Monday, July 14, 2014
Monday, April 7, 2014
Things Hikers Sometimes Do, Chapter Three: Sleeping In Bathrooms
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| Spitfire, after a good night's rest. |
There are many, many things that hikers do while on the trail that they would never really consider doing when not on the trail. Finding food on the ground and eating it. Sharing a bed with a guy you met two days ago. Eating 4200 calories in one sitting at a McDonalds. And ending pretty much every conversation with a lengthy discussion about pooping. This is not to say that you absolutely wouldn’t ever do these things in the “real world.” I have a friend who has mentioned pooping in every conversation we’ve had for the past fifteen years. But it’s rare.
On the other hand, there’s one thing that people will almost definitely never do off trail that, if they hike long enough, is almost inevitable. I am, of course, talking about sleeping in a bathroom (AKA "The Privy Bivy").
In 2008, the day before my PCT hike began, Scott “Squatch” Herriott and I were at Mt. Laguna and stopped by the Laguna Mountain Visitor Center. If you take the path to the right, you end up in the Center, and can get all sorts of information about Cleveland National Forest. We took the path to the left, and ended up at the bathrooms, which were large, clean, dry, and comfortable.
“This bathroom is amazing,” I said. “There’s only one problem with it.”
“What’s that?” asked Squatch.
“It’s only 43 miles into the trail. Almost no one will appreciate how nice it would be to sleep in here.”
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| Rainy Pass (or possibly Snowy Pass) |
That’s a complicated way of saying that for the most part, just like real estate, opening a restaurant, and how far away from me you should be sleeping when I’ve eaten a Mountain House Chili Mac With Beef, sleeping in a bathroom is mostly about location, location, location. And possibly rain, snow, and cold.
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| Lose the toss, sleep next to the can. Typo, Hee Haw, and Scallywag. |
Don’t get me wrong -- the things you’d like to see in a bathroom you’re using as a bathroom still apply when you’re using it as a bedroom. Except things are much more relative. It would be nice if it were dry, but it’s definitely drier than your shelter if it’s been raining for the past six days and the inside of your tent qualifies as a Federal Wetland. Warm? Warm is good. And the inside of a bathroom is almost certainly warmer than the outside of a bathroom that’s under a foot of snow. And clean is definitely a positive, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re already pretty filthy. If anything, the bathroom should be concerned about you.
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| Dirty. But dirtier than you? Not really, no. |
So maybe it’s late in the season and you’re at a place called “Rainy Pass,” and the weather has been teetering back and forth on the line between annoying and alarming. And maybe “Rainy Pass” is called that for a reason (it is), although “Snowy Pass” would also have been an appropriate choice. And there’s a bathroom in the trailhead parking lot (ADA compliant, which to a hiker means “plenty of room for sleeping!”). And like most bathrooms, there might be signs that tell you what you can’t do in there (no smoking, no putting feminine hygiene products in the toilet), but funny enough, none of them ever say “No Sleeping In Here.” Because who would do that?
You. You would do that.
I mean, who would walk from Mexico to Canada? You’re already doing something that doesn’t make any sense. Sleeping in a bathroom won’t exactly make you any more weird than you were before you slept in a bathroom.
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| Hybrid bathroom sleeping. |
So now that’s we’ve very generally covered the merits of sheltering in bathrooms and you realize what a fantastic idea it can be, I know what you’re wondering. “Do you have any tips when selecting this kind of shelter?”
Of course I do.
-- Unlike shopping for a tent, tarp, or hammock, weight is pretty much a non-factor. I don’t even know how much a bathroom weighs.
-- A skylight is a nice touch, but not absolutely necessary. The weather is a festival of misery out there. The sun will, in fact, come out tomorrow -- just not where you are.
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| Also great for cooking in! |
-- Look for hooks and/or nails on your bathroom walls. They’re perfect for hanging up your wet gear and lying to yourself about it drying overnight.
-- Your bathroom is most likely going to be near a road, so the ability to lock it is something to look for. A passing motorist might want to actually use it as a bathroom. But who does that? Isn’t that what the woods are for?
-- an overhanging roof, like a vestibule, is good for storing wet gear, dirty boots, or a hiking partner who has eaten a Mountain House Chili Mac With Beef for dinner.
-- as with fish, and um, let's just go with shoes: size matters! You really can't get a good night's sleep in a PortaJohn.
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| Don't try it. Trust me. |
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| Remember to tip your housekeeper! |
You’ll find other things to look for as you gain more experience by spending more time in bathrooms, but those are just the details. Overall, try to keep this in mind: the charms of thru-hiking are many -- the beauty of the mountains and wild spaces; the restoration of faith in humanity through the kindness of strangers; the ability to destroy two large Meat Lovers Pizzas plus an entire apple pie and not gain weight.
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| SOL on the CDT in a bathroom "vestibule." |
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| John Muir probably didn't say this. |
Note: As usual, I write these things, but I don't make them alone. Special thanks to those who answered my call for help/provided photos: Annie Mac, Hee Haw, Balls, Smooth, Spitfire, Neon, Daredevil, Wired, Skeeter, SOL, Mags, and Squatch.
Sunday, March 30, 2014
Hikers Rescued From The Appalachian Trail In Hanover, NH
Recently there have been a number of rescues on the AT and other trails, and the responses by the hiking community have ranged from, "so happy no one got hurt" to "well, I hope they learned their lesson" to "they BURNED THEIR CLOTHING to stay warm?!? What the #@&%?!?"
But I think it's important to remember that while getting lost or needing rescue can happen to anyone, the chances of it becoming necessary go up exponentially if you're stupid. And Search and Rescue will tell you that there are a lot of really stupid people out there.
So by way of cautionary tale, here's a news story from a couple of years ago about a rescue that took place on the Appalachian Trail in New England. Fortunately, although the hikers involved did sustain severe injuries, there was no loss of life. So have fun out on the trails, but be careful!
From the AP Newswire: August 28 -- A local SAR unit, 50 search volunteers, and a New Hampshire National Guard Helicopter crew were involved in responding to an emergency beacon, known as a SPOT device, in downtown Hanover, New Hampshire on Thursday.
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| One of the lost hikers, taken shortly before the incident. (identity hidden to prevent even more embarrassment) |
The hikers were on a section of the Appalachian Trail, which passes through Hanover. The hikers were initially confused as to where the trail went through town. "We were on Wheelock Street coming into town, but then the trail seemed to disappear," said one of the hikers, who wished to remain anonymous, "and then we were on this big grassy area. We hit the SPOT device immediately and decided to set up camp and await rescue. A few minutes later Steve looked across the street and saw the blazes, so we hit the 'OK' button and kept hiking."
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| When interviewed in the hospital, the lost hikers said some confusion stemmed from the blazes being, "totally on the wrong side of the street." |
The hikers made it part of the way down Main Street before getting in trouble again. "Neil needed some smokes, and we got completely off trail after a local gave us directions to Stinson's," said one of the hikers, who wished to remain anonymous, "and then we bought some beer and drank it in the parking lot behind the Nugget and by that time it was clear we were completely lost, and possibly idiots." With daylight fading and the hikers exhausted, disoriented, and pleasantly buzzed, they again activated the SPOT device.
By this time local authorities had already formed search teams based on the first activation of the device, which had never really been cleared. But the searchers were looking for the lost hikers on the College Green. "We had fifty or so searchers wandering around up there, because, honestly, doing a grid search on the Green looks kind of silly," said one of the searchers, who wished to remain anonymous. Said another searcher: "It was pretty clear from the outset that we weren't going to find them, but I did get two girls' phone numbers."
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| The search area for the lost hikers looked absolutely nothing like this. |
The hikers were eventually spotted by a National Guard helicopter in the parking lot behind the Dartmouth Bookstore. One of the hikers had suffered a slight ankle injury on the Bagel Basement steps, but they were otherwise unharmed. "We got really turned around and confused there for a while," said the third hiker in the group, who wished to remain anonymous. "Ed thought that if we could just figure out where 5 Olde was, then we could have another beer and calm down and try to find Main Street. But in the state we were in and with no trail to follow, that was pretty much wishful thinking."
The three hikers were air lifted out of the parking lot and taken to the Dartmouth Green, where they were beaten senseless by search volunteers.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
Trail Magic Recipes For Home: Oreo Truffles
My Mom (AKA "Jester's Mom") is known far but possibly not wide 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?
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| Pat O'Donnell, badass baker and hiker |
The beauty of this recipe to me is that it doesn't really involve "baking," which makes it a good recipe for those who are afraid of ovens, those who are too impatient to let one pre-heat the whole way, and those who, if allowed to use an oven, would burn the house to the ground.
Oreo Truffles
Makes: 4 doz. or 48 servings, 1 truffle each (alternately, if you are alone in the house when you make these, it sometimes makes 1 serving of 48 truffles)
Prep Time: 45 minutes
Total Time: 1 hour 45 minutes
Ingredients:
1 pkg. (8oz) Philadelphia Cream Cheese, softened
1 pkg. (15.5oz) Regular Oreo Cookies, finely crushed (about 4-1/4 cups), divided
2 pkg. (8 squares each) Baker's Semi-Sweet Chocolate
What else you need:
Mixing bowl, mixer, large heatproof bowl, pan/pot for simmering water, wax paper, baking sheet, two forks
Directions:
1. In a mixing bowl, mix Cream Cheese and 3 cups cookie crumbs until well blended.
2. Shape into 48 (1 inch) balls and place on wax-lined tray. Refrigerate for 15 minutes.
3. Place broken up chocolate in a large heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water; stir until melted and smooth. Note: bowl should not sit IN the water, but should rest on top of pan/pot.
4. Dip balls in melted chocolate (you’re allowed to giggle softly to yourself at that direction, but let’s not get carried away); place back on waxed paper-covered baking sheet. Sprinkle with remaining cookie crumbs.
5. Refrigerate one hour or until firm. Store in tightly covered container in refrigerator.
Tip:
How To Easily Dip Truffles: Add truffles, in batches, to bowl of melted chocolate. Use 2 forks to roll truffles in chocolate until evenly coated.
Remove truffles with forks, letting excess chocolate drip back into bowl. Place truffles on sheet.
Friday, February 21, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Things Hikers Sometimes Do, Chapter Two: Hitchhiking (With Helpful Hints)
One of the things that makes those new to long distance hiking nervous is the prospect of having to hitch into towns for resupply. But I think you'll find that unlike listening to Chris Collinsworth or watching Dance Moms, the more you do it, the more comfortable you'll be with it.
While on the CDT in 2012 I had to hitch into Encampment/Riverside from Battle Pass and then back again, because I am incredibly lazy and have no interest in walking 13 miles into and out of town. Battle Pass is a notoriously tough hitch, but I got a lucky ride down from the pass. The next day I had to hitch back to the trail, which turned out to be slightly more difficult.
11:00am Looks like rain; off to The Mangy Moose for one last beer.
11:20am No rain. Start hitching at the intersection of Routes 230 and 70.
11:30am Still hitching.
11:40am Still hitching.
11:45am Reposition pack to make it more visible to passing cars.
11:52am Move 30 feet up Route 70.
12:00pm Go back to The Mangy Moose for another beer. Is anyone heading up to Battle Pass anytime soon? No? Watch Gunsmoke.
12:35pm Back to hitching.
12:45pm Is it because I’m a guy? Throw a little leg out there just for fun.
12:50pm I mean, they can’t smell me from a passing car, can they?
1:00pm A red pickup pulls out behind me, stops, turns around, and comes back downhill to give me a lift. This is either because he’s a really nice guy, or he still hasn’t filled up the crawlspace under his house with bodies. I assume the former (mainly because he isn’t wearing anything made of human skin), throw my pack in the truck bed, and hop in.
This right here is a key moment in the hitch. Introductions. You have to keep in mind that the person giving you a ride has no idea whether or not you’re going to try to kill them, unless you’ve been holding a sign that says, “PROBABLY NOT GOING TO TRY TO KILL YOU.” So it’s important to make a good first impression. I usually use my trail name when I introduce myself, and sometimes they hear “Jester,” and other times they think my name is “Chester.” Either name works -- not that weird, not that threatening. All I’m saying is that if your trail name is “Breakfast Enema” or “Marmot Pounder,” you may want to go with “Hi! I’m Steve!”
Which, by the way, ends up being the name of my ride.
It turns out that Steve is really into the idea of long distance hiking, might want to hike the CDT in two sections, might want to hike 500 miles in Montana, might want to hike The Winds. And he might end up doing all of that, or he might not. But one thing is for sure: we’re definitely going to be talking about gear for the next 20 minutes.
I’m not big into talking about gear. I’ve worked at an outfitter, I go to hiker get-togethers, I’m occasionally on trail, and wherever I go I try to avoid getting sucked into talking about gear. If you ask me what kind of pack I’m carrying, I’m probably going to say something like, “well, it’s blue. And big enough to hold all of my stuff. Oh, and it has these cool stretchy thingies where I attach my fuchsia Crocs.” But when someone is nice enough to give you a ride, you talk about what they want to talk about. If your driver is easily distracted, maybe you can knock them off track by telling them one of your stock hiking stories -- “The Time I Saw A Mountain Lion,” “The Time I Played Twister On Top Of Mount Whitney,” “The Time I Knocked Myself Unconscious With A Hiking Pole” -- but in this case Steve is focused, so we talk about gear.
Yes, backpacks, yes tents, yes hiking poles, but always, always, invariably: “Do you carry a gun?” I don’t, and when talking with Steve I outline my reasoning, most of it having to do with the weight of a piece of gear that I will most likely never use. I point out that I plan to pick up some bear spray in Lander, or Pinedale at the latest. And while I’m busy extolling the virtues of bear spray, Steve reaches between the seats and, like a magician pulling a potentially lethal rabbit out of his hat, produces an enormous gun from I-know-not-where and slaps it into my hand.
At this point I am now confident that Steve is not planning on killing me. Either that, or he’s an evil genius, his plan is incredibly elaborate, and I stand no chance against him.
“Is that too heavy?” he asks, as I envision the most hilarious carjacking in Wyoming history. “Yep,” says I. “Definitely don’t carry this. If you really want to carry a gun, you’ll want to go way lighter.” I hand the gun back to Steve before I accidentally shoot out the windshield, myself, or him, and it magically disappears once again between the seats.
As if nothing unusual has happened, Steve talks about my upcoming climb up Bridger Peak, places to eat in Rawlins, and how much it’s probably going to suck hiking through the Great Divide Basin. And with that, we’ve arrived at Battle Pass.
As we pull up to the pass, Steve says, “let me just spin it here and I’ll drop you off on the other side of the road.” Why was he heading back the way we had come? Because as it turns out, STEVE WAS ONLY GOING TO THE POST OFFICE, less than a mile from where he picked me up, and drove 40 minutes out of his way round-trip to get me back to the trail.
So yeah, you might be nervous about hitching at first. And some crazy things might happen when you ignore the advice your Mother always gave you about not taking rides from strangers. But there are incredibly nice people out there in the world, and chances are that if someone is willing to give a filthy thru-hiker a lift, risking their safety and the safety of their vehicle’s interior, they’re one of the good ones.
With special thanks to: Pea Hicks, Lint, and, of course, Steve.