I'll probably never make it into the ranks of true ultralight, either. I've gotten pretty light (17 pounds, including food and water, for a pleasant summer weekend in Ohio.)

The catch to ultralight, for me, is that "pleasant summer weekend" stuff. My two pound tent is all mesh, which is great on a clear August night - the fly doesn't need to be on, and it's wonderful. My little canister stove chugs away and boils the water quickly in my titanium pot. The sleeping quilt is plenty, and much of the time arms and legs stick out. The ventilated back of my two and a half pound pack feels wonderful. And my spare clothes consist of a pair of socks.

But, if any of that changes, ultralight starts losing its shine. Put the fly on that all-mesh tent, and you start getting condensation, though it does a pretty good job of scooping up every stray breeze. That's great in August, not so much in November. And, if it's raining, I can't pitch the tent fly-first, so the inner gets pretty damp before I'm done. The canister stove has to be shielded from those breezes. And, as I start adding clothing, my tiny little pack runs out of space, and its minimal suspension gets overwhelmed.

I also have a free-standing tent and an integrated stove-pot system that does a great job of resisting wind, and a full-on sleeping bag. They handle any three-season problems I can throw at them. That weekend load grows to 20 pounds, but there's a lot of safety margin gains, and some gains in comfort, too. And it's starting to be my preferred gear set.

I've always been 2 - 5 pounds lighter than my hiking buddies, but it's from leaving out stuff (they carry a pillow, I inflate my water bladder; they want a pot set, plate, cup, fork, and spoon; I carry a spoon and eat and drink from my pot. That kind of thing.

Go light, but don't go nuts.