When you're designing new equipment, there comes a point where you have to stop testing it in the shop and let it prove itself in the real world.
A few weeks ago, my friend Trent Peterson reached out after hearing about my new ComfortStride Pack Saddle. Trent isn't just any packer. He's a Bishop Mule Days World Champion and one of the most respected packers I know. If anyone was going to put my saddle through a true backcountry test, it was Trent.
He was planning a trip into a high mountain lake and offered to put one of my saddles through its paces. I gladly shipped him one.
After he returned, I couldn't wait to hear how it had performed. It was Sunday afternoon and I sent him a text asking how the saddle fit his mule and how it worked.
His reply came back almost immediately.
"That pack saddle far exceeded my expectations!!"
Then, just below it...
"It seemed to fit well. I'll give you a call tomorrow if you're free?"
The first text made my day.
The second one kept me awake most of the night.
Why did he need to call? If the saddle had exceeded his expectations, what couldn't be said in a text message? My mind immediately started imagining everything that could have gone wrong.
Had the threaded inserts pulled out? Had I overlooked a weak point? Had an arch failed somehow? Was I about to learn that a design I'd already put into production had a fatal flaw?
By Monday morning, I'd managed to imagine just about every possible failure.
Then Trent called...
Toward the end of the trip, they had loaded the saddle onto a mule that had been giving them problems for quite some time. They were already questioning whether they were going to keep the mule.
At some point on the trail, the mule completely blew up.
It started bucking violently before tumbling end over end down the mountainside. Trent estimated he watched the mule flip at least three times before it finally came to a stop.
Thankfully, the mule was okay. But my anxiety was rising.
Then came the part I wasn't expecting.
Trent told me in his initial inspection there was remarkably little damage to the saddle. He thought one of the arches or possibly a bracket might have bent slightly, but he wanted to inspect it more carefully before giving me a complete report.
I couldn't stop smiling.
As strange as it sounds, this was about the best test I could ever ask for.
There is simply no practical way to recreate something like this. No engineer is going to intentionally load a mule with gear and send it tumbling down a mountainside just to test a pack saddle. Some things can only happen in the real world.
My biggest concerns had been the threaded inserts pulling out, the brackets failing, or some type of catastrophic structural failure.
Apparently, none of that happened.
I'm still waiting for Trent's final inspection and his complete report, but hearing that the saddle survived an accident of that magnitude gave me a tremendous amount of confidence in the design.
It's not a test I would ever want to repeat.
But sometimes the mountain performs a test you could never design yourself.
