Trail Mix

In graduate school my good friend Rick Smith and I spent many a stolen afternoon and free Saturday hiking in the backcountry of Palo Duro Canyon (in the Texas Panhandle).  One trek, in particular, lasted a few hours longer than we had intended.  

Rick looking into Cita Canyon, 1984 (Note the canvas knapsack.)

After searching unsuccessfully for an elusive hoodoo formation called the Kneeling Camel, we rested in the shade of a mountain juniper, whereupon Rick produced two oranges from his canvas knapsack and handed one to me.  That amazingly sweet piece of fruit just might be the most delicious thing I have ever eaten.

Trail food always tastes better than anything eaten at home or in a restaurant.  Always.  In those days I would toss a Red Delicious apple and a pack of cheese and crackers in my daypack and strap a canteen over my shoulder and I was good to go.  He travels best who travels lightest, I must have thought.

Not anymore.  These days nothing less than a full meal and a couple of snacks will satisfy me on a day hike.  Even more significant is the kind of food I carry on the trail.  No more processed snacks full of hydrogenated oil.  No dry turkey sandwich even.  I am more likely to pack a slice of vegetable quiche and a bag of carrot sticks.  For a snack I might take a bag of homemade trail mix, and my choice of apple is more likely to be Macintosh or Pink Lady. 

Over the years my buddy Rick has maintained a simpler style, usually stowing no more than a CLIF bar or two in the same knapsack he carried decades ago.  It's a sign of restraint or unwavering friendship that he doesn't mock my trail cuisine, but I have caught his sly smile as I unpacked my Thai pasta salad and rice crackers.  The diagonal-cut cucumbers may have clashed with the desert air of the Davis Mountains, but I could not have imagined a tastier meal. 

How do I account for such a dramatic shift in my eating habits on the trail?  Part of the answer is surely a marked change in tastes and a stronger sense of health consciousness.  In middle age I monitor my fat and calorie intake much more than I did in my twenties.  But there's something else at work, I suspect.  I am more organized than I used to be, less spontaneous.  Gone are the days of raiding the pantry just before running out the back door.  

Just as gone are the days of hiking in blue jeans and work boots, of setting out without a hat or sunscreen.  No, these days a day hike is executed with the precision of a small vacation.  I wear the right weight of clothing and stow the right supplies, food, and amount of water the specific adventure calls for.

My typical hiking attire, 1984

That's not to say everything always goes according to plan.  Last summer my wife Susan and I set out on what we thought was morning hike down to the Gunnison River in Colorado.  Wanting to keep our packs light for the steep descent—1,800 feet in one mile—we took plenty of water but only light snacks, figuring we would return by lunchtime.  The trail map advised us to allow for three and a half hours down and back, but it took us closer to five.  

Cooling our feet in the Gunnison River

As we soaked our sore feet in the icy cold water of the Gunnison, Susan and I polished off the last handful of GORP—"good old raisins and peanuts" (not to mention M&Ms).  No doubt it was loaded with hydrogenated oil, but that trail mix was still delicious.  What I would have given for one of Rick's juicy navel oranges.

GORP