{"id":6126,"date":"2023-02-26T16:11:59","date_gmt":"2023-02-26T23:11:59","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=6126"},"modified":"2023-02-26T16:11:59","modified_gmt":"2023-02-26T23:11:59","slug":"backpacking","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/6126","title":{"rendered":"Backpacking"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I learned how to\nbackpack from my father in the 1950s, and in the 1960s I was fortunate to go\nbackpacking with some of the people who had the first recorded ascents of many\nof the peaks of the Sierras.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

There was no giardia in\nthe waters of the Sierras in those days, so there was no need to filter or boil\nwater from the lakes and streams. One of my great pleasures was lying on my\nbelly and drinking directly from a flowing stream. I remember the first time we\nhad to filter Sierra water. I was in my twenties. I was so sad about the loss\nof purity in those splendid mountains, I cried every time I had to filter our\nwater. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

This was also before the\nadvent of lightweight packs and lightweight tents and lightweight sleeping bags,\nbefore armies of backpackers swarmed the wilderness. My pack for a week in the\nSierras weighed upwards of sixty pounds, and we so rarely met other backpackers,\nevery meeting was memorable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were ever on the\nlookout for edible food that needed only water added to make a viable meal.\nForget tasty. Edible. I was a fly fisherman, and in those days so few people\nvisited the places we went, the fishing was always good and we had trout for\nbreakfast and supper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

One day a backpacking friend\ntouted me on a rice dish available in a cardboard box, the ingredients needing\nonly water to turn into some sort of pilaf. I got some, cooked it at home,\nfound it edible, barely, and got two more boxes to take on a backpacking trip.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our first day we hiked\nfor seven hours carrying our hella heavy packs over two high passes, and we didn\u2019t\nreach our destination until darkness was falling. Exhausted and having no time\nto fish, we made our cooking fire and boiled a pan of water to cook the rice pilaf.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yes. A cooking fire. This\nwas when so few people ventured into the Sierras there was always plenty of\ndead wood to be gathered for fires, no permits were required, and there was no\nneed to carry a little propane stove. When the water came to a boil, we poured\nin the desiccated rice grains, stirred occasionally, and twenty minutes later\nscooped the gruel into our Sierra Club cups.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Oh my God. The pilaf tasted\nlike a three-star Michelin entr\u00e9e, our mighty exertions and our extreme hunger\nmaking the crummy food gourmet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

*<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

When I was in my twenties I was a vagabond for a few years. I hitchhiked all over America and Canada, carrying all my possessions in a big backpack weighing fifty to seventy pounds depending on how much food and how many books I was carrying. I also toted a cheap guitar in a flimsy case and played for hours while waiting for rides. I was essentially a highway backpacker. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

During the summer of 1971 I found myself in Stowe, Vermont with a few dollars in my wallet and needing work. Stowe is now a swank resort town, but in 1971 it was a small country town. I inquired in the hardware store if they knew of anyone needing a laborer. The friendly fellow working there said he\u2019d make a few calls and to come back in a half hour. To pass the time, I went to the bakery to get a loaf of bread.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The gal in the bakery\nsold me a big day-old loaf for twenty-five cents. When I inquired about places\nto camp, she said I could pitch my tube tent in her backyard. I asked if she\nknew of anyone needing a laborer, and she said there was a guy tending a\nwarming hut on the nearby Long Trail, which is part of the Appalachian Trail,\nwho wanted somebody to cut and chop wood for the hut. She said he came into the\nbakery every few days to buy cookies and bread, and to complain about the\nabsence of bagels.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The guy at the hardware\nstore didn\u2019t come up with any work for me, so after spending the night in the\nbakery gal\u2019s backyard, I hiked two miles up a trail that connected with the\nLong Trail, hiked another mile or so north along the Long Trail, and introduced\nmyself to the fellow tending the warming hut there. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t know how things\nare run on those trails nowadays, but in 1971 hikers did not camp wherever they\nwanted along the way and had to stay in these warming huts, which were one-room\ncabins with a hearth, a woodstove, and wooden platforms for sleeping bags. There\nwas no electricity and the outhouse was unpleasant. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The fee to stay overnight was fifty cents. The keeper of the hut collected the fees, made sure there was plenty of firewood, swept out the hut, cleaned the outhouse, kept the water barrel in the hut full, and had a walkie-talkie in case of emergencies. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

The fellow tending the\nhut was named Bernard. He lived in Brooklyn where he was born thirty-five years\nbefore I met him. He spoke with a thick Brooklyn Jewish accent and was a chess\nmaster with a high ranking. Tall and bearded, Bernard was volubly unhappy about\nspending his summer in the mountains. He was there at the suggestion of his\npsychiatrist who felt a break from city life would help lessen his anxiety and\ndepression and anger.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Within thirty seconds of\nmy arrival, Bernard asked me, \u201cDo you play chess?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNot well,\u201d I replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cLet\u2019s play,\u201d he said grimly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A moment later we were\nsitting on the deck of the hut with a chessboard between us. I asked him to\nremind me how the horse moved and he gave me a look of dismay. \u201cPlease tell me\nyou\u2019re kidding. You must know that piece is called a knight.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNow I do,\u201d I said,\nlaughing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Not amused, Bernard checkmated me with ease three or four times, and said, \u201cYou\u2019ll get better.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He then explained his\njob included foraging in the surrounding woods for well-aged fallen trees and\nbranches, sawing them up, and splitting them into firewood for the hut. Never\nhaving wielded a saw or an axe, this labor was torture for him. He would pay me\nfive dollars a day and cover my food if I would work for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stayed a week, which\nwas all I could take of Bernard. He was desperately lonely and talked endlessly\nabout his mother and father, chess tournaments, his most challenging rivals in\nthe chess world, and his difficulties with women. Fortunately he did not\naccompany me on my wood gathering expeditions, so I had daily respites from his\nlaments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hikers would start\narriving in the afternoon. Bernard would collect the fees and inquire of each\nhiker, \u201cDo you play chess?\u201d Occasionally a good chess player would come along\nand Bernard would delight in games he always won. He and I played many times\nand I got a little better, but not so it made a difference to Bernard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In the mornings, hikers\nwould cook their oatmeal and move on. I would sweep out the hut, pump water\nfrom the spring to refill the warming hut barrel, clean the outhouse, and then go\nforth with saw and axe to gather wood from the surrounding forest. In my\nabsence, Bernard would read, write letters and postcards, and because I was in\nthe vicinity, he walked into town every other day to mail his letters, get his\nmail, make phone calls, and buy food.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We got to be friends,\nthough Bernard never asked me anything about my life. What he learned about me came\nfrom overhearing conversations I had with hikers who were more inquisitive than\nhe. By contrast, I knew so<\/em> much about\nBernard I could have written a long depressing novel based on his anguished\nlife. Working title: Such A Headache I\u2019ve\nGot.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

At the end of a week,\nwith thirty-five dollars in my pocket (a fortune to me in those days) I bid Bernard\nadieu and left the mountains for another stint on the road.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

fin<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Through the Fire<\/em> the title song<\/a> from our new CD Through the Fire<\/em><\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"<\/a><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I learned how to backpack from my father in the 1950s, and in the 1960s I was fortunate to go backpacking with some of the people who had the first recorded ascents of many of the peaks of the Sierras. There was no giardia in the waters of the Sierras in those days, so there […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[7772,7774,7773,7775,4305],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6126"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6126"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6126\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6131,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6126\/revisions\/6131"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6126"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6126"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6126"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}