North Fork, the bugs can be bad, one of the worst places in the park, everyone agrees. By midsummer in a year of normal precipitation, mosquitoes run the place, trailing warm-blooded critters like the cloud of grub that follows Pigpen. They swarm anything that stands stillâelk, mules, bears, peopleâburrowing in ears and nostrils, inserted into any crevice. Which is worse, the raw itch of a bite on sweaty skin, or the whine of a single bug circling the cabin at 2 a.m. when everyone is asleep but you? (Both are worse.)
You canât work for long in the woods without gloves. Some tasksâsharpening chain, clearing a culvertâare better done with bare hands, for dexterity or quick cleanup. But most jobs are eased by gloves. Swinging an axe, dragging brushâwithout the thick leather palms of gloves to protect them, hands will be blistered, wet, embedded with splinters and the prickly sting of devilâs club.
Government-issue gloves, with size stenciled on the gauntlet in black and a little strap to tighten them around the wrist, are ubiquitous. Anyone whoâs worked for the feds in the woods knows them. Just issued, theyâre bright white and inflexible (just like the higher-ups, we joke). We use the pliers of multi-tools to turn the gloves inside out so the rigid seams along fingers and palm face outward and the hand slides into smooth, cowhide lining. Theyâre undeniably more comfortable this way, but the exposed seams abrade quickly. By the middle of a ten-day hitch, the thumb yawns like an envelope, the tip of the middle finger worn away. You bring a spare pair of gloves on a hitch, but still keep wearing the old ones, duct-taped, jury-rigged, until after pinching a fingertip through the hole. Like most standardized benefits, government gloves are a mixed blessing. Theyâre free (leather gloves at the Army-Navy store cost upward of $12), but clumsy, inelegant, and cheap.
Thereâs no consensus on favorite gloves; preference varies. Goatskin is tough, deerskin buttery soft. Cotton gloves are cool in summer, but awful in rain, and wear out fast. Neoprene is good for working in wet fall or with submerged hands, but leaves your fingers damp and white, the skin easy to tear. Lined gloves delight on cold autumn mornings, or in unexpected snow, but after ten minutes, theyâll be too hot, and do you really want to carry more than one pair for day work?
No glove is a good glove when wet. Wet gloves are slippery inside and out, hot and clammy when youâre sweating and icy as soon as you stop moving. And heavy. Wet gloves are worse than a wet hat, but not as bad as wet socks. When you stop for a short lunch in 40-degree rain under the dry tent of a low-branched spruce, is it better to take the wet gloves off, or leave them on? Eating lunch with wet gloves is horrible, and itâs hard to mine trail mix with a gloved hand. But taking the gloves off is bad, too, because your hands get cold (unless you keep them in your pockets, which you canât do and still eat), and by the time everyone is shivering badly enough to prefer an extra fifteen minutes of heat-generating work over the rest of the entitled lunch break, the gloves will be soggy and freezing. Sliding a cold hand into a colder glove is like ripping off a Band-Aid; you know itâll be over soon, but it still makes you cringe. You grit your teeth, tense up your stomach muscles, and hope no one notices your whining. But no one is watching. Their gloves are wet and cold, too, unless theyâve brought a spare pair. In that case, they pull them on and quietly gloat. Comfortable, yes, but then, their gloves will be soaked in ten minutes, and they forfeit the tortured satisfaction that comes from the tolerable, temporary suffering the rest of us share. Who comes out ahead?
Should you have an unexpected shit-in-the-woods scenario, look for âtoilet paper plantsâ: false hellebore, thimbleberry, mountain maple. A
You canât work for long in the woods without gloves. Some tasksâsharpening chain, clearing a culvertâare better done with bare hands, for dexterity or quick cleanup. But most jobs are eased by gloves. Swinging an axe, dragging brushâwithout the thick leather palms of gloves to protect them, hands will be blistered, wet, embedded with splinters and the prickly sting of devilâs club.
Government-issue gloves, with size stenciled on the gauntlet in black and a little strap to tighten them around the wrist, are ubiquitous. Anyone whoâs worked for the feds in the woods knows them. Just issued, theyâre bright white and inflexible (just like the higher-ups, we joke). We use the pliers of multi-tools to turn the gloves inside out so the rigid seams along fingers and palm face outward and the hand slides into smooth, cowhide lining. Theyâre undeniably more comfortable this way, but the exposed seams abrade quickly. By the middle of a ten-day hitch, the thumb yawns like an envelope, the tip of the middle finger worn away. You bring a spare pair of gloves on a hitch, but still keep wearing the old ones, duct-taped, jury-rigged, until after pinching a fingertip through the hole. Like most standardized benefits, government gloves are a mixed blessing. Theyâre free (leather gloves at the Army-Navy store cost upward of $12), but clumsy, inelegant, and cheap.
Thereâs no consensus on favorite gloves; preference varies. Goatskin is tough, deerskin buttery soft. Cotton gloves are cool in summer, but awful in rain, and wear out fast. Neoprene is good for working in wet fall or with submerged hands, but leaves your fingers damp and white, the skin easy to tear. Lined gloves delight on cold autumn mornings, or in unexpected snow, but after ten minutes, theyâll be too hot, and do you really want to carry more than one pair for day work?
No glove is a good glove when wet. Wet gloves are slippery inside and out, hot and clammy when youâre sweating and icy as soon as you stop moving. And heavy. Wet gloves are worse than a wet hat, but not as bad as wet socks. When you stop for a short lunch in 40-degree rain under the dry tent of a low-branched spruce, is it better to take the wet gloves off, or leave them on? Eating lunch with wet gloves is horrible, and itâs hard to mine trail mix with a gloved hand. But taking the gloves off is bad, too, because your hands get cold (unless you keep them in your pockets, which you canât do and still eat), and by the time everyone is shivering badly enough to prefer an extra fifteen minutes of heat-generating work over the rest of the entitled lunch break, the gloves will be soggy and freezing. Sliding a cold hand into a colder glove is like ripping off a Band-Aid; you know itâll be over soon, but it still makes you cringe. You grit your teeth, tense up your stomach muscles, and hope no one notices your whining. But no one is watching. Their gloves are wet and cold, too, unless theyâve brought a spare pair. In that case, they pull them on and quietly gloat. Comfortable, yes, but then, their gloves will be soaked in ten minutes, and they forfeit the tortured satisfaction that comes from the tolerable, temporary suffering the rest of us share. Who comes out ahead?
Should you have an unexpected shit-in-the-woods scenario, look for âtoilet paper plantsâ: false hellebore, thimbleberry, mountain maple. A
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