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The timeless comfort of a wall tent.

It’s a thick hunk of canvas weighing well over 80 pounds. The frame, a series of steel poles and fittings spray-painted in a code generated from two 20-year-old brains and a 12-pack of beer. The living area is a healthy 14’ x 16’; plenty of space to sleep five guys and still have room to lounge. Holding it down are 18-inch nails that require a hammer and some elbow grease to sink into the earth. Cracked grommets house frayed, twisted rope for guy lines.

My first memories of life inside the wall tent are from a family duck hunt long before I could even lift a shotgun, 15 or so years after it was color-coded. We drove out to a prairie reservoir, pounded heavy stakes into frozen ground, worked the metal mountings together, and moved in. It took what seemed like an eternity to set the thing up, but once we had the stove in place, kitchen corner organized, and the sleeping arrangements settled, I didn’t want to leave.

That night, a howling wind shook the walls. Driving snow drifted in the sage and piled high along the perimeter of the tent. It was, by all accounts, a serious storm. Though, our world on the inside, consisting of belly-laughs, hot food, and BS was starkly different than the violent reality of the weather. Whatever was happening in the outer world just didn’t seem to matter.

The Coleman whistled and the storm raged, but I sat like a king, cozy and in the company of giants.

I sensed a connection of timelessness with my father and his gang who’d been enjoying the same shelter since college. As an impressionable young boy, I looked up to all of them. Finally being allowed to join on one of their group outings felt like learning a secret handshake. My entire childhood, I was regaled with tales of elk camp, turkey huntin’, and the joys of sharing it all under a wall tent. I was captivated and couldn’t wait to be a part of the club. Now, their stories came to life with vigor. The Coleman whistled and the storm raged, but I sat like a king, cozy and in the company of giants.

The more trips I took, the more the tent represented something greater than simply a refuge from the elements. For me, it became something to measure time against. Sure, it’s earned its fair share of patchwork over the years, but for the most part it’s held pretty damn steady for 40 years. Especially considering the lives that have spent time under its canopy. Unaffected by careers, relationships, or life-changing achievements, the tent remains. Ready to go at a moment’s notice.

It seems sacrilegious for me to do anything but pitch it until it will no longer stand.

Over time, I have slowly inherited the responsibility of looking after it. Gatherings with the original group are few and far between anymore. Most trips nowadays are with friends and family of my own generation. In some ways, it feels like the thing has run its course and it’s time to pick up a new one. The roof is speckled with holes, the poles are dented, and the entire package is objectively too heavy for modern-day standards.

But on the other hand, it seems sacrilegious for me to do anything but pitch it until it will no longer stand. From boyhood into my adult life, it’s been a reliable haven providing a welcome sturdiness in an otherwise changing world. Countless weeks, each a drop in the bucket by themselves, have formed a river of memory, deep and strong and congruent with who I am year after year. The canvas holds so many memories, it’s almost as if part of my identity is etched into the fabric itself. No matter where I am, whenever the stubborn canvas unrolls and wafts the air with that ancient yet charming mildew, I feel at home. Any problems that live on the outside dissolve to nothing and existence shrinks to the peaceful reality that home really is where the heart is.

I think I’ll keep it after all.

Wall or Nothing
by Mike England

If you’re camped out in the cold, bitter, Montana winter, nothing beats a canvas wall tent—except maybe the new Bridger Tent ($1,500) from Montana Canvas. Its five-foot walls and spacious interior give you all the benefits of a traditional wall tent, but the lightweight polyester fabric and aluminum poles pack up into a single bag, making it much easier to tote around, set up, and take down while out in the elements. What’s more, the Bridger’s got several features typical canvas tents don’t—most notably, a 10-foot peak ceiling height, a sewn-in floor, and a lower price tag. Which of course means way more headroom, way fewer unwanted critters, and plenty of money saved for your whiskey & steak budget.

At 14 feet square, there’s loads of room for several cots, a kitchen corner, gear tubs, even a table & chairs. The multiple guy-out points and burly tensioners draw the tent tight to fend off wind & snow, and the built-in awning provides shelter for dirty packs & stinky boots. A zippered floor opening and standard stove jack mean you can enjoy the natural heat of a woodstove, too.

Three screened windows offer plenty of ventilation, and small access ports allow extension cords from a generator or when camped in a powered campground—as I and my two friends were during an elk hunt this past fall. Every day we returned to camp, we appreciated the Bridger’s roomy interior and thoughtful design. Each of us had his own space, plus our community pantry in one corner and ergonomic kitchen in another. That left plenty of room for counterspace and camp chairs, creating comfy environs for dinner & drinks after a long day in the field.

Setup was intuitive, and takedown was fast. After two weeks, we all agreed: this tent’s coming with us next year—and on every outing until then, too. I still love my classic canvas tent, but when it comes to price and packability, the Bridger’s got it beat.