VENTURE GEAR
◆ Batch 47 is cut and hanging. Batch 48 opens to the standing list once the elk quarters are out of the walk-in.

— est. somewhere around the drought years, in a shed out west —

Honest packs.
Stitched one
at a time.

Howdy. Venture Gear is a one-man canvas shop turning out the kind of hauling gear that holds up when the weather quits being polite. No logos the size of dinner plates, no plastic buckles that give up on day four of a nine-day trip. Just 14oz waxed duck, solid brass, bridle leather, and seams I bar-tacked myself while the coffee went cold.

◆ batch no. 47 ◆ 14oz waxed duck ◆ built to outlive you

[ 01 ] The Workshop

Name's Roy Pemberton. I spent twelve seasons on a backcountry trail crew out of the Salmon-face district — hauling pulaskis, crosscuts, pack saws, and far too many rolls of #9 wire up creek drainages where the mules flat refused to go. Every pack I ever bought quit on me somewhere between the trailhead and the job site. Zippers filled with grit. Stitching let go at the haul loop. Foam shoulder straps compressed into roofing tar by August.

Figured if nobody was gonna build one that'd last, I'd best learn to do it myself. Bought my first walking-foot machine off a saddler in Dubois who was retiring. Ruined a lot of canvas figuring out what a 135x17 needle wants versus what it'll tolerate. That was a good while back.

These days the shop lives in a converted feed barn tucked up against the foothills — about forty minutes from pavement, longer if there's snow. It's me, two Juki walking-foot machines named Gert and Shirley, a clicker press I traded a half-ton truck for, a bench grinder, a leather splitter that sounds like a ghost, and a woodstove that smokes something awful when the wind comes out of the east.

Every piece that goes out the door gets my initials stamped in the liner — R.P. — a batch number, and a lifetime repair promise. You wear it out, send it back. I'll patch the tear, re-wax the shell, re-stitch the seam, and send it home. That promise doesn't come with fine print.

[ 02 ] The Goods

Four things, made the same way for a long time. No spring line, no new colors, no limited editions. When a design gets better, it gets better. Until then it stays what it is.

Model 03 Ruck

45L ◆ 14oz waxed duck ◆ bridle leather straps

The workhorse. Roll-top closure with a storm collar, two bellows pockets on the belly, a bottom compression strap for a rolled jacket or a wet tent fly. Internal sleeve takes a HDPE frame sheet if you want one. Most folks don't. Runs heavy honest — 3lb 14oz empty — because the parts that matter aren't the ones you can see.

Shoulder straps are 2.25" bridle, riveted at the anchor with #9 copper burrs. Haul loop is boxed-and-crossed. Lid tucks under a solid brass G-hook from a foundry up in the Palouse.

$ 385 ◆ batch-built

Bedroll, Long

waxed shell ◆ wool liner ◆ copper grommets

Wraps a proper wool blanket, a cotton sheet, or a light down bag. Four #2 spur grommets per side, latigo tie-downs, leather end-caps. The compression straps double as a shoulder carry so you can sling it off a saddle or a packboard without cursing.

Been known to sleep a six-foot-four fella without complaint. The complaint usually finds another reason. Folks in the high country use it like a cowboy-style roll over a Thermarest — works fine.

$ 240 ◆ two colorways (olive, tan)

Field Repair Roll

waxed canvas ◆ leather loops ◆ tie closure

Unrolls flat on a tailgate or a tent floor. Loops and slots for #16 and #18 glover's needles, a 4oz spool of waxed polyester thread, a speedy-stitcher with two spare bobbins, a stitching awl, a sailmaker's palm (right-handed — southpaws, say so), a small tube of seam grip, a scrap of 14oz duck for patches, and room for whatever else you pack for the ninth-day emergencies.

Fits in the lid pocket of the Model 03 like it was measured for it. It was.

$ 95 ◆ made to order

Possibles Pouch

scrap waxed duck ◆ brass hardware

Little fellas made from the offcuts so nothing goes to the burn pile. Good for a compass, a firesteel, a folding knife, a spare pair of wool socks, a tin of bag balm. Every one is a little different — different liner scraps, different hardware, different stitch color.

When they exist, they go fast. When they don't, they don't.

$ 48 ◆ when they exist

[ 03 ] How It Gets Built

  1. 01

    Cloth comes in by the bolt.

    Heavy 14oz cotton duck from a mill back east — same folks have been weaving it since the Coolidge administration, far as I can tell. Arrives on 60-yard rolls wrapped in brown kraft. I wax it in the shop myself with a paraffin-and-beeswax blend I cook up on a hot plate, 70/30, pressed in with a flat iron and a heat gun. Smells like a church candle, mostly. Takes a full day per bolt.

  2. 02

    Patterns get laid by hand.

    No laser cutter, no CAD. I've got a stack of heavy chipboard templates hanging on sixteen-penny nails over the cutting table — labeled in grease pencil, some of 'em going on a decade old. Chalk the line, cut the line with the round knife, mark the seam allowance. Same way it's been done since my grandfather was a sail mender in San Pedro.

  3. 03

    Stitched on Gert and Shirley.

    Walking-foot machines — Gert handles the heavy assembly, Shirley does the binding and trim work. Bonded #138 nylon thread on the structural seams, #69 on finish work. Stress points bar-tacked eight ways from Sunday. If a seam's gonna fail it'll be the fabric giving up first, and that fabric doesn't quit easily.

  4. 04

    Hardware goes on cold.

    Solid brass roller buckles and G-hooks from the Palouse foundry. Copper rivets with #9 burrs, set with a hand-peen and a bench block — takes longer than a pneumatic setter and holds forever. Bridle leather straps from a tannery in Walsall I've bought from for fourteen years running.

  5. 05

    Final check, then a handshake.

    Every finished piece goes on the inspection hook by the window. I load it to spec with sandbags and hang it overnight. In the morning I check every seam, every rivet, every buckle travel. Then it gets my initials inked in the liner, a batch number, and a canvas tag that says so. Then it goes in a waxed paper bundle and heads out.

[ 04 ] The Bench

A working inventory of what's on the bench and what lives around it. Folks ask, so here it is.

Gert

Juki LU-563 walking-foot, vintage, head-first from a reupholstery shop in Reno. Handles 14oz duck folded six plies without complaint. Runs on a clutch motor older than me.

Shirley

Juki LU-1508N, servo motor conversion, does the binding runs and the finish stitches. Quieter than Gert. Takes finer thread. Gets the nicer oil.

The clicker press

Four-ton swing-arm press, traded for a '78 half-ton and a cord of lodgepole. Cuts the leather strap blanks and the grommet reinforcement washers in two thumps.

The wax pot

Converted camp stove with a flat-bottom iron pot. Paraffin to the first line, beeswax to the second, stirred with a cedar paddle that was once a hayfork handle. Smells better than it sounds.

Round knife

Osborne #70, edge touched up on a leather strop with green compound every Monday morning. Cuts 14oz duck clean. Cuts a finger clean, too, if you get careless — which is the point, I suppose.

The logbook

Bound ledger by the cutting table. Every piece logged with date, batch, owner (first name only), serial, cloth bolt, and any special notes. Goes back to Batch 01 — nine packs, four of 'em still out there working.

Bench diagram

North wall's the stove. East wall's the hardware. Everything else is between.

[ 05 ] The Logbook

A few entries from the bound ledger, picked more or less at random. Names trimmed to first only, as is the custom.

  • BATCH 42 spring, two winters back

    Model 03 Ruck ◆ S/N 42-07 ◆ out to Hank

    Hank's an outfitter up in the Wind Rivers, drops elk camps for paying hunters. This one got a reinforced haul panel — extra layer of 14oz sandwiched in under the bar-tack. He wanted it to carry a quartered front shoulder without smearing. Reports say it does. He asked for a second one six months later, which is how I know.

  • BATCH 44 late summer, last year

    Bedroll Long ◆ S/N 44-03 ◆ out to Marta

    Marta runs a string of four mules supplying a research station at around 10,400 feet. Asked for a bedroll with a waterproofed foot-box — I ran a double-folded seam and sealed it with the same paraffin mix I use on the shell. Came back for re-waxing this spring. Still no leaks, she said. Just the wax wearing thin where the saddle horn rides.

  • BATCH 45 october

    Field Repair Roll ◆ S/N 45-11 ◆ out to Dell

    Dell's been a trail crew sawyer for going on thirty years. He doesn't need much. Asked for the repair roll plus a little extra loop for a spare chainsaw file and a bar wrench. Easy add. Sent it off in a waxed paper bundle like always. His note came back with two words: thank you.

  • BATCH 46 february — the cold snap

    Model 03 Ruck ◆ S/N 46-02 ◆ out to June

    First-time customer, came in through Marta. June does winter wildlife surveys on snowshoes. Wanted a ski-carry loop on the side panel and a small avalanche-shovel sleeve. We talked through it over three weeks of letters. Finished piece weighs 4lb 2oz with the add-ons. She said it rode right the first day out.

  • BATCH 47 this spring

    Possibles Pouches ◆ S/N 47-14 through 47-21

    Eight of them, all from one bolt of tan offcuts. Different liners — some canvas scrap, one piece of an old wool pendleton a fella mailed me for repurposing. I keep a stack by the door and they go with folks who stop in and have tea. Three left, last I checked. Could be fewer by the time you read this.

[ 06 ] Orders

Here's the straight story. I build in batches of eight to twelve pieces, usually three or four batches a year, depending on how the weather cooperates and how the elk season goes. When a batch opens up, word goes out to folks on the standing list — most of 'em friends, former trail crew, outfitters up in the high country, the occasional forest service district I've worked with. Sometimes there's a slot or two left over.

Currently serving existing customers. New orders by introduction only.
If somebody you trust already carries a piece of mine, have a word with them — that's how the list grows. I've never taken out an ad and I don't intend to start.

Repairs on existing Venture Gear pieces always get done, list or no list. That's the promise and it hasn't moved. Mail it in a flat-rate box with a note tucked in the lid pocket telling me what's wrong and where you'd like it back. I'll do what needs doing and send it home at no charge unless we're talking about replacing major parts — in which case I'll write you first.

Shop's up in the interior foothills, about an hour off the nearest state highway. Serving folks across the mountain west, mostly by hand delivery when the trucks are running that way, or by flat-rate otherwise.

Winter hours in effect through mud season.* The shop's unheated enough that the wax pot takes a good while to come up to temperature, and my fingers take longer than that. I work shorter days, answer letters slower, and apologize for neither.

* Mud season: that stretch between when the snow quits falling and when the ground remembers how to be ground. Roughly April to mid-May, though it's been known to last into June when the pass is stubborn.