Ask the old hard core trippers and they'll tell you that those ugly, white buckets just aren't practical. Then they'll go on to tell you what you really need is an ash pack basket to carry your food. They are easy to carry, have a flat lid so you can stack more junk on top during a portage and they look right at home in the canoe or at camp. As an extra, they'll say, you should get the waterproof liner for it too.

Well let me tell you something. If you happen to run across some squaw sitting around the campfire, hammering on a chunk of Black Ash, which of course is now almost as rare as a squaw, then you might have a chance at a pack basket. You see, to properly construct the ash basket, black ash is pounded to separate the annular rings, then split into strips and woven while green. This produces an extremely strong and reasonably lightweight basket. The guys that'll take your money, however, haven't got the time or inclination for that and will sell you a basket made from sawn white ash. Knock one over and sit down hard during a brawl over the last pork chop, and it'll break.

Scooter and Hal, like a pair of old squaws, reject high priced, poor performance gear and look to the landscape for readily available raw materials to make cheap, durable gear. Hal, living down the road from Leominster, home of the plastic factory, has found that 5 gallon buckets are the natural raw material of his age. All the old squaws agree. To make a pack basket, Hal took the straps off an old daypack with a blown zipper. After a couple of tries, he found the right spots to drill holes and added the straps, making a very durable and economical pack basket. Nuts and bolts with rubber washers keep the bucket waterproof. Hal used the size found on a backpack, and made sure he used a locknut. A good fit is very important. Ask Scooter. Too low on his back, and the edge dug in and practically killed him. It needs to ride between the shoulder blades.

Hal's bucket used to have a plastic pour spout in the lid. He discovered the disadvantage of this one gray early morning on the Allagash. He awoke to the sound of a red squirrel, who had gnawed away the pour spout, and was reaching in, pulling out the corner of the gorp bag and munching away.

Unlike bears, there is no program for darting and relocating red squirrels that have overcome their fear of humans. Please don't feed the animals.

Hal threw his teva, and the squirrel retreated. A minute later, and Hal had to throw the other teva. Soon, he had emptied his tent of everything he could throw and was building up to a red-faced rage at this little red minion. Muttering curses through his gnashing teeth, he exploded from the tent, his eyes following the retreating squirrel into the rocks of the fire ring. He grabbed the poking stick and viciously rammed it into the holes of the fireplace. Alas, the little varmint was no more. Rest in peace, little buddy.

So, with a new lid, Hal has a waterproof, squirrel-proof, hangable, packable food basket, which doubles as a campstool. And the cost was just about zip. Still working on recipe for red squirrel though.

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