I used to carry way too much stuff into the woods. Like, embarrassing amounts. My first elk hunt I brought a 55-pound pack for a day trip. Spare socks, spare knife, backup flashlight, backup to the backup flashlight, three kinds of fire starter, a hatchet (a hatchet, for a day hunt), and enough food for a small militia.
By mile three I was soaked in sweat, chafed in places you don’t talk about, and making so much noise walking I might as well have brought a cowbell. Didn’t see an elk. Did see the inside of my truck, where I spent the last two hours of daylight napping because my back was wrecked.
The Brutal Purge
After that trip I dumped my pack on the living room floor and went through every single item. If I hadn’t used it in the last five hunts, it either got cut or replaced with something lighter.
Here’s what survived:
- Water. One bottle, plus a Sawyer Mini filter. Ditch the bladder. Heavy, annoying to fill, and you drink too much because you don’t have to stop.
- Rangefinder. A small Vortex Ranger 1300. I didn’t buy it — my uncle gave it to me when he upgraded. I used to guess distances. Guessing is for people who don’t eat venison.
- Binos. 8×42. You need good glass before you need good scope glass. Spotting animals is the whole game.
- Knife. One. A replaceable-blade Havalon. I used to carry three knives. Why? I have no answer.
- First aid. Tourniquet, QuikClot, tape, ibuprofen. Not the 47-piece kit from Amazon. The stuff that actually stops bleeding.
- Layers, not bulk. Merino base layer, a puffy that packs to the size of a grapefruit, and a thin rain shell. That replaced a fleece, a hoodie, and a jacket that weighed more than the rifle.
- Paracord and two carabiners. You will always find a use for paracord. Always.
What I Cut Without Mercy
- The hatchet. A sturdy fixed-blade knife does everything a hatchet does for a day hunt.
- Three backup flashlights. Now I bring one headlamp plus the light on my phone.
- The “survival kit” in a tin can. I don’t bug out; I walk back to the truck.
- Enough food for three days. I bring a sandwich, trail mix, and jerky. If I’m not back by dark, I have bigger problems than hunger.
- Camp shoes. If it’s a day hunt, you don’t need camp shoes. You need to sit down at the truck and take your boots off.
One Piece of Gear I’ll Never Cut
It’s not a piece of gear. It’s a ritual: I lay everything out on the tailgate the night before. Not just to organize. To feel the weight. If I pick up the pack and think “this is gonna suck,” I take something out. You’d be amazed how much your gut knows three hours before your lower back does.
The pack I hunt with now weighs about 18 pounds with water and rifle ammo. That’s down from 55. I see more game, I walk farther, I’m quieter, and I don’t need a nap in the truck at 2 p.m.
You don’t need more gear. You need less — and you need to know exactly why every single thing is in there. If your answer is “just in case,” leave it in the truck.