“A Man, A Lantern, and the Risk of Spontaneous Combustion”
By The Outdoorsman
It is a well-documented fact—at least among those of us who have spent a night in the great outdoors—that the true test of a man’s character is not found in his ability to build a fire with one match, nor in his skill at cooking a trout over an open flame. No, the real measure of a person’s grit is determined by whether or not they can get a Coleman lantern lit without singeing off their eyebrows.
My own introduction to this rite of passage came at the tender age of ten, when my father, in a moment of profound optimism, handed me an old, battle-worn Coleman lantern and declared, “Light that up, would ya?” Now, he said it casually, as though he had just asked me to pass the salt, but I could see in his eyes that this was a test. A manhood test. A trial by white gas.
For those unfamiliar with these marvelous contraptions, a Coleman lantern operates on a simple principle: you pour in fuel, pump the tank to build pressure, open the valve, and strike a match. What they don’t tell you is that somewhere along this process, a small but unavoidable explosion occurs. It’s never the same twice, and no amount of preparation will predict whether you’ll be left with a gentle whoosh of warm light or a fireball large enough to alert passing aircraft.
On that fateful night, I followed my father’s instructions precisely. I pumped until my arms ached, turned the valve ever so slightly, and struck a match. The lantern responded with a sound that can only be described as “aggressively enthusiastic.” A ball of flame shot skyward, temporarily illuminating our campsite with all the warmth and radiance of a mid-sized volcano. My father, displaying the casual calm of a man who had seen this happen many times before, simply nodded and said, “Yep, that’ll do.”
As the mantles settled into their ghostly glow, casting their familiar flickering light across our campsite, I felt an immense sense of accomplishment. Sure, my eyebrows were a little shorter than they had been moments before, but that was a small price to pay for the glow of tradition.
To this day, I still carry a Coleman lantern whenever I head into the woods. I’ve mastered its quirks, learned to respect its temperament, and even come to appreciate the occasional fireball as a reminder that adventure is best served with a hint of danger. Besides, a man without eyebrows is just a man with a better view of the stars.
The Secret to Their Brilliance
The little fireball I had wrangled that night was part of a long and storied history. The Coleman lantern, and the white gas that fueled it, changed the way people camped, worked, and even fought wars. Before its invention, outdoor lighting meant weak kerosene lamps or unreliable candles. Then, in the early 1900s, a young salesman named William Coffin Coleman discovered a new gasoline-powered lamp that burned with an intense, steady glow.
By 1914, Coleman had perfected the iconic pressurized lantern, which could turn the darkest forest into something resembling a well-lit stadium. These lanterns soon became the gold standard for camping, hunting cabins, and military use, providing reliable light everywhere from logging camps to battlefield trenches.
The secret to their brilliance? A combination of white gas and mantles.
White gas, or naphtha, was the fuel of choice—cleaner-burning than kerosene, easier to store than propane, and just volatile enough to make lighting a lantern a thrilling experience. But the real magic happened when the fuel was vaporized and sent through the mantles—those delicate, fabric-like sacks that hung inside the lantern’s glass globe.
At first, a mantle looks about as impressive as a tea bag, but once burned and turned into a fragile mesh of rare earth salts, it becomes an incandescent powerhouse. The white-hot glow they produce is what gives Coleman lanterns their distinctive, almost eerie brilliance—bright enough to read by, cook by, or accidentally blind your campmates if aimed improperly.
During World War I, Coleman lanterns lit up medical tents and command posts. In the Great Depression, they were used in Civilian Conservation Corps camps across America. By the mid-century, no respectable outdoorsman would be caught without one rattling around in the back of his truck, right next to the cast-iron skillet and the coffee can full of mismatched fishing lures.
Today, modern battery-powered LED lanterns have largely taken over, but for those of us who appreciate a little adventure with our illumination, there’s nothing quite like the warm glow of a Coleman lantern—and the occasional thrill of wondering whether you’ll still have your eyebrows when it’s over.
Next Time on Where the Tent Leaks: The Fine Art of Fishing Without Catching Anything
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