Tump Line

I’m writing a follow-up to my popular 1001 Climbing Tips (10 years old, widely translated). This one shifts from pure climbing to broader mountain & wilderness topics—still extremely technical (possibly the most technical mountain book ever), with over 1000 tips so far, many on small but critical details, plus some real game-changers. Eclectic as always (including 20 pulk tips), it mixes stories and advice—enjoyable even if you never touch a mountain.

Here's a little sample, on the subject of the amazing Tump line.

The Tump Line

Although modern technology can’t eliminate “the load,” some old-school tech can help—something very simple that can make your load feel up to 30% lighter.

Rather than relying on a million-dollar load-carrying robot, a grumpy donkey, or a team of mutinous porters, simply use a strap—more precisely, a tump line.

I’d been vaguely aware of the tump line (or head strap), a method of carrying loads using just the forehead, ever since seeing photos of Nepali porters. But I never gave it much thought; I simply assumed they hadn’t invented shoulder straps yet.

The first time I took it seriously was over pizza with Yvon Chouinard (name drop), when he described how he used one and how effective it was—though at the cost of never being able to enjoy the view. It sounded intriguing, but not enough to try, and I didn’t want people thinking I’d somehow missed the invention of shoulder straps.

The real turning point came on my first post-50s trip to Yosemite Valley (I was 53), where I climbed El Capitan twice in four weeks—one solo—and did an enormous amount of load carrying. For each ascent, I had to haul over 100 kg of gear (mostly water) to the base, requiring four or five trips. Getting everything down from the top took three trips each time (involving 1,000 meters of ascent per trip), then repeat. That’s 6,000 meters of ascent and descent just from shuttling loads off the summit.

Perhaps due to age, good sense, or the sheer weight of modern wall gear, much of the trip felt like endless heavy carrying up and down El Cap, with the A4 climbing serving as rest. Several times, my body rebelled, especially when exhausted yet still facing another uphill slog for the final load. I’d felt something similar recently while carrying my three-year-old son (about 15 kg) on my back, combined with other gear and long mountain days—it left me utterly knackered. I’d reached an age where pushing myself hard no longer built strength; it just wore me down.

After the trip, I revisited the tump line idea. Research (mostly from canoeists who use them for portaging, plus US climber Colin Haley, who employs one) was limited, so I made my own since I couldn’t find one for sale.

I could have used simple 38 mm or 50 mm webbing, or a fleece-lined 50 mm head strap with long side straps or loops. Instead, I fashioned mine from 3D mesh fabric sewn to an adjustable strap long enough to reach from my head to the bottom of my largest bag (a 150-liter haul bag). A Rollercam buckle at hip height allowed adjustments while worn. It worked well for initial testing, though I’d now improve the design.

All my testing involved carrying my daughter, Isla (around 10 kg, or 15 kg in her baby carrier). Starting light is crucial—your neck normally supports only your head’s weight (5–7 kg, more if you’re from Texas), so build up gradually.

The two key factors are the strap’s position on your head (adjustable during carry) and on the load (fixed). For the head, start near the hairline or the forehead-crown transition. The strap sits on the front of the head—not the top—because muscles pull, not push. Positioning it forward lets neck muscles pull the load forward (try nodding forward versus pushing upward). On top would create axial compression straight down the spine.

Pack position is less critical, but ideally run a line from the pack’s rear bottom seam (where ice axe loops are often attached) up to your forehead—this lifts weight and presses the pack stably against your back. The base of the shoulder straps is less stable; from the top, it is more neck-draggy. An alternative is routing under the pack’s base axis (possibly needing a sewn retaining strap).

One issue: the strap can flop, twist, or misalign when pulling the pack on, requiring blind fiddling. With practice, you learn to preset it—often tucking the head section into the grab loop for easy reach. Canoe packs often use a dedicated attachment tab at shoulder-blade level on the side panel for easier location.

In use, adjust the strap, shoulder straps, and hip belt for balance. Put on the pack, position the strap on your hairline, then shorten it and lean forward (looking two meters ahead, neck muscles pressing) to shift more load to the head. Lengthen or tilt your head back to reduce it.

Very quickly, a shoulder-crushing load becomes almost painless. You’re not carrying everything on your neck—just enough to tip the balance away from excruciating shoulder pain. With 50+ kg, there’s only manageable pain and unmanageable pain.

If measurable, even when it feels like 90% of the load is on your head, it’s actually shared with shoulder straps, back friction (amplified by forward lean), etc. The balance shifts constantly, especially downhill or at speed. Tump lines excel on slow, steady uphill carries in steep terrain (thousands of porters can’t be wrong)—not descents, where bounce risks spinal injury even with moderate loads.

As with any weighted exercise, increase load gradually to build muscle and skill before expedition weights. Canoe portages are short; porters develop 100 kg strength over the years. Rushing risks injury.

In practice, the line feels great at first, but neck fatigue eventually sets in—then stop or shift load back to straps. On day two of use, though it felt fine during the day, my neck felt twice as heavy at bedtime from accumulated fatigue.

My main upgrades: high-strength fine-tuning ladder-lock buckles (PL203H) on either side of the head pad for easier, unilateral adjustments to keep the pad centred.

I see the tump line as a missing key to efficient load movement. Like all simple tools, it demands skill, care, and patience to use safely and effectively.