Building Its Success On Practicality -- Outdoor Research Sells What You'd Never Think Of

It was early spring - a dicey time to try an untested route up North America's highest mountain, even if all went as planned. But as Ron Gregg made the long ski traverse toward Denali's Taylor Spur, snow crammed under the booties that covered his boots, turning chilled feet soggy.

Gregg knew that the poorly-designed gaiters were more than an inconvenience. On a trip through the Alaskan wild, a gear failure can cause the death of even the most seasoned adventurer - a point driven home when his partner's overboots failed to prevent frostbite and he had to be airlifted from the mountain's flank. Gregg never saw the view from Denali's 20,320-foot summit.

Returning to Seattle, Gregg decided to build a better gaiter - one with cords that crisscrossed the instep to keep the cloth snug and boots warm. His first invention was born, and soon after, so was a company called Outdoor Research.

In the 17 years since, he has parlayed his desire to see an adventurer's gear perform beyond expectations into a $10 million-plus outdoor equipment company, yet one that remains little-known outside the world of mountaineers and backcountry skiers.

It's not hard to see why: Outdoor Research has never made the tents, backpacks or windbreakers for which other outdoor companies have become well-known. Instead, it focuses on items most people don't give a second thought to until they wish they had: blister kits, "parkas" that keep water bottles from freezing, mittens warm enough for use on Mount Si or Mount Everest, as well as sundry why-didn't-I-think-of-that accessories.

The products have earned a reputation for being practical, innovative and durable. It's "takes-a-licking-and-keeps-on-ticking kind of stuff," says John Viehman, a longtime acquaintance of Gregg's and executive editor for Backpacker magazine.

The story of Outdoor Research is largely the story of Gregg, whose porcupine mustache, high cheeks and denim-colored eyes make him seem like a mountaineer straight from central casting. But Gregg, 47, didn't discover climbing and kayaking until he began working on his Ph.D. in applied physics during the 1970s.

By the time he designed his first gaiter in 1980, the backpacking boom had already been underway for more than a decade. Even so, in the rush to build lighter backpacks and parkas, companies largely ignored "the little things," he says.

Disillusioned with his job at a geophysical instrument company, Gregg next designed a first-aid kit for backpackers made of cloth, with a myriad of pockets to keep items organized. REI put the kit on the back cover of its catalog in 1982, and the first order of 1,000 sold out almost immediately.

In 1983, Randy King joined the founder in his basement, handling invoices and stuffing the kits with Band-Aids. King is now vice president and general manager of Outdoor Research and its minority owner.

OR's staff has grown to 240 employees, and it now designs, manufactures and markets 20 varieties of that first-aid kit out of a pale brick building a few blocks south of the Kingdome.

Last year, the company sold 100,000 hats, more than 50,000 pairs of mittens and gloves and more than 50,000 pairs of gaiters. Its sales place OR among the nation's top eight accessories makers in the $882 million market for outdoor specialty accessories, which include everything from sunglasses to foam sleeping pads, according to Outdoor Retailer magazine. OR products are sent to about 1,000 retailers, most of them in North America.

But that success may surprise the uninitiated who take a tour of the company's factory. Stepping over boxes brimming with menacing green balaclavas, gloves shaped like lobster claws and floppy Gore-Tex sombreros, one can't help but notice, well, how ugly many of the products are.

Ironically, this conscious disregard for fashion is a badge of honor at OR. "My design goal is `no-frills,' " explains Gregg, who remains the chief designer. "The features are there because they do something.

"Our basic success is not because we made products people wanted," but because OR makes products perform in ways people didn't think they could, he adds.

The refusal to put style ahead of function and innovation has attracted a loyal and growing following and given OR a sort of "utilitarian chic"; that Seattle Sombrero that a visitor called ugly, Gregg points out after the tour, works so well that it's OR's bestseller.

"I don't think that they've ever come up with a product that's a dog, either in sell-through or in product performance", says Frank Kay, a buyer for Campmor, a New Jersey-based outdoor catalog company that is OR's second-biggest customer, behind Seattle-based REI.

Annual sales have more than doubled, to more than $10 million, since 1991. The company expects sales to increase at least 12 percent in 1997 and reach $20 million in the next three to five years.

The challenges that lie ahead for OR center on whether the company can stay the course, industry watchers say. The accessories market has matured, which means more-sophisticated competition making similar gear with cheaper, overseas labor.

"When you're an innovator, people copy you," says Bob Woodward, editor of SNews, a trade newsletter. "Their problem is going to always be coming up with a better mousetrap."

Another long-term challenge is not compromising the in-the-field expertise for which the company is known, while remembering that it must be a savvy marketplace player, too. The two challenges are symbolized, albeit in a friendly way, by Gregg, the detail-oriented "gearhead," and King, 36, the businessman.

That's why, after King returned from hobnobbing with buyers at a national ski-industry convention last week, Gregg and OR's design team were flying to a hut near Canada's Mount Robson for a week of climbing, backcountry skiing and real-life product testing.

"We kind of balance each other out," King says with a laugh.