It’s that special time of the year when many of us look to the road ahead with a glint of possibility in the eyes and wonder, “What kind of stuff could I us right now…?” Texts from loved ones asking for holiday gift ideas are left unanswered as you try to come up with some interesting suggestions. (“I *guess* I could use an electric pepper grinder.”) Or maybe you’re struggling to seize upon the proper gift idea for a special someone. Perhaps it’s someone who enjoys getting flecked with mud and savoring unlikely beauty in unlikely places. So it’s time to kick off an end-of-the year tradition: the Mind The Moss Gear Expo. But this year, the expo begins while also ending.
This is the third Mind The Moss gear roundup, which is timed for the winter holidays each year. And my approach to writing about outdoor gear has always been to err on the side of restraint and/or thrift: the idea that you don’t need to buy a technical jacket every two years, and that some of your hiking effects can be sourced from hardware stores, supermarkets, or even a Goodwill. For well under $100. Which means that at a certain point, I am going to run out of no-nonsense hiking essentials to recommend!
That’s why this year’s Mind The Moss gear expo will be the final gear expo I publish. It’s the completion of a trilogy that will hopefully leave you with an arsenal of hiking tools beyond the obvious boots and backpack. Occasionally I might sneak a gear tip into the footer of a newsletter if something really cool and practical falls into my lap, like a new bear spray formula that doubles as seasoning for whatever you might be cooking on a camp stove later that night. But altogether, this third gear expo marks the end of a chapter in the early evolution of the newsletter—a chapter I’ve enjoyed putting together and one that many of you have apparently found useful. (You can revisit the 2021 gear roundup by clicking here and the 2022 edition by clicking here.)
With that, let’s get down to business and unveil the 2023 Mind The Moss Gear Expo.
White Mountain Insect Repellent ($7): I don’t know how it took me 2.5 years to recommend this elixir of welt-free life. It could be due to the fact that I’ve carried a bottle of White Mountain Insect Repellent in my hiking day pack since 2013, and it’s become so ubiquitous to my hiking lifestyle that I took it for granted that most hikers know about this stuff. But it’s a Mom and Pop brand, made in Merrimack, NH, and I stumbled across it at a Reny’s in northern Maine while looking for a cheap tarp that I could use with my tent. I gave it a shot, being short on spray and not keen on spritzing myself with products containing lots of DEET (which can cause rashes and blisters.) The White Mountain repellent is a blend of essential oils, with the most noticeable being citronella. I was surprised by how effectively it keeps black flies, mosquitoes, and the abominable deer flies at bay. You rub a few dabs on your arms, legs, neck, and behind the ears, and you’re good to go. And my first bottle lasted me six months!
Compact crunchy, salty snacks ($2-5): I find traditional hiking snacks to be a series of heartbreaks. As nourishing as a handful of nuts, M&Ms, or beef jerky may be, there are genres of snack food that are generally excluded from hiking. And one of these is the crunchy and salty snack. Salt is actually something you’ll want to replenish on a longer hike, as salt is an essential ingredient for muscle contraction, and if you’re sweating prodigiously, you will lose some of the salt within your system. But most crunchy and salty snacks like potato chips, crackers, and popcorn don’t translate as well to hikes because they tend to get pulverized inside a backpack. What you want is a crunchy, salted snack that offers less volume and more density per crunchy. And on that note, I have two recommendations. First there’s Pipcorn, which is pretty much miniature popcorn, sold in all the flavors of the wind. Then there’s Trader Joe’s Giant Peruvian Inca Corn, which is exactly what it sounds like: jumbo-sized Andean white corn kernels, transformed into a sodium-rich classic. You might want to keep these in the bottom of your pack. I once finished an entire bag before reaching the trailhead.
Injinji toe socks ($12-19): When I started taking long urban hikes of more than 15 miles, I discovered that I’m vulnerable to getting toe blisters. This is caused by the friction from the sides of my toes rubbing together for too long and as I later learned, it’s a common problem for thru-hikers covering longer distances each day. Thankfully, there’s a simple and stylish remedy. Toe socks! A sock that includes gloving for each toe creates a buffer zone between the toes, allowing you to hike much farther before worrying about hot spots. While a lot of brands offer these socks, Injinji is the crowd-favorite, with thinner crew socks that can be worn within an exterior sock, or thicker hiking socks that act just fine on their own. These socks got me through epic hikes in New York, Seattle, and other cities. Plus, they seem to provide endless amusement to anyone lucky enough to get a look at them, whenever you remove your hiking shoes.
JOTO Waterproof Cellphone Pouch ($18): The fact that it’s now normal for people to carry an $800 cellphone is something I’ve never been able to get used to. And that’s before you consider the liabilities of bringing such an expensive device on a hike, where it’s exposed to elements like rain and snow. I can’t think of a more demoralizing buzzkill than hauling yourself onto the summit of Mount Bigelow amid misting rain, fishing through your jacket pockets for your phone so you can take a gallows selfie, and finding that the device won’t turn on due to water damage. Do yourself a favor and invest a few bucks into an extra layer of protection for your phone. I’ve been using the JOTO waterproof phone pouch since 2018, when I spent months in the New England backcountry documenting hikes for my first guidebook. I’m still using that same pouch today. That’s more than I can say about my last two iPhones, but it wasn’t permeation that took them out: it was planned obsolescence. The pouch did its job!
NEMO Chipper Foam Seat Pad ($20): You would think that protecting your butt from moisture, biting insects, and sharp rocks when sitting down mid-hike would be of paramount importance. But bringing some sort of lightweight seating cushion into the backcountry never crossed my mind until I saw one of these packable foam seating pads at a sale. It folds up nice and thin, it comes in a speckling of colors that almost reminds me of dyed fairground popcorn, and it’s called the “NEMO Chipper,” which is really fun to say. “We shall lunch here,” you announce. “Bring me my NEMO Chipper!”
BUFF DryFlx Beanie ($27): If you’ve spent any time in an outdoor gear retail space, you’ve either seen people wearing BUFFs or joined the movement yourself. But as much as I like the idea of a single stretchy tube of colorful fabric that you can use as a piece of neckwear or headwear, let’s be honest. Twisting and tying your BUFF into a protective hat was always trickier than it should have been. Which is why I was very happy when BUFF decided to just start producing hats outright. Their DryFlx Beanie is made of the same richly-hued, feather-light, and silky-soft material that you’d expect. (It’s derived from recycled plastics and airbags!) But the water-wicking property of the beanie, combined with its insulation, makes it a great addition to your pack for hikes in fall, spring, and on mild winter days. I’ve also worn mine in Boston at formal events.
Coalatree Trailhead Pants ($99): And finally, we arrive at the splurge suggestion. I guess Coalatree must have been happy that I got a lot of mileage out of their picnicky “adventure blanket,” and that I wrote about it last year. Because this fall, they sent me a pair of their Trailhead Pants to try. Occasionally I get to test “samples” of gear from backcountry brands, and if I really dig the gear and find it to be practical, I’ll include it in the expo newsletter. (I receive no commission or affiliate perk for doing this.) I’m a somewhat recent and reluctant convert from hiking in shorts year-round to putting on long hiking pants during periods of chilly weather or broiling sun. The Trailhead Pants, which are made of ripstop nylon, would have made this transition easier had I owned a pair earlier. They’re very breathable while also offering decent protection from wind, rain, and mud. They’re also antimicrobial, and this means that you don’t have to wash them often. When I reported last week’s story, about hiking to America’s oldest war memorial in the Rhode Island woods, I wore these pants for the hike and then I kept them on as I drove into Providence that afternoon to get some shawarma from East Side Pockets and putz around the student neighborhood. Aesthetic versatility is key.
And there you have it! The third and final installment of the Mind The Moss gear expo. May these suggestions offer comfort, security, and noticeable flair on your next hike.
It’s the pre-awards season for movies, when studios release their most impressive works. So for the next few weeks, you can expect to see more recommendations for films that have a loose or close connection to the outdoors. This week, I am ecstatic to report that there is a new Godzilla movie in theaters—Takashi Yamazaki’s Godzilla Minus One—and it is far and away the greatest Godzilla film since the 1954 original. Godzilla is weird because he started out as a metaphor for the devastation of nuclear terror, and then he became more of a cartoon character: defending Japan from bigger and badder monsters. More recently, American studios got their grubby mitts on the big lizard and tried to use him as a launchpad for a Marvel Cinematic Universe style “monsterverse” that eventually revived King Kong as well. Fun, yes, but also dumb and disposable. Godzilla Minus One brings the fire-breathing monster back to his roots, anchoring the story in postwar Japan, when the country was effectively at “zero” with pulverized cities, no economy or military, and a hollow shell of a government. Then Godzilla makes landfall, stirred by atomic bomb testing in the Pacific. This puts the nation at “minus one.” The task of saving Japan falls on ordinary civilians working together, and it’s their ground-level perspective from which the entire movie is told.
Yamazaki and his crew pull off two hugely impressive feats. They manage to make Godzilla scary again (the visual effects are astounding in their tactile depth) but the film’s human story is actually its most compelling part. At heart, Godzilla Minus One is about ordinary people struggling with the trauma of war and discovering the power of collective self-determination, in a fight for the future. As my friend and former college newspaper colleague Nicholas Slayton put it in his terrific review of the film, this is a monster movie about mutual aid. And that’s why I got choked up during the final act.
Yes. Godzilla Minus One is a rare Godzilla movie that makes you cry. I rest my case.