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Every Fool Should Have a Compass
Navigating through new country with nothing but a map and a compass to chart your way is a pretty unusual situation today. Usually there's a trail to follow, landmarks you can recognize for miles, and even sounds to guide you. A place that's so private you can't hear a car in the distance is pretty far from anywhere in today's world. If you're familiar with the landscape a compass isn't so essential. Urban cowboy or country cowgirl, if you live around there the map is usually in your head and you know which way to go.
It's very common for people new to the back country to think that a map and a compass aren't necessary. The trailhead often looks as well traveled as a sidewalk, just after you leave the car, and in the guidebook things look pretty straightforward. Finding north doesn't seem as important as going that way and then coming back.
Getting lost is sometimes as simple as walking into the woods to find a private place to pee. Some terrain is deceptively repetitive--the lowland forests of the Northwest are a good example. You'd think you could walk a few hundred yards from the road and turn around and walk back, but if you go far the terrain and the objects in it begin to repeat in an endless chain of tree, log, fern, some sort of mushroom, and tree. Before you know it, you're lost and you can follow that chain of objects in any direction. It happens even to people who know better, and in a place like the Cascade Mountains where travel is slow and you can't take a direct course to anywhere without running again and again into obstacles you can't cross, walking out to a place that has people can take days. Nearly every year people disappear in those mountains, sometimes never to be found, even as bones.
With a compass and a map handy, I'm never really lost. I may not be where I thought I would be, but I can figure out how to get there. Without a compass and map, in country I don't know, I'm probably stuck with the old system of uphill or downhill, and wherever I'm going I can expect to be late.
I'm not the sort of bushwhacker who tries to follow a beeline course, figuring declination adjustments and taking sighting points and being upset if I'm twenty feet off course at the end of the day. Every few years I consult my books and learn to do that again, but I don't apply the skill very often. Compasses and maps settle the simpler arguments I have with the rocks and the trees, when trail intersections want me to go this way and I find out it's wrong, three times in a row. Sometimes when you're tired and all you want to do is stumble into camp somewhere, you can be two feet from the right way to go and you still can't find it. A map and a compass will fix that.
Sometimes it can save an entire trip from turning into disaster. One Spring I just couldn't wait to hit the trail and go somewhere I'd never been before, and it turned out I was a little bit early--the snow pack was waist deep in the soft spots, the logging road to the trailhead still bordered by snowbanks and threatening to turn to mud. I went anyway, and a couple of other diehards were on the trail that day as well--nervous, but willing. When the fog set in, and we hit new snow without footprints and no way to see the ribbon markers or stacked stones that marked the route, the other intrepid souls turned around and followed their tracks home. I thought about it, but I decided to go the rest of the way on instruments.
A couple of hours later I knew I had to be close to that lake. The fog was so thick I could see about ten feet in any direction, and the snow was the same color as the air. It was eerily beautiful but the kind of situation that makes your stomach twist. Several times I stopped, checked the map, set up my compass, scratched my head and wondered where the lake was. One more try, I decided, and then I follow my tracks back to the car, because if I didn't know where I was I needed to get out of there.
I walked to where I knew the lake should be, estimating distance by my paces. No lake in sight, no water sounds, and the fog was even thicker. I leaned forward and peered at what I thought was the ground. A drop of water fell from the tip of a branch that stretched out over that spot, and made perfect expanding rings when it hit the clear, still surface of the lake I'd nearly fallen into. One more step and I'd have been neck deep in icy water with a forty five pound pack strapped to my back.
Compass and map are good friends. Learn to read them and don't argue.
Navigating through new country with nothing but a map and a compass to chart your way is a pretty unusual situation today. Usually there's a trail to follow, landmarks you can recognize for miles, and even sounds to guide you. A place that's so private you can't hear a car in the distance is pretty far from anywhere in today's world. If you're familiar with the landscape a compass isn't so essential. Urban cowboy or country cowgirl, if you live around there the map is usually in your head and you know which way to go.
It's very common for people new to the back country to think that a map and a compass aren't necessary. The trailhead often looks as well traveled as a sidewalk, just after you leave the car, and in the guidebook things look pretty straightforward. Finding north doesn't seem as important as going that way and then coming back.
Getting lost is sometimes as simple as walking into the woods to find a private place to pee. Some terrain is deceptively repetitive--the lowland forests of the Northwest are a good example. You'd think you could walk a few hundred yards from the road and turn around and walk back, but if you go far the terrain and the objects in it begin to repeat in an endless chain of tree, log, fern, some sort of mushroom, and tree. Before you know it, you're lost and you can follow that chain of objects in any direction. It happens even to people who know better, and in a place like the Cascade Mountains where travel is slow and you can't take a direct course to anywhere without running again and again into obstacles you can't cross, walking out to a place that has people can take days. Nearly every year people disappear in those mountains, sometimes never to be found, even as bones.
With a compass and a map handy, I'm never really lost. I may not be where I thought I would be, but I can figure out how to get there. Without a compass and map, in country I don't know, I'm probably stuck with the old system of uphill or downhill, and wherever I'm going I can expect to be late.
I'm not the sort of bushwhacker who tries to follow a beeline course, figuring declination adjustments and taking sighting points and being upset if I'm twenty feet off course at the end of the day. Every few years I consult my books and learn to do that again, but I don't apply the skill very often. Compasses and maps settle the simpler arguments I have with the rocks and the trees, when trail intersections want me to go this way and I find out it's wrong, three times in a row. Sometimes when you're tired and all you want to do is stumble into camp somewhere, you can be two feet from the right way to go and you still can't find it. A map and a compass will fix that.
Sometimes it can save an entire trip from turning into disaster. One Spring I just couldn't wait to hit the trail and go somewhere I'd never been before, and it turned out I was a little bit early--the snow pack was waist deep in the soft spots, the logging road to the trailhead still bordered by snowbanks and threatening to turn to mud. I went anyway, and a couple of other diehards were on the trail that day as well--nervous, but willing. When the fog set in, and we hit new snow without footprints and no way to see the ribbon markers or stacked stones that marked the route, the other intrepid souls turned around and followed their tracks home. I thought about it, but I decided to go the rest of the way on instruments.
A couple of hours later I knew I had to be close to that lake. The fog was so thick I could see about ten feet in any direction, and the snow was the same color as the air. It was eerily beautiful but the kind of situation that makes your stomach twist. Several times I stopped, checked the map, set up my compass, scratched my head and wondered where the lake was. One more try, I decided, and then I follow my tracks back to the car, because if I didn't know where I was I needed to get out of there.
I walked to where I knew the lake should be, estimating distance by my paces. No lake in sight, no water sounds, and the fog was even thicker. I leaned forward and peered at what I thought was the ground. A drop of water fell from the tip of a branch that stretched out over that spot, and made perfect expanding rings when it hit the clear, still surface of the lake I'd nearly fallen into. One more step and I'd have been neck deep in icy water with a forty five pound pack strapped to my back.
Compass and map are good friends. Learn to read them and don't argue.
Buying a Good Compass
The perfect compass does not have to be expensive or complicated. Unless you plan to travel hundreds of miles over uncharted terrain or open ocean, your compass requirements will probably be like mine--points north, isn't broken, and you have it with you. You can buy something like that for less than ten dollars--in fact, one of those little plastic bubble thermometers that looks like a fishing bobber is pretty durable and rides in a pocket without getting in the way. The Brunton Glowmate is a flatter version of this, with a keyring in the rim and a glow in the dark dial.
The perfect compass does not have to be expensive or complicated. Unless you plan to travel hundreds of miles over uncharted terrain or open ocean, your compass requirements will probably be like mine--points north, isn't broken, and you have it with you. You can buy something like that for less than ten dollars--in fact, one of those little plastic bubble thermometers that looks like a fishing bobber is pretty durable and rides in a pocket without getting in the way. The Brunton Glowmate is a flatter version of this, with a keyring in the rim and a glow in the dark dial.
If you want something finer, there are
hundreds of choices. The better ones
are not unbreakable--the needle
usually rides on a nearly frictionless
jewel bearing, which has a breaking
resistance just like a little piece of
glass. Fluid filled compasses, the old
standard now, sometimes leak and are
invaded by interfering bubbles.
Possibly nothing is perfect, but
compasses are so important that the
better offerings are nearly without
faults. Two good choices for those
who want precisely adjustable
declination settings, mirror sighting,
and multi-purpose mapping tools built
into the compass base, are the
Suunto MC-2G Global Compass
(accurate in both hemispheres); and
the Silva Ranger 515 CL. You save
some money with the Silva but
adjustments are a bit awkward.
A sound alternative to the mechanical compasses of yesteryear is the digital electronic compass, which takes voltage readings from two sensors with different orientations to the earth's magnetic field, and converts that information to a compass heading. In the 70's I worked for a company which provided state of the art electronics systems for commercial fishermen, and one of the devices we made was a digital compass about the size of an old clock radio. We joked amongst ourselves that the warranty should include a prayer for the souls who thought it would work. Digital compasses are much better now, and so small you can pack one in a wristwatch, with room for both compass and timepiece.
Today you can get a dependable watch and digital compass combination that will run without problems for three years on one tiny battery, is shock resistant, has a glow in the dark screen, and is water resistant to 600' for less than
A sound alternative to the mechanical compasses of yesteryear is the digital electronic compass, which takes voltage readings from two sensors with different orientations to the earth's magnetic field, and converts that information to a compass heading. In the 70's I worked for a company which provided state of the art electronics systems for commercial fishermen, and one of the devices we made was a digital compass about the size of an old clock radio. We joked amongst ourselves that the warranty should include a prayer for the souls who thought it would work. Digital compasses are much better now, and so small you can pack one in a wristwatch, with room for both compass and timepiece.
Today you can get a dependable watch and digital compass combination that will run without problems for three years on one tiny battery, is shock resistant, has a glow in the dark screen, and is water resistant to 600' for less than
fifty dollars. That's one of the best options for an ultralight
backpacker. Specifically I'm speaking of the Casio
SGW100B-3V Sport Watch. A bargain choice would be the
Northstar CW1, with many similar features but less water
resistance (water resistant to 30'); watches with similar
ratings that I have field tested are sometimes fine until they
face the current in just the wrong orientation. For a moment
the pressure exceeds what you'd feel when thirty feet
under, and they leak. Six hundred beats thirty by a long
ways.
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Copyright: All original material on this site is the sole property of the author and cannot legally be copied or used in any form without his permission. That would be me.
Data Collection of Non-Personally Identifying Information:
We use third-party advertising companies to serve ads when you visit our website. These companies may use information (not including your name, address, email address, or telephone number) about your visits to this and other websites in order to provide advertisements about goods and services of interest to you. If you would like more information about this practice and to know your choices about not having this information used by these companies, click here.