Underblog Rides Again

This post should really be called the Bannock Diaries. Michael Furtman, known to us as Smartypants includes a recipe for bannock in his canoe country camping book. I really wanted to try the recipe out; Roomie thinks my reason is to appear all "camperly" but there is something really welcome about a warm homemade bread/biscuit/scone thing out in the woods. So we weren't in the woods this time. I wanted to give it a dry run. Bannock has to be the simplest thing in the world to make.

2 cups flour, 1/2 tsp. salt, 2 tsp. baking powder. Add a little water and some optional ingredients (oil, dried egg, berries, sugar) and make a loaf. Press into an oiled pan and brown the bottom. Then prop the pan up on its side and let it bake until the top browns.

Mr. Smartypants is very particular about his cookware. He disdains the small cooksets like we have and enjoy, and insists upon a ten-inch aluminum fry pan instead. The result for our bannock is that our loaf may have been thicker than his, since our pan is a smaller diameter. Or it could be that our fire was not that hot (it was pretty windy during our stay). Finally, it could be that we added a fresh egg, making our dough loaf wetter or more proteiny than it should have been. ln any case, the brown bottom was a mite too brown, and the middle had a layer of raw dough. But the rest was very tasty when gobs of brown sugar was packed in it. And the raw dough did not bother me, since I grew up eating those Pop'n'Fresh dough things on a weekendly basis. So the bannock was what might be euphemistically called a quaified success. We will try it again, perhaps omitting the egg and pressing the dough loaf up the sides of the pan to thin the cake out. And my fire will reach the temperature of Hell.

While the bannock baked, we cooked and ate some eggs (note to self: adding cheese to eggs is tasty but can make cleaning the non nonstick pan more tricky). Between the bannock and the eggs, we were fueled for the ascent of Mt. Tom "one of the highest points for fifty miles" (elev. 1375 ft.). The first stop on the trail is Badger Hill. I crack open the package of Jumbo Smarties left over from the day before for a little energy boost. Between Badger Hill and Little Mt. Tom is a swale with a bog. Roomie points out evidence of beaver activity. A beaver den rises above the bog itself. We pause at Little Mt. Tom to admire the view before heading to the lookout on the summit.

The lookout is built in the same rustic style as the buildings at Lake Andrew, and the wind is intense. We wait until a father and son are done with the lookout before we take our turn. The family behind us has no such patience. While only a handful of other people were on the trail, there is a paved road to the summit. So there were children. Running, screaming children. And the lookout, which would have been a nice place to eat some trail mix and rest a while, is quickly forsaken in favor of the trail. Before leaving, we get a picture of the interpretative sign which is funny if you know anyone named Tom.

Unfortunately, the trail back down is both longer and less interesting than the trail up. The only interest is provided by the windfallen forest and the carcass of an anonymous critter, the latter of which especially appealed to Selkye. We take our picnic to Cedar Hill, and make little sandwiches of ciabatta rolls, salami, and Gouda cheese. With sides of trail mix, peppered jerky and Capri Sun for a beverage, we are feelng fine. Only one task remains before us this afternoon. Beer run!

Not long after arriving back at the site, we pass the time waiting until we feel it is appropriate to have a beer. The wait is not long. We make an early dinner and then Roomie heads off to the Ranger Station to pee. Along the way, she spies a small herd of white-tail deer, one of whom Roomie insists was trying to approach her. Her sighting inspires some jealousy on my part, and so we take a short drive to see if we can spot them again. We spot one deer, then three more, and then what we take to be the group of four she saw earlier. Deer on demand. We are both impressed with the large white flash of their tails when they eventually catch wind of our presence.

We are once again the earliest to bed in the entire campground. The expected rain arrives in the middle of the night, its accompanying lightning clearly visible through the tent. We get what feels like a good downpour, but the tent is completely dry. I still hold that the slight dampness Roomie felt was the condensation of our own breath on the warmer inside of the tent.

This trip taught me the following lessons.

1. Bring everything. Only the pack need be limited to space and weight considerations. The bigger tent, coolers, etc could have been used here without penalty.
2. Campgrounds with RV's are really like little suburbs.
3. Car camping is not without its charms—beer and fresh food among them, but I will take the wilderness any time.
4. Plastic tent stakes suck.