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Appendix: Winter Gear | (continued) But again, a full-size sleeping bag can provide a level of comfort no fitted garment can approach, simply because of the freedom of movement it allows. And as I say, a square-cut beats a mummy bag hands down in this respect, all other things being equal. If the foot of the square-cut has to be fluffier (warmer) to make up for its surface area, I can easily handle that, thank you very much; luxury in the field is always welcome, provided I can afford it and transport it. Returning once more to the question of what to wear in a sleeping bag (I admit I’m going on a bit here), I would like to quote verbatim a classic piece of dogma from a long-forgotten work of advice on the subject of winter wear in the bush: “Experts are unanimous in agreement that only natural wool should be worn.” (Italics mine.) Granted this was written decades ago, still, it is the kind of traditionalistic half-knowledge that in many quarters still passes for wise woodlore. It happens that I have worn just about every material commonly made for winter wear, and I’ve found no special virtues in most forms of wool. On the contrary, in comparison with many synthetics, wool betrays a few outstanding disadvantages. To begin with, wool is animal hair—protein—and therefore offers a dense growth medium for any microbiota that enter it in a warm, moist area (such as the mouth-covering of a balaclava). It isn’t just moth larvae that can live on the stuff, but a great many bacteria, molds, fungi, etc., unless the wool has been treated to make it biostatic, which is not often the case. This explains why it tends to smell rather rank whenever it gets wet. Secondly, as we all know, wool is subject to shrinkage if not washed with care, and shrinkage in wool is like pilferage in a candy warehouse: absolutely irreversible. Not only irreversible, but continuous—I once found what I was sure would make the ideal balaclava: a woman’s cashmere sweater, discarded because it had shrunk so tightly it could no longer pass light through its pores. After a thorough washing, I patiently cut and sewed it to fit my head and neck. When finished, it was wonderful—custom fitted, and being cashmere, exceedingly comfortable. No longer. Being convinced that it had lost all capacity for further shrinkage, I washed and dried it in an ordinary laundromat. It is now at least one size too small for me, and I’m considering a fluffy acrylic one from a surplus store. By now it won’t surprise you that my advice on actual sleepwear would emphasize comfort above all. And not just thermal comfort, but mechanical comfort as well. With this in mind, since knits are always more yielding than weaves, you’ll find that knitted fleeces will please you more consistently than quilted weaves—or almost anything else. As in the case of the all-weather suit, a quilted weave, of which many high-quality longjohns are made, is an extreme solution, much like an extention of the sleeping bag itself. If it’s not oversized, it’s likely to feel very confining in a mummy bag, and if the wind dies completely, may become far too warm —it will drain you of water and wake you long before dawn. Of course everything depends on where you’re going, when you’re going and what you’re going to do when you get there, but I can assure you that loose-fitting knitted synthetic fleeces are, in my judgement, the most sleep-inducing garments ever designed, and are ideal for outdoor use, sheltered or not. They breathe; they stretch; they loft; they wash; they dry fast; they don’t shrink; they insulate damp or dry; they come in every shape, size and colour—they are the next best thing to a natural coat of fur. And they’re very affordable—or should be—because they’re so simple to manufacture. I know this sounds dangerously like an infomercial, but let the record read that no brands have been mentioned—I just believe in credit where credit is due. I regret that while I was in those woods, the only garments of this kind that I had were three pairs of trousers, but they were priceless to me, since I wore them not only as pajamas at night, but as longjohns during the day—for both of which purposes they were ideal. In the sleeping bag, or combined with my stretchable bush pants, they kept me warm day and night, fall and winter, without ever reminding me that I had them on. And what more can one ask of a simple pair of pants?
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