The trail is a melting pot…

For as long as humans have been walking trails on this planet, we have been eating food.

From the early days of our species living in caves to modern times, we have gathered around and enjoyed meals with one another. Maybe it’s around a dinner table with family, at a campfire with friends, on a picnic blanket in the park with a partner, or on a log on the side of the trail with your hiking buddy, sharing a sweet treat as you climb through the next mountain pass. This innate human desire runs deeper than just the feeling to help feed your fellow human; it’s a way to share where you come from and how you were raised. Sharing a meal is a way to share a part of who you are.

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For as long as humans have been walking trails on this planet, we have been eating food.I feel like I’ve been asked “What’s that smell?” more than most hikers.Cook something with meaning.

Chaps and I sitting in camp, getting ready to make dinner.

Working on a trail crew is tiresome. The PCTA volunteers who join us on trail projects put in tremendous effort getting out there to clear obstacles, restore tread, and build structures. It is important to keep a crew like this well fed, and as a leader of these crews, feeding them is often the hardest and most rewarding part of my day (with the quality trail work a very close second). Waking up before everyone and getting coffee started before the sun rises is never easy. As the few early risers wake and join me around our kitchen for a cup of coffee and breakfast, we get into discussing what kind of work we’ll be doing that day, where and how far we’ll be going, our return time to camp, and so on.

Eventually, we start chatting about life, our past experiences, our excitements, and ultimately what we are having for dinner that night. This quality time between rest and work often revolves around food, talking about food, preparing food, and eating food. And this, dear reader, is why I take great care and concern in all matters related to and associated with that of crew cooking. After a good day on the trail, no matter how difficult it was, I get excited to prepare a quality meal for the volunteers as a way to express my gratitude and appreciation.

Volunteer crew leader Jim Beatty waits patiently for his personalized omelet.

Growing up, my mother (Trail name: Inquisitor) spent a great deal of time and effort feeding our family of six. I watched her cook plenty, and I learned plenty more. Naturally, I found making food for others to be a great joy in life. On my AT thru-hike, I often found myself sharing bites of my meal with my friends at camp in the evenings and, on a few rare occasions, feeding my friend Chaps after he knocked over his dinner while it was still on the stove. It was fun letting others try the wild and delicious concoctions I would craft after thinking all day about what I had in the pantry, crushed at the bottom of my backpack. Nothing makes a fellow hiker look up faster from their cold, soaked ramen than the smell of an onion sweating.

I feel like I’ve been asked “What’s that smell?” more than most hikers.

One of my most memorable dishes on the Appalachian Trail (AT) was a potato mushroom soup I made the day we left Monson, ME. What made it so special was all the help from my fellow hikers, whom I had convinced to help pack out ingredients. As more people agreed to my crazy plan, the more things I started buying at the grocery store to add to this soup. We had potatoes, mushrooms, and broccoli. That evening, as I started cooking, a few hikers in camp saw what was going on and donated their random assortment of freeze-dried goods; we ended up with peas, carrots, and a bit of spinach. And to top it all off, a whole can of coconut milk was carried by the champion of the day, Chaps. Seeing my fellow hikers hover as dinner was nearly ready filled me with excitement! This collaboration, which we had all been thinking and talking about most of the day, had finally come to fruition. Once everyone had received their serving for helping carry things, I was given the best compliment an amateur chef can ever hope for: the sound of silence, broken only by the muffled sound of everyone chewing. You know you’ve done well when people are too focused on eating their dinner to talk with one another.

Dinner prepared by my trail family and me on a zero day.

As you get ready for your next trip to the wilderness with friends, or as you prepare for your next volunteer project, I submit to you a challenge: cook something for your fellows that offers them more than just a collection of ingredients. Make something for them that will share a part of who you are, maybe it’s a favorite childhood meal, or a recipe from your grandparents.