I Sleep With My Food

Note: Originally published in 2015. While this post doesn't have the standard satirrific tone of the usual NHTM post, I wanted to do something with it, and FB notes (its original home) has become harder to find than my headlamp when I'm on an overnight.

Since writing this I have switched to using a bear canister, because maintaining possession of my food at all times -- even when going to the privy -- became more annoying than carrying a wee bit of extra weight. But I still believe that bear bagging is the worst method of food storage possible,  short of just throwing it on the ground wherever.

I sleep with my food.  There.  I said it.

I’ve slept with my food in my tent while hiking in twenty-two different states, including ones that have Grizzlies.  When legally required, I’ve used bear canisters (Kings Canyon, Yosemite) and hung food (Yellowstone).  I’ve used bear boxes (New Jersey on the AT) as well as Bear Cables (GSMNP) and Bear Poles (SNP).  But otherwise, I sleep with my food.  And so do a lot of other people.

Why?  Simply put, I believe it to be the best strategy for protecting bears.
This statement is probably viewed incredulously by people who have been told over and over again by official agencies that sleeping with your food is a terrible idea, and that people who do it are lazy, irresponsible, and part of the problem.  But stick with me, and I’ll explain my line of thinking.

I believe that one of the reasons that official sites post the proper hanging of food as a best practice doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the efficacy of hanging food as a deterrent versus other methods of food storage.  I think it has more to do with the perceived safety of the hiker, and the potential liability involved in the event of an attack rather than the result of any studies.

Which is to say, keeping your food in your tent could be 1,000 times more likely to prevent a bear from getting your food, and authorities would still never suggest it due to the relative potentially bad outcome (in the woods and in a courtroom) should a bear invade a tent, regardless of how unlikely that might be statistically.  So if sleeping with your food decreases the chances of a bear getting it by a great margin, but increases only slightly the chance of you having an encounter with a bear, it won’t be recommended -- and that's true even if it's just the perception of an increase.
Funny enough, there's one group of authorities who will admit that hanging food is ineffective.  And those authorities are in places that require the use of bear canisters.

I have often thought that hanging food isn’t necessarily about keeping food away from bears, but rather keeping bears away from people while they attempt to get people’s food.  The argument would say something to the effect of, “well, the bear got my food, but at least I’m okay.”  People who hang food aren’t terrified that a bear might get their food if they slept with it, but rather of what a bear might do to them while it was getting their food if they slept with it. Which is one of the reasons you end up with this sort of thing.

Much of what we do regarding bears and food is, as with water treatment, faith-based.  If you hang food with success you are convinced that hanging food is why a bear didn’t get your food, whether there is a bear in the area or not.  If you sleep with your food, and are never attacked, you believe that sleeping with your food is a successful strategy.  When a bear does get food that is hung, the assumption on the part of those who hang food is that the food was improperly hung.  Why?  Because they have faith that a bear cannot get to properly hung food -- even though there are bears that have proven that they can learn to defeat just about any unattended system of protecting food (including bear canisters).

As for bears invading tents, it’s incredibly rare, despite the fact that at some point in a trip everything you own probably smells like food.  On the very rare occasions that it does happen the first question anyone asks is, “did the hiker have food in their tent?”  Why?  Because people like to find a cause that tells then that they are relatively safe from this kind of thing, so that they can tell themselves that they don’t have to be afraid.  “He had food in his tent and was attacked, I do not have food in my tent and therefore won’t be attacked.”

But even if you don’t have food in your tent, you still probably smell like food.  You’ve spilled it on your clothing, you’ve stored it (and trash) in your backpack and your pockets, you’ve got some on your hands, your beard, your mouth.  It’s not like you’re taking a shower every day, and storing toothpaste and sunscreen in your bearhang bag doesn't make your breath smell less like toothpaste or your skin smell less like sunscreen.  Putting all “smellables” in a bag doesn’t mean your tent and its contents don’t smell like food.  Funny enough, I've seen recommendations that included in the "smellables" you're supposed to hang are the clothes you cooked in.  Ever seen anyone do that?  I haven't.  Ultimately, actually having food in your tent might not make it smell any more like food than not having it in your tent.

But there’s not much you can do about that, right?  So you do what you can to minimize bad encounters, including (if you're like me) not cooking in camp and avoiding established campsites unless required to use them.  And if your food doesn’t get taken and you remain unharmed, then whatever you’ve done worked (at least in your mind).  Even if there were never any bears near you.

Are people who sleep with their food irresponsible and lazy?  Undoubtedly some are.  And then there are others who believe that it’s a better way of dealing with food and take maintaining possession at all times seriously, which, believe it or not, takes a fair amount of effort.  Do I have any statistical evidence to back up my belief that bears recognize possession as ownership, and that they are more likely to go after hung, non-attended food rather than expend the energy to attack another animal to take its food?  Nope.  But then again, people who believe hanging is the best strategy don’t have any statistical analysis to back up their belief, either.  If anyone has actual data showing that hanging food is a more effective strategy, I've never seen it.  And no one has ever really successfully explained -- if maintaining possession is a bad strategy -- what hikers are supposed to do with their food while actually hiking.  It's right there.  In your backpack.  Why aren't hikers constantly being assaulted by bears while walking?

And though many people will (rightly) cite food rewards as a thing that leads to future problems for humans and death for bears, another thing no one has successfully explained is how a food reward a bear doesn't get makes a bear more likely to attack someone else, either near a tent with food in it or on the site at some point in the future.

Anecdotally, I can look at the situation on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia and note that the bear or bears who get hikers’ food are getting it exclusively from bear hangs.  Is the food improperly hung?  Probably, but not necessarily.  Does it occur to any of those hikers to sue the ATC or NPS or any other agency for suggesting that hanging food is the best method?  Of course not.

On the other hand, you can imagine how quickly someone (or their family) would engage a lawyer if ATC suggested sleeping with food and a bear invaded a tent, regardless of how unlikely a scenario that might be, particularly if that hiker sustained injuries or was killed.

I sleep with my food.  Should you?  That’s really up to you.  If having food in your tent is going to keep you awake all night, probably not.  In fact, I’ve hung food when I’ve been around other hikers who were so worried about me not doing so that it seemed a kindness to hang my food so they could get some sleep.
I’m not suggesting what anyone else should or shouldn’t do.  I’m explaining my reasoning for what I do, and the fact that it isn’t as lazy or irresponsible as you might have been led to believe.

I sleep with my food because I think it’s safer for the bears.

Coda, added 7/25/24:

What do we say about the people who used to say that those who ignored the officially recommended AT food storage method (bear bagging) were lazy and stupid, who now say that the current officially recommended AT food storage method (bear canister) is heavy and unnecessary? Lazy & stupid or nah?

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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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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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!

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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!

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The Knob: A "Thru Story" Appalachian Trail Short Film

 

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