The Ready Pack Put to Use

BROG Team: Breck, aka @wannabe_cowboy_poet is a local friend of BROG. He uses our gear pretty hard. On the farm, on hikes, and on the everyday adventures that come along with dad-life. He's also a great reader, writer, and poet, and when he asked if we'd be interested in him putting together a post for the BROG blog, the response was an enthusiastic YES!

I popped out of the Subaru and strapped my wriggling 10-month-old son to my chest carrier. A much-needed summer shower had just passed north over Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains, and the old-growth trees were still weeping its passing every time the wind kicked up. We’d been sitting at the trailhead taking shelter from the storm, blessed downpour is more like it, and as soon as it mostly abated, I hopped out with small child in tow. My wife, always game for an adventure or at least for getting out of the stuffy house, threw on my new Ready Pack from Blue Ridge Overland Gear. She was on snack duty today.

We’d come up to the Peaks of Otter under sunny skies in search of a waterfall or at least a mountain creek. The goal was to cool off and to introduce our little boy to a place that has meant so much to the both of us. I grew up in the area, and my grandparents used to go for Sunday drives and breakfast buffets on the Parkway starting in the ‘60s. After meeting my wife, we made this stretch of Virginia’s Blue Ridge our ground zero for exploring, hiking, and training for trail races. We’d even gotten married at the foot of Sharp Top eight years before. That day, same as this one, a storm rode up the mountains, but instead of a welcome gentle rain, our wedding day turned into a deluge: five inches of rain, a flooded-out event tent, and a dance party in the mud tailor-made for a couple of farmers just starting their lives together.

Things look a little different these days. With a little guy in tow, we’d amended our expectations and shortened the duration of our outing. Most importantly, we carried enough snacks and gear to handle a hungry, teething baby and several potential outfit changes to boot. From blowouts to belly aches, we were about as prepared as possible.

After bugging my buddies at BROG for ages about making a backpack, Matt delivered, and it was well worth the wait (and the full price I happily paid). I did skip the very first round of packs offered, holding out for the coyote/green colorway instead of the all-black first offered. Function over form is usually the way for me, but in this case, the pack does both comfortably. Matt and Rick are both dads, and I can’t help but think they designed the pack at least partly with ferrying kids’ stuff, and my goodness, there’s so much stuff, in mind. Today, in the dripping rain, we threw the pack flat and unzipped it, tossing in all manner of accouterments that keep a kid content on the trail, or anywhere for that matter. Into the pack went diapers and wipes and snacks, so many snacks, plus our water bottles and his little sippy cup too, my rain jacket and hers, plus my EpiPen and a little survival kit (certainly overkill). Closing the pack, I fought the double zipper m. If it fits it ships I proudly thought and once secured, gave the bag a firm, reassuring pat.

My son weighs just over twenty pounds, and stuffed to the gills for a less-than-two-mile hike, the BROG Ready Pack probably weighed in the same neighborhood. Rucking, or weighted training, is all the rage these days, as I slightly obnoxiously reminded my wife, explaining that this little excursion would be a good workout for us both. So we set off on soft, damp paths among a forest of hemlocks and oaks, quickly descending the rocky, rooty trails the East Coast is known for.

Breck puts the Ready Pack to good use on plenty of adventures. 

It wasn’t long before the sound of falling water gurgled up from below us, beckoning us onwards and down. With a final switchback, like a magician’s flourish, the stream appeared, silver and gin-clear as it tumbled from the ridge alongside the Parkway, down to a valley floor and the awaiting river below. By this point the sun was out in full force, having burned off the last of the strangling storm clouds, and we took off our raincoats, now clammy, and stuffed them into the Ready Pack. Then it was time for our boy to play in his first waterfall. He splashed about, even taking tentative steps as I held his chubby little arms. We wore him out down there with the serious business of creek play, and as he started to fade, my wife produced a bottle of milk from the pack, kept cold in a little travel sleeve. She set the pack on a sunlit stone ledge, then held him and sat on a river rock worn smooth by time and place as he gulped greedily at his bottle, the burbling of the storm runoff finding its way back into the creek bed and onto whatever adventures beckoned next, just the same as us.