I pack like a boy scout. Or maybe I pack like a mum. In any case, I’m prepared for all sorts of eventualities.

You name it – I have it. During my archipelago hike with Ingrid, every time she asked if, by any chance, I happened to have [thing], my answer was always yes. Plasters? Of course. Scissors? Yes, here you go. Paper towel? Salt? Trash bag? Yes, yes, yes.

Almost all these extras are tiny and light. Even taken all together, they can’t weigh much more than a hundred grams or so, with my pocket knife accounting for half that weight, and my first aid kit being the largest by volume.

My approach to packing has been validated many times in many satisfying ways. Case in point: discovering at the hostel in Finnhamn that every single saucepan had its handle hanging on by the last thread of the screw. They were so loose that I barely trusted the handle enough to actually lift a saucepan with water and eggs in it, for fear of it all falling apart. Out came my trusty twenty-seven-year-old Swiss Army knife with its screwdriver. I fixed the saucepan I used for boiling my eggs, and then fixed three more, as well as a frying pan. Nobody’s going to thank me for it, but the next person looking to use the kitchen will find utensils they can actually work with, and that felt good.