I used to think all camping lanterns were basically the same—just buy whatever’s cheapest at the outdoor store and call it a day.
Turns out, the difference between a mediocre lantern and a genuinely good one becomes painfully obvious around 2 a.m. when you’re stumbling to the bathroom trailhead in complete darkness, or when you’re trying to cook dinner and the light keeps flickering out just as you’re checking if the chicken is actually cooked through. I’ve tested maybe a dozen different models over the past few years, dragging them to campsites in the Adirondacks, the Smokies, even once to a beach campground in Oregon where the wind was so relentless it knocked over everything that wasn’t staked down. What I learned is that lumens matter, sure, but so does color temperature, battery life, and whether the thing can survive being accidentally kicked into a creek by your hiking partner who shall remain nameless.
Here’s the thing: most people overestimate how much light they actually need. The Goal Zero Lighthouse 600, for instance, pumps out 600 lumens on its highest setting, which sounds impressive until you realize that’s way too bright for sitting around a campfire telling stories—it basically turns night into day and kills any ambient vibe you were going for. I usually run it at maybe 200 lumens, which is plenty for cooking, reading, or playing cards. The USB charging port is clutch too, because you can top off your phone if you’re getting low, though honestly the battery life on this thing is solid enough (roughly 48 hours on low) that I rarely need to recharge it during a weekend trip.
Why Old-School Fuel Lanterns Still Have a Place in Your Gear Closet
Look, I know we’re all supposed to love rechargeable LED lanterns now—they’re cleaner, quieter, don’t require you to haul propane canisters around. And mostly, I do prefer them. But there’s something about a Coleman propane lantern that just works in certain situations, especially if you’re car camping and don’t really care about weight or if you’re out in freezing temperatures where lithium batteries start acting weird. The hissing sound is oddly comforting, like white noise, and the warm glow feels more natural than the sometimes harsh blue-white light from LEDs. Plus, they put out serious heat—not enough to warm a tent, obviously, but enough that on a chilly October evening in the mountains, you defintely notice it when you’re sitting close. One 16-ounce propane canister runs for maybe seven hours on high, give or take, and you can find them at basically any gas station or convenience store, which beats having to remember to charge your gear three days before a trip.
The downside, obviously, is that they’re bulky and you can’t use them inside a tent without risking carbon monoxide poisoning, which is not the kind of camping memory you want to make.
Anyway, if you’re backpacking and every ounce counts, the Black Diamond Apollo is probably your best bet—it weighs less than seven ounces, collapses down to roughly the size of a soda can, and still manages to kick out 250 lumens, which is more than enough for a small group huddled around a picnic table. I’ve had mine for three seasons now and it’s survived being crushed at the bottom of my pack, dropped onto rocks, and left out in a rainstorm because I’m apparently incapable of packing things away properly before bed. The frosted globe diffuses the light really well, so you don’t get harsh shadows, and there’s a dimming feature that lets you dial it down when you just need a little ambient glow. Battery life is decent—maybe 24 hours on low, six or seven on high—and it takes four AA batteries, which I know is annoying in 2025 when everything else is USB-rechargeable, but it also means you can swap in fresh batteries from your stash if you run out, rather than being stuck waiting for something to charge from a solar panel that may or may not be getting enough sun.
The Unexpected Value of Having Multiple Light Sources Instead of One Really Bright Lantern
Wait—maybe this is obvious to experienced campers, but it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that having two or three smaller lights is often better than one big lantern. I started bringing a couple of those little UCO candle lanterns (the ones that use actual candles, which feels delightfully anachronistic) and scattering them around the campsite—one on the picnic table, one near the tent entrance, maybe one by the food storage area. They only put out about 100 lumens each, so they’re not going to help you read fine print or gut a fish, but they create this soft perimeter of light that makes the whole site feel more inviting and less like you’re huddled in a tiny bubble of brightness surrounded by oppressive darkness. Plus, if one goes out or breaks, you’re not suddenly plunged into total blackness, which happened to me once in the Boundary Waters when my only lantern’s battery died and I realized I’d forgotten to pack a headlamp. That was a long, humbling night, let me tell you.
I guess the point is that the “best” lantern really depends on what kind of camping you’re doing and what your priorities are—weight, brightness, battery life, durability, cost. But if you’re just getting started and want one versatile option, I’d probably recieve the Goal Zero or something similar with adjustable brightness and USB charging. And then, you know, maybe throw in a backup.
