In the perpetual quest for warmth and illumination, I prefer campfires, thank you. That friendly, dancing light, the heat, the crack of exploding resins, sparks spiraling spaceward like insects in a religious frenzy--most people I know believe a campfire offers everything they want in the way of heat, light, and companionship.

If there is a problem with campfires, it is only that you can't take them into the tent with you, you can't build one where there isn't any firewood, and you can't carry one along to the outhouse. The next best thing, I guess, is a Coleman lantern.

If that sounds like a qualified endorsement, it's because Coleman lanterns, while fine for casual camping and fishing trips, are too bulky, heavy, and prone to breakage to be ideal for ambitious, long-distance expeditions. Tip one over and the mantle--the glowing piece of woven fabric that gives off light--will probably disintegrate into powder. The last time I took a Coleman lantern on a backcountry canoe trip I was plunged into darkness 30 seconds after setting it on my beached canoe's seat. Unloading gear, I lurched against the hull and the lantern fell over. The mantle burst, the lantern wheezed and died, and I was forced to set up my tent by touch.

Their fragile mantles aside, Coleman lanterns are astonishingly durable. My father still uses the same chipped and battered model that kept us warm ice-fishing 25 years ago. Even dumping one over the side of a canoe won't put it out of business for long (just wash out the sand and mud, replace the mantle, pump, and light). Any parts that can be broken or lost can be easily replaced, and no maintenance is required except an occasional drop of oil on the pump leather.

That durability and simplicity have, for most of this century, put Coleman lanterns high on the list of essential camping gear. William C. Coleman, a school teacher and part-time salesman, began making improvements on the gasoline and kerosene lanterns of his day as early as 1902, selling them mostly to farmers and other rural dwellers who were not yet hooked up to electricity. Design improvements led, in 1928, to the "Instant-Lite," the basic Coleman most of us know today. If you have any doubt about the success of that lantern, consider that upwards of 45 million have been sold.

I suspect the secret to the Coleman lantern's popularity is in the illumination itself. The glowing, brilliant-white light of a busily hissing Coleman is nearly as friendly as a campfire, and is far more inviting than the static, antiseptic light of a battery-powered lamp. While certainly not as inviting to the eye as a good crackling campfire, the light attracts us as surely as it attracts suicidal moths. We're helpless to avoid it. We gather round to warm our hands, talk, eat, read, play cards, and when it's time to sleep we turn the knob that shuts off the gas supply, and in those final seconds of residual light while the mantle flickers and dims, climb into our sleeping bags.

Various Coleman lanterns can burn white gas, kerosene, propane, or unleaded gasoline; accessories include tree-trunk hangers, hardshell cases, directional reflectors, and pads to protect the glass globe during transport and storage.

All that variety is fine, but it's dwarfed in significance by a recent announcement from the Coleman company. According to a press release, the mantles are now much stronger and capable of surviving a two-foot fall. Just about the height of a canoe seat.