replace the burner.

So how does it perform? I've loaded up the 12-10 burner and done a test run in breezy conditions. It boiled 500ml of very cold water in eight minutes, continuing to burn for another three minutes until the fuel ran out. This boiling time is nowhere near as fast as the Pocket Rocket, but the 12-10 burner accomplishes this feat on 30ml of fuel — that's the equivalent volume of an empty 35mm film pot. Not bad, I think. And the addition of a pot cosy should allow me to save 5-10ml of this fuel for a future meal.

The pot cosy

After reading this excellent piece on Keith Foskett's blog, I decided to make a pot cosy to go with my pot. I've never used one before, but it promises to boost fuel efficiency yet further by allowing you to extinguish your stove as soon as the water boils. You then transfer the pot + food to this insulated jacket, tailor-made to your pot, where it continues to simmer in its own heat for up to half an hour.

In my (completely non-scientific) test, freshly boiled water was still piping hot after twenty minutes in the pot cosy. An uninsulated pot with the same amount of boiling water was tepid at best after the same interval. In short, I'm convinced — but I have yet to try it out in the field.

My pot cosy weighs only 50g so I'm sure it will pay for itself in terms of fuel weight saved.

The weight of the whole setup, minus fuel, is only 200g. That's actually nearly 100g lighter than my Pocket Rocket setup, including windshield — and while alcohol stoves are not as efficient as gas in the long term, I'm confident that the advantages stated above will make this the right choice for my summer backpacking adventures this year.

Do you use an alcohol stove in the hills? What's your setup of choice?