This is just me being silly with a photo taken by Kolby Kirk. He's doing a year-long hiking/nature/photography/art thing called "The Wilds Project," which involves hiking in all of Oregon's Wilderness Areas. You can check it out here:
Monday, March 16, 2015
Perhaps this is a woman you don't fully understand either . . .
This is just me being silly with a photo taken by Kolby Kirk. He's doing a year-long hiking/nature/photography/art thing called "The Wilds Project," which involves hiking in all of Oregon's Wilderness Areas. You can check it out here:
Friday, March 13, 2015
Trail Magic Recipes For Home: Jack's Apple Cake
My Mom (AKA
"Jester's Mom") is well known in the hiking community as an excellent baker
of all sorts of Trail Magic goodies. The problem: normally, you have
to do the work of actually hiking to benefit from this. And who wants
to do that?
This is the second in a series of blog posts (see the first HERE) that will provide you with the ability to enjoy Trail Magic baked goods from the comfort of your couch, your bed, or even the floor, should your hiking lifestyle put you in the position of not being able to afford furniture. Or maybe you'll make a cake and drive to the nearest trail to give some out to hikers, only to discover that you've eaten three-quarters of it on the way there.
This recipe is named "Jack's Apple Cake" not because Baltimore Jack Tarlin has anything to do with the recipe or the baking of the cake. It isn't even named after him because I mention bourbon in the recipe. It's called "Jack's Apple Cake" because if you take one anywhere within a quarter-mile of Jack it will most likely disappear, never to be seen again.
Jack's Apple Cake
Makes: A Big Heavy Cake
Prep Time: 40 minutes (preparing apples is a pain)
Cook Time: 1-1/2 to 1-3/4 hours
Ingredients:
6-7 large apples (Rome, Stayman, or Granny Smith)
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
4 tsp baking powder
1 cup orange juice
4 eggs
1 cup cooking oil
non-stick spray
What else you will need:
Sifter, large mixing bowl, small bowl, mixer, tube pan, apple slicer/corer, 1 bottle Bourbon.
Directions:
1. Pour yourself a glass of bourbon. You’ll want it after doing all of the work on the apples.
2. Peel, core, and slice the apples. Split them into two even amounts.
2a. Have some bourbon. You earned it.
3. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl, set aside.
4. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
5. Combine flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and sift into a mixing bowl. Make a well in the center, like digging a cathole. Okay, that was gross. Don’t think of it like that.
6. Into the well, add the orange juice, eggs, and oil. Beat well with the mixer.
7. Spray a tube pan with non-stick spray and then pour half of the batter into it. Spread half of the apple slices over it and sprinkle with half of the cinnamon/sugar mixture.
8. Cover with the rest of the batter, top with the remaining apples, sprinkle with the remaining sugar.
9. Bake at 350 degrees for about 1-1/2 hours until cake is done. It sometimes takes a little longer, maybe another 15 minutes. But starting at 1-1/2 hours you should occasionally poke it with a knife or something to test it. If the knife comes out clean it’s done. If blood pours out of the cake, you have spectacularly screwed up the recipe. Maybe lay off the bourbon next time.
 |
| Jester's Mom on the AT. |
This is the second in a series of blog posts (see the first HERE) that will provide you with the ability to enjoy Trail Magic baked goods from the comfort of your couch, your bed, or even the floor, should your hiking lifestyle put you in the position of not being able to afford furniture. Or maybe you'll make a cake and drive to the nearest trail to give some out to hikers, only to discover that you've eaten three-quarters of it on the way there.
This recipe is named "Jack's Apple Cake" not because Baltimore Jack Tarlin has anything to do with the recipe or the baking of the cake. It isn't even named after him because I mention bourbon in the recipe. It's called "Jack's Apple Cake" because if you take one anywhere within a quarter-mile of Jack it will most likely disappear, never to be seen again.
Jack's Apple Cake
Makes: A Big Heavy Cake
Prep Time: 40 minutes (preparing apples is a pain)
Cook Time: 1-1/2 to 1-3/4 hours
Ingredients:
6-7 large apples (Rome, Stayman, or Granny Smith)
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp cinnamon
4 cups all-purpose flour
2 cups sugar
1 tsp salt
4 tsp baking powder
1 cup orange juice
4 eggs
1 cup cooking oil
non-stick spray
What else you will need:
Sifter, large mixing bowl, small bowl, mixer, tube pan, apple slicer/corer, 1 bottle Bourbon.
Directions:
1. Pour yourself a glass of bourbon. You’ll want it after doing all of the work on the apples.
2. Peel, core, and slice the apples. Split them into two even amounts.
2a. Have some bourbon. You earned it.
3. Mix the sugar and cinnamon together in a small bowl, set aside.
4. Preheat oven to 350 degrees.
5. Combine flour, sugar, salt, baking powder and sift into a mixing bowl. Make a well in the center, like digging a cathole. Okay, that was gross. Don’t think of it like that.
6. Into the well, add the orange juice, eggs, and oil. Beat well with the mixer.
7. Spray a tube pan with non-stick spray and then pour half of the batter into it. Spread half of the apple slices over it and sprinkle with half of the cinnamon/sugar mixture.
8. Cover with the rest of the batter, top with the remaining apples, sprinkle with the remaining sugar.
9. Bake at 350 degrees for about 1-1/2 hours until cake is done. It sometimes takes a little longer, maybe another 15 minutes. But starting at 1-1/2 hours you should occasionally poke it with a knife or something to test it. If the knife comes out clean it’s done. If blood pours out of the cake, you have spectacularly screwed up the recipe. Maybe lay off the bourbon next time.
 |
| What Jack's Apple Cake looks like two minutes after receiving one in the mail and five minutes before it's completely gone. |
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Appalachian Trail: The Sheltered Life
“. . . And to tolerate that community, you should probably bring earplugs.” -- Shane O’Donnell
For those unfamiliar with the Appalachian Trail, it’s a National Scenic Trail that runs from Georgia to Maine, and unlike many other trails it has shelters every eight to ten miles or so. Some people prefer to use their tents while hiking the AT; other people enjoy using the shelters. There are many designs, but typically they’re three sided structures with a roof, a sleeping deck, and mice.
Mice trying to get to your food, mice sleeping on your face to keep warm, mice doing Olympic-level gymnastics. I swear, sometimes in a shelter it's like Cirque de Soleil-Down-For-Five-Minutes-And-You're-Covered-In-Mice. But shelters can be fun for people who aren't looking for a solitary experience, and they're a great option in terrible weather. And later in the season there are fewer mice around as the shelters get completely overrun with enormous black snakes.
Many first-time long distance hikers are unfamiliar with the sort of communal living that happens in the shelters along the trail (and the associated smells and noises), so I decided it would be a good idea to put together some thoughts on shelter etiquette and some observations on:
Living The Sheltered Life
In the words of House of Pain, “pack it up, pack it in, let me begin” . . . by also telling you to pack it out.
I don’t care what it is, whether or not you think it’ll burn, or if you think someone else might use it. If you don’t want it anymore it’s trash, and it isn’t any heavier than when you left town with it. Here’s a handy way of figuring out if you should leave something behind at a shelter:
hold the thing in your hand and say to yourself, “should I leave this behind?”
The answer is always no.
Note: if the thing you’re holding in your hand is poop, we need to have an entirely different discussion. And your trail name is now “Poop Hand Luke.”
All softball played inside the shelter must be slow pitch only. This should go without saying, but most hikers today aren’t carrying helmets with them like they used to.
Some people become very comfortable with taking their clothes off in front of others in the shelters. If you need to disrobe, announce that you are about to do so. This will give some people time to avert their eyes, and other people time to adjust the settings on their cell phone cameras.
If your trail name is “Spain,” walking up to the shelter and yelling, “I claim this shelter in the name of Spain” is funny twice. Maybe three times. Then you need to get a new thing.
Some Thoughts On Music:
Most people enjoy music. Most people do not enjoy listening to people learn how to play music.
All harmonica playing should be confined to the privy.
Only one tuba solo per evening.
If you play Wagon Wheel every night for two weeks because it’s the only song you know, it’s entirely possible that someone is going to use your backpacker guitar to make a fire.
Looking at the section above on music, I feel like I haven't properly expressed my feelings about hamonicas, so I'll just add this: there's a reason they let people in prison have them.
Talking to another shelter-dweller face to face is admittedly confusing and somewhat terrifying at first. Are you supposed to make eye contact? What do you do with your hands? And how are you supposed to signal your tone or emotional state without emojis? But if you put the electronics away every once in a while, it’s something you can get used to and even occasionally enjoy. Also, if you’re not binge-watching Peaky Blinders you don’t have to carry a solar charger that’s not going to work anyway.
Walking on the sleeping deck in boots is only acceptable if they have clear heels filled with goldfish.
Drugs: drug use in the shelters is sometimes a controversial topic, but ultimately it’s about respect and discretion. If you absolutely must do drugs, have some consideration and do it out of sight of your shelter mates.
Nobody needs to see you cramming your face full of Ibuprofen every morning.
Try not to be too annoyed with that first time hiker who wants to talk about his eight-pound base weight and how you’re carrying all sorts of things you don’t need and how you’ll never finish with a pack that heavy. He’s been researching his gear for a year now and he’s just excited because he finally has the chance to use it.
Plus, he’s quitting next week. So you won’t have to put up with him for long.
Complaining will not prevent the Orchestra Of Bodily Functions from launching into an all night performance. The best you can do is try to get to sleep before it starts tuning up. And bring earplugs. And maybe one of those nose clip thingies swimmers wear.
“The shelter isn’t full until everyone is in” does not apply to the guy who shows up in the rain and announces that because he decided not to carry a tent someone already in the shelter has to get out.
Showing up late:
If you show up after dark at a shelter and everyone else has already bedded down, it’s best to accept up front that there’s absolutely no way to get yourself settled into the shelter without making noise. No matter how quiet you try to be, you’re going to sound like a blind guy wandering around in a poorly organized wind chime factory.
So whatever you decide to do, do it fast. Get in there if you must, but consider the quieter option of just cowboy camping next to the fire made of backpacker guitars.
Getting up early:
I understand completely if you’re all annoyed that the other people in the shelter think “Hiker Midnight” is a joke about how early hikers fall asleep instead of being some sort of quiet hour rule. But clomping in the shelter and banging your gear around at 4:30am is going to make people hate you regardless of how justified you feel in punishing them via early morning passive aggressive retaliatory noise.
Please Purell your hands before touching anything else after mouse juggling.
And finally, if you’re hiking with your dog, maybe just stay out of the shelter entirely and set up your tent. I know you love your dog. I might even love your dog. But if your dog gets someone’s stuff wet or grabs their food or accidentally rips their sleeping bag or pees on anything, it won’t matter that “he’s never done that before,” someone is going to try to eat your dog.
Many first-time long distance hikers are unfamiliar with the sort of communal living that happens in the shelters along the trail (and the associated smells and noises), so I decided it would be a good idea to put together some thoughts on shelter etiquette and some observations on:
Living The Sheltered Life
In the words of House of Pain, “pack it up, pack it in, let me begin” . . . by also telling you to pack it out.
I don’t care what it is, whether or not you think it’ll burn, or if you think someone else might use it. If you don’t want it anymore it’s trash, and it isn’t any heavier than when you left town with it. Here’s a handy way of figuring out if you should leave something behind at a shelter:
hold the thing in your hand and say to yourself, “should I leave this behind?”
The answer is always no.
Note: if the thing you’re holding in your hand is poop, we need to have an entirely different discussion. And your trail name is now “Poop Hand Luke.”
All softball played inside the shelter must be slow pitch only. This should go without saying, but most hikers today aren’t carrying helmets with them like they used to.
Some people become very comfortable with taking their clothes off in front of others in the shelters. If you need to disrobe, announce that you are about to do so. This will give some people time to avert their eyes, and other people time to adjust the settings on their cell phone cameras.
If your trail name is “Spain,” walking up to the shelter and yelling, “I claim this shelter in the name of Spain” is funny twice. Maybe three times. Then you need to get a new thing.
Some Thoughts On Music:
Most people enjoy music. Most people do not enjoy listening to people learn how to play music.
All harmonica playing should be confined to the privy.
Only one tuba solo per evening.
If you play Wagon Wheel every night for two weeks because it’s the only song you know, it’s entirely possible that someone is going to use your backpacker guitar to make a fire.
Looking at the section above on music, I feel like I haven't properly expressed my feelings about hamonicas, so I'll just add this: there's a reason they let people in prison have them.
Talking to another shelter-dweller face to face is admittedly confusing and somewhat terrifying at first. Are you supposed to make eye contact? What do you do with your hands? And how are you supposed to signal your tone or emotional state without emojis? But if you put the electronics away every once in a while, it’s something you can get used to and even occasionally enjoy. Also, if you’re not binge-watching Peaky Blinders you don’t have to carry a solar charger that’s not going to work anyway.
Walking on the sleeping deck in boots is only acceptable if they have clear heels filled with goldfish.
Drugs: drug use in the shelters is sometimes a controversial topic, but ultimately it’s about respect and discretion. If you absolutely must do drugs, have some consideration and do it out of sight of your shelter mates.
Nobody needs to see you cramming your face full of Ibuprofen every morning.
Try not to be too annoyed with that first time hiker who wants to talk about his eight-pound base weight and how you’re carrying all sorts of things you don’t need and how you’ll never finish with a pack that heavy. He’s been researching his gear for a year now and he’s just excited because he finally has the chance to use it.
Plus, he’s quitting next week. So you won’t have to put up with him for long.
 |
| Earplugs: light, small, and solve most shelter issues (with the exception of the earplug-eating mice). |
Complaining will not prevent the Orchestra Of Bodily Functions from launching into an all night performance. The best you can do is try to get to sleep before it starts tuning up. And bring earplugs. And maybe one of those nose clip thingies swimmers wear.
“The shelter isn’t full until everyone is in” does not apply to the guy who shows up in the rain and announces that because he decided not to carry a tent someone already in the shelter has to get out.
Showing up late:
If you show up after dark at a shelter and everyone else has already bedded down, it’s best to accept up front that there’s absolutely no way to get yourself settled into the shelter without making noise. No matter how quiet you try to be, you’re going to sound like a blind guy wandering around in a poorly organized wind chime factory.
So whatever you decide to do, do it fast. Get in there if you must, but consider the quieter option of just cowboy camping next to the fire made of backpacker guitars.
Getting up early:
I understand completely if you’re all annoyed that the other people in the shelter think “Hiker Midnight” is a joke about how early hikers fall asleep instead of being some sort of quiet hour rule. But clomping in the shelter and banging your gear around at 4:30am is going to make people hate you regardless of how justified you feel in punishing them via early morning passive aggressive retaliatory noise.
Please Purell your hands before touching anything else after mouse juggling.
And finally, if you’re hiking with your dog, maybe just stay out of the shelter entirely and set up your tent. I know you love your dog. I might even love your dog. But if your dog gets someone’s stuff wet or grabs their food or accidentally rips their sleeping bag or pees on anything, it won’t matter that “he’s never done that before,” someone is going to try to eat your dog.
And let’s be honest -- sooner or later someone is probably going to try to eat your dog anyway. It happens all the time. But if you keep it away from the shelter they’ll at least be doing it out of hunger rather than spite. And they might express regret afterwards and say something along the lines of, “geez, I’ve never tried to eat someone’s dog before.”
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