AKA: Our Favourite Gifts of Gear.
Article sponsored by MEC. Words :: Feet Banks.
In time for the holidays, this is a story about giving (and receiving) great gifts of gear. It’s also about MEC’s new Member Rewards program, but before we get to that, here’s a healthy dose of nostalgia…
As a teenaged kid, there were certain places—at any time of year—that were just so exciting I’d suddenly have to pee as soon as I walked in. I loved movies, so video rental shops were one such place—strolling the aisles basking in all the covers and options, all those potential hours of cinematic bliss. It was the best (even if most video stores did not have an available washroom).
I also loved camping and the outdoors, so the same thing used to happen walking into the MEC store which, in the mid-1990s, was one of the biggest stores I’d ever been in (besides Costco—the candy aisle had the same effect).
This is long before internet shopping, so the MEC store was really the only place to find all the gear I’d seen in the magazines or coveted at the climbing crag, or heard other kids bragging about at school (like that yellow plastic case that protected eggs in your backpack).
MEC had all the gear imaginable, in one single place. I remember strolling the backpack aisle as a young teenager, wondering if I’d ever have enough cool gear to fit into the Arc’teryx Bora 95L pack? (I later learned that—cool gear or not—I always found a way to fill any pack size to the absolute brim with non-necessities, and then suffer for most of the trip.)
But I didn’t get my own MEC membership card until 1993. I was 17, gainfully employed and ready to step out from beneath my parent’s gear-purchasing wings. I got that Bora 95 pack, I got RAD Pants and locking carabiners, cams, nuts, gaiters, snowshoes, webbing (FYI: you can make a DIY climbing harness out of 7 metres of webbing), rain pants, ski pants, and eventually, even my first down sleeping bag. Membership did indeed have its privileges.
Times have changed and the Internet has taken a lot of the bladder-clenching joy out of shopping (though one can’t argue the convenience), But some things never change—MEC stores are bigger than ever and I still get the same tingling excitement strolling those aisles and coveting dry bags with backpack straps, double-wide sleeping pads, and seemingly space-age one-burner camp stoves.
One thing that has changed, for the better, is how my old MEC member membership is still coming through for me, thanks to the new (as of October 1, 2024) MEC Member Rewards program, a free, three-leveled program that offers exclusive discounts (5-15% depending on how much you spend annually), early access to product drops, VIP events, priority service turnaround and more.
“Members make what MEC is,” says Michelle Guimond, MEC’s VP of Marketing. “And the idea of membership is deeply rooted in our DNA. This new program is loaded with ways to show our appreciation for our most loyal members, new and old.”
Current and O.G. MEC members can log in (or go to the store) and activate the new Rewards program, while new members will be automatically enrolled when they sign up. Which means for every dollar you spend this holiday season, and the more you spend the better the benefits. Spend more than $800 a year, you’ll get 15% off purchases. Check out the three benefit levels here.
The gift of gear is always a win because you’re not simply giving someone a product, you’re enabling them to get out and have an experience, usually doing something they love (or will love once the slog is over).
To help with your gifting needs this season, the MEC Holiday Catalogue has hundreds of great gear ideas, and to kick off the giving spirit here are the Mountain Life editors sharing some of their fondest memories of receiving the gift of outdoor gear. Happy Holidays, everyone. Don’t forget, MEC is open Christmas Eve!
(And speaking of holiday shopping, here’s a hot tip for the outdoor lovers on your list: long-handled aluminum sporks make the best stocking stuffers. The long handle is essential for stirring right to the bottom of those just-add-water dehydrated meals).
ML Staff Gift Picks
Todd Lawson— co-publisher, Mountain Life
When I was 12, my mom gave me a Swiss Army knife for Christmas. She wrapped it inside a little box, which was inside another box, and another box, and another box and on and on like those little Russian dolls. By the time I got to the last and final box it was just a tiny little thing, but I opened it and my eyes lit up. I’d wanted that knife so bad because I was just really starting to get into the outdoors and camping.
Christmas was complete but I couldn’t wait to use my gift, so I headed straight for the pile of wood next to the fireplace and started shaving little sticks for kindling. I kept that knife in my safest place—a little desk drawer in my room—and looked at it almost every day until finally the snow melted and I could use it for camping. I used the scissors, I used the little toothpick, and I used the tweezers to pull splinters out of my hands. Unfortunately, I lost that Swiss Army knife somewhere along the way, but that gift really helped me to go outside more, to camp more and escape on more adventures so I still remember it to this day, and especially how she wrapped it.
(Editor’s note: those Victorinox toothpicks get lost easily but MEC has replacements for under 3 bucks!)
Erin Moroz— editor, Mountain Life: Rockies
Sometime around 1983, my big brother received dayglo yellow, plastic downhill skis from Santa. He was 10ish and me, I was 8. The skis were the kind you wore with your big sloppy winter boots and just reefed the canvas strap as tight as you could over your Sorels and hoped for the best. We were prairie kids with no idea of camber or side cut or length-under-foot; the shiny hard plastic of the skis looked fast.
Growing up in the flatlands of Winnipeg, downhill skiing was an obscure pastime. My brother and I would learn to ski years later at Springhill— the refurbished local dump that dropped off into the manmade floodway for additional “elevation.” There was no wait in line for the cargo tow rope that whisked skiers to 265 m.
I vividly remember the stereotypical Winnipeg frostiness that Christmas day in 1983. I was fortunate to feel safe and warm, surrounded by family as my mom stressed about whether the candied carrots were the adequate firmness for my grandma and our family of four while my dad snoozed on the couch. Is there anything like the memory of a childhood Christmas?
The sky was clear as we tromped over to our elementary school, which was exactly one house away from our childhood home in blue-collar East Kildonan. There in the staff parking lot, a snowplow had pushed two-months’ worth of snow into the biggest snowbank our childhood brains could conceive. So treacherous was this snowbank, we were forbidden to play on it at recess by school staff. But it was Christmas holidays, the world was ours.
Strapped into his new “skis” My brother “toured” over to the school, awkwardly side-stepping his way over gritty, packed snow made grey brown by the sanded streets as I excitedly tromped alongside. Reaching the ten-foot summit of Snowbank Peak, I watched as my big brother teetered, arms flapping. “Woooooah! was the last sound I heard before he tipped backwards over the bank and out of sight.
(Editor’s note: MEC actually has two contemporary options for these kinds of backyard, boot-strap skis—Komperdells for really small kids, and Snow Pups for kids a bit bigger and braver.)
Ned Morgan— editor, mountainlifemedia.ca
More than 10 years ago, my sister-in-law gave me the Sea To Summit Kitchen Sink as a Christmas gift. It sat in my attic until the following July when I was preparing for a kayak trip. At the last minute, I grabbed it. Stowing it in an already full pack was easy because it takes up next to no space. On the first night of the trip, I unravelled this portable, collapsible basin from its carry bag and filled it with water to use for dinner (and then to do dishes). Everyone was impressed by how much water it held, and how small it packed down. I’ve brought it on every trip since, scraping it along Canadian Shield and Niagara Escarpment rock countless times without ever springing a leak.
How does it work? You simply fill it up from the river or lake, carry it as carefully as you can to minimize spillage, then set it on the flattest ground you can find. When it’s full of water it flattens itself out which means you’re less likely to knock it over. Of all the fancy camp kitchen kit I’ve demoed over the years, this small-ticket item (the 10L size is $34.95 at MEC) stands out as something I recommend without hesitation to any paddler, backcountry camper or backpacker.
(Editor’s note: you can also wash your nasty hiking-boot feet in these! But maybe do the dishes first.)
Kristin Schnelten— editor, Mountain Life: Blue Mountains
Growing up in a Midwestern town more than four hours from the nearest outdoor store, my childhood ski trips were outfitted entirely with borrowed clothing and rental gear. A neighbour’s five-year-old ski jacket would do, and certainly someone had snow pants that might fit? My memories of skiing in the ‘80s are of exceedingly damp, painfully cold weekends in the icy hills of Wisconsin.
When I announced my post-university plans to head west, my father was so ecstatic he sprung for the moving truck and hopped in for the two-day drive to Utah. Along the way, we stopped at a mega-outlet outdoor store where he forked over the cash for a super-discounted pair of Sorels, rated to a frigid -73 C. They were a full size too big, but did that matter? The beasts of leather, rubber and piles of insulation were so heavy I could barely walk 100 metres in them anyway. The boots were my insurance that, even if I couldn’t land my dream ski instructor job and ended up as a liftie, my toes would survive the winter.
I did end up with that dream job, so my “standing in one place for hours at a time” fears were waylaid. But the boots paid for themselves multiple times over in the Rockies: winter camping trips, forest campfires and backyard chores—my beloved boots kept me toasty warm.
And now, 28 years later, they’re still my go-to for winter warmth. No, I’m not headed out for a 10K hike in them, but dance parties in a snowstorm? (Trust me, you should make this one happen.) Christmastime busking gigs? Oh ya, I haul these babies out multiple times per year. Maybe it’s just nostalgia for a time when every piece of gear held the promise of wild new adventures to come, but my obnoxious clodhoppers continue to fill me with a full-body warmth, from the toes up.
(Editor’s note: Sorels are a Canadian classic and should be featured on the back of our money—or at least on a postage stamp—but there are actually a bunch of comparable winter boots available nowadays. None of them have that nostalgic cachet of an old-school white-canvas Sorel though.)
Frédérique Sauvée—editor, Vie en montagne
My sister unintentionally triggered my vocation for the outdoors when she “bequeathed” me her old scout tent as a gift when I was 6 years old. Also known as a “Canadian tent” to us Europeans, this object had the ability to forge in me a strong passion for North America, where it seemed to come from, and for adventures in the great outdoors.
With its triangular shape, its silly posts in the middle of the openings and its musty-smelling double roof, this makeshift shelter turned out to be an invitation to experience great things under the stars. It all started in my parents’ backyard, of course, where I planted it and imagined myself camping on the shores of a Quebec lake or atop the Rocky Mountains. My dog and cat would squeeze into this confined, claustrophobic space, much to my delight because, let’s face it, it was one of the first nights of my life that I spent alone outside the comfort of home.
This tent was the real foundation of my outdoor life, the most beautiful gift I received during my childhood on the Old Continent.
(Editor’s note: they aren’t musty, and probably few if any have poles in the centre, but MEC has plenty of tents, and surely some of them must be “Canadian tents.”
Feet Banks—editor, Mountain Life: Coast Mountains
One Christmas my dad came home from Chinatown with a cardboard box. My dad was an inventor and gadget salesman, so he always gave us the weirdest gifts—an automatic fly swatter! An electric hammer! A mega-blender! This time was different though, inside the box was not an invention, it was a tiny furry animal with big ears and a really expressive face. It was the coolest, cutest animal I’d ever seen. We named him Gizmo.
I loved Gizmo so much, but there were rules and responsibilities too. First was never to get him wet. Well, my dog must have been jealous ’cause it started acting a fool and before you know it, some water spilled on Gizmo and soon all these furry ball pods popped off him and quickly grew into brothers and sisters! One even had a cool mohawk stripe of fur on his head, so we called him Spike.
The other rule, the most important one, was to never feed Gizmo (or his spawn) after midnight, but guess what? We messed that one up too! Spike and all the other Mogwais (that’s what their species was called) ate pizza after midnight and evolved into totally ugly and evil creatures that started wreaking havoc on our house and the entire town. They attacked my mom even tortured Gizmo. Then they started killing cops and people, including Mr. Hanson the science teacher.
Spike and all the other Mogwais (that’s what their species was called) ate pizza after midnight and evolved into totally ugly and evil creatures that started wreaking havoc on our house and the entire town.
One good thing though, was that at this time I had the hottest girlfriend in town, Kate, and while we were hiding out from Spike and his gang she told he about how her dad had died in their chimney one year when she was nine because he was trying to act like Santa Claus to surprise her by coming down the chimney but HE GOT STUCK and died. So that was how she found out there was no Santa Claus—that was the worst Christmas ever, except this Christmas was turning out to be even worse than that!
Luckily, stupid Spike and the other creatures all went into the movie theatre to watch Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, I think they related to the dwarves ‘cause they were also not that vertically gifted. So while they were in there, Kate and I did some MacGyvering with the gas line and exploded them all!
Or so we thought, turns out Spike had escaped and was about to spawn more Gremlins in the water fountain at the mall except Gizmo opened a sky light and killed him with sunlight. (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention they don’t like bright light).
So that’s why Gizmo was the best gift I ever got, he basically saved our whole town and maybe the world. Anyhow, that’s my story. I guess the lesson is to get a good headlamp in case you need to fight off monsters who hate bright light. MEC sells headlamps, right?
(Editor’s note: They do indeed sell headlamps. Also, don’t believe anything Feet Banks says here, there is so such a thing as Santa Claus. Happy Holidays to all.)
Check out the MEC Holiday Catalogue for more great gift ideas (for any time of the year) and don’t forget about the aforementioned rewards program—the more gifts you buy, the more you save.
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