Backpack Cooking

I may be a freak, but I enjoy the thrill of cooking on my Meser Lite Backpacking stove: the excitement of getting the thing lit, the purr of the invisible blue flame, the fact that it can boil a pot of water in t minus three min. Most of all, I appreciate the ability to cook up some warm food when I'm in the middle of nowhere. Most recently, the high reaches of the Sierras and the desolate Oregon coast. For me, it is difficult to beat simultaneously enjoying a cooked meal and a breathtaking view in the some desolate corner of the wilderness. That, and anything tastes delicious after a day of eating nuts and power bars while hiking for 6 + hours. Trust me. The first time I ate canned tuna (the smell, texture, idea of it usually disgusts me) was at 14,000 ft elevation at the base camp to Peru's volcano, El Misti. Mixed in with spaghetti, I thought it was the most delectable thing I'd ever eaten. To this day I've never eaten it since.

This summer, I had several chances to use my nifty stove. 1) Frog Dog's in Brooking's, OR on the first night of the road trip down to Menlo Park from Seattle. Will tried to catch some surf perch with his travel rod, while I toasted the Macrina Bakery seeded baguette purchased in Seattle that morning and grilled up the chicken apple sausages. The fish werent bitting (i'm unsure if Will even had a successful cast) so, unfortunately, we did not enjoy a fried fish that night. Bummer.
My camp stove skills are basic, I actually haven't used it that much. May dad is the real master. Top Chef for sure when it comes to backpacking meals. Dinner is one of my favorite things about backpacking, huddling in boulder notches with a view of a glacier lake, backdrop of granite peaks and a setting sun. This summer's backpacking trip was an absolute triumph. One of the most vivid, dramatic sunsets I have ever seen. With the threat of a thunderstorm gathering over the mountain range north of us, my dad whipped up some couscous with plump morels, chopped jalapenos from his garden and that last of his zucchini harvest from this summer. With the quarter -half stick of butter (its always hard to tell with my father's cooking flair), the mug of couscous with summer veggies was absolutely divine. As I scarfed the hot meal (all backpack eating is scarfing, man v his element, no savoring in survival mode), the Herculean cumulous clouds morphed overhead against the glowing pink/orange sun. We have backpacked in this section of the North Sierra Nevadas ever since I was kid. My dad says its the best place to watch a sunset.. the smog from Sacramento/San Fernando valley makes for an unnaturally vibrant, red/orangish haze as the sun sets. Breathtaking.

The thunderstorm was blown north that night, we were not as lucky the following night. But that is a whole other story entirely. I'll leave it at that, but just say that we did not enjoy a hot meal the second night. It was salami hunks and chedder cheese on fred's bred in the parking lot with the post-pack celebratory beer. Soaking wet and shivering cold, we were just happy to be alive. Lightening storms in the Sierras are scary things.

Mount. Price, Islands Lake, Desolation Wilderness. August, 2010