No fair, I thought, why do they get to see the otter? The group that got to camp further into the Selway-Bitteroot Wilderness, the one that had the campsite on the beach, had the special privilege of seeing the cute little creature. It is indeed the chance for rare glimpses of elusive creatures such as these that we venture into the backcountry. No matter, I saw their bear hang, and ours was a much bigger feat of ingenuity and motor skill (Thanks, Jimmy).
Still, my own experience in the backcountry was epic. Having done a grand total of 8 days in the backcountry before, I walked around with my chest puffed out, ready to educate the novices who had never even pooped in the woods before. It didn’t take long for me to realize that those eight days were nothing like the little three day stint I would do during Tech Training. To start off, I was out of shape. We were in the midst of the winter thaw, and my body was still soft after a season of hibernation. So, putting the 40 or so pounds on my back and hiking for 3 miles proved to be much tougher than it seemed on paper. My pride quickly began to deflate.
I rejected bringing a lot of food in order to lessen the weight on my back, a principle I thought I could confer onto my new backcountry protégés. The result was disastrous. Still lingering from the night before, my hunger on the second day was not satiated after one small pouch of oatmeal and an orange for breakfast. I started to curse myself for not planning on more food. My region-mates were fine, but I also weighed 70 more pounds on average than they did.
We went on a hike that day, starting off tame at first. Soon, though, we headed straight uphill for at least a quarter mile. For someone out of shape, large, and perpetually under-hydrated, it was super taxing. By the time we hiked back down and back to our campsite, I was famished. Dinner came in rounds and with every new course, I was hoping those intense pangs in my stomach would subside, but each round of food just whetted them even further.
My hunger became primal. I was at the point where all my energy was focused on putting more sustenance in my stomach. While the rest of the group huddled around the flame of the stoves, I sat in the shadows, motionless and silent, smacking my lips in fantasy of more food. It may sound dramatic, but in the backcountry everything is extreme. There, all our limits are pushed. Yeah, I know it was only a three day jaunt in the wilderness, but for me it was becoming a true struggle. Eating the other food in our bag was not an option because then we’d have nothing for breakfast or lunch.
In the end, I remembered our one reserve ration. We had brought two tins of Jiffy Pop into the backcountry, mainly because it was super light and very compact. It ended up being my savior. I popped the first over the stove, and its smell started to attract others. “Oh popcorn,” they exclaimed, “smells good.” Too bad you’re not getting any, is what I was thinking, but I knew I couldn’t do that. So, I ate as much of the first Jiffy Pop that I could, then quickly popped the second. With that one, I was replenished enough to offer my stock. Then, because I wasn’t done, I combined the unpopped kernels of the first with the one of the second. They popped, and I ate them contentedly. My avarice was done for the night.
We had a check-in after dinner, and I had to admit that I became famished and was zapped of all energy. “Well you should feel that way,” they answered. “You probably burned a lot of calories today. You’re a big guy and we did a pretty substantial hike.” Great, I thought, now they’re treating me like I’m fat camp. In the end, I survived and had tons of cookies and nutella waiting for me in the rig once we reached the trailhead.
At the risk of sounding self-important, what seems to be an insignificant anecdote about Jiffy Pop is really an allegory for overcoming the challenges of the wilderness. If you don’t plan carefully for the wild, it will destroy you. That’s what makes visiting the backcountry so thrilling: it is nature at its purest. Not only do we witness the beauty of ecosystems in their untainted form- like the otter feeding in the crystal waters of the Selway or verdant ferns growing out of the duff of dried pine needles- but without the conveniences and systems of the modern world, we must follow nature’s rules. Nature is beautiful, but it can also be merciless. For this, I give it much respect.
