It forced its way through thickets and took the occasional direct hit from a branch, only to check up close whether the coarse-grained Jizera granite really is as sharp as they say. It's much sharper. It rolled around in the fine sand below Kapelník and Taktovka. In this year's one and only snowstorm, it faced stinging ice crystals on the Jeseníky ridge. And then it headed off to the winter Tatras. Up Lomnický štít. With ice axes and crampons. And it passed that test too – just like all the others.

It's simply got a God-given talent. Or rather, it's the legacy left in it by Jeff Lowe. He knew very well how to prepare for a solo ascent of Ama Dablam or one of the Trango Towers. Either way, here it is. It's called Halcyon, and over recent months it's taken a beating that fully revealed all its strengths and maybe a few weaknesses.

This is a hard-earned report on how the Lowe Alpine Halcyon climbing pack performed on my back.

Chapter one: getting acquainted

This time, at the little pond near the "Koupák", we don't carry on right as usual along the yellow-marked tarmac road to the Maják. We turn left onto the blue trail instead. Towards Kapelník. A 60-metre rope on my back, a bundle of slings – including two brand-new hand-tied knot chocks – the essential hardware and, above all, lots of water. One look through the treetops at the yellow terrorist camping in the sky makes it clear we're going to sweat on the wall. We scramble up the slope below "Herr Kapellmeister" and I'm loving how perfectly the Halcyon sits on my back. Or, to be precise, no pack loaded with twelve kilos of climbing gear has ever fitted me this well. Maybe it's because I chose the smallest back length (Lowe Alpine offers three – S, M, L), which suits my 171-centimetre frame perfectly – a frame that never fits one-size-fits-all designs.

The last thing I do before stepping into the opening crack is pull the tape out of the lid pocket and wrap eyeballed strips around the third joints of my left index and middle fingers. One main compartment with side access, two lid pockets – outer and inner. That's it. Simplicity itself, nothing superfluous to break. That's how I like it. And the first bolt is waiting – time to climb. I put the tape away and the pack stays down in the sand.

Chapter two: getting scraped

"Along the cutting path on the southern slope of Klínový vrch. Follow it along the contour for about a kilometre, then up to the left to Supí hlava." According to the guidebook, a breeze. In reality, though, the steep slope throws rocks hidden under fallen leaves and rock steps in our way, while young beech saplings whip at us. We scramble up to the rock pulling on whatever branches offer themselves, and my shorts are already properly soaked with sweat. The Jizera Mountains! A beer before climbing would go down nicely – for the thirst and for the courage.

We're here mainly for photos, so I climb with the pack, carrying the camera and a second lens. And it works – the hip belt doesn't clash with my harness, and if worst comes to worst I can take it off. Again, the right back length probably played its part, because the hip belt sits just right so that my gear loops are easy to reach. But hang on! Up a chimney? Seriously? Great, let's find out who's sharper – the granite around me or the Halcyon on my back. I have a feeling I know the result. Wrong. Not a single quartz crystal managed to bite into the pack as I shuffled through the tight space, let alone tear it. Looks like it can take a lot. So let's do it again, now that I don't have to worry about scraping the pack on the biting granite and can drag it through any old mess. Which is what we do here in the Jizera Mountains several times a week.

Chapter three: getting the axes in

The alarm goes off at 5:30. It's still dark outside as we close the door of Zamkovského chata behind us and descend the slippery steps to an even more slippery path. Our goal is somewhere up in the starry sky above our heads, and it's clear we'll sweat buckets after sunrise. Maybe the long johns weren't a good idea. Before the steep slope below Téryho chata, I drop the pack in the snow, undo the side zip and easily pull the crampons out of its belly. The Tatras are under ice, after all. Through the same side opening I also pull out my flask in one go throughout the long day.

At Prostredné Spišské pleso we leave the trodden track and take a technical ice axe in hand – just one for now. The second stays fixed to the pack in a clever head-locker system that works quite differently from the usual – the shaft is cinched into a special loop in the compression strap, and a metal toggle simply passes through the hole in the axe head. No plastic "slider" on a bungee that sooner or later breaks and the elastic wears out. Plus, it's all easy to operate even in thick gloves. I love that.

Halfway up the Jordánka gully, the couloir gets steeper and the snow harder. Only the four front points of the crampons are touching the snow now, so we take the second axe off the pack. We puff. We groan. Our calves burn. But we keep at it. On the north side of Posledná veža, the echoes of our breathing are joined by the screech of crampons on bare rock, which doesn't stop even on the ridge of Lomnický štít. So little snow in January. Under the astonished looks of the tourists and their quick-witted questions "Isn't that dangerous?", we climb over the railing at the viewpoint as one. Me and the Halcyon pack. All day it didn't shift on my back once, and its quiet company contributed to a frosty reward from the Šariš brewery. Now just the normal route down. Back to Zamka.

Summary

It's a good mate. It looks good, fits well and holds up well – against granite, snow, even rain. Snow doesn't stick to its back panel, it has no useless gimmicks and there's nothing on it to break. A true mountaineer, plain and simple.

Variants