Gossamer Gear have spent just short of three decades pioneering ultralight hiking equipment, evolving from a homespun DIY operation to a highly-respected veteran of the game. Their mantra ‘Take Less, Do More’ sums their ethos up pretty well—and their packs, tents and tarps have earned a cult following thanks to their minimal, logical design that trims the fat without sacrificing function.

The man behind it is Glen Van Peski, a civil engineer from California who started Gossamer by accident after sharing his progressive backpack ideas on the World Wide Web back in the late ‘90s. We called him up as he packed for a trip around Europe to talk about the early days of the ultralight movement, hyper-efficient breakfast routines and why boredom isn’t a bad thing. 

You started Gossamer (or GVP as it was originally known) back in 1998, but a fair bit earlier when you were just 17 you rode across the USA on a bike. I can’t imagine that kind of thing was that common back then—what made you want to do that? And how did that inform what came later?

I don’t know. It wasn’t really like me to do something like that—I wasn’t a particularly adventurous kid. I was pretty bookish and studied a lot at school—so I’ve got no idea what possessed me to ride 6,000km across the country. 

I was going to do it by myself, and then when I told my friends, a few of them decided they wanted to come along too. And back then there wasn’t really any way to plan it, I just got a paper map, drew a line across the country and started pedalling. In some ways, that was kind of nice. I’m planning now for a month of hiking in Europe, and I’ve probably put more effort into that than planning a whole summer riding across the United States. But even then I was interested in keeping the weight as light as possible, and I made my own gear, so that sort of planted the seed for both of those threads in my life.

I know this is going back quite a while, but can you remember what your setup was for that trip?

We were camping, so I figured that the lightest, most compact sleeping solution I could take would be a hammock. It wasn’t like the fancy hammocks these days, it was just a basic string hammock. And then for a shelter I sewed myself a tarp which went over the top of that, and since it was going to be buggy, I had a tube of mosquito netting which had velcro on one side, so I could pull it over and then close it behind me. And I used that setup all summer.

I know the fabrics might have improved, but that’s not too dissimilar to an ultralight camping set-up now. You had it down early. 

That probably came from me being an engineer. That was kind of how I thought—what’s the most efficient way to do something?

And then you started GVP Gear when you were looking for backpacks for your son’s scout trips? Is that right?

Yeah—when my son Brian got into boy scouts, the scoutmaster was a buddy of mine, and he read Ray Jardine’s first book, The Pacific Crest Trail Hiker’s Handbook. He was really excited about that, and decided he wanted to section-hike the Pacific Crest Trail. I did a lot of sections with him, and that was kind of the proving ground for making lighter gear. It’s one thing to think something up and draw a few sketches, but then you’ve got to put it to the test.

What else was around back then? What were you trying to improve on?

When I was a kid, I had an old Kelty external frame pack—and that was a great pack. It had big brass zippers and the army green nylon—and that served me well. But when Brian got into boy scouts and started hiking, I remember I got this backpack, and it weighed 7.5lbs empty—just the pack! All my gear today weighs way less than that. So when I figured that I needed to lighten up, that 7.5lbs pack was the obvious place to start. 

How did you do that? 

A lot of packs are heavy because they use heavy materials—they’re worried about brushing against rocks or being thrown off cliffs, but if you’re willing to take better care of your gear, then you can use lighter material. And then most people are carrying heavy loads in their pack—if you load 50lbs in your pack, that puts a lot of stress on your seams, so you need bound seams and you need some kind of frame to transfer that load and wide belts and padded shoulder straps to make that load comfortable. But if you’re carrying less weight, then a lot of those needs go away—you basically just need a bag that holds stuff, so you can keep it pretty simple and make it a lot lighter.

The less you carry, the less bag you need? So it was more of a case of thinking, what don’t I need to take with me?

Yeah, it was definitely in tandem. I had some conversations in the early days with people who wanted to save weight on their pack, and they thought they could just take all their usual gear and put it in a G4 pack—but that wouldn’t work because it was designed for a lighter load. It was definitely a process of lowering what I was putting in the pack, so that allowed the design of a lighter pack.

What were you cutting out?

Clothing was one. People take way too much clothing. I’ve hiked with people with two pairs of socks for every day. But if you get used to materials that have a larger range of temperatures, or you can wash something and let it dry while you’re wearing something else, you can cut out a lot of weight. 

A lot of people pack their fears—they’ve heard bad stories of things that can happen so they want to have something for that eventuality. But if you can tame your fears and focus on what’s likely to occur and have some kind of plan for that, that can save weight too. With heavy loads you might have more stuff to address more conditions, but having a heavy load may mean that you’re more likely to get injured—you could twist your ankle because of that load.

How did people react to the ultralight concept back in the 90s? I imagine this minimal mindset was kind of going against the mainstream a little.

I was living in California at the time, and with the Pacific Crest Trail running through the state we had a lot of thru-hikers. The PCT is unique compared to some of the other long trails in terms of its remoteness, and since there are only certain locations you can resupply, there’s a premium on going lighter so you can do the mileage in less days, which in turn means you can go lighter because you don’t need to carry as much food. So the lighter gear was adopted very quickly into the thru-hiker community. They immediately saw the benefit.

It seemed like it was a real cottage industry back then. Just people trying things for themselves. 

It was the early internet days. That’s how GVP Gear started—there was an ultralight LISTSERV and I made a post on there about the pack I’d sewn—and people were all excited. I put the plans on the internet so people could make them for free, but not everyone knew how to sew, so I kind of accidentally started a gear company. 

All the early cottage guys knew each other. For a while we did what we called a brain-trust hike—it was Ron Moak from Six Moon Designs, Henry Shires from Tarptent and Brian Frankle from ULA Equipment. Ron was always trash talking! 

Like the G8 summit for backpacks? A lot of this stuff seems really open source. It’s interesting how sharing ideas has always been a big part of the ultralight culture.

My thought early on was that there was no way there were enough customers to make a living with this, so I might as well share it. It wasn’t like I was going to retire on this stuff. I’ve never taken a salary on this stuff, ever—I’ve always worked full-time as a civil engineer as well. This was just a side thing, and that meant I could make what I wanted to make, I didn’t have to worry about what the market wanted. 

How did you balance that full time work with making these bags? That sounds pretty full-on.

I didn’t! I balanced it poorly. I was working 60 hours a week on engineering, then another 30 hours a week on the gear business. 

Did the two things help each other? Did the minimal mentality behind the bags inform your engineering work?

I shook my head at that question at first, but then when you said about the minimal side of things, when you’re designing a development you’re always trying to balance the grade or trying to get the sewers to drain—you’re always trying to solve a problem, and developers don’t want to spend any more money than they need to, so you’re always looking for efficiency. You’re looking at how many lots you can get in, or what’s the most efficient way to lay out the roads that works with the topography. It’s an optimising exercise, which is similar to ultralight backpack design. 

There’s definite similarities there. Beyond the very obvious benefits of having less weight on your back, how does carrying a lighter, well-packed bag improve your time on the trail?

When you’re carrying less weight you’re not thinking about how heavy your pack is—so it gives your mind more freedom to wander, or to have conversations with the people you’re hiking with, or to look around and notice things that most people don’t notice. 

And then when you’re sleeping, instead of being cocooned in your tent, you wake up at night and you see the stars and you hear the noises. You’re more connected with the outdoors with a lighter load and lighter kit. I don’t have the skillset of people who create their own shelters out of logs and sharpen spears and hunt for their dinner—but I can put together a kit that allows me to address the most common conditions that come up on a trip. And it doesn’t weigh very much. And it gives me flexibility. 

How does this ultralight attitude extend beyond your time on the trail? Does it come into other parts of your life too?

Even when I’m making lunch, I’m thinking about the order of things and how long they take—I put the bread in the toaster which will take two minutes, so in that time I’ll open the fridge and take all the items I need out. And as I use those items, I’m not going to open the fridge and put them back, because I know that I’m going to wait and put all three items back at the same time. And if I go into the pantry to get the corn chips, while I’m there I’m going to get a piece of cellophane to cover the half of the avocado I haven’t used. I’m always trying to think, ‘How can I minimize the trips and optimise the efficiency’, even when I’m making lunch.

And if you think like that it drives you crazy when you’re in the checkout line when the person in front of you starts digging through their bag, looking for their wallet. It’s like, “This isn’t your first time grocery shopping! You know how this goes!” You’ve got to have your card out and ready.

The airport security checks are the worst for that. There’s a lot of dawdling going on there.

Yeah—I think it was in Salt Lake City airport, you go to TSA security there, and they had a line for what they called ‘Experienced Travellers’, and that’s great. If you know what you’re doing, you don’t need to deal with these people who are just living in the moment. And that’s great for them, but there’s a time penalty for that.

I sometimes wonder if this efficient mindset is a blessing or a curse? These people who are dawdling and have no idea what’s going on usually seem quite happy.

Yeah, it doesn’t bother them, it’s only a problem for people like me. But I know what parts of my life I shouldn’t optimise. If my wife wants to buy something, my question is, “What’s the use case? What is the scenario where this is going to be useful?” But she’ll say, “I don’t need a use-case, I want it!” And we’ve gotten some amazing things because of that. 

I suppose I don’t need half the stuff that’s on my shelf next to me now—but it’s nice to have. Maybe in the same way that you don’t necessarily need a pack of cards on a hiking trip, but it’d be nice to have one. 

Yeah, there’s a balance. What gives you joy? I have a buddy who’s a professional photographer—and he went lightweight on everything else, so he could bring three cameras with him. And that’s great. It’s not about cutting everything out, it’s about making sure that you have room for the things that really matter. 

I suppose sometimes this stuff can be taken as dogma; like it's a set of rules that you’ve got to follow—but maybe it’s about living your version of it.

Exactly. Try stuff. It’s good to examine these things. I did a workshop for a group called Women Who Explore. It was a campout, and I was going through my pack and explaining my gear, and I could tell they were skeptical. I was showing them my lightweight pad, and I said that what makes it work is making a little divot in the ground that contours to your body. They were looking at me like I was an old dumb guy—so I said, “Let’s try it.” I made a divot in the ground, put down a groundsheet and put my foam pad down, and when they lay down you could see their eyes change as they said, “Oh my gosh, this really works!” 

That’s useful info there. So you’re digging out a little slot for your hips?

Yeah—or it works pretty well for your back if you make a little lumbar divot. 

Give me a few other tips like that.

I’ve got a bunch of pro tips for different situations. I was on a hike with my scoutmaster buddy—we were hiking round Yosemite and it was a big snow year. We were chomping through snow everyday then trying to find a little snow-free place to camp at night. And then when we’d get up the next morning we’d try and jam our feet in our shoes which had frozen overnight—and so I learned quickly to open up the wet shoes at night, so when they froze, at least they’d be frozen open in the morning, instead of frozen closed. 

And another tip for similar conditions—if you use a drinking tube, if you leave water in that, it'll freeze—and because it’s heavy plastic it’ll stay frozen for a very long time. You’ve got to blow it out so the water is just in the container. 

Maybe on the other side of that, is there one luxury you do let yourself have on your hikes? 

I do have a pair of purple fleece socks. They’re the oldest thing I’ve had in my backpacking kit. I use them for sleeping, I put hospital booties over them for camp-shoes. I’ve tried things that are slightly lighter, but I keep going back to those. And I’ve got a bigger headlamp now than I used to. I used to just have this little penny-sized light, but now I’ve got this slightly bigger rechargeable lamp.

You’ve mellowed! 

Yeah, I probably need to get rid of it, but sometimes in case of emergency you need to hike out, and then it could be useful to have a better lamp. But I’ve not got too many luxuries. I don’t carry a pillow or a big inflatable pad.

Quite often people who do a lot of long-distance hiking mention how they’ve had what I’d maybe call a ‘trail epiphany’. Have you ever had anything like that?

I’ve heard Brian Robinson talk about doing his Calendar Year Triple Crown, and how he spent so much time walking and thinking that he realised the dot-com bubble was unsustainable, so he came back from the hike, liquidated all his positions and missed the crash. I don’t think I’ve ever had any epiphanies like that, but I think there’s something about spending a long time in nature without distractions. When I’m hiking I do have my phone with me, but mostly there’s no cell coverage and I’m just using it as a camera, and I don’t carry the weight of ear-buds or anything like that, so unless I’m talking to someone I’m walking with, I’m just in silence for days and days on end. And that is so rare in society today.

I don’t know if you’re familiar with Michael Easter and his book Comfort Crisis? He talks about how we’ve done such a good job of killing boredom. If you’re sitting somewhere, you’ll pull your phone out to check your email. You can’t just sit anymore. He was on a hunting trip to Alaska, spending days just sitting, waiting for the caribou to move—and he talks about how rare that is, and that there’s value in that. There are things that you don’t get to think about, because they’re crowded out by distractions—so getting uninterrupted time to think about your life or decisions or things you want to do or people you’ve not seen is really important.

When I was younger, building my engineering business, I was trying to get smarter every minute. I’d be driving somewhere to submit plans, and I’d be listening to cassette tapes in my car about how to negotiate or how to lay stormwater drains—but now when I’m driving I just like silence. It’s a luxury to let your mind wander. 

I was going to say about how so many good ideas can come out of boredom—and while that does happen—maybe it shouldn’t be about that? We shouldn’t be trying to ‘optimise boredom’. Maybe if you walked for ages and were bored, but then didn’t have some amazing life-altering brainwave that led to writing some culturally significant book that influenced a generation, that’d be good too. Boredom doesn’t need to be ‘productive’.

Yeah, can you empty your brain and not think about anything—can you just be? I suppose if you had the mental skills, you could probably do that anywhere—but for most of us, it involves getting away from distractions. Which means getting into the wilderness and out of cell-phone range.