Sunday, August 9, 2020

This Just In: Hiker Who Never Carries A Trowel Has Also Never Dug A Cathole

Despite years of recommending something other than a trowel for digging a cathole, NHTM has recently discovered that long time hiker and advice-giver Jim “Stank” Brandley has never actually dug a proper cathole.

A selection of items with which Stank has definitely not dug an actual cathole.



“Honestly, when I first started backpacking — and not carrying a trowel — I genuinely tried to dig catholes,” explains Brandley.  “I’d try digging with my heel or a rock or a spoon or a stick or what have you.  But I discovered that the amount of time between when my brain told me ‘you have to poop’ and poop actively coming out of me was way too short for me to dig a real hole with a stick.  I started having to carry, like, five pairs of pants.  Which more than offset the weight savings of not carrying a trowel.”


Instead, Stank settled on the compromise of telling people he digs catholes.  “I discovered it’s way easier to just tell people you dig catholes than to dig a 6-8 inch deep hole with the heel of your shoe.  I mean, six to eight inches deep?  With the heel of my shoe?  C’mon man.  I’m wearing ALTRAS.  They don’t really even have a heel.”


John Gordon, a trail maintainer in an area of the AT where Stank regularly backpacks, confirms his behavior.  “If you’ve ever heard the phrase ‘character is what you do when no one’s watching,’ then Stank’s character is ‘Drop Your Pants And Poop On The Ground.’  And then maybe cover it with some leaves.”


Hikers who are concerned about trowel weight might want to think of
a trowel as dual use item.  Of note: Stank doesn't claim to eat food
with a tent stake or a stick.  "That would be ludicrous." 



Stank insists that despite never digging a cathole, what he does works just fine.

“I’ll, you know, scrape at the ground for a few seconds before I drop trou.  Maybe make, like, a two inch deep divot.  And then when I’m done I definitely cover it with a rock or something.”

(Gordon: “Yeah, he definitely does that.”)

“And I’m always considerate enough to be far enough away from the trail that no one will ever come across it.”

(Gordon: “I wouldn’t describe any of the poop rocks I’ve picked up while maintaining as ‘far enough away,’ but that’s just me.”)

Why not just carry a trowel?  Stank explains.
“Listen, a Deuce of Spades weighs 0.6 of an ounce.  0.6 of an ounce!  Do you know how heavy that is?  I know you’re going to say it’s not very heavy at all.  And it’s not.  But when you consider that I’m never going to use it?  It’s excess weight.  It makes a lot more sense to claim I’m digging catholes with a tent stake I’m already carrying if I’m not going to dig a cathole anyway.”


Brandley went on to add that he also doesn’t carry soap or sanitizer and then stuck his hand in our bag of M&Ms.


Stank only uses one of these items and you definitely shouldn't
share food with him. 



So what’s next for Stank?  Brandley recently bought hiking poles for use on his backpacking trips, and he’s excited.  “I think they’ll really help take pressure off my knees, help me maintain a rhythm, and aid in balance on a lot of the uneven parts of the trail.  Who knows?  I may get one of those tents that uses hiking poles too.   But mostly they’re another thing I can claim I dig catholes with, even though I think we both know that’s never gonna happen.”


Note: As always, thank you to my friends for letting me steal their names for articles.  Especially Jim, whose trail name is not "Stank" and who definitely doesn't just crap on the ground.



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Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Six Questions To Ask “Budget” Thru-Hikers And One Question To Ask Yourself

One of the questions frequently asked in hiking social media groups is how much it costs to complete a Thru-hike, or more to the point, “is it possible to hike the entire Appalachian Trail on $800?”  And they will definitely get an answer to that question, but unfortunately they will also get 843 other answers to that question.


Invariably, a few of those answers will be hikers saying it’s definitely possible (and I suppose it is), but I suspect the better question is, “yeah, but is it probable?”

I’m not going to answer either of those questions.

What I’m going to do instead is run through six questions you might consider asking someone who says they hiked the trail on what sounds like an extremely low budget, with one question to ask yourself.  Because if you’re like me, those claims always sound a little bit suspicious.  And if the people making those claims are also like me, they’re at least a little bit full of crap.  This isn’t to say that everyone who says they’ve hiked on a small budget is lying about it.  It just might be that they’re leaving some information out.


Sitting in an air-conditioned room drinking beer
and soaking my feet instead of sweating my
nards off in the free camping area in Waynesboro.



When did they hike?       

One of the problems with social media is that you tend not to really know anything about the person answering your questions.  So while the guy who says, “oh, yeah, I hiked the entire AT on a dollar a mile” might not be lying, he might also not think it’s important to point out that he did that in 1983.  It’s not malicious.  Most people know in some part of their brain that things get more expensive, but they don’t really think about how much more expensive, particularly when they remember their hike like it was yesterday.  Which it wasn’t.


And when you point out to someone that “a dollar a mile” in 1983 is about $5,600 now, they’re genuinely shocked.  That’s still a pretty normal amount to spend on a Thru-hike, by the way.  And it’s an incredibly cheap 4-6 month vacation.  A one bedroom rental at the Jersey Shore in the summer will run you about $1K per week.  Just for a place to stay.  Five months worth of weekly Disney passes will run you $11,550.  Just to get into the Park.


Was it their first Thru-hike?
It may not make a lot of sense if you’ve never attempted a long hike, but people who have done one before tend to be the sort of people who can do them for cheaper.  Why?  Dunno.  Maybe they just know all of the budgeting tricks of the trade from the get go.  Maybe they’re doing the same trail again and they know a lot of trail town folks.  Maybe it’s because in between Thru-hikes they live a pretty spartan life anyway, so as to be able to afford another Thru-hike.  If I’m living in the bed of my truck to save rent, staying exclusively in my tent on a hike isn’t as big a deal.  Because neither of them have showers.  Or actual beds.  Or chairs with backs.  But mostly I think it’s because previous Thru-hikers have a better idea of what they need and don’t need to stay happy on trail; they’re not learning about the trail version of themselves as they go.


Note: I can combine these first two questions to give you an example of both at the same time.  ALL of my hikes have cost around $5K.  And I did long, multi-month hikes in 2000, 2008, 2012, and 2015, with the first and last being the Appalachian Trail.  But in 2015 dollars, my first AT Thru cost about $6,800.  And my second one, as mentioned, cost about $5,000.



Are they only telling you what THEY spent?

There’s a case to be made that “what was the total cost of the hike?” is a better question than “what did YOU spend on the hike?”  Because sometimes when you dig into this sort of thing, you discover that, yeah, THEY spent eight hundred bucks.  But their grandparents paid for them to get to and from the trail, their parents bought and shipped all of their food, and they started a GoFundMe in New Hampshire when they ran out of money that pretty much nobody contributed to.  So they “borrowed” five hundred bucks from their Uncle Steve and he is definitely never going to see that money again.  Don’t worry.  Uncle Steve knew.


Everyone says Uncle Steve is too nice.


Did their hike rely on work-for-stay/hiker boxes/mooching?

The former two are strategies for making a hike cheaper; the latter is a strategy for having everyone around you think you’re a monumental pain in the ass.  The problem with the first two is that you really can’t count on them, and therefore they shouldn’t be part of a plan.  Work-for-stay is nice if you want it, but a lot of places you might end up won’t need any work done.  And sometimes you’ll be so exhausted that you don’t want it even if it’s available.


As for hiker boxes, there will occasionally be some nice finds, particularly in places where a lot of people ship food.  And you should always check the hiker box before you head off to do your resupply or get new gear.  My hiking partner found a brand new pair of shoes in Pearisburg right when he needed new shoes. But everyone who’s been on trail knows that hiker boxes are frequently full of stuff the original owner didn’t want, and neither did any other hiker who was there before you.  The mystery bag of white powder is not a myth.  And guess what?  It’s also not powdered milk.  Enjoy your foot-powder breakfast cereal.


So work-for-stay and hiker boxes are solid ways to spend less money while on trail, but they’re not really something I would recommend planning on.

As for mooching, just don’t.  Don’t be that hiker.  Yes, people like you and want you to stick around.  We all know this.  You’re very likable.  At first.  Yes, at first that cool couple you met at that shelter that time and “hey!  We’re all here in town together” will let you use their shower after they’ve used their shower.  Even though that’s theft of services.  And those people you’ve been hiking with for a month?  They’ll definitely let you have a couple of slices of that pizza.  At first.


But pretty soon everyone starts to notice that you never chipped in for that shuttle and you drank half of that case of beer they paid for and I just noticed you’re wearing my rain pants to do laundry and now your balls have been all over the inside of my pants.  Now you’re no longer likable, and at this point nobody wants you around anymore.  Especially me, because that thing with the rain pants was not cool.


How many days was their hike?

One of the best pieces of advice for budget hiking is “a faster hike is a cheaper hike.”  So you might discover that that guy who did a hike for what you think of as pretty cheap also did that hike in 90 days.  And that’s fine.  For some people that’s the kind of pace they want to do.  But are you that kind of person?  Maybe.


Or maybe you’re like me, and the only way you would hike the AT in 90 days is if a series of bears were chasing you the entire time.  Weirdly, I’ve actually gotten faster as I’ve gotten older.  But I’m never really gonna be interested in hiking much more than about a hundred miles a week repeatedly unless I have a really good reason, and I’d rather not have my pace dictated by my budget.


Did they hike the entire trail?

Not really something you’d think you’d have to ask someone who says they’re a Thru-hiker, and yet here we are.  It should go without saying, but someone who only hikes half of the trail on their “Thru-hike” will spend about half of what they would have spent if they hiked the entire trail.  So it doesn’t really matter if they’re “going to go back and get those miles someday” (they’re not).  If they skipped all of Virginia and Pennsylvania you should probably take their budgeting answers with the amount of salt in a Mountain House meal, or at the very least with a grain of salt.  


Unless you’re also planning on skipping all of Virginia and Pennsylvania.



And finally, one question for you:


Do you have a plan for when the plan doesn’t work out?


"Everybody has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

                                          —Boxer/Philosopher Mike Tyson


It’s really heartbreaking to see people quit the trail for no other reason than they’re out of money.  I’ve seen it happen a ton of times over the past twenty years.  So, yeah, sure, right now you’re “not out there to spend time in town,” and you’re “going to get into town and then get right out again” and you’re “fine with splitting laundry with five other people and discovering once back on trail -- later that same day -- that you’ve lost half of your socks.”  And maybe all of that will be the case.  Or maybe not.


Maybe after six straight days of cold rain/snow/sleet you’re going to split a hotel room and eat an entire Meat Lover’s Pizza.  While sitting, not standing, in a hot shower.  For 45 minutes.  And then ordering another Meat Lover’s Pizza.  Or maybe you’re going to be in Virginia, chafed to the point of considering field amputation and so encrusted with sweat salt that you’re starting to look like Sean Patrick Flanery in Powder.  And the only thing you want to do for an entire day is ice your crotch and sit in front of an air conditioner going full blast.  While eating a Meat Lover’s Pizza.


Or even more simply — and definitely likely —maybe you’ll discover you really like the people you’re hiking around and you want to stay with them, even though you started out thinking this was going to be your big amazing self-sufficient solo adventure.


Which is to say: it’s fine to plan a “cheap” hike — go for it.  But maybe consider using the same discipline you think you’ll have on trail to save up enough before the trail to deal with the possibility of that plan not happening.



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Monday, June 4, 2018

Hiker Asking For Advice On Facebook Doesn’t Actually Want Advice

Mike objected to "people on their couches" suggesting
that his homemade bleach water treatment helmet
was the "dumbest and possibly most dangerous"
thing they'd ever seen.


When inexperienced hiker Mike Smith recently went online and asked for advice regarding his hiking plan, he thought it was pretty clear that he didn’t actually want advice.

“Totally not what I expected or wanted.  I went on this Facebook group and outlined the plan I came up with without knowing what I was doing and asked what everyone thought,” said Mike, who goes by the trailname Samsonite.  “The last thing I wanted was experienced people being negative by politely suggesting that what I wanted to do might not be the best idea.  I mean, it's not like I'm going to change my plan.  Jerks.”



“All I did,” said 2-Time Thru-hiker Rachel "DUCK" Hecht, “was point out that carrying all of his gear in a hard-sided Valor 2-Piece Luggage Set seemed like a bad idea.  Even if they do have wheels.  I think I said something like, ‘what’s wrong with a backpack?’  And then he and a bunch of other people in the group attacked me for being negative, so I didn’t even get into all of the other stuff he was planning on doing.”

Samsonite, who got on the Appalachian Trail at Springer Mountain on January 1st, had no previous backpacking experience.  But he did read a lot of crowd sourced information from people he didn’t know who were possibly marginally less clueless than him.  Or not.  “I decided to use a 40-degree bag, go no-cook, and not bring rain gear.  I really needed to get my baseweight down so I could be the first person to carry a cello on a Thru-Hike,” said Samsonite, “and then some jerk told me I’d be the second person to think he was going to carry a cello on a Thru-hike, and also the second person to quit while carrying a cello on a Thru-hike.”



“Yeah, that was me,” said Triple Crowner Katie "Wing-It" Howe.  “I mean, I didn’t really go into the possibility of him freezing to death in his 40-degree bag in January.  But I probably implied it when I said that once he regained feeling in his hands he could play Beethoven’s Cello Sonata No. 3 for the SAR guys after they pulled him off Blood Mountain.  And then a whole bunch of people said I was being mean-spirited.  And complimented me on my musical taste.”

“I just don’t understand why experienced hikers can’t just say ‘you got this.’  THAT’S what I’m on Facebook for.  Why can’t they be like all of the people who were super-supportive of my decision to keep hiking with severe tendonitis?” asked Samsonite, who ended up quitting the trail due to severe tendonitis.  


“It was all, you should rest it, you should take a couple of days off, blah, blah, blah, blah blah.  Fortunately I found a Facebook group for hikers called, ‘You Got This! (For Hikers Asking For Advice Who Don't Really Want Advice)’.  No negativity.  Zero criticism.  And very little common sense.  Just a bunch of people you don’t know typing ‘GO FOR IT!’ even if it’ll lead to you seriously injuring yourself and getting off trail.  Because they understand that I’m there for the positivity, and they also understand that bad advice has no consequences for them.”

Some people prefer to get backpacking advice exclusively from cheerleaders.

What’s next for Mike?  He says he feels he’s “conquered the AT” after his ten days on trail, and now he’s ready to move on to the CDT.  “I’m going to carry two live chickens for eggs and a folding bicycle so I don’t have to hitch,” says Samsonite, who has apparently not learned anything.  “I’m gonna go SOBO this time, starting in April.  And nobody suggesting the trail is gonna be under twelve feet of snow is gonna stop me.  Haters.”


As usual with these things, the quotes are fake but the names are real.  Thanks to the people who let me use their names, and thanks to all of the folks who inspired this post.  Sort of.

Monday, April 2, 2018

"Any Complaints?" (Appalachian Trail Edition)


This probably won't be the most enjoyable short film for the "your worst day on trail is better than your best day at work" crowd, but I think it's important, particularly for folks new to long distance hiking, to realize that you don't HAVE to be happy all the time. It's an unrealistic expectation that sets you up for failure.


You'll occasionally be miserable, and that's fine. And then a year (or two or three) later you'll forget all of the crappy parts and tell yourself it was all amazing, and that's when you'll plan another hike.



If you enjoyed this short, you can watch the Pacific Crest Trail version, HERE.






Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Hikers Note Dramatic Increase Of Crusty Old Dudes Who Want To Tell Everyone Trail Used To Be Better

"If you're not carrying enough weight
to cause long-term damage, are
you really even hiking?"
Current-year Appalachian Trail hikers have reported a stunning increase in the number of old dudes who want everyone within earshot to know that the trail “used to be so much better than today.”  Whether it’s reminiscing fondly about objectively awful aspects of hiking twenty years ago, or waxing nostalgic for a time that didn’t really exist, large numbers of old dudes are on trail complaining that the trail experience now is easier/more crowded/less meaningful/full of people younger than them.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess they’ve always been out here,” says Chris “AT Bozo” Kounkel, “but I used to maybe bump into one once a week.  Now every day there’s someone in a shelter pointing out that if you wanted tuna back then you had to carry cans of it, and how he once set a picnic table on fire when his over-pressurized Whisperlite International exploded.”

“Fishn’GaMe” from Connecticut, a current year hiker, agrees. “Yep.  Old dudes are out there in droves, all complaining about how crowded the trail is.  The weird thing to me is how none of them seem to make the connection between the 80-pound packs they brag about carrying in the ‘90s, and the stress fractures in both feet they complain about having in the ‘90s.”

"Even the damn privies are overcrowded."
One of the contentious issues for old dudes is cell phones and connectivity. “I can appreciate the idea of disconnecting and immersing yourself in nature,” says David “Sarcasm The Elf” Vitti, “but one old dude described having to wait in line back in the day at the pay phone in Damascus to make a two minute call home, with people behind him in line grumbling for him to hurry it up.  To me that sounds like fantasy camp for people who like prison, but whatever.  Later that night he made a 45 minute call to his grandkids with his flip phone on speaker.”

"Even the damn weather is worse than it used to be."

“And feeds, man, don’t get them started on feeds,” says “Breeze” from Florida.  “I rolled up on one with a hiker named ODB and had to listen to him harangue everyone for ten minutes about how much better it was when nobody did nice things for anyone.  There was something about self-sufficiency in there at the end, but it was hard to understand with all of the hot dogs he had crammed in his face.”

"And these damn kids won't get off of my lawn."
Regardless of what old dudes are comparing, one thing is clear: the trail used to be much, much better.  “Yeah, I’ve been told the trail was awesome at some vaguely defined period in the past, and now it apparently kind of sucks,” says newcomer “Walkingstick” of Crossville, TN.  “Which is sort of irrelevant to me, because I have no basis for comparison.  But when every story about the abundance of shuttles ruining the necessity of hitching includes the phrase, ‘I didn’t realize how drunk he was until I was in the car,‘ well, it makes me kind of happy I’m hiking now.”



Note: this is, of course, satire, and I have taken liberty with the facts.  In reality, all of the old dudes who want to tell everyone that the trail used to be much better are online rather than on trail.  






Sunday, February 25, 2018

My Favorite Trail Warning Signs

I love signs.  I have no idea why.  I know that there are many hikers who don’t like signs littering up the landscape, and there’s certainly such a thing as too many signs.  On the other hand, when you’ve been lost for an entire day and you finally come across a sign that points you in the right direction, you literally hug that sign.  And ask it what it’s doing for dinner later.

Of all the signs I love, though, the signs I love most are warning signs.  Sure, directional signs are nice.  They tell you where you are and where you’re going.  But warning signs tell you about the things that will kill you while you’re on your way there, which is pretty exciting.  Some of them are helpful, some of them are terrifying, some of them are hilarious.  And some of them are all three.



Below are my favorite warning signs I’ve come across while hiking, with explanatory notes.  At this point it feels like the way to end this intro thematically would be to do it by issuing a comical warning, but “WARNING: POSSIBLE HILARITY AHEAD” is dorkier than I’d like, and “WARNING: LIABILITY-RELATED HUMOR AHEAD” seems like it would make everyone except insurance adjusters stop reading.  So I’m going to just launch right into it with:


 Lassen Volcanic National Park

Some of these signs are favorites not just due to the signs themselves, but the circumstances under which I saw them.  As you might be able to tell from the photo, I night hiked through Lassen.  I saw this sign as I was leaving the Park, and here’s the thing: I didn’t recall being on any boardwalks the entire time I was in the Park.  Which is terrifying.  Was I supposed to be on boardwalks?  Had I been off-trail, unknowingly wandering around a volcanic death trap?  Maybe the PCT part of the park didn’t involve any boardwalks?  Who knows?  Ideally, warning signs happen before the danger, and I probably missed the one on the other end in the dark.  But there’s something very odd about the unnecessary fear that hits you after you unwittingly survive something.  Like when you find out the next day that just after you left the bar, karaoke started.


Homicidal Trees (All Over The Place)
When I was hiking through Colorado, one of my partners had what seemed like an unreasonable fear of trees.  And then we started seeing warning signs about trees, and he used them to justify his paranoia.  But while I think it’s a good idea to be aware that pretty much everything in nature generally is trying to kill me, the warning signs I often see in this regard have to do with specific trees.  I mean, how many times does it have to kill to be called a “Tree of Death”?  When I see a specific tree marked as a Killer Tree, I move past it quickly as if it was going to grab me (I really do), but even when I do get past that tree, I AM STILL SURROUNDED BY TREES.  Which, honestly, is the truly terrifying thing if you let it be terrifying -- people really do get killed by trees, but unlike the statistical unlikelihood of even seeing mountain lions or grizzlies or wolves, I am surrounded by trees ALL THE TIME.  And I also feel like they have good reasons to hate us.


PCT, Day 1
 If you don’t speak Spanish, this sign roughly translates as “don’t expose your life to the elements -- it’s not worth it.”  Admittedly this sign is really directed at people coming across the border, but it’s still pretty depressing to have a sign tell you, on day one, that the thing you’re planning on doing for the next five months isn’t worth it.

But this sign does get across the valuable message that EVERYTHING IN THE DESERT IS TRYING TO KILL YOU.  EVERYTHING.  And against all expectations, you might even drown.  How weird would that be?  But I think if we’re honest what we really need to worry about is the guy who shot the crap out of that sign.


The Grand Canyon


Have I mentioned that EVERYTHING IN THE DESERT IS TRYING TO KILL YOU?  I love everything about this sign.  How sunburned the guy got despite having a shirt.  The realistic splashy vomiting.  The cargo pockets on his jean shorts.  This guy looks absolutely miserable, and the joke here is that he hasn’t even started down yet.  The only way I could like this better is if there were a couple of Clif Bars sticking out of his pack and the sign was sponsored by Lara Bars.



Tuckerman Ravine

A sign so big it takes three photos to capture it all.
While there’s definitely something to be said for realistic splashy vomiting, I love it when  someone manages to make a stick figure look terrified.  The bottom panel of the ice fall warning sign near Pinkham Notch Visitors Center is fantastic.  Stick figures running for their little stick figure lives, about to be crushed by giant ice boulders.  I walked past this sign in August and it gave me the heebie jeebies.  Then it made me laugh.  Then it gave me the heebie jeebies again.


Jefferson Rock

 A stick figure warning sign done wrong.  I like this sign because I enjoy seeing signs with  very specific weirdly-shaped objects on them, because it’s super obvious that it’s a custom job and that a photo eventually had to be sent.  “Yeah.  Jefferson Rock.  Well, it's like a rock, but it’s not on the ground.  It’s resting on these four pillar things.  If you have clip art of a dog silhouette you could just use that and cut the head and tail off.  You know what?  That sounds awful.  I better send a photo.”

The problem with this sign is that it’s not scary.  That stick figure honestly looks like he’s having fun.  The only way you could make that look more fun to me is if you added sound effects.


Explosives (Way More Places Than I'm Confortable With)

Usually found either where they use howitzers for avalanche control or where the 10th Mountain Division used to train.  The idea that there may be unexploded military shells lying around is frightening, but the reason I like this sign is that it begs the question: is anyone who is dumb enough to want to touch unexploded shells smart enough to pay attention to warning signs?


In any case, I feel like the directions on this sign should read,

“If you find an unexploded shell or explosive:
1. Get the hell out of there.”


Mount San Jacinto State Park

This isn’t really a warning sign, but it filled me with a vague sense of existential dread that increased to a mild panic, and I spent the next couple of miles with my brain spinning trying to figure out what I was responsible for knowing.
“I don’t know what it is.  Is it math?  Is there math involved?  I’m terrible at math.  Maybe it’s not math.  Do I have to know how to navigate?  Start a fire without a lighter?  Fight mountain lions?  Treat hypothermia?  Is it avalanche safety?  Holy crap, it’s avalanche safety, isn’t it?  MY GOD SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT I’M RESPONSIBLE FOR KNOWING.”


The point here is probably that it’s pretty easy to make me freak out.


Plague Warning, Idyllwild, California
 As with the explosives sign: who the hell is touching dead animals?  Why would you have to tell people not to do that?  But let’s put that to the side for a minute while we mull over the fact that The Plague is still a thing.  Not like when you’re feeling cruddy from being sick and tell everyone, “ugh, I have the plague.”  The actual Plague.  That killed 60% of Europe.  I guess I always thought the Plague just died out somehow, but it turns out that the Plague is a lot like the band Sugar Ray -- you think it’s something horrible from the past that disappeared forever, but really it’s quietly humming “Someday” to itself and plotting a comeback.

Yellowstone Warning Signs

Let’s start by acknowledging that holy crap Yellowstone is dangerous.  There are so many things that can kill you in Yellowstone that it’s pretty amazing they just let people walk around unchaperoned.  In the backcountry, there really aren’t a lot of warning signs or boardwalks or roped off areas.  You’re free to be as stupid as you want to be.  The front country, on the other hand?  Warning signs everywhere about all sorts of things, although to be honest the one they really need is about how that bag of M&Ms costs four bucks.

But the signs they do have are terrific.  Look at that guy being tossed around by a buffalo!  It hit him so hard you can’t even figure out where the selfie stick went.  That dude is going to land three signs over on the one about not stringing a clothesline (Because of elk potentially rampaging through the campground)(Seriously).  And this sign is in a bathroom, where you think you’d be safe from that sort of thing.  But if you’re thinking that, WHAT PART OF “UNPREDICTABLE” DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?

And it’s not just the animals.  If you don’t stay on the boardwalk in the Upper Geyser Basin, the ground will apparently swallow you up and burn you alive, traumatizing your sister as your blissfully unaware dad continues strolling down the boardwalk lost in admiration for his Ted Baker London Bengal Leather Satchel.  And while most of the time it's fun to traumatize your sister, in this case IT IS DEFINITELY NOT WORTH IT, BARRY.

With thanks to Heather Anderson and Daniel Wilkerson!

As noted above, I love signs.  You can look at sign slideshows I put together from the PCT HERE and HERE.  I also have slideshows of signs from the CDT and the Appalachian Trail.  Or you can just check out everything on the YouTube Channel via the link below.  Enjoy!
















Thursday, December 21, 2017

Christmas Gifts For Night Hikers To Mars

Shopping does too.
Sooner or later every backpacking blog has a post about the best Christmas gifts for hikers.  But if you’re like me (and honestly I feel terrible for you if you are), you just realized that Christmas is in a few days.  That seems impossible, doesn’t it?  I mean, geez.  Today is the first day of winter.  How can Christmas be that close to the beginning of winter?!?  And what are you going to get for the hiker in your life?



No worries!  Just because you just discovered that it’s almost Christmas, it doesn’t mean your hiking loved one has to go without.  Because there are perfectly good hiker Christmas presents just lying around your house waiting to be given to the sort of person who claims they’re “really way more into experiences than things.”  In this article, I’m going to highlight some of the things that are perfect for people who don’t want more things.  Bonus: you get to get rid of some things.

The Classic Hiker Wallet
You know, there’s some really sweet and expensive silnylon wallet action going on in the woods.  But 9 out of 10 long distance hikers agree that nothing beats a Ziploc wallet, and frankly, they’re all making fun of the 10th guy’s sweet silnylon wallet behind his back.  Because what’s not to like about a Ziploc wallet?  It’s light.  It’s waterproof.  It doesn’t have a zipper that can break.  AND it’s transparent, so you can see how much money you saved by not buying an actual wallet.  For the hiker in your life, it’s the perfect gift for storing their license, debit card, cash, Do Not Resuscitate Order, and the credit card they’re going to max out when it turns out that random guy on the internet was wrong about being able to hike the entire trail on $1200.



Note: Does not come with any of the contents shown.

Ultra Lightweight Multi-tool
Maybe “multi” is the wrong word here, but this tool is definitely dual purpose.  At least.  One end of it makes fire, which can be used as a heat source AND a light source. If you’re one of the 0.0000007% of people who actually ends up using a paracord survival bracelet instead of just wearing it, it’s good both for sealing the ends of paracord and accidentally burning your fingertip while sealing the ends of paracord.  That second one is probably just me.

You can also use it to light a stove if you’re not one of those No Cook savages.

But even if you ARE one of those No Cook savages, the other end of it can be used to open beer bottles.  Unless you’re one of those No Beer savages.  If that’s the case, I’ve got nothing.  At least you can enjoy the fact that it says “The Hooters” on it.




Ultra Lightweight Signaling Mirror
There’s really no more thrilling way to quit a hike than via a Search And Rescue helicopter ride.  Whether you’ve gone hypothermic, fallen down a ravine and broken a leg, or accidentally hit the panic button on a SPOT device while putting it in your pack, a helicopter ride can be either lifesaving or incredibly embarrassing or both.

But it can’t happen if they can’t find you.  This signaling mirror is compact, lightweight, has a hole in the center for easily directing reflected sunlight at a helicopter pilot, and features 13 hot, hot, hot Shakira songs, on the off chance there’s a CD player in the helicopter.
It’s the most danceable Ultra Lightweight Signaling Mirror on the market, assuming you haven’t fallen down a ravine and broken your leg.


Ultra Lightweight Pot Scraper
“How do you clean out your pot?” is a commonly asked question online.  Some people say, “I use this sponge that I’ve used for months and is full of lord knows what.  And to deal with the bacterial diseases in the sponge, I use my immune system.  Hopefully.”  Other people say, “I just throw some sand or leaves or a squirrel in there and swirl it around,” which works unless, like me, you burn the shit out of your food on a regular basis.  Still others say, “people clean out their pots?” and then go on to explain that since they boil water in their pot every night, they don’t need to clean it.
Which is probably true, but definitely disgusting.

The Ultra Lightweight Pot Scraper is the perfect tool for cleaning your pot.  Use the long edge for the sides of your pot and the short edge for scraping burned food off the bottom.  The pot scraper won’t end up being a festering colony of bacteria like a sponge will, and unlike people who use a squirrel, you aren’t potentially exposing yourself to Rabies or the Plague.  And if you’re on an AT Thru-hike and you go into DC from Harpers Ferry, there’s something like seven or eight bucks loaded on this pot scraper you can use to ride The Metro.



Sam Adams Winter Lager Cardboard Box Full Of A Completely Disorganized Collection Of Maps
While everyone probably already has one of these, that’s no reason not to mail it to someone.  Because who doesn’t love maps?  They’re terrific for navigating.  They bring back wonderful memories of previous hikes.  They make great gift wrap -- in fact, you could make an origami box out of one and put all of the other gifts on this list into it.
Hmmm.  What else?  Wallpaper?  Why not?  Because you don’t own any walls?  Fair enough.  But you could decoupage the entire interior of that van you’re living in.  Really, though, the best place for the box of maps is the floor of your gear closet.  And every time you’re getting ready for a trip you can pull it out, look at it, shove it back in the gear closet and think, “when I get back from this trip I’m going to get these maps in some sort of order.”
And even though that won’t ever be true, isn't it nice to think that some future version of you will be an organized version of you?
I bet that version of you won’t wait until December 21st to start thinking about Christmas gifts either.


Merry Christmas to all from the Night Hiking To Mars Blog!

Friday, October 27, 2017

The Camino For American Long Distance Hikers, Part 4: La Mezcolanza

Previous articles in the Night Hiking To Mars Camino Series have covered general information, the
things Peregrinos carry (and don’t carry), and what one might experience in Camino towns.  So they’ve been focused on specific subjects.  In this final article, NHTM will cover a whole range of topics and bits of advice, so I anticipate it being a somewhat of a mess.  But I think we should concentrate not on how much of a train wreck this article will probably be, but rather celebrate that it was written at all.

Because it seems to me that previous “Series” on the Night Hiking To Mars blog have either been inarguably mythical (“Ask A Thru-Hiker”), abandoned in mid-series when the author was distracted by Bear Selfies and Apple Cake (“Wild” Debates About PCT Overcrowding), or the sort of thing you think would happen annually, but doesn’t (Night Hiking To Mars Best Of 2015).

Even this intro is all over the place, isn’t it?  But there’s still a ton of hopefully interesting Camino-related stuff to talk about, so I’ll skip trying to come up with a transition that makes sense and just get right to it.

Flora & Fauna
. . . are not two locals I met on the Camino.  Unfortunately.

The plants and animals you’ll see on the Camino are not very much like what you see on an American Long Distance Trail.  Every once in a while, when you’re in a more mountainous region surrounded by fog and heather and cats, you might say, “this feels like the Grayson Highlands, except for all of these cats.”  But for much of the time you’re walking through agricultural areas, and the lack of natural forests shouldn’t be all that surprising when you think of how many trees it takes to build entire Armadas of wooden ships for the English to sink.

But this isn’t to say that the flora and fauna aren’t interesting, or that it doesn’t change throughout the trip.  For example, below is my description, written in Burgos, of the trip up to that point.



“The Walk Thus Far:
Cows.

Cows and sheep.

(Pigs)

Cows and horses.

Horses and donkeys.

Olives and grapes.

Grapes

Grapes

Grapes

Grapes

Sunflowers.
Pine cones,
 Burgos.”

It’s like poetry, but without any of the qualities inherent in good poetry.  Honestly, though, I’ve never seen anything that’s quite like a sunrise over fields of sunflowers as far as the eye can see.  It’s beautiful.


As for animals, larger native Spanish animals like Cantabrian brown bears, Iberian wolves and Iberian lynxes exist.  But you’re unlikely to see any, not only because they’re all endangered, but also because they tend not to be welcome in vineyards.  Hell, you’re barely welcome in vineyards.  But that doesn’t mean there aren’t animals, and if you’ve hiked the Continental Divide Trail the volume of cow poop you’ll encounter should be comfortingly familiar.

You will most likely encounter:





Seriously.  There are a lot of cats.  If you’re a cat person, you will love the Camino. 

Some Other Things (Besides Cats) That, If You Like Them, Will Probably Mean You’ll Like Walking In Spain



Speaking of statues, there’s also this:


But even if you love cats, crosses, bridges, statues, wine, bacon, and depictions of horses stomping the shit out of people, there are things that might make you not like the Camino.


All in all, though, you take the good with the bad.  If I said hiking the Appalachian Trail was horrible because of all of the chafing, I’d be both correct and in a considerable amount of pain.  But if I said that meant the AT wasn’t worth doing, I’d be wrong.  And in a considerable amount of pain.  Basically I’m saying I hate chafing.  Also: my Mom hates blisters.

But blisters apparently love her.

I’m not sure exactly how this happened, but if there was ever a situation where a cutesy “Solvitur Ambulando: It Is Solved By Walking” Meme was inappropriate, this was it.  I suspect the blistering was mainly a function of heat and roadwalks, and was eventually solved with wine, epsom salts, and some timely shoe re-lacing advice from my friend Felicity.  But mainly wine.

Three Bottles Deep Into Foot Therapy

I guess the point here is that yes, the Camino is “easy” in some ways compared to American Long Distance Trails.  But that doesn’t mean it’s not hard.  There’s a reason this used to be done as a form of Penance.

I Promise I'm Almost Finished.  Just a Couple More Things.

The People In Front Of You

The people walking in front of you at 7am chatting away to one another are most likely NOT paying attention to the Flechas, and if you follow them you are just as likely to end up in Salamanca as Santiago.  So don't trust people walking side by side.  On the other hand, even in big cities all of the locals know where the Camino is, know what you’re doing, and will happily correct your missteps, unlike in America where we would probably enjoy watching you wander around aimlessly before intentionally pointing you in the wrong direction.

Not paying attention.

Eat Everything
I’ve previously mentioned eating octopus, but I highly recommend eating every regional dish you can wrap your mouth around.  Whether it’s Garlic Soup, La Morcilla de Burgos, Caldo gallego, or Percebes (barnacles), go ahead and give everything a try.  I think enjoying all of the foods as you literally walk across a country is an amazing way to experience the cultures of different regions, and there’s nothing like paying what seems like way too much money for something that someone recently scraped off a boat.

Pausing on the Caldo Gallego to eat what
is either a barnacle or a baby Velociraptor toe.

The Botafumeiro
No article or series of articles about the Camino is complete without mentioning the Botafumeiro, the gigantic censer in the Santiago de Compostela cathedral.  I think it's some sort of contractual obligation.  So here we go.

For non-Catholics: a censer (or thurible) is a container in which incense is burned, suspended by a rope or chain, and typically swung to blow smoke in your face during some masses by a priest intent on punishing you for showing up to Mass with a hangover.

When you complete your walk at the Cathedral in Santiago, you may decide to go to Mass -- there’s a Pilgrim’s Mass every day at Noon.  But if you time things right and arrive on a Friday, you can go to the 7:30pm mass and see them swing the Botafumeiro, a massive 5-foot tall censer that weighs over a hundred pounds.  It takes eight guys (called tiraboleiros) to swing it from a pulley system attached to the ceiling.  It arcs through the air in the Cathedral right above the heads of Pilgrims at 40 miles per hour, and as you watch it you are either filled with a deep sense of spiritual purification, or alternately you are desperately hoping the rope doesn’t break and send a 100+ pound flaming hunk of precious metals into the congregation.



Objects above and behind my Mom are much
larger than they appear.

The current Botafumeiro dates to 1851, but this incense ritual was going on for hundreds of years before that.  So even if you’re not religious, in seeing the Botafumeiro swing you feel a a rich connection to the past, a past where the people arriving in Santiago smelled at least as bad as you do, and probably worse.  Looking back through time, I imagine the censer starting out normal and getting larger and larger and larger:



“Nope.  We can still smell ‘em.  Make a bigger one.”

Summing Up
The Camino de Santiago is not a wilderness trail.  In that sense it probably has more in common with, say, the Appalachian Trail than the Continental Divide Trail.

But on all of my long hikes the people I’ve met along the way and the sharing of experiences with them has always been one of the most valuable rewards I’ve walked away with.  And if that’s something you value about Long Distance Hiking, you will LOVE the Camino de Santiago almost all of the time, except when that French woman clocks a snoring woman below her with a fanny pack from an upper bunk while you’re trying to sleep, or when that guy who’s walked the Camino 14 times won’t get the hell out of your photo at the Cruz de Ferro.

Hopefully this series of articles has given you an idea of what life on the Camino de Santiago is like, and, expectations properly set, you’ll enjoy an incredibly fulfilling once-in-a-lifetime journey -- right up until, like my Mom, you decide you really, really want to walk the Camino again.

Until next time . . .


For those who have not read previous entries in the NHTM Camino For American Long Distance Hikers Series, you can start HERE!