Stop buying the hype: What camping gear actually matters for 2025

Ultralight gear is making us all miserable. There, I said it. We spend three months’ rent on a tent that weighs less than a sandwich, only to realize it’s about as durable as a wet paper towel and loud enough to wake up every bear in a three-mile radius. I’m tired of the gear-shaming. I’m tired of the spreadsheets. If you’re looking for a list of things to buy just so you can feel superior at a trailhead, go read a glossy magazine. This is for the people who actually get dirt under their fingernails.

The ‘Ultralight’ trap is ruining the vibe

I’ve spent the last six years obsessing over base weight. I cut the handles off my toothbrush. I bought a 400-dollar DCF shelter that felt like sleeping inside a crinkly potato chip bag. What did I get for my trouble? A sore back and a very expensive hole in my floor because my dog looked at it the wrong way. In 2025, the best gear isn’t the lightest; it’s the stuff that doesn’t require a PhD to set up in the dark.

I’ve moved back to the Big Agnes Copper Spur HV UL2. Yeah, I know, it’s the ‘basic’ choice. Everyone has one. But do you know why? Because it actually works. It has real poles. You don’t need to be a master of geometry to pitch it on a rocky ledge. I’ve spent 42 nights in mine over the last two seasons, and while the zippers are starting to get a little sticky, it hasn’t failed me yet. What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. It’s the Toyota Corolla of tents. It’s boring, it’s everywhere, and it’s the only thing I trust when the wind starts hitting 30mph at 2 a.m.

The obsession with shaving ounces has blinded us to the fact that camping is supposed to be comfortable, not a test of endurance.

Stoves: Why fancy ones usually suck

I tested four different integrated stove systems last winter. The big names, the ones that cost $160 and promise to boil water in 90 seconds. Total lie. Maybe in a laboratory in Colorado they do. In the real world, with a 15-knot wind and a half-empty canister? You’re waiting five minutes just like the rest of us.

I’m going to say something that might make people mad: Jetboils are a scam for people who don’t know how to cook. They’re heavy, they’re bulky, and they’re essentially just a very expensive way to make tea. I’ve gone back to the MSR PocketRocket Deluxe. It weighs 83 grams. It has a pressure regulator that actually handles the cold. I don’t need a proprietary pot that locks into a base. I just need fire. That’s it. That’s the whole trick.

I might be wrong about this, but I think we’ve reached ‘peak stove.’ There hasn’t been a meaningful innovation in burner tech in three years. Everything new is just a different color or a slightly different plastic knob. Save your money.

The time I almost got hypothermia because of a ’30-degree’ bag

This happened in October 2022, Harriman State Park. Not exactly the Everest base camp, right? The forecast said 38 degrees. I had a brand-new, high-end quilt rated for 30. I spent the entire night shivering so hard my jaw ached the next morning. It was pathetic. I was wearing every layer I owned, including my spare socks on my hands, and I was still miserable. Ratings are suggestions, and most companies are lying to your face to sell more nylon.

If you’re buying a sleep system for 2025, look at the Therm-a-Rest NeoAir XLite NXT. They finally fixed the ‘crinkle’ sound that made the old version sound like a bag of SunChips. It has an R-value of 4.5. If your pad doesn’t have an R-value over 4, you’re basically sleeping on a giant ice cube. I don’t care how thick the foam is. It’s physics.

Anyway, after that night in Harriman, I stopped trusting ‘limit’ ratings. Now, if I’m going out in 35-degree weather, I bring a 15-degree bag. It’s an extra 10 ounces. I’ll carry it. Being warm is worth the weight.

The ‘Unfair’ Take: I hate Yeti

I refuse to recommend anything from Yeti. I know, I know. They are ‘overbuilt’ and ‘indestructible.’ I don’t care. It’s a lifestyle brand for people who want to look like they go on expeditions while they’re actually just tailgating at a football game. Paying $400 for a cooler is a form of collective insanity. My $45 Coleman steel-belted cooler has survived being dropped off a tailgate and kept my beer cold for three days in the desert. Yeti is the gear equivalent of a guy who buys a $90,000 truck and never puts anything in the bed. I can’t be objective about it. I just hate the vibe.

Never again.

The small stuff that actually matters

• Garmin InReach Messenger: I used to think satellite messengers were for people who were scared of the woods. I was completely wrong. Having one changed how my wife sleeps when I’m solo. It’s 114 grams of peace of mind.
• Nitecore NU25 Headlamp: It’s cheap, it charges via USB-C, and it’s so light you forget it’s on your head. Stop buying those $80 Black Diamond lamps that take AAA batteries. It’s 2025. Stop using disposables.
• Sawyer Squeeze: Don’t buy the ‘Mini’ version. It clogs if you even look at a muddy puddle. Get the full-sized Squeeze. The flow rate is 3x better and your forearms won’t cramp up trying to get a liter of water.

I’ve bought the same pair of Altra Lone Peak trail runners four times now. I don’t even look at other shoes anymore. I don’t care if the soles wear out in 300 miles (and they do—I tracked it, 280 miles on my last pair before the lugs were smooth). The wide toe box is the only thing that keeps my feet from turning into a blistered mess. It’s an irrational loyalty, but my feet don’t hurt, so I’m staying put.

At the end of the day, the ‘best’ gear is just the stuff that disappears once you’re actually out there. If you’re thinking about your tent while you’re looking at a sunset, the tent is failing. I still wonder if I’m just becoming a grumpy old man who hates progress, or if the gear industry is actually just spinning its wheels. Maybe both? Either way, stop reading this and go find some dirt.

Buy the boring stuff. It usually works better.