why not engage the tongue?

Unlike backpacking where weight is a major concern and space is limited, Canoe Camping allows you to bring anything and everything you'd would if you were "drive-up" camping. But, if you bring ultralight-backpacking equipment on a canoe, it allows you to bring even more food and beer along, ie. "essentials".  Instead of a 15 lb, two burner Coleman stove, two 2.5 oz Snow Peak Giga Power backpacking stoves make more sense, they weigh less and take up less space; hence,  more wine and cheese.

     This is where pure gourmet gluttony enters the picture. Ok, so camping doesn't scream out fillet Mignon with black truffle potato gratin or soft shell crab sandwiches on fresh camp cooked sourdough, but that's only because you don't have the balls! 

     I'm fucked up. People accuse me of over-doing-it or "doing-it-up". Yes, I am a guilty motherfucker. For me, it's not just camping with freeze dried dinner and trail mix snacks, its a gourmet adventure. A waterfall or gorgeous mountain view from a river bend-beach is why we come, but, that experience can be enhanced by a procuitto, cappicolla, bufalo mozzarella, tomato & basil panini on fresh baguette, drizzled with a fine extra virgin olive oil, kosher salt and fresh cracked pepp, which just happened to be our first lunch on the river. I mean, come on! Am I wrong? While your eyes and ears are getting high from the views and sounds of nature that some consider spiritual, why not engage the tongue? 

     Canoe camp-cooking is a pain in the ass. The more you can do ahead the better. I got my mandolin out the night before we launched, and dealt out the thin cards of a potato dish that drives you out of your mind. Potatoes, butter, cream and truffles, dude. 

8-10 purple potatoes (red can substitute)

4 cloves garlic, diced

1 large shallot, diced

1 1/2 cup Parmesan, grated

1 cup heavy cream

1/4 extra virgin olive oil

3/4 cup melted butter

kosher salt

fresh cracked pepper

1/4 cup white truffle oil

1 black truffle (if you cant find one, use more white truffle oil)

Slice the potato super thin on a mandolin (don't have a mandolin?, get em consistently even and as thin as possible).

Butter a Pyrex baking dish

Lay out a layer of potatoes

Drizzle with heavy cream, butter, extra virgin olive oil, a sprinkle of garlic, a sprinkle of shallots, salt,  pepper and Parmesan.

Lay out another layer of potatoes, 

Drizzle again with heavy cream butter, extra virgin olive oil, a sprinkle of garlic, a sprinkle of shallots, salt, pepper and Parmesan

Repeat this until the Pyrex is full

The cream, butter and oil should fill up 3/4 of the height of the Pyrex

dust the top with an extra sprinkle of parm and bake, cover in foil, at 350 for 45 min

remove from oven when you have a nice light brown crust and the insides are bubbling out the edges.

let sit to cool

slice into 4 in squares

shave black truffle over each piece

drizzle each with white truffle oil 

and serve beeyotch

(or in this case put in Tupperware and refrigerate 'til you leave)

as for the fillet?.........

but first....... I'm Black

Finally

Finally our canoe camping trip was a canoe camping trip. The river began to emerge from behind the shouts, fireworks and passerbyers who decided to stop on our beach to piss. As the sun went down, our faces orange with campfire, the machinery we've been trying to escape began to subside.

Unstuffing our tents from their sack, I was over come with the sounds of tent poles and zippers wailing, the first couple snaps and pops from the fire, the cracking can of beer, feet over dirt, the river gurgling against the sand of the beach.

Unstuffing my sleeping bag the slight thump of stereos and fireworks in the distance were drowned out by the hollering in my stomach. And I smiled, cause no matter what was happening around me........we had food, REAL FOOD!

relative quiet.......is relative!

Pushing off, the hull portioned the river into two distinct halves, our oars plunging into and tearing at the silk ripples of the two divergent personalities flowing calmly and silently on either side of us. The river's two faces began competing for our attention.

Up ahead was a group of 13 or more canoes, held together by a network of hands, floating, bows and sterns in all directions. A hundred yards behind us, tied loosely to each other, a barge of rafts and beach type floaties hurled drunken woo-hoos and splashing around.

"What the fuck did we get ourselves into?" We looked at one another. All we could do was dig our torsos into the river up ahead. This is where our thin keel and kevlight hull became our friend.

We passed group after group, all friendly, all saying hi as we tracked passed them at what seemed like effortless high speeds. We were told back at the crowded outfitters office that because we were leaving early enough, if we paddled hard we could pass the lazy vacationers, pass the beaches they were most likely to camp on and find relative quite away from the crowds.

We did. We found a perfect spot on a bend in the river with no other campsites in sight. We were exhilarated. We were camping.

Transient

1. One spending no money on canoe or equipment rentals, ie. self-outfitted.
2. Vagrant
3. Fleeting.
4. A sudden pulse of voltage.
5. Passing before the sight or perception, or, as it were, moving over or across a space or scene viewed, and then disappearing. (Milton)

river over-romanticized

Our expectations were of great wilderness adventures. We were going to gather our own firewood, fish and fillet dinner, cook on a river stone griddle and paddle miles without ever seeing a soul. It quickly became obvious we didn't know what we were getting ourselves into. What ever it was we were foolishly over prepared.

When we arrived at the outfitters we inquired with the girl at the counter if paddles could be rented. We had our own but an extra paddle seemed like a good idea in the case of a capsize where a paddle goes missing. She looked at us with a "you are certainly not from around here are you" look. "It's a lazy river, I wouldn't worry about it" she said. I can only imagine what we looked like to the girl at the counter. We were over-decked in gear. Our ultralight rain and wind breaker's seams were taped and sealed. The big logos on our chests I'm sure told our stories verbatim. We were such out of towners we arrived at the wrong put-in. As a matter of fact there was no put-in there at the outfitters office at all. The outfitter we arranged transportation with's main office was 20 miles away.

Once we were on our way to the put-in, we stopped for beer and bickered over what kind to get. We are from the city. Heineken seemed like the obvious choice yet I wanted something more fitting to the trip, something a little more hillbilly. We ended up with a case of Heineken and a case of Coors cans, which for the duration of the trip was called "kuurs" with a back country inflection.

We finally pulled into the outfitters main office parking lot, and immediately shit ourselves. The parking lot was packed; kids, families, teenagers, college kids with rafts and floaties, groups in vans; everything I've grown to despise. Now, keep in mind, this was my idea. I chose the place, I built up the adventure. So when we looked at each other while waiting in line, all i could think was "what have I gotten us into?" the rental office was crowded and loud- everything we had hope to avoid........but it was there........our status was established, our status as Transient Canoers. Hmm, I liked this. Our new status distanced us from the ruckus.

We embraced our new Title. We wanted nothing more than to be independent, to be distinguished from the crowds at the outfitter's office. We wanted to be on our own. We loaded our canoe at the transient put in, far from the noise and crowds and set out into the cold and clear waters.

Two Transient Canoers

The sense of adventure, if it could be a tangible thing- was a slab of fat pork belly, awesome and satisfyingly gluttonous. Once we finally strapped the canoe to the roof, Modest Mouse and gutteral burps from road sodas filled the air. Our excitement streamed through the windows, the mountain air stuttering against the straps on the gear in the back of the truck like the eyes of a roomful of men when a young woman enters. Who were we? Two idiots that spend more of their time thinking about art than baseball, or who would rather talk the faint hairs on the slight curve of a female neck than stats for fantasy football. What were we doing spending a week on a river canoeing? 

clean air and cold rivers

Since deciding on a canoe camping trip over backpacking I can think of nothing but the sound of quiet; water over rock, the smell of crisp air and the smolder of half-out morning fire. The birth of a river that begins and begins again each spring, swelling and contracting arteries that were once roadways to native canoes. Or more, the lack of sounds........phones and cars, traffic and humming light, televisions and children, the harsh rusting crank of the machinery of routine. Nothing sounds as beautiful as a paddle dipping into the waist of a river or a stream working its hips around a chute or cluster of stone. Even the smell of your own skin, in a boat, in the sun, takes on a name other than yours. 

there will be no paintings there will be no poems

Canoe camping's purpose is to take the painter out of Brooklyn, out of his studio, away from concrete and distraction and take the poet out of Boston away from his office, away from routine and responsibility.......... or both........ away from themselves. 

as far as gear goes....

Gear gets a bad wrap. The Bear Grylls' and Survivor Men of the world bushwhack and suffer. Backpackers that brag of their 30 mile hiking days with trail running shoes and a 14lb pack and look at the outdoors as a challenge. The outdoors, to me, is a more religious place, more than any church, mosque or synagogue. You see, men obsess over gear for good reason. Any object that can make me endure another Sunday in my church is awesome and worth the research and money.
I've always enjoyed the planning of a trip. Mapping, gear lists, drunken imaginings of whats to come, preparing for weather, choosing dates, pulling out storage bins full of that smell of gear etc. Gear though, like camp stove, tent and canoe are small measures of pre-trip excitement you fawn over and clean out. They are actual objects that help one imagine the adventures they are about to embark upon and provide a sense of comfort in knowing you are heading out into the woods with all the right tools.

3 nights 4 days (camp list)

(camp kitchen deserves its own post) otherwise....
1 Sierra Designs Observatory Tent
1 REI Classic Dome Tent (cause no, we weren't going to sleep together)
2 ThermaRest (old school) sleeping pad
2 Thermarest Trekker Chairs
2 Sierra Designs Sleeping bag
1 Kelty Noahs Tarp w/ two poles and a set of sand anchors
2 large dry bags w/ shoulder straps
1 Medium dry bag
2 small dry bags (for accouterments)
1 Brunton Liberty Manteless Lantern
Club Special Vinyl Chess Set
2 MSR Medium Camp Towels
1 rusty machete
2 Nalgene Water Bottles
Leatherman Wave Mulitool
Petzl Tikka Plus Headlamp
maps
2 bottles bug repellent with Deet
Full Bodied Camera with multiple lenses
Backpackers First Aid Kit
Rope
Bungee Cord
sunscreen
toothbrush
deodorant
Toilet Paper
2 Bending Branches Bent Shaft Paddles
2 PDF (life preservers)
2 GCI Sitbacker Canoe Chairs
1 17.5 foot Bell Northwind Kevlite Canoe

loaded

usually.........

For years now, our weekends away from wives and girlfriends had been limited to drive up camping. Each time we went away - the next time was "the big backpacking trip". 

Every year during the winter, Backpacker Magazine would begin arriving, gear essential to ultralight backpacking would be, piece by piece, obsessed over and purchased. The list in the back of the mountain guide  of "baggable" peaks was memorized. Trails and dates would be agreed upon, yet always we ended up dreaming menus and reasons that would keep it from happening. 

our biggest item....cooler

We were amazed! We looked at the truck and couldn't believe how little we were taking.  

a poet, a painter and a canoe?

the poet complains of knee pain, doesn't want to go on the long talked about backpacking trip, the painter explains his shin splints "are fucking killing me", they both like the idea of a cooler full of beer in a canoe and not on their backs.