The manbag remains, as it always has, a bold and chunky, if not deeply unsexy substitute for the customary wallet. Like Kel Knight from TVs ‘Kath and Kim’, Tom stoically baulks the mainstream. He is a true believer when it comes to the power of the manbag.

“I’m bringing it back in,” he once said.

“Not sure it was ever in in the first place,” I responded.

Tom’s manbag of choice has been the same since the early 1980s when he was a divisional pennant squash-playing barrister – a sleek Oroton black number, which he maintains is still the best on the market, offering ample space for his myriad personal effects. Conventional wallets mystify him, for he is a man who has much to carry – a classroom standard calculator for one thing, a cheque book, a coin purse, beard comb, collection of fountain pens, variety of notebooks and a rotating collection of ‘chits’ that makes George Costanza’s wallet look like a lean money clip.

Thankfully, manbag obsession has not trickled down through the gene pool and my personal choice to date has generally been a classic style wallet, though it has been an evolution. In my teens, I rocked a mean acrylic bum bag with snap lock, a smooth accoutrement to home-sewn neon happy pants.

Things kicked into a new gear when I turned 16 and upgraded to a chunky corduroy surf wallet with powerful Velcro hold to match fat corduroy surf dacks. Then, on the cusp of adulthood I scored a sleek classic black number, my first ‘man’ wallet, a general style that has held since, with only the size, holds and compartments changing over the years.

The standard wallet is all very well for day-to-day home action. But when you’re on the road you need something with a bit of extra bite, something neither as conspicuous as a 1980s manbag nor as slight and inadequate as a sleek pocket slider. You’ve got international hooch to carry, additional loot. What’s a guy to do?

Thankfully, Bellroy exist in this world, a classy mob dedicated to producing elegant, functional, delightfully useable wallets in a time when work and play are ever-merging and more and more people are on the move and carrying more around with them.

Bellroy’s Travel Wallet provides a neat solution for my present situation, a formidable middle (‘formiddleable?’) ground somewhere between Tom’s manbag and the more slender home-style wallet.

Firstly, this thing is crafted tidily in the sort of black leather that makes guys like me, and Tom, happy. The aesthetics get a huge tick. But travelling through Europe, one of the chief limitations of the conventional sized wallet is that EU currency does not fit in the cash hold – it’s too damn fat, skirting out the top of your wallet where it gets all dog-eared and ripped. The Bellroy keeps the balance here – it’s wide enough to cater to the chunky Euro and UK pound, sleek enough to slide snugly into the breast pocket of your leather jacket, and your jean pockets too.

The real boon of the Bellroy is the idiosyncratic extras that don’t come with the conventional pocket man-wallet. For one, it has a passport hold, where your passport and international documents rest covertly and easily slide in and out for airport customs checks. When you need to fill out identification forms and departure cards, the Bellroy’s cute pen clings to the interior fold in its own little hold, ballpoint at the ready, precluding the need for a collection of chunky fountain pens jangling around and leaking ink in your pants. As for cards, my license, credit and bankcards all slide neatly into the wallet’s ample slots without problem. And, as I said, all of this fits in either pocket without hassle.

Limitations? Well, no, it doesn’t fit a cheque book or a Texas Industries calculator; Tom would struggle to get his beard comb in it. If that’s a problem for you too, you and Tom ought to have a chat and discuss your future manbag options. He’s got 30 years’ experience. Together you might actually bring it back into vogue.

In the meantime, for something in between that keeps its foot in the wallet end of the court, the Bellroy is a sweet dealio indeed, a true all-in-one where classic aesthetics match high, thoughtful functionality – perfect for home and perfect for the road.

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*Photography by Honor Kennedy

Check out Cam and Honor’s photo and word project on Instagram or #CHKBerlin

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So this is just the heads up, to let you know that we’re going to slow the engine room: posts will become more infrequent, our social channels will become, well… less “social”, and our usually lightning fast responses to your queries will be put on hold for a while.

But we’ll be back and bringing the awesome in two weeks time with a Santa sack full of exciting new announcements. So stay tuned, Carryologists, and have an awesome holiday break!! 2014s been rad!

Big thanks,

Carryology Team

The post We’re Chilling Out for the Holidays appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

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Once a year a group of strangers meet up in the comfort of a cosy Swedish hotel…two days before leaving the outside world behind and embarking on an epic 300-kilometre trek that begins above the Arctic Circle from Signaldalen in Norway and ends in the forests close to Jukkasjärvi in Swedish Lapland. Each person will carry everything they need to survive for four days – food, shelter and equipment – on a sled, pulled by a team of eager and powerful dogs, that races across a remote and breathtaking tundra. There are no supply shops en route, no electricity, no civilization. Forget the comforts of home or handy hotel conveniences. This is getting back to nature in its raw and untamed form and these individuals need to rely on their skills, their fellow travellers, their equipment and their dogs to get them where they need to go.

So who are these individuals? Hardened explorers with years of experience? Professional athletes or outdoor guides? Think the opposite of this and you’re closer to the mark. Students, IT consultants, kindergarten teachers, gardeners, marketing designers…these are the kinds of people who participate each year in Fjällräven Polar.

The story behind Fjällräven Polar

Fjällräven Polar was initially a dog sled race competition that began in 1997 and took place each year until 2006. In 2012 Fjällräven Polar was resurrected in a new form, no longer a race but still following the same dog sled course. The difference is that instead of being a competition, the event now encourages regular people with no particular outdoor experience to participate in order to learn about the environment and associated outdoor activities.

The aim of the event is to highlight how great the outdoors can be during winter and to demonstrate that anyone can enjoy an outdoor adventure if they are well equipped and suitably prepared. Additionally, it assists the brand by serving as a testing opportunity for Fjällräven’s clothing and equipment.

Selecting the participants

Two participants are chosen from each of the countries represented in the event. The countries (or groups of countries) are Sweden, Norway, Finland, Denmark, Benelux, Germany, the UK, the USA, Czech Republic and “other countries”. In order to join the event hopefuls upload photo/video applications to Fjällräven’s website. The applications are a chance to capture votes and as a result they can get pretty creative, from roping in friends to create a giant snowflake and husky to getting trapped inside a Fjällräven booklet with the only hope of escape being able to join the Polar trek. The first participant for each country is the individual who gets the most public votes for their application, while Fjällräven selects the second participant. Over 900 potential participants applied for Fjällräven Polar 2014 and 20 were chosen to compete in this exciting event. Apart from individuals needing to be over 18 years old and healthy, there are no specific restrictions for who can participate or how fit they have to be.

Training

Before Fjällräven Polar 2014 began, the participants had to learn the ropes. The entire event took place over six days, from 7 April to 13 April 2014, with two of those days reserved for training.

Training – Day 1

Day 1 of the training was a combination of theoretical training and getting kitted out with suitable clothing and equipment. The training took place at the 32 Rum & Kök hotel in Sigtuna, Sweden. For the majority of the participants, this was the first time they had met in person (though they had been communicating previously via the Internet). However, some of the participants had managed to meet up prior by way of serendipity – Melanie from Germany and Tuija from Finland had a chance meeting in Thailand a month before whilst on holiday and Tuomo from Finland met Katrina from Estonia when passing by during meeting up with family.

Everyone was buzzing with excitement and eager for their adventure to begin. Training marked the definitive switch from dreams to reality – no more hopes, wishes and fantasies; the Polar experience was real and had officially begun. First was an overview of what to expect during the Polar trek, followed by learning about the importance of layering clothing correctly. Then it was time for the giant-sized goodie bags in the form of the Fjällräven Abisko 75-litre rucksacks full of all the gear they would need during Polar.

The Gear

Fjällräven provided the participants with everything they would need for the journey. This included items such as clothing, cooking equipment, tents and sleeping bags. Participants were able to keep some of the equipment, a list of which is below:

• Fjällräven Polar Parka – http://www.fjallraven.com/fjallraven-polar-parka
• Fjällräven Eco-Tour Jacket – http://www.fjallraven.com/eco-tour-jacket
• Fjällräven Eco-Tour Trousers – http://www.fjallraven.com/eco-tour-trousers
• Fjällräven Abisko 75L backpack

• Fjällräven 70L waterproof pack bag

• Fjällräven Web belt – http://www.fjallraven.com/abisko-web-belt
• Aclima 4 pairs of woollen socks – http://www.aclima.no/products/sox
• Aclima Base layers (1 net shirt, 1 net pants, 1 ninja-suit, 1 long sleeve shirt, boxershort) – http://www.aclima.no/products/woolnet, http://www.aclima.no/products/warmwool/men/overall
• Fjällräven Keb fleece – http://www.fjallraven.com/keb-fleece-jacket
• Hanwag boots
• Hestra gloves x 2 pairs – http://hestragloves.com/en/
• Fjällräven Nordic heater – http://www.fjallraven.com/nordic-heater
• Fjällräven Neck Gaiter
• Fjällräven Balaclava
• Goggles
• Sunglasses
• Brunton Pulse 1500 charger – http://www.brunton.com/collections/portable-power/products/pulse-1500
• Brunton head torch – http://www.brunton.com/pages/lights
• Brunton compass – http://www.brunton.com/pages/navigation
• Primus vacuum bottle – http://www.primus.eu/c-h-vacuum-bottle-1-0-l
• Primus drinking bottle – http://www.primus.eu/drinking-bottle-aluminium-1-0-l

Other equipment that the participants used during Polar but which had to be returned afterwards included:

• Fjällräven -30 Polar sleeping bag – http://www.fjallraven.com/fjallraven-polar-30-reg
• Fjällräven Akka Endurance 3 tent – http://www.fjallraven.com/akka-endurance-3
• Fjällräven Windsack – http://www.fjallraven.com/vindsack
• Primus Omnilite TI – http://www.primus.eu/omnilite-ti
• Primus pots – http://www.primus.eu/eta-pot-3-0-l

After their gear was sorted, participants flew to Tromsø in Norway and then on to the Tamok valley near Signaldalen for Day 2 of the training.

Training – Day 2

Making things just a little bit more real, Day 2 involved meeting the experts who were going to be travelling with the participants during Fjällräven Polar. Each year experts accompany the participants throughout the journey to provide guidance and assistance along the way – and when we say experts, we do mean experts. Kenth Fjellborg, the Chief Guide, is one of the most qualified dog sled drivers in Sweden, while the Chief Outdoor Instructor is Johan Skullman who served as an officer in the Swedish Armed Forces and as head developer of clothing and equipment for the soldiers.

On Day 2 the participants also met the dogs for the first time and received a range of practical training regarding pitching their tents correctly, using their cooking stoves, as well as how to handle the dogs and sleds.

The dogs

Fjällräven Polar couldn’t be what it is without the dog teams. Alaskan huskies are used to pull the sleds and most of the dogs that participate are from Kenth Fjellborg’s kennels. These dogs are serious athletes but in addition to their physical prowess they also need to have good temperaments in order to be included in the event. Check out the video below to find out more about Kenth Fjellborg and these amazing animals.

The route

Adventure likes to get an early start and waits for no one – hence the 5am call to rise and shine on Day 3. This marked the first day of the four-day dog sled journey and the participants were transported to Signaldalen to begin. The four walls of the classroom and the security of the training environment were now behind them. It was time to put the skills and knowledge they had learned to the test in the challenging and awe-inspiring landscape that lay ahead.

When the participants arrived at the starting point the dogs were all harnessed up on their chains connected to trees within a sparse wooded area and it was all action. There was no time for participants to chat amongst themselves as they were each assigned six dogs which had to be harnessed to the sleds – a task that wasn’t easy as the dogs were strong and excited to get started. There was no pre-trek talk but then one wasn’t required – as soon as the dogs were harnessed everyone was ready to go. Time for the journey of a lifetime to begin!

The Fjällräven Polar route incorporates parts of traditional migration trails utilised by the Sami to herd reindeer. The landscape varies en route and includes vast open expanses of snow and frozen lakes, a permafrost region, snow-capped mountains and stretches of beautiful birch forests. Participants were thrown into the deep end from the start by having to head up a very steep hill. From sea level the participants climb to an altitude of around 800 metres and travel across mountains running from north to south along the Swedish and Norwegian border. The sleds scrape across snow and ice as they hurtle onwards to Tavvavuoma, one of the biggest permafrost areas in Europe. This part of the route is extremely exposed to the elements. With good weather visibility can be as far as 50 kilometres but with poor weather the snow and wind are particularly fierce.

As the journey continues towards Torneträsk, the terrain gradually gives way to birch forests. At around 70 kilometres long and around 15 to 20 kilometres wide, Torneträsk is one of the biggest lakes in Sweden. The Polar trail traverses frozen water and winds through increasingly dense forest as participants near the finish line, a beautiful and remote resort at Lake Väkkäräjärvi.

In addition to navigating the terrain effectively, participants have to cope with varying temperatures. During Fjällräven Polar temperatures tend to be around -5 degrees Celsius to -10 degrees Celsius during the day, while at night it can drop to as low as -25 degrees Celsius. However, with the proper equipment and training that participants receive, extreme temperature changes and exposure to the elements becomes far less daunting as the participants learn how to operate efficiently in such environments (the last night even involved sleeping under the stars instead of within tents).

The basic skills and knowledge which are learned during the training are built upon during the journey, with participants becoming more adept at righting the sleds when they tip over and learning how to start fires using only fire steel and birch bark. However, one piece of knowledge that is foremost in participants’ minds on the last day of the trek is the fact that the journey will soon come to an end. As a result, the atmosphere is tinged with sadness. An adventure that feels like it has just begun will all too quickly be over. However, applause and congratulations along with the promise of a warming meal and enticing sauna boost the spirits of the participants as they cross the finish line. National flags are waved proudly as a large group consisting of Fjällräven staff, members of the press and other invited guests from various companies welcome the adventurers to their final destination.

After completing the journey all 20 Polar participants settled into a large cabin by the lake which would be their sleeping quarters for the night. The bliss of the sauna cabin beckoned, with some very much needed beer and relaxation. Plenty of beer, wine and snacks were provided by the staff and the cabin also had its own private kitchen, living area and dining area to enjoy a well-deserved rest. During the evening the participants received a treat in the form of their own personal chef who prepared a congratulatory meal. After dining in style, it was time to party in style. The participants made their way to a larger communal cabin for drinks, dancing and partying the night away in celebration of the amazing achievements, solid friendships and incredible memories that were forged during Fjällräven Polar and which will stay with them for the rest of their lives.

Some fun figures

Here’s a selection of numbers to wrap your head around in order to get a better sense of Fjällräven Polar:

The journey is approximately 300 kilometres long and 210 dogs were used to pull the participants and the guides.

An empty sled weighs 15 kilograms, while a sled that is packed and ready for the trail weighs 90 kilograms.

During the event the dogs ate 2520 kilograms of dog food (incorporating dry food as well as meat and meat products). Compare that to 540 freeze-dried meals consumed by people involved in the event.

A total of 12 nationalities were represented in Fjällräven Polar 2014.

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Keen to discover what it was really like participating in the Polar challenge? Well stay tuned for part 2 where we get the inside scoop courtesy of Fjällräven Polar 2014 participant Phil Raisbeck.

The post Into the wilderness :: Fjällräven Polar 2014 appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

The trip would provide the perfect road tester for my new Whipping Post leather travel weekender, custom made by Ryan and the good folk at Whipping Post, now bulging taut with 10 days’ worth of jox, sox and summer gear. Perfect size for the strict carry-on luggage specs of budget European airline carriers, the WP looked functional as well as aesthetically handsome. I jacked it completely full with stuff (the WP perhaps not ideal for a 10-day trip, which I’ll get to later), the strong zips held it all in place, the sleek ‘W.P’ handle buttons clipping and clasping the whole unit tight. Built for the road, the bag looked happy to be finally holding some goods.

A smooth flight to Nice, glorious weather, sun, palm trees and crystal water were visible on descent, and through the doors of the terminal the air smelled hot and sweet. We caught the #98 bus to the Promenade des Anglais, a scenic stretch that hugs the curved Nice waterfront all the way up to the Nice old quarter. The ride was a baptism of fire in Nice driving etiquette, our lead foot bus driver barrelling out of the terminal like Sandra Bullock in Heat, pinging us around the interior like pinballs.

We disembarked the 98 hell ride miraculously at the right stop. It was a fine scene: old Nice town stretching high up the hill, as French girls cycled helmetless, hair loose in the breeze and the tanned leather bodies of locals soaked up the last burst of sun on the pebbled beach by the shimmering Mediterranean sea.

The WP’s rippled leather coat glistened in the sun, strong and sturdy in my palms as we strolled down Nice’s backstreets. I felt proud to be carrying it, catching multiple eyes glimpse its glory. We found our sweet Airbnb on the Rue De La Buffa a few streets in from the beach, a cute level 5 studio in an art deco block. Our host was seemingly obsessed with time, his walls and benches rife with hourglasses and clocks. Hungry, parched for delicious wine, we tracked down the nearby market, bought up big, returned home in the waning twilight for a lazy night in, knocking back delicious, crisp pink Rosé from Provence, red wine from Bordeaux, the occasional pastis, surveying random life trickling by on the street below, French balcony doors prized wide to the deep blue night, crescent moon smiling down from above.

The next morning proved a painful one – in order to get my contact lens solution on the flight I had to carry it in an old Tabasco sauce bottle. I hadn’t thought to clean the lid. Soaking in jalapeno oil overnight, the lenses turned my eyes into fireballs and proved unhelpful for vision.

The nights in Nice sizzled. We’d take long walks through the old town’s labyrinthine alleys, lit by romantic amber wall lamp, and one night we wandered up to the peak of the promenade by the Vieille Ville hill, necking litre bottles of Kronenberg, laying eyes on the glow-white promenade lamps marking the shoreline, trailing off tinier and tinier into the distance in an arc of tiny congealing luminous pearls.

I hadn’t expected too much from Nice; given its proximity to ritzy Cannes and Monaco, I suspected it might be a little ‘high end’ and inaccessible for vagabonds, but it proved welcoming, relaxed, full of character and charm, a pleasant fusion of provincial France and Florida – the latter, in its sun-soaked coast scene; the former, through the cobblestoned inclines and windy alleys of its old quarter, laden with boulangeries, artisan stores and, during the rampant lunch hours and hours before dusk, a bustling melange of restaurants and bars full of neatly dressed French folk smoking down Gauloises, sipping coffees, aperitifs and wine.

While Berlin has been a wild time, one thing our landlocked home lacks is beach and we made the most of Nice’s glorious waterfront each and every afternoon, soaking up the rays and floating about in its crystal cool azure waters.

A revelation about the Cote D’Azur was that its public transport is surprisingly good (if not a little lead-footed), and for €1.50 you can get out to as far as Cannes in the west and Menton via Monaco in the east. We checked out Menton, a gorgeous town just a short roll from the Italian border, where we dined in the old square and dreamed of the romantic Italian nooks hidden further on up the coastal road.

Coinciding nicely, my Ma and stepdad, Von, were gallivanting about France for a month, so we bust a move west on a TGV train via Marseille and met them in the medieval city of Montpellier. It was an effortless ride, speckled with visions of quaint beachside towns and rustic vineyard scenes.

Montpellier was instantly inviting. We stayed on the hidden Rue De L’Amandier inside a 15^th century tenement block. It had a tiny snaking staircase and rope to steady the climb and, once inside, Persian balustrades, Moroccan lamps, wide French windows looking out to the rue below where, at night, revellers bellowed out with hoopla and howls, drunk on wine and the night. Over a bottle of excellent champagne we soaked up the sunset in the main square, drank up the conversations and evening whispers of the old town, wandered in the romantic dusk to the pink sunset of Promenade du Peyrou where musicians strummed and lovers kissed.

It was good to see the olds (they loved the WP too). Most of our time together we spent gourmandising – sucking down delicious fresh Mediterranean oysters, croissants, fine wines, absinthes with milky louche. Von (who is 6 foot 7) spent much of the time trying to avoid smashing his forehead into diminutive medieval doorways.

Two nights down, significantly more rotund, we rented a black Volvo and headed an hour north to our final destination together, the equally-medieval city of Avignon, with notable pit stops along the way – the canal town, Tarascon, where we ate fresh seafood paella over shady live bossa nova music at a café in the main square; and sleepy Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, home to Vincent Van Gogh in his later years, where he produced 150 of his finest works. Though interesting, it was hot as hell in St Remy, and we ached for the swimming pool of our Avignon hotel.

But it was actually Villeneuve-les-Avignon that we were heading to, the fortress town opposing Avignon on the northern banks of the Rhone. Pulling into the steep lane at the base of the looming medieval tower of Philippe-le-Bel, we felt like we’d stepped back in time 600 years. We checked into ‘Maison Orsini’, an amazing B&B set in the remains of a 14^th century palace run by Xavier, a French artist with sharp teeth, meaty hands and an intense gaze that evoked the ancestry of all his medieval forebears. In the garden courtyard by the fortress wall, we were privy to an incredible view that soared across the Rhone Valley, a clear view of Fort St André embedded in the distant cliff face and, over the river, Avignon, its monumental Palais des Papes luminous in the sultry night sky.

The Palais des Papes was built throughout the 14^th Century, when political heat in Rome necessitated the relocation of the papacy to France. Avignon became the surrogate Vatican, home to eight Popes for a period of a century. We toured the Palais the next morning – not before a night of crisp beers and delicious local fare at a riverside restaurant, and a breakfast of fresh pastry and cured meats in the Maison’s epic dining hall. The Palais was incredible, a truly immense statement of religious grandiosity, replete with cavernous halls, chapels, winding staircases and gothic turrets. 

It was boiling again the next day, so we fanged the Volvo out to the Pont du Gard, a monumental Roman aqueduct, the second-largest freestanding Roman-built structure next to the Colosseum. There, we drifted in the cool waters of the Rhone, dwarfed by the great manmade structure, imagining Roman moments, awash in the past.

Parting with the olds, who were bound for Lyon, we planned to head back to Nice for one final beach gasp before our Berlin return – or so we thought. The French love a good snap strike, and the train unions decided that our day of transit was a good one to halt work. It may have had something to do with the 37-degree heat, which we were forced to wander in for eight hours after our train got cancelled. Not ideal.

Our ‘replacement’ train turned out to be the normal train, in which all folk from the four cancelled trains were invited to cram in together – a hot moving mess of sweat, stench and French. When the loud, boozy louts poured out at Toulon we scored seats again, and we eased back to Nice by midnight. Cue a late pizza dinner and crisp cold brew, HK and I were elated to be back where we’d begun.

The WP proved a sturdy travel partner for the French adventure, an awesome, badass bag…with a ‘but’. Don’t pack it too full.

Aesthetically brilliant, the WP continued to look sleek and handsome at all times, keeping its cool in the adverse conditions. This bag makes you feel like a boss. The problem was that I’d crammed way too much stuff into it. I loved the thick padding of the WP’s leather strap, which performed admirably under duress (another hole or two to shorten the length would have worked wonders on the shoulders). The bag proved a cumbersome weight when strutting long stretches, slightly awkward in such brutal conditions.

Ideally, this bad boy is suited to weekenders rather than 10-dayers; short struts rather than aching French strike-induced meanderings. Keep the loot limited, and you’re golden. But whatever happens, with the WP by your side, you’re going to look good with it.

On our last morning in Nice, we scoffed down petite dejuner, swam and sizzled on the Promenade beachside, enjoying a final French lunch – seafood linguine, salad Nicoise, coffee and rosé – before lumping gear back into our sacks, venturing back aboard the 98 bus to Cote D’Azur airport and back on to our Deutschland home.

That night, HK and I sat on our Kreuzberg balcony and soaked up the twilight static of a hundred bar and café TVs telecasting the stadium roars of Rio De Janeiro through the neighbourhood streets. World Cup fever had hit, revellers on the streets sinking beers, shouting out loud, a warm welcome home. 

The WP continued to corral my loot like a boss all the way to the end, a reliable companion, now contoured with beautiful leather ripples like a fresh pair of cowboy boots finally worn in. Individualised, a bag-in-use; may it remain for decades to come. 

*Photography by Honor Kennedy

Check out Cam and Honor’s photo and word project on Instagram or #CHKBerlin

The post Berlin Muse :: Whipping Post in the South of France appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

The handbag community have already locked it down, and have a slew of ideas for pint-sized bags, but we’re talking packs and messengers. And when you’re a blog that tests bags on the regular, this issue is exaggerated tenfold…we’ve currently got a large mound of waxed cotton and polyester teetering on the edge of a secluded shelf that is prone to collapse when certain people (mostly me) try and slip a pack from the bottom of the pile…so we’re looking for the best solution for you and us.

We hunted down some of the best and just OKish carry storage tools that are getting knocked around the Web. But this is in no way comprehensive; we’d love for our fellow Carryologists to chip in and share their own experiences and strategies…

What do you use to store or display?

The Qlipter

The so-called “One clip to rule them all”, the Qlipter is the first-ever clip with a rotating hook. At first glance, it looks like a funky carabiner, but there’s also an arm that unfolds and rotates into a hook that can hang anywhere and can rest on any surface thanks to a small round rubber nub that sits at the end of the arm. 

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The Simple Rack

This is a totally classic way to hang. Most of us have probably got one of these alongside the entry corridor to our cribs. They’re great for everything: hats, coats, scarfs and carry. But as you can see, at average length, their maximum capacity peaks at around six.

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APMG Coat Hooks

These coat hooks from APMG are as sturdy as they come. The hooks are manufactured from 5mm thick steel plate with a tough polyester coating and are fixed to a 16mm thick Trespa Athlon, which again is fixed to the wall. But it sorta reminds me of pre-school…

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The Tough Hook

You can do pull ups off of one of these – no seriously, it’s part of their advertising campaign. The Tough Hook is designed to carry heavy stuff – based on their website, I’d say bulletproof vests mainly – and they come in black and coyote. The awesome thing about this besides its burly nature is the flip handle, which gives you a hand grip, making it easier when carrying your hanger and its contents from A to B.

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S-Biner

This double-gated S-Biner is stronger than it looks. Made of lightweight, durable plastic, it’s strong enough to carry the weight of any pack that needs to be latched to a rack or anything else you can think of that’ll fit between its 1.5″ (38mm) gate opening.

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The Gear Line

The Gear Line Organization System is the perfect thing for hanging out and a step up from the sturdy S-Biner. In fact, it features a whole string of them, each attached to a sturdy loop and thanks to the Gear Tie Reusable Twist Ties on each end you can hang your Gear Line to any hook or knob – wherever it’s most convenient. Go vertical when you want to maximize storage and save wall space. Hang horizontally to keep things easily accessible at eye level or quickly dry out gear.

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Tasca Storage Furniture 

Now this is getting a little bit fancy. This beautiful piece from designer Vitomarco Marinaccio is more fashion than function but it’s honeycombed structure veneered with real oak and treated with a special handworked finish is something that could serve as an ultra luxe display. Just sling your prettiest packs up, sit back and just stare at it for a while.

The post Carry Storage :: The Collector’s Dilemma appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

Bags are the most glaring accessories you carry. They’re attached to you everywhere you go, external yet intimate. They’re big, they’re bulging, they deform your shadow.

You’re communicating something about yourself every time you pick up your bag. That’s why I’ve spent most of my life worrying about the bag I’m carrying and the bag I’ll be carrying next. It started in high school.

I was seventeen. It was 2005 and The OC was all the rage. Seth Cohen had given nerdy kids everywhere something to aspire to and I’d noticed that they, the students in The OC, carried satchels. I, being a precocious bundle of insecurity, decided they were What College Students Used.

And there was this kid, Damo, in the year below me. Like most in that year he seemed impossibly cool. He played guitar, looked like he was either malnourished or vegetarian and had a righteous bag. It was spartan and unlike anything anyone else at school had. Different was what I wanted.

It was one of those canvas Aussie Disposals numbers –”military excess” stock favoured by alternative kids, often covered in Sharpie and patches for that rebel yell. Really, they were just cheap and sturdy: they’d never win any design awards but would hold up against most things short of a knife fight.

Of course, I didn’t know that then.

By hanging from the shoulders of a kid who, by the benefit of distance, could be everything I thought myself to not be (carefree, confident, artistically gifted), that bag became a symbol of what I wanted to be.

It was the visual representation of “This place ain’t me” and this place certainly wasn’t. Since then bags have never been just functional for me: they’ve played a key part in how I projected who I wanted to be.

But I didn’t know where Damo got his bag and asking would be ridiculous. I kept an eye out for them as I wandered through stores to no success. I went with the next best thing; hindsight hasn’t been kind to my decision. I bought a bag from Roger David.

(Stereotypical Roger David satchel)

Roger David is a retail chain; they sell clothes that look like what a teenager expects an adult to wear. You can see why I was their perfect customer.

And they sold a satchel. Olive green, covered in faux-punk patches and pre-worn. It was what a professional designer thought “this is what indifference looks like”.

But I bought that bag. And I used it. And someone said it looked like a bag a university student would use.

I got an Aussie Disposals bag the second I moved to Melbourne and realised who sold them. I thought myself a proper student, even though I never drew on it.

But everyone grows up eventually.

Adulthood isn’t about carefree canvas. It’s about black, shoulder pads, excessive pockets, “crazy colouring” chosen by a committee to express the “real you” beneath the suit, lifetime warranties and learning some lifetime warranties are total bullshit!

Adulthood is marketing that says “The world should take you seriously but you don’t have to take it seriously” and sells you a bag with a quirky name.

I was in my early twenties and halfway through my first degree. I’d noticed balding men in suits carrying around obnoxious bags with a bad logo. For some reason they stuck in my head.

A friend of mine formally introduced me to Crumpler. We worked at a supermarket together and both had an affinity to spending a lot of money on things we don’t need – mine latent, his overt. We bonded over that.

Crumpler had everything going for it. Comparative quality, people in suits used them, and they gave out boxes of tiny matches with their bags. How wonderfully superfluous.

It’s a nice juxtaposition: bags are far from unnecessary. They get things from one place to another, ideally without getting wet or broken. But they’re not just functional either.

They tell people things. What you do, where you’re going. That you don’t care, that you do. I cared but didn’t know what about. So I bought a Crumpler. It served me well for a time.

Somewhere between finishing degree two and watching Mad Men I started wanting a leather satchel. I’d grown frustrated with the bulk and excess of my Crumpler – it got in the way more than it helped, a mess of pockets and Velcro. It felt like a child, eager to please, offering a dozen different games to play rather than suggesting one with confidence.

(Plus its red lining had started to smell and look brown. I don’t want to know how I caused either of those things.)

I pined over bags that were equal parts rugged and elegant. But I couldn’t justify the expense when my Crumpler was functional.

Christmas was coming. My then-girlfriend asked me what I wanted. I recommended a several-hundred dollar bag I knew she couldn’t afford. We laughed.

“No, really, what do you want?”

I shrugged.

Christmas arrived and we met to exchange gifts. I opened mine to find a leather satchel from ASOS.

“Is that okay?” she asked.

It was one of the best gifts I’d ever received.

That was a year and a half ago. The bag hasn’t held up well. Part of the strap has broken off and there’s a hole in one side of it. Compare that to the Crumpler: three+ years and it’s still kicking.

Which do you think gets more use?

You want to be something? Buy something to tell people you’re it. It’s the basis of consumerism – everything you think you lack as a person can be bought. And version two will be available when you realise the first didn’t help.

I’ll buy one of the $250+ bags soon. They still appeal to me for reasons beyond functionality. They’re understated, self-assured, reliable. They’ll live forever.

But I’ll keep my ASOS satchel. Why?

Part of growing up is worrying less about what the outside world thinks and more about what matters. You start looking for meaning, not definition.

A bag is more than its materials and construction. The Aussie Disposals bag was an expression of freedom; the Roger David an attempt to be something I wasn’t. The Crumpler was a step towards adulthood.

My ASOS satchel isn’t just a bag made in China: it’s the physical incarnation of someone who cares about me doing what she can to give me what I want.

That matters. That has meaning. It doesn’t define me. It defines “us” in that one moment in time. That’s worth showing the world.

Plus people have told me it looks “writerly”. That’s a bonus.

_

Meet our new contributor, Cory Zanoni. Cory writes essays and fiction but invariably draws all over his work. He’s written for ArtsHub, edited for The Conversation and stacked sheepskins for an abattoir. Ask him about it on Twitter. 

The post From Satchel to Grave appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

After hanging out on the deep southern beaches of Morocco for a couple of months, that fine example of British engineering wasn’t getting any better. Triumph mechanics are thin on the ground down there, so we packed up and limped into the capital city of Casablanca where Triumph mechanics were, not surprisingly, also thin but we found someone prepared to have a go anyway.

The repair job seemed to work, but by the time we were back inland again and heading for the city of Fes, things weren’t running well. And I was running out of money, too, which meant heading North again to find work in London.

In Fes, it was crunch time. The Triumph just wasn’t going to make it any further, and nobody in that crazy medieval city was going to repair it. So Pete organized a truck to take it to Ceuta where the ferry runs across the Strait Of Gibraltar and into mainland Spain, a whole country full of motorcycle freaks and willing spanner hands.

Now, I should mention that in 1973 Morocco it was more than likely that any foreign tourist under the age of 30 was, at any given moment, carrying a substantial quantity of illegal, Moroccan-grown substances that enhanced the traveling experience somewhat.

A visit to the mountains where the local farmers produced substantial blocks of hashish to order and helped pack them into the spare tyre of the Combi was as much a part of the tourist trail as the souks of Marrakech.

Some sly farmers were known to tip off the police, which meant they could sell the same blocks of hash several times over, keeping everybody very well fed and happy. Except for the odd tourist, who ended up broke and in jail.

The most feared people amongst the young hippies in Morocco were the black-uniformed moto-gendarmes who would swoop into the camping grounds on their shiny BMW boxers and create mayhem.

A police raid on the Combi vans and backpackers was a scary and possibly dangerous experience, and happened often enough for these guys to have a reputation as mean, tough and coldly efficient (if you’ve ever seen the movie “Midnight Express”, well it was set in the same times and a similar culture).

The day the truck was due to pick up the bike was the day the gendarmes swooped into the camping ground. Gulp! Maybe they thought we were seriously big operators and were planning to ship a whole truckload of hash?

They declared that perhaps they should just escort the truck north, all the way to the border.

So, it was off through the Atlas Mountains we went. Shortly after hitting the road, their real mission was soon revealed…they just wanted to show the Aussie boy on the Suzuki how well a BMW-mounted cop can ride!

Soon, we’d left Pete and the truck in our dust, and with a BMW either side of me we had an amazing high-speed, mountain-road, double-the-speed-limit fang, complete with flashing lights and a blast of the air horns whenever somebody needed overtaking. It was fun, scary, challenging and exciting. What a day!

Once we’d arrived in the north, we shared glasses of mint tea, had an outrageous laugh, and the gendarmes fired up their BMWs, waved a cheery goodbye and headed back home through the mountains. I was a little surprised that they didn’t bust out the kif pipe!

I waited for the truck to lumber into Ceuta, then helped Pete push the bike across the border into Spanish territory, and he was safely back in Western civilization.

From there we parted company, and I headed across the Straits and north through mainland Spain, with a now confirmed lusting for a big black BMW, a seriously bald front tyre and an even more serious cash problem…

The post Carrying on a Motorcycle :: Gendarmes and BMWs appeared first on Carryology - Exploring better ways to carry.

Crowdfunding is also a platform for change. Many projects on these sites stem from people not finding products that suit their needs and deciding if it doesn’t exist, they’ll make it exist. One such example is Matador, a brand that designed military-inspired business carry which is durable without costing wince-worthy sums.

Of course, it’s not just people starting out in the industry who turn to crowdfunding sites. Some established brands utilize these resources very effectively as a helping hand towards offering great product for their customers. Take Boreas as a case in point, who successfully funded their Bootlegger series through Kickstarter – well more than successfully, as they smashed their target goal of $10,000 by more than 14 times that amount.

It’s possible to argue that crowdfunded carry projects can give existing brands a subtle (or perhaps not so subtle as such sites increase in popularity) nudge to up their game and produce inspiring carry instead of the same old things that a multitude of other brands are churning out. On the other hand, you could argue that some of those same old things are evident across the crowdfunding sites.

Plus there are other drawbacks too, such as some project owners being completely unprepared and overwhelmed by the level of backing they receive and subsequently struggling to fulfil the demand created by their backers. Another key drawback is that project owners are essentially asking their backers to take a leap of faith – there’s no chance to see and handle the reward items in person before you buy them and it’s often months before backers receive the items they paid for if the project is successfully funded.

However, one thing is clear…plenty of new players are staking their claim in the carry industry thanks to crowdfunding and if carry enthusiasts are willing to spend time sifting through the grit to find the gems, it can be a win-win for brands and customers alike.

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What are your thoughts on crowdfunding carry projects? Do you dig them? Are there too many projects trying to make a quick buck without coming up with exciting and inspiring carry? Does a carry project have to offer something game-changing in order to be “worthy” of funding or does it not matter as long as people are willing to pay for the product? 

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