I’m on the last leg of a 900-mile railway journey. I’ll soon forget most of it, but not the man I sat next to under the Channel Tunnel. He was in his seventies, twinkling with fun. We chatted for two hours. He had been a professional musician all his life. Somewhere near the Kent coast, he told me he’d had a hard time finding his way through the station to where he was sitting, as he could not see very much. He explained he’d lost most of his vision a few years back. He wasn’t ready for a white stick; he didn’t want to be perceived in that way. He had asked a lady which platform the London train was from, and she’d pointed to a sign that he could not see, he’d sensed a bit of unkindness in her.
We talked about his music. I had a look on YouTube; he was surprised to know that his songs were on there. I told him if he uploaded them himself, he might be able to get some income from them.
He was proud of the cousin who was going to meet him. With difficulty, he found a photo of him stood in front of his house. I had an hour between trains, so I asked him if he’d like to follow me through the station when we arrived. He said “no thanks, I’ll be fine.” He was a proud man.
We waited for the carriage to empty. I made to carry his bag, but he wanted to do it. I walked ahead; he paused at the door. I told him how many steps there were and that there was a big gap to the platform. He passed me his bag, and I held my arm out to him as he stepped down.
The platform was teeming with people, all going in the same direction. I didn’t really know what to expect myself, as it had been ten years since I used this station. I offered my arm, but he said “you walk in front, I’ll follow your feet.” Despite that, I felt a hand on my shoulder a few times.
On the escalator, I told him it was the kind that has steps, not a slope. At the bottom, I told him when it was time to start walking. He told me he had nothing to declare customs-wise.
As we reached the arrivals area, I recognised his cousin from the photo. A nice-looking man a little younger than me, he beamed at us, recognising what was afoot. We shook hands, all of us, and I left them to it.
When you’ve spent good money on decent tech, you quickly realise how dependent you are on it. Phone, watch, laptop. All useful right up to the moment the battery dies.
For trips away, especially anything off-grid, a reliable power bank stops being a nice-to-have and becomes essential.
I chose this Anker 20,000mAh portable charger. I’ve had it since December 2025, used it on several trips, and more recently put it through a fairly obsessive round of testing at home.
I’m very happy with it.
TL;DR
Kept my iPhone 16 Pro going for about 4 days
Ran out during day 5
Recharges very quickly when you get the chance
Built-in percentage display is genuinely useful- way better than the 4 vague LEDs you often get
Integrated USB-C lead is a simple but excellent feature
The last 10% does not do anything
Main features
Built-in USB-C lead that can both charge devices and recharge the power bank
Fast charging up to 87W
20,000mAh capacity, roughly comparable to a MacBook Air battery in energy terms
Digital display showing exact remaining charge
Can charge up to three devices at once
Charges itself quickly, I saw around 64W in real use
Size roughly similar to an iPhone Pro in a case
Weight 421g. For context, my phone is 262g and a pint of water is about 840g
What is mAh ?
Power banks are usually rated in mAh, which stands for milliamp hours.
In simple terms, it is a measure of how much electrical charge the battery can deliver over time.
So a 20,000mAh battery could theoretically supply:
* 20 amps for 1 hour
* 1 amp for 20 hours
That is useful, but not the best way to compare devices.
A better unit is watt hours, which accounts for voltage as well:
Wh = (mAh × Voltage) ÷ 1,000
Most lithium batteries use cells at around 3.7 volts:
20,000 × 3.7 ÷ 1,000 ≈ 74Wh
That gives you a much clearer idea of the actual energy available.
I’ve been cooking on this stove since May 2020, and in that time it’s been with me on some of the best trips of my life- a three-day circumnavigation of Raasay and Rona off the Scottish mainland, island hopping around Arisaig and a full circumnavigation of the Isle of Bute. Days regularly running to 40 kilometres of paddling, wild camps on rock ledges and beaches, thunderstorms, swell, wind, and on the Summer Isles in July 2025 the most catastrophically bad midges I have ever encountered in my life. Through all of it, the Dragonfly performed.
That’s the review, really. But here’s the detail.
Why Liquid Fuel?
The Dragonfly runs on white gas, kerosene, diesel, and petrol. That flexibility is the whole argument for it. I have petrol around constantly for the lawn mower, the chainsaw, general land maintenance. Being able to top up the stove bottle from the same stock I’m already running is genuinely convenient in a way that’s hard to overstate.
It’s also good to know you can easily get more cooking fuel wherever you are in the World.
Gas canister stoves work fine. But unless you’re doing a single day trip, you always need a spare and I know myself well enough to know I’d resent the constant purchasing. With petrol, there’s no calculating how much gas is left in a canister, no anxious rattling at camp. You look in the bottle and you know.
If you’re an occasional user going out a few times a year, a gas stove is probably the better choice. Simpler, lighter, no technique required. The Dragonfly needs a lot more practice and commitment to use happily.
What It Does Well
It’s powerful. When it’s running properly, it sounds like a small jet engine. Water boils fast, which after a long day on the water matters more than you’d think.
It’s robust. Five years of being stuffed into dry bags and kayak hatches, and it hasn’t missed a beat.
It’s economical. Petrol is cheap. No fuel goes to waste at the end of a trip – whatever’s left in the bottle goes straight into the car or the mower.
It’s adjustable. The Dragonfly gives you genuine flame control. This is useful – you can maintain just enough heat to keep your boil in the bag products at temperature without boiling over. It also comes in very handy if you are frying.
It’s genuinely good fun to use. There’s a ritual to it. Once you’ve got the technique down, lighting it feels satisfying. It feels a bit dangerous, there’s every chance of singeing your eyebrows each time you light it if you are not careful.
The Honest Downsides
Petrol is flammable and it smells. If something goes wrong with containment especially in a kayak hatch or rucksack, it can contaminate kit in a way that gas never would. I keep it in a dedicated dry bag and have never had a problem, but it requires thought.
There’s more to go wrong than a simple gas stove. More components, more maintenance. And the technique takes practice. The first few times you light one, it’s not intuitive.
Premium petrol is worth using. I believe the better detergent additives make a real difference to how cleanly it burns, and fresh petrol works noticeably better than old stock. I believe MSR would prefer you to use dedicated stove fuel for optimum longevity but as I say, I’m in year 6 of mine with no issues.
If you want the lightest possible kit, this is probably not for you – a small gas stove would take up less space and weigh less. This is not so much of concern for my kayaking trips.
How to Use It — The Technique
Turn the dragonfly stove body upside down and shake it for sixty seconds before use. There’s a small pin inside the jet that bounces around and clears carbon deposits. Shake again after use for the same reason.
Pump approximately 20 – 30 times to pressurise the bottle.
Release a tablespoon of petrol into the small dish beneath the burner, then close the valve. Light the petrol in the dish and let it burn for around 60 seconds — this heats the metal of the jet, which is what allows the fuel to vaporise properly. Then slowly reintroduce flow. Not too much. Let it catch. When the flame shifts from yellow-orange to blue, it’s running correctly. Give it full flow and let it go.
Give the bottle an occasional pump while cooking to maintain pressure.
When you’re done, turn off at the bottle rather than at the stove. This lets the fuel line dry out, which reduces drips and smell.
I don’t generally go on kayak expeditions by myself and my friend Nick has exactly the same stove. That means that if one of us breaks a pump or similar we’ve automatically got spare parts and spare fuel. If I was going solo much I’d perhaps be tempted to get something simpler.
The Verdict
The MSR Dragonfly suits a particular kind of person doing a particular kind of trip. If you’re spending multiple days out, you’re already carrying petrol, and you’re willing to learn the technique — it’s an excellent piece of kit. Reliable, powerful, and satisfying to use. It’s been on every meaningful trip I’ve done in the last five years, and I’ve never once wished I’d brought something else.
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