I used to think waterproof matches were basically a scam—like, how hard is it to keep regular matches dry in a ziplock bag?
Turns out, pretty hard when you’re three days into a backcountry trip and everything you own is drenched because you decided to ford that creek instead of hiking the extra two miles around it. That’s when I learned that “waterproof” doesn’t just mean “survives a light drizzle”—it means the thing will ignite after being submerged in a river for twenty minutes, which sounds ridiculous until you actually need it. The best waterproof matches have a waxy coating thick enough that you can feel it under your fingernails, and they strike on pretty much any rough surface, not just the finicky strip on the box that always gets soggy first. I’ve tested maybe a dozen brands over the years, and honestly, the cheap ones from the hardware store work about as well as the fancy outdoor-brand ones that cost three times as much. The real difference is in how long they burn—some give you maybe eight seconds of flame, others hold steady for closer to fifteen, and when you’re trying to light damp kindling in wind that won’t quit, those extra seconds matter more than you’d think.
Anyway, here’s the thing about lighters: butane stops working reliably below freezing, which I learned the hard way on a winter camping trip in the Sierras.
Why Plasma Arc Lighters Are Weirdly Reliable (Until They’re Not)
Electric arc lighters—the ones that make that little zapping sound—seemed gimmicky to me at first, like something you’d buy at a gas station checkout and regret immediately. But they work in wind that would kill a regular flame lighter instantly, and they’re rechargeable via USB, which feels almost unfairly modern when you’re camping. The problem is battery life degrades in cold weather, sometimes dramatically, and if you forget to charge it before your trip you’re just carrying a useless rectangle of metal. I guess that’s the trade-off with anything electronic in the wilderness: when it works, it feels like cheating; when it doesn’t, you feel like an idiot for trusting technology over friction and phosphorus. Some models claim to work after being dunked underwater, and I’ve tested that claim exactly once—it did work, but only after I shook about a gallon of water out of the charging port and waited maybe ten minutes for things to dry out internally.
The best hedge is carrying both matches and a lighter, obviously.
Stormproof Matches vs Regular Waterproof: What’s the Actual Difference
Stormproof matches burn hotter and longer—roughly 15 to 25 seconds compared to 8 for standard waterproof ones—and the flame doesn’t extinguish in wind speeds that would definitely blow out a candle, maybe even a regular match. They use a different combustible compound, something with more magnesium I think, and they’ll keep burning even if you dunk them mid-flame, which is sort of mesmerizing to watch but also makes you wonder what kind of chemical sorcery is happening on that tiny wooden stick. The downside is they’re bulkier and the containers they come in are usually hard plastic tubes that take up more pack space than a flat box of regular matches. I’ve carried both on trips where weather looked genuinely threatening, and honestly, the stormproof ones gave me a psychological comfort that was probabley worth the extra two ounces in my pack—sometimes you’re just paying for the certainty that you won’t be cold and miserable because you couldn’t get a fire started.
Zippo-Style Fluid Lighters: Old School But Still Stupidly Dependable
There’s something almost anachronistic about carrying a Zippo into the backcountry in 2025, but they work.
The fuel evaporates over time if you don’t use it—I’ve opened mine after a month in my gear closet and found it completely dry—but when it’s freshly filled, a Zippo will light in conditions that make you question your life choices, like horizontal rain or wind gusts that nearly knock you over. The wick and flint mechanism is dead simple, which means there’s less to break compared to the fourteen tiny components inside a piezo-electric lighter, and you can replace both the wick and flint in about ninety seconds with cold fingers. Fluid lighters smell like lighter fluid, obviously, which some people find nostalgic and others find nauseating, and if you spill any on your gear it lingers for days. Wait—maybe the real advantage is psychological: striking a Zippo makes you feel competent in a way that clicking a plastic button just doesn’t, like you’re channeling some earlier era of outdoor survival where people didn’t have GPS watches or freeze-dried meals.
The Ferro Rod Reality Check: Not Really a Match or Lighter But Worth Mentioning
Ferrocerium rods throw sparks at something like 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit, hot enough to ignite damp tinder if you’re patient and skilled, which I am definitely not always in the field after a long day of hiking. They last for thousands of strikes—some manufacturers claim 12,000, though I’ve never counted—and they weigh almost nothing and never run out of fuel because there is no fuel. The learning curve is real, though: I’ve watched people scrape away at a ferro rod for five minutes without getting anything to catch, and there’s a specific technique involving pressure and angle that takes practice you probably don’t want to be doing for the first time in an actual emergency. Honestly, I carry one as a backup to my backups, but I’ve never been in a situation where I was grateful to have it instead of just… regular matches that light on the first strike. Still, the reliability is hard to argue with—it’ll work when wet, when frozen, when you’ve dropped it in mud, basically in any condition short of losing it entirely.
