Swag Life Chronicles: An Outsider’s Journey Through Aussie Camping Culture

An Outsider’s Take on an Aussie Classic

Dan answered before I could even ask, eyes glinting with a hopeful sparkle. “I’ve been thinking we should sleep in a swag!”

That should’ve been my first clue.

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He had just finished walking me through a high level overview of the build—the Gladiator he was working on to explore all the remote corners of his homeland of Australia. While I was impressed by the elaborate slide-out kitchen, drinking water and filtration system, and obvious 4×4 capabilities, I couldn’t help noticing it was suspiciously light in the sleeping department.

“A swag?” I parroted back nervously.

I rolled the word around in my mouth like a new piece of candy. “Swag” has a way of swirling around the teeth and gums like the name Maggie. Even with Dan’s soft Australian accent, worn thin after nearly two decades around the world, I could hear the barren spacious singsong of the Aussie outback in the word itself.

Somehow, I knew I was in for it.

What is a swag, anyway?

The word swag dates back to the Aussie gold rush and referred to the bounty a person made off with—legally or otherwise. Over the years, the term expanded into swagman (the men riding around on horses using swags) and then also swagger (presumably caused from spending all day in the saddle).

Sadly the outlaw connotations have long since faded away, though as I began to learn, the word swag is still in daily use Down Under.

More than just a word, the humble swag is part of the Aussie identity.

With a dreamy look in his eye Dan began to unroll exactly what a swag is: “It’s what the old bushmen used to use.”

I later learned bushmen are the equivalent of Aussie cowboys, sheepherders, and explorers of a simpler time, and are often deeply revered, despite many being ruthless outlaws.

“It’s like your sleeping mat and blankets all rolled up into one. Kind of like a bedroll.”

I could almost see Outback tumbleweeds rolling behind his eyes.

“So exactly like a bedroll,” I asked, not entirely convinced.

“Well, kind of.”

He went on to explain that nowadays many swags come complete with covers, roofs, poles, and bug nets.

I looked back at him again, slowly piecing it together.

“So like a tent?!”

He half-nodded and waved his hands around.

“Sort of. Not really.”

“A bivouac?”

He shrugged and smiled again, half-laughing.

“Not exactly. You’ll see.”

I gave a hesitant nod of affirmation and didn’t think much more about it.

A few months later after flying literally to the other side of the planet, Dan was trying to catch me up on his former life as an Australian, sitting me down to watch a few classic Aussie movies. In one scene, the heroine rolls out a crumpled old sleeping bag, just like the kind you can get at an Army surplus store. Think of a rectangle piece of faded green canvas, flat and tired. It was clearly musty, covered with red dust and had the old-school metal zips with teeth so big they take a chunk of skin when you inevitably rub against them.

Barely able to contain his excitement, Dan sits forward and says, “That’s a swag!! See?”

I look over at him, totally rapt at the romance of it all. I didn’t understand the excitement over a dusty old canvas bag, but whatever. I could humor him for a minute. Just a few scenes later, a huge tiger snake slithers across our heroine’s face as the fire dies down. Because she’s in a swag. On the ground. In Australia. In The Outback. It should be noted the tiger snake is featured prominently on the list of most deadly snakes in the world.

“Of course, we’d get one with a cover,” Dan adds.

Swag 1.0

A few months later, Dan was virtually hopping with excitement as we unrolled our very own swag. He had proudly just bought it used from GumTree, a truly authentic part of the Australian experience—the Craigslist of Down Under. I had been assured swag technology had vastly evolved over the years, and what we were getting was nothing like that moldy bedroll thing I saw that sometimes comes pre-equipped with a deadly snake.

As soon as Dan threw it on the ground and gave it a solid kick to unroll, I was not so sure. While this one technically had poles, a roof, and the possibility of some bug screen, it looked about as comfortable as a canvas sack rolled out on the dry, hard dirt. That’s because it was a canvas sack rolled out on the dry, hard dirt.

With hopes of being pleasantly surprised, I busied myself acquiring the necessities I imagined would make the oversized canvas body bag feel cozy. This included a set of linen sheets (pink, to hide the red dust of The Outback), a duvet cover (gray woven cotton), and a wool duvet (doona, they’re called Down Under). I had convinced myself wool would provide breathability and some warmth if we found ourselves in cooler, coastal parts of the continent. I was delighted. There’s nothing I like more than clean-sheet day on a nice set of bedding, regardless of location. We were all set to have a dry run of the setup on a camping weekend with Dan’s brother and family by the beach at Wye River.

Swag Life Begins

One of the often touted advantages of the humble swag is how easy they are to set up. Traditionally you would just push the swag off the roof rack and roll it out beside the campfire. Voila, home sweet home, camp setup is complete in less than 10 seconds.

These days, with the advent of poles, fly nets, and covers, the setup has become a tad more elaborate. In our case, our first swag had three poles of increasing length that formed arched ribs around our toes, ribs and head. To keep it upright there was a guy line on each end, and a great little canvas peg bag that contained all of two pegs. The end result led to a shape somewhere between a conch shell and a coffin. Coming from the light, bright alpine tent culture of Canada, I feigned some curiosity, looking at our dirt-colored lump on the ground that was to be our home on the road for more than a year with a mixture of trepidation and contempt.

The rain started soon after, and I fumbled for the zip and half climbed, half sat down into the swag, first standing directly on my pillow with muddy shoes. We zipped ourselves in, hoping the canvas outer layer would provide some kind of protection from the downpour, only to be plunged into total darkness. The swag technically has two small vents at either end, but the small awnings over the fly screens blocked all light. The thick canvas was stuffy, hot and damp, failing in almost every aspect of providing shelter, with the exception of darkness.

I was dumbfounded.

“It’s like a badly designed tent!” I blurted out, laughing at how comically awful the situation was. To begin with, even when rolled up the swag is enormous, taking up a sizable chunk of the bed of the Gladiator. It is also shockingly heavy and must be strapped down at multiple points to stop it going on a rampage. After just a week we learn the foam mattress packs out after just a few nights of use, completely inadequate for a year on the road.

Swags are unapologetically designed for The Aussie Outback, which means hot, dry, and sunny weather. That sounds great, but unfortunately nobody told the weatherman to hold the rain. As the rain continued during our first two weeks, we learned the porous canvas happily soaked up the water, which in turn was soaked up by the foam mattress, acting exactly like a sponge.

Dan said these things were luxurious, but I had no idea swags came with waterbeds.

I was not amused.

Despite being designed for two, our double swag only had one zipper pull, meaning we constantly had to fight in the darkness over who had the zip. Our shoes and flip flops had to be tucked under the swag itself lest they get soaking wet or carried off by curious dingos.

The only storage pockets inside somehow fell directly where you instinctively put your feet to step inside, resulting in many pairs of cracked sunglasses.

The list of issues with this badly designed tent had no end in sight, so I simply stopped counting.

As time went on it became apparent the much-loved swag is perfectly fine for a 19-year-old after a late night, but less appropriate for those of us nearing middle age. Aiming to actually sleep through the night we quickly invested in a self-inflating mattress to add a degree of comfort. Of course it also makes the swag bigger and heavier, but we’re going to ignore that.

The swag’s saving grace was that ultimately, it was cozy. After decades of sleeping bags on slippery inflatable mattresses, the luxury of curling up next to my partner with real pillows and real sheets and a comfortable doona was not to be underestimated. Well, before we got wet anyway.

The Culture of Swagging

The simplicity of camping in Australia also gave rise to very stark cultural differences I couldn’t help noticing as we set out to explore the mighty Outback. Truth be told, there’s a few reasons swags make some sense in Australia.

Ignoring our first month on the road that was essentially one perpetual downpour, Australia really is a hot, dry country. As shocking as it sounds, Dan never owned an umbrella or raincoat growing up. Gloves, scarves, winter coats, and gum boots were also completely unknown to him. It simply never rained.

As the weeks turned to months, we started to experience the Aussie weather Dan had promised—stable temperatures and crystal clear nights. With the swag flap thrown well back and sleeping under a billion-star view in the clearest skies I’d ever seen, I began to see the appeal of this aspect of swagging. Even in summer in Canada it’s rare to have a night warm enough to comfortably sleep in a tent without a fly. There was also no concern about dew—it was simply too warm even overnight.

In any kind of Aussie campground there is always a section reserved for swaggers, and I was delighted to see others simply walk over to the fire ring of their choosing and roll out their swag, simple as that. It evoked memories of rounding up the wagons, and I imagined many Aussies staying up late into the evening telling yarns about snakes and red dirt.

To be clear, this would never happen in Canada.

Not because we’re antisocial, but aside from the bears, cougars, and even raccoons, the dew and the frigid temperatures would make it difficult to convince anyone to sleep tent-free around a fire. It was quaint and charming, much like Australia itself. I came to genuinely enjoy meeting others in this way—it seemed swaggers were more Aussie than those that had evolved into higher forms of sleeping.

Time and again, other travelers would ask if we heard roof top tents had been invented, but Dan stuck to his guns.

“This is how they used to do it,” he would say proudly.

Final Verdict

While completing our expedition around Australia we slept more than 500 nights in our trusty canvas sleep sack, affectionately dubbed “Swaggle.” While I was quick to point out the downsides, there are certain aspects that did eventually grow on me. After our initial two months we upgraded to a fully-kitted out double swag from Rainger. It turns out there are actually good swags—we just started with a cheap one. From night one it was obvious the designers at Rainger have spent solid time in swags, and they had actually thought about using it for more than the occasional weekender. The pole system featured a parallel straight bar, offering additional headroom and vastly superior air circulation. A waterproof bottom floor was a godsend, as were a door on each side and even double zippers. A cover acted as a small fly if you fancied pegging it out, and the interior storage pockets actually made sense. For the coup de grace, the Rainger swag came with an integrated solar powered fairy light system—a must to convince any girlfriend to actually climb into one of these things.

While it was still big and heavy, as time went on the swag began to offer some clear advantages. My trusty tent would’ve disintegrated after a few weeks under the brutal desert sun, or at the very least have lost 100% of its waterproofing. Our swag faded slightly but remained otherwise unfazed after months of sun, heat, dust, and rain. Everything in The Outback is sharp, from three corner jacks, to cacti and just the dry scrubby grass. After months of swag life nothing punctured the floor, or the bug mesh, despite many sharp nasties puncturing my hands and feet. A backpacking tent would’ve been ripped to shreds in a month.

The heavy non-breathable canvas created brilliant shade and cooler temperatures, and also trapped just enough heat during the cold desert nights, where a light tent would’ve had us baking in the hot sun and shivering in the evenings. Having the chance to collapse each night into linen sheets that didn’t become clammy and cold, or hot and sticky like a sleeping bag was wonderful. And once we were able to leave the roof off the swag and enjoy sleeping under the mesh, the stars and sunrises were unforgettable. There were other advantages too, like being able to squeeze into overfull campgrounds, not having to worry our rooftop tent would snag on low trees, and not having a top-heavy vehicle on intense 4×4 tracks.

But most of all, the best part of swag life was the props and respect we got for keeping it real and doing it in the most authentic way possible. It’s clear Aussies love swags, and they immediately loved us for intentionally setting out to make it harder than it needed to be.

After all, what is an adventure if it’s too easy?

On a completely unrelated note, Dan has promised for future expeditions we will never sleep on the ground again.