There's nothing like the smell of granola cooking in the evening. It's so... nutty, sweet and comforting. Some may say it smells even better than baking cookies. Or at least equally wonderful. When I was a kid, this was a regular thing.
So much so that I even took for granted that there was always homemade granola on hand. But not anymore. I've got a healthy appreciation for the stuff now. This granola was my go-to breakfast when I was hiking the PCT: I was lucky enough to have my mom sending me fresh batches of it every few weeks (Thanks Mom!). It's a powerhouse of nutrients and good, clean energy. Even more so when there's dried fruit on top.
After trying many a different granola recipe -- some with orange juice, some with extra cinnamon, some with twelve different kinds of nuts -- I've finally realized the truth. Nothing can compare to Mom's Granola.
Mix everything together. Spread thinly on 2 baking sheets. Bake at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Stir every 10 minutes.
Add raisins or dried cranberries after baking.
When I got back from hiking the PCT last year, people were saying some crazy things.
"You should write a book," one of them said.
"Haha, yeah, maybe..." was my response. I'm not a writer...not a book writer, at least.
But then I found myself at Starbucks killing time between work and yoga, laptop on my lap, writing. And I haven't stopped since. It turns out I have a story to tell, and I think it's a good one.
I'm sitting here feeling a little shaky at the thought of actually publishing this thing, letting everyone read it. It's terrifying. But then again, it's the things that scare you that are the most worth doing. That's what Rich Roll says, at least. Also, I think Groucho said that. And a bunch of other people too.
So here we go. Here's chapter one. My plan is to take the plunge and figure out how to publish in March.
A Walk with Mud
a story of two best friends hiking from Canada to Mexico on the Pacific Crest Trail
We lie bundled in our sleeping bags, our heads next to each other in the shelter of our tent.
“I love you Mud,” I say, staring upward into nothingness.
“I love you too Bug. We make a good team.”
With this, we both fall asleep. We’ve hiked thirteen miles today. Mud’s friend Eric is with us and he sleeps on the other side of the campsite, cocooned in the one-person tent he bought from me last month. It feels normal, comfortable, here in the forest. Like the rest of life can just fade away -- the stress, the fights, the responsibility. We are strong and happy, unfazed by the 2,650 miles of walking that lays ahead.
Mud and I are headed south on the Pacific Crest Trail – a journey from Canada to Mexico that will take us almost five months. Even though it’s summer, thoughts of snow weigh heavy on our minds. In order to complete the entire trail in one season, we had no choice but to start hiking early in July before the snow melted. Our deadline was clear – 1,900 miles in the first 3 months, then 750 more through the desert. This short window between snow-melt and snow-fall is one of the main reasons 90% of PCT hikers start in Mexico and head north, avoiding the pressure. Both of us are strong hikers, confident that we can hike from the Canadian Border to the southern-most pass of the high Sierra before the winter snow falls in October, then on to the Mexican border by the end of November. But to do this, we have to start early and hike fast.
The North Cascades of Washington in early July are a tricky thing. The weather is beyond perfect -- warm temperatures and reliably clear skies. The summer sun’s only just begun to melt the winter snowpack, creating trickles of water to cover green meadows in radiant shimmering glory. Rivers and creeks fill and roar through the wooded foothills at lower elevations. The Pacific Crest Trail, however, follows the crest of the west coast mountain ranges, maintaining elevations generally above 4,000 feet. The snow pack at these elevations is still significant enough to cover the trail by several feet, making it dangerous and difficult to navigate.
The PCT Southbound Facebook page was abuzz all spring with talk of start dates, snowmelt and the dangers of snowy traverses. Just weeks earlier, a man lost his footing and tumbled out of control down a snowy slope. He was walking north from Hart’s Pass to reach the monument at the US-Canada border marking the Northern Terminus of the trail. It’s about a thirty-mile walk, and the only legal way to officially start a thru-hike at the Canadian border. Crossing into the States from Canada on the PCT is now illegal, so thru-hikers start walking north from the northern-most road in the United States to tag the monument at border, then turn around and hike south. It turned out that man had to be airlifted out and taken to the nearest hospital, crushing any chance he had of completing the hike. But that was weeks ago -- the snow will have melted, we thought. Mud and I are stronger, tougher, and more careful than that guy. We told ourselves it’d be fine.
In the morning we leave Eric at Holman Pass where we’d camped; he has no stake in walking all the way to the Canadian Border just to turn around again like Mud and I planned. He’s spending the first few days with us just for the outdoor experience and to do us the favor of being our ride to the trailhead. He spends the day reading and wandering the area while we begin our mission to the border. The air is crisp as we climb out of the valley, through a meadow and into the alpine snowfields. So far, the snow presents little in the way of danger. We plod through it, enjoying a small rush of adrenaline when we follow the trail perpendicular to a steeper, snow-covered slope.
A few hours later we reach Rock Pass. The trail follows a ridge for a short time and then switches sharply back, disappearing below a wall of snow. It points us down the north side of the slope, but gives no more guidance than that -- down. It’s the steepest slope we’ve seen so far. As though we’re on the rim of a giant bowl and can’t see its bottom. I stare into infinity below me.
Mud looks back at me, “I don’t see many options… I think we should glissade,” An outline of the trail is visible 20 feet below us. It’s a faint dotted line running perpendicular to the slope. “If we get to where we see the trail, we can make our way across to the lower ridge.” A tiny grove of pine trees calls us in the distance -- a promise of safety. If only we can reach it.
Mud begins his slide, slowing himself with his ice axe, shooting furious white clumps up on either side as he tears into the untouched snow. Seconds later he recovers, stands, and waits for me. I grasp my ice axe and sit, hesitantly letting go the grip my feet have on the mountain. Gravity takes over. Down I go, pushing loose rocks and ice out of the way, depending more on my heels than my axe to slow me at this point. It’s not graceful, but I manage to stop myself before gaining too much speed. Chunks of snow have accumulated in my pants, so I pause to clean them out before preparing for the next move. I don’t look around, knowing that if I do, fear might take over. Instead I get right up and follow Mud tentatively across the slope. My focus is sharp and my footsteps become the only thing in the world.
And then one step dissolves below me and my body lands hard against the mountain. I’m sliding downward and picking up speed fast. Heading straight toward the bottom that I can’t see. I hear Mud yell as I tumble but the words don’t register. It’s the mere sound of his voice that makes me recall what he’d said just an hour earlier in preparation.
Get all the pointy parts into the slope! Knees. Elbows. Axe. I dig into the mountain with all my might, then dig again. Finally I slow and stop, finding myself hanging only by my shoulder joint, my hand holding hard on my ice axe.
I pull myself up and sit, trembling, looking down to where I could still be falling. Now, I’m scared. I think back to the last time I walked this pass. I wound down and around over the loose rocks, following the trail across the 60 degree slope with careful steps. It was nerve-wracking even then when there was no snow in sight. Now snow’s everywhere. Where there’s no snow, there’s washouts -– sections where the mountain’s come apart in a landslide. Rocks and boulders gave way months ago and tumbled down these slopes, leaving giant ditches of loose gravel and enormous pieces of granite. Tiny avalanches crackle in the wake of our steps.
I sit in the vastness. There’s nowhere to go, no option to quit. Every direction looks impossible, impassable. My heart still races from the fall as I right myself and try to walk toward Mud. We proceed on the dotted line where it looks like the trail might be. Step by step, I put each foot into a dent in the slope that Mud’s kicked in for me. This is both helpful and not. His steps are bigger than mine. I sometimes get confused as to whether it’s a right foot or a left foot and loose my stride in his footsteps. We proceed in this manner of slow steps in the snow, alternating with steep scrambles over loose rocks.
At last we arrive at the lower ridge where the trees that looked so tiny from afar tower comfortingly over us. A respite from the snow and rocks. We sit for lunch and Mud makes beans and mashed potatoes on his JetBoil.
“Want some?” he points a spoonful of mush in my direction.
“No, thanks…” My stomach is full from stress.
We watch through the trees and see a black speck moving reluctantly across the slope we just crossed.
“I hope that guy’s okay. Looks like he’s not on the trail. I wonder if he knows,” says Mud.
Just then, the black speck begins to slide down the mountain. He stops and continues onward. He’s far down into the bowl, hundreds of feet below the trail. We wonder if he’ll ever get back on track, or if he’s even trying. There isn’t much we can do.
Mud yells at him, “Are you okay?” but he’s clearly too far to hear.
After lunch we get up and continue to inch our way towards the Canadian border. The trail is lined with trees and I feel safe. I’m content in believing that the hard part is over as we walk on the velvet dirt. But soon the trees subside and a bare, snow-covered slope reveals itself. Again, I think. I grip my pole and ice axe and begin to kick in steps. I kick and kick. If anything, I’ve proven to myself that I’m capable of self-arresting, catching myself if I slip. Yet I’m terrified of having to do it again. I never liked heights. I always made up excuses when my friends wanted to go rock climbing. But here I am, my life entirely in my own hands and feet. The mountain descends long below me.
We break again after a few hours when my muscles are too wobbly to continue. While I eat my ProBar, an inchworm finds its way onto the toe-box of my shoe. He progresses slowly, one end firmly rooted on my shoe, the other end of him standing straight up. His body reaches in every direction, assessing where to make his next move. Where is it safe? Finally he chooses a spot to ground himself and proceeds with his cycle again.
“I feel like this inchworm when I walk in the snow, ” I tell Mud. Each step is a new risk.
He responds, “Hmm.”
We continue into the evening, fear draining all my energy. My body continues to carry me down the trail long after it’s reached its limit. After a while we let go of any hope of reaching the border tonight. By 7 p.m. we’ve descended deep into the forest away from snow-crested ridges so we stop to make camp. Dinner is homemade, dehydrated curry. I change into long underwear and out of my sweaty clothes in the late evening light, set up the tent and blow up my sleeping pad. We kiss for a moment in the dissolving daylight and then go to bed.
We wake at 4:00 before the sun. Sleepily, I make arbitrary decisions about what goes in my pack and what doesn’t. We’ll walk the three miles to the border then turn right around and come back to our stuff. I could take nothing if I wanted. Yet I take most of the things. I’d feel empty without my things, my home, on my back.
The walk is easy and passes swiftly. After only an hour we see the monument standing in a line of clear-cut trees. NORTHERN TERMINUS, PACIFIC CREST TRAIL reads the wooden pole, with three shorter poles standing in front of it in true monument fashion. There are tiny toy flags on either side of the second-tallest pole, poked into the wood –- Canadian on the right, American on the left. Mud ambles across the border into the Canadian woods to poop.
“I pooped in Canada,” he can now say.
We set up the self-timer to take a photo of ourselves next to the monument. It turns out lopsided, but it serves as evidence that we were here at the Canadian Border. Soon it’s time to go. Without wasting time, we sign the register and turn to walk south. Time to walk to Mexico!
It was August 31st, 2015 when I jumped off an Amtrak bus at a rest stop on Interstate 80. My Gossamer Gear Gorilla pack was full to the brim with too many warm clothes and I was ready to hike all the way through the Sierra, again. After hiking only 5 miles I crossed another highway, filled up my water bladder behind an abandoned ski-school building and made my way down a gravel road to continue on the PCT. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a group of four grungy hikers sprawled on some rocks behind a tree.
One of them looked at me with a mixture of recognition and surprise. I gave her the same look in return and veered left to greet them.
“Hi! Are you guys headed south?” I asked her.
“We sure are, you?” She asked. Her shirt was three sizes too big and swallowed her whole and her ponytail flopped insistently on the right side of her head.
“Yep! I’m Bug.”
“Hi, I’m Mart.. I mean, Huck,” Said a bearded man in a familiar Danish accent.
“I’m Harpo – want some Sour Patch Kids?”
“Nice to meet you, no thank you…” Sour Patch Kids aren’t vegan, I thought to myself. Little did I know…. “I actually just started my section hike, I convinced the bus driver to drop me off at the rest stop which I guess is technically against the rules.… I told him I wouldn’t tell anyone…”
“Well you just told us,” Groucho pointed out. Touché.
I liked them all immediately. But I liked them even more the next day when I found out that half of them were vegan!
Meet Harpo and Groucho – lightweight backpackers extraordinaire and committed vegan thru-hikers. These two have successfully completed both the Appalachian Trail, the Pacific Crest Trail and are on the way to the Triple Crown this year with the Continental Divide Trail. They’ve had some awesome life adventures (that I’ll let them tell you about, down below) while discovering and living their own personal truths. They’re artists, nomads, yogis and professional house sitters who have lived without paying rent for years. They've got some really great perspectives which they share in the interview below as well as on their blog. It’s impossible to cross their paths and not feel energized and inspired to shine a little brighter. So, without further ado, I give you Harpo and Groucho: two more vegan thru-hikers, changing the world one cheese-less pizza at a time.
How long have you been vegan and what drew you to this way of eating?
Harpo: My first radical act was picking the pepperoni off my pizza when I was 11. I've been vegetarian since then (26 years) and mostly vegan the last 4 years. I felt uncomfortable with agricultural processes related to animal treatment and their (lack of) personal sovereignty. In school, we had just learned about First Nation's peoples and their diets - I was struck by the respecting/blessing of the hunt, and using every part of the animal. My mom subscribed to a vegetarian magazine to learn recipes for me. The magazine was full of advocacy articles describing the industrial food processes, the negative impact of the system on the environment, and also the nutritional benefits of being vegetarian. I did more research and found so many reasons to continue on this path.
My father grew up in a rural area where they grew their own food. They even churned butter when he was a kid. He passed along this respect for food - a love of whole foods, an ethos of using up leftovers, and a practice of composting any waste. I woke up to the way that America had strayed from these practices... and although I appreciate that industrialization has made food cheaper, I have issues with the compromises in quality, nutrition and the treatment of animals in factory farming.
I couldn't eat meat anymore.
For a few months in my early 30's, I tried eating meat again that was more consciously produced, i.e. hugged to death in an idyllic pasture where it is eating freshly sprouted grass. That diet didn't make me feel any better about killing animals to continue my own life. Then I met Groucho, who is a great chef, and it was easy to be vegan around him.
Groucho: I started as a vegetarian in high school - I never had much of a taste for meat and was inexplicably drawn to drop it, also prolly because all the cute artsy girls were veggie. Years later managing Elliott Bay Cafe I had a lot of conversations about veganism with my friend Pol and the bakers at Flying Apron, the vegan/gluten free bakery in back. I conditionally switched to veganism in 2004, with a 3 month hiatus eating cheese while cycling thru France, and a 1 month stint eating sashimi when I returned. When I initially switched to a vegan diet I found that my stomach didn't hurt every time I ate - something that plagued me since my youth - that's how I found out I was lactose intolerant. I've been 100% vegan since 2005.
What kind of travels and adventures have you been on since being vegan?
Harpo: I have thru hiked the Appalachian Trail (2200 miles), the PCT (2650 miles) traveled to Austria and Guatemala.
Groucho: I have hiked the AT and PCT (with Harpo-mane), prepared food for a company of 23 dancers and actors in Austria, performed in Toronto, been an artist in residence in Costa Rica, worked and played in New York, received yoga teacher training in Guatemala, cycled thousands of miles and run hundreds, worked on a weed farm in Northern Cali, painted quite a few murals and had a couple museum shows - all while happily eating vegan.
Do you always stick to a vegan diet while traveling/hiking, etc?
Harpo: Mostly. I have "hospitality flexibility"... i.e. if someone is trying to do something nice.... like give me trail magic... I will sometimes accept it... if turning them down would complicate the human interaction. For example, accepting a homemade muffin from a car camper around Old Station California. It's really hard to say "no" to someone who is trying so hard to participate in my journey by paying me a kindness.
Groucho: Always. Unless I misread a label. There's no going back at this point. I started as a comfort/health/fashion vegan but over the years have become more aligned with universal consciousness and animal rights - I can't see any justification for changing my diet, only more opportunities to talk about positive change via food.
Can you describe a story or two about some challenges you face in dong so?
Groucho: In Austria people literally eat only sausage and ice cream. Implied Violence - the theatre company I work with - initially performed at a festival in Krems (outside of Vienna) in 2009. We ate only beer. When we returned as a new company - Saint Genet - in 2013, we were determined to provide healthy, sustaining food for the performers so we cajoled the producers to put us in a venue with limited cooking facilities. This turned out to be a museum, which was awesome. But our group had extremely varied dietary limitations - the opera singer didn't eat beans, someone was gluten free, someone was allergic to celery and apples, and the choreographer tasted cilantro as soap. All this while contending with the fact I can't speak German, and we were preparing for a show that required 3 hours of setup, 5 hours of performance, and 2 hours of reset every night. I was literally at the grocery every morning at 7, and finishing the performance at 10pm - basically incoherent because I got drunk on stage during the show. It was trying, but I think the healthy food helped everyone sustain during the extremely difficult and rigorous performances. The dancers were the biggest fans since meals were often just grain (quinoa or polenta) and various cold salads and dressings, with fruit and nuts always available in between - super high energy and easy to digest. Also, there was a copious quantity of gruner veltliner - a regional white wine...
Is it worth the social and logistical challenges to maintain this diet on the trail?
Harpo: Absolutely. It helps, actually. When hiker hunger kicks in, and you feel entitled to eat anything you want, being vegan makes you think a little harder about what you're putting in your face. For example, I never once have eaten a whole stick of butter in one sitting. I know many non-vegan thru hikers who have committed such atrocities. Also, I have never eaten a whole large pepperoni pizza topped with french fries and ranch dressing... and people say vegans are crazy!
Groucho: I don't see it as any different than any other thru-hiker diet. Everything we eat out there is weird and sometimes disgusting. I echo Harpo's comment - the vegan diet has kept me from many regrettable transgressions. Tho I'll still eat a whole large no-cheese pizza (add veggies and cashews), no problem.
How do you get enough calories?
Harpo: I have a snack every two hours at least. If I'm feeling extra hungry I load up on carbs and sugar, and fats like olive oil and nuts. In town I eat avocados and hummus as much as I want.
Groucho: It's easy to get enough calories. I think because we eat more whole, unprocessed food during our town days that we're less inclined to have crazy hiker hunger. I basically eat oats, 3-4 bars, some nuts, maybe one sweet (like chocolate or oreos), and a dinner type meal like ramen or polenta.
What is your favorite trail food?
Harpo: Currently I'm really into Luna Bars. They are like candy bars but vegan and gluten free! I love powdered hummus (from any co-op bulk section) with olive oil. Also that dehydrated nut cheese you shared with us last year was the bomb.
Groucho: Justin's dark chocolate peanut butter cups. Cold hydrated miso ramen with hot sauce, powdered coconut milk, nutritional yeast and fresh sprouts. Polenta with olive oil, parsley, black pepper and fresh garlic. Avocado. Bananas, cashews, apples, and always parsley. I used to carry a little aluminum ginger grater to use with garlic, which I'll probably continue on the CDT. Also, eating fresh food on trail helps quell cravings because you get more complete nutrients, including vitamins and minerals, which is why Harpo and I have been into trail sprouting since our AT adventure.
Can you relate any health benefits (faster recovery, less injuries?) to your diet? Any other (non health) benefits?
Harpo: Being vegan on the trail makes us healthier than some other hikers because we think more about nutrition while we're thinking about food. It's funny talking to an 18 year old who can't believe we survive as vegans... but meanwhile they only eat ramen, snickers and pop tarts. We were inexperienced backpackers starting the AT... and I think having good nutrition helped us survive it.
Groucho: I rarely get sick - maybe once a year if that. I also feel better in my body, and when I want to alter my diet towards higher mental acuity or increased physical output I know how to make changes to facilitate better performance. Basically, thru learning how to eat vegan, I have developed a much better (and healthier) relationship with food.
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