Choking Down MREs (Meals Ready to Eat)

Stepping out of the Tacoma in Northern California, my two friends Austin and Justin have just arrived from San Diego. Looking at Austin's Tacoma, I give him a quizzical look because it's lathered in dirt and dust.

With a huge grin on his face, Austin says, "yeah... we found ourselves on a dirt road for a little while."

Laughing, I bring Austin and Justin into my grandma's house to talk about our upcoming trip. We are backpacking into the Kings Range and my grandma's house is the meeting place before driving to the trailhead.

Stepping into the house, the smell of food wafts around the house. The oak kitchen table and floral couches give a homey feeling. It's what you would imagine a grandma's house would look and smell like.

"So this is basecamp grandma?"

"Dude your grandma is classic! She has lunch prepared for us and baked goods?"

Finishing lunch we're back on the subject of backpacking. Pulling everything we need out of our backpacks, the floor now looks like something detonated across it. Camp stoves, fuel bottles, water filters, and clothes are scattered everywhere.

Bringing up the topic of what we want to bring for food, Austin states that Justin brought a box of MREs.

"What's a MRE?"

Austin looking at me ecstatically says, "you don't know what a MRE is? It stands for Meal Ready to Eat! It's what the military eats when they are deployed away from their basecamp."

Taking one from Justin, I look it over. Vacuum sealed, the tough brown plastic casing that covers it looks bomb proof. Bold letters streaked across it state what kind of meal is in it. Pasta and vegetables. Grilled chicken. Beef teriyaki. Bean burrito.

The MRE

Stuffing our bear cans.

Commenting to them, I say, "these look pretty legit. I've never bought backpacking meals before and if the military uses them, they can't be bad. Lets open them up to reduce weight and we can stuff them in our bear cans."

Taking a break from sorting our backpacks, we start tearing open the MREs like a little kid opening Christmas presents. Each one has different snacks and desserts inside.

"I got M&Ms!"

"No way! Jalapeño cheese!"

"Snickers Munch Bar? I've never even heard of that but it sounds awesome!"

Stuffing our bear cans full we load our backpacks and get on the road.

Hiking into the night.

The next day after we hiked in, we prepare an MRE for lunch. Austin opening the cheese comments,  "this doesn't look or smell right." Grabbing it from him, I smell it, take a bite and gag, "that's the most foul thing I've ever eaten!"

Austin grabbing the Snickers Munch bar takes a bite and spits it out. Laughing and spitting chunks of candy bar out, he says, "this is horrible." Looking at the wrapper he reads out, "The Snicker's and Mars corporation! That doesn't even exist anymore. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen a Munch bar before!"

Pulling it out of the wrapper he takes a long look at the candy bar and says, "It's all yellow and old looking, it doesn't even look edible."

Justin pulling out an actual meal begins to open it. Putting his finger in the container he tries it. There's no expression across his face. "It's not terrible. It tastes like plastic and salt but this one is edible...", he says.

Grabbing the packaging and looking at it more closely. I begin to look for signs of how old the stuff is. The packaging looks old but there aren't any dates. By no means is it fresh. I begin thinking it's from the Cold War or Vietnam.

Setting the packaging back down, I take a look to see what we have in our bear cans. My heart sinks a little. It's stuffed with MREs and we are backpacking for another four days. Sitting down, I try my best to eat the MRE and enjoy it because we don't have anything else for lunch and dinner.

Mornings.

Evenings.

Getting Lost

"Dude I'm surprised that we haven't backed out yet."

"It's not too late to turn around now..."

"I'm surprised we are so committed."

Ryan and Christian, two friends I met at UCSB freshmen year were ecstatic at the idea of a backpacking trip. Making the long haul up from Southern California they were ready with their gear for an adventure.

After changing plans multiple times due to weather, we came back to the original plan - backpacking the King Range in Northern California. With dawn around the corner, we stepped outside and let the cold crisp air bite into our bodies. Loading our packs into the Tacoma, Ryan looked at his watch and comments, "we need to get on the road now otherwise we won't make no pass."

In the truck, trying to find a radio station without static we cruise Highway One in the dark. As the One veers inland, the first sunlight softly shines through the towering redwoods and fog. Climbing out of the fog into sunshine we drive along a high mountain pass. The fog below looks like a dark grey ocean as it sits in the valleys around us.

Three hours later we make it to the trailhead and unload our gear. A small rusted car drives by with it's windows rolled down. Smoke wafting out of the window eventually reaches us.

"Dude I love this place. It's nine in the morning and they are already smoking joints." I laugh in return to Ryan's comment.

The car drives around the parking lot and parks by us. The man stepping out of the car in grimy clothes comes over and asks if we want a photo taken. Saying yes, Ryan hands him his camera. With the three of us posing with our packs, the man says, "One... Two... Three.. Say Weed!" Handing the camera back to Ryan he looks at the three of us and says, "have an epic!"

While the man is walking away, Christian looks at Ryan and I and retorts, "have an epic? What does that even mean?"

Grabbing our packs we make our way down to the trailhead. Stepping onto the beach with our fifty-five pound packs, the black coarse sand gives way as our boots sink in ankle deep. Each step is slow and exhausting.

"This is gnarly..."

Having done the hike before, I reply, "it gets worse, we only have ten more miles of this. We have to make it to no pass in time before the tide gets too high."

Slowly making our way along the ankle deep sand, it eventually gives way to grapefruit sized cobblestones. Walking across them our feet slide out from underneath us with the sound of crunching ice. Each step is a potential for a rolled ankle.

I jokingly comment, "what's worse, walking in ankle deep sand or these cobblestones."

Ryan laughs but Christians looks at me and says "shut up, I think my IT Band is going out."

Stopping and unloading his pack in a sandy region, we look at his knee. The tendon on the side of his knee is slightly bulging out. Grabbing my first aid kid I grab a Motrin and hand it to him. Finding my Ace elastic bandage I begin bracing his knee.

"You good."

"Yeah I think so."

Continuing on I'm a little worried looking at Christian's knee. Limping in the sand like Forest Gump, he hobbles on swinging his leg around on each step. I'm thinking about how it's bad to push it but we have to continue on. We are in no pass. There is no turning back. There is no waiting. If we don't continue we will get trapped by the tides.

A couple more hours pass by as we slowly make our way along the coastline. Eventually we spot our destination. A large expanse of headlands at the edge of the mountains lined with towering evergreens. Deer graze along the oceanfront while whales spout and jump several hundred yards out at sea. Logs line the beach where people hunker down between them for protection from the wind.

Stoked that we've finally reached our destination we set down our packs and sprawl out on the logs. Stretching out Ryan asks, "do we need to make our camp now?" "No we can wait for a little bit," I say.

With dusk approaching we put on our headlamps and begin preparing dinner. Looking around we see other camps along the headlands do the same. Glowing fires begin illuminating their camps as their headlamps flick to and fro like searchlights. As it gets later, campfires and headlamps begin to disappear.

Hemingway...

"I'm going to sleep so good tonight."

"Yeah I can't wait to pass out."

With the North wind picking up, sorely I crawl into my tent and my down sleeping bag. It's going to be a cold night.




Some other photos from the trip

Where mountains meet the sky and shadows meet the light.

Welcome home

 Style points...

Island Surfing and Running Into Friends

Stepping off the dock into the boat, I shuffle over to balance the boat with my weight. Quickly grabbing the surfboards from Chet, I tuck them into the bow of the boat as he hops in. 

The quiver

With the hum of the outboard motor in the background, we sit in silence as we anticipate the surf. Leaving the calmness of the bay, we begin to hit the open ocean swells as we head to the island Carenero - an island with a perfect point break.

Our boat driver pulling up just out of reach of the breaking waves sets the outboard on idle. 

"You want me to wait for you?"

"No, we will flag another boat down. We don't know how long we are going to surf for."

Grabbing my board I toss it overboard and dive in. The water almost uncomfortably warm, feels nice after the rainy and windy ride over. 

As Chet and I paddle out to the furthest part of the point, we watch the waves bend around the island with machine like consistency. The wave itself is phenomenal. Sitting in the lineup looking out to sea, we stare out at the island of Bastimentos as we watch the open water swells transform into breaking waves. As the breaking wave bends across the island, the underlying reef seems to groom the wave; the longer the wave breaks, the more perfect the wave gets. However, what really struck me about the wave is that it breaks within a stones throw of the island. While riding the wave, it seems like the jungle is merely oncoming traffic with the thin strip of beach as the center divider. 

After four hours of surfing, Chet was exhausted, and my stomach was rubbed raw from the board. We decided it was time to flag a boat down. Sitting like ducks in the water, we waited for a water taxi to come. 

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. 

Watching waves role through we couldn't resist catching a few more. Paddling into one, I take off and I'm flying down the wave. Like a dog chasing a squirrel, at that moment nothing matters more than the wave, and nothing could break my focus and determination. Midway through the wave, I distantly hear "Wyatt!!" and it's not until the end of the wave that I register that my name had actually been called. Paddling back out, to my surprise I see my friend Emily in the water. 

Emily, a graduate of Environmental Science from UCSB as well, is a friend that I've been surfing with since my freshmen year at UCSB. Living in neighboring dorms, we'd surf together, had the same friend group, and struggled through the same classes all four years. She has more energy than the energizer bunny itself.

When seen outside her large framed sunglasses covered most of her face which were held on by croakies. She's usually riding her green Trek rusted from the years of salt dripping on it in Santa Barbara. Highly animated in both hand gestures and personality, the last time I saw her was when she was sitting a row behind me at the UCSB graduation ceremony. Like everyone else she was wearing the black gown, blue and gold sash, graduation cap, and her big sunglasses with croakies. She only had to put some flair to the outfit. She boasted a black mustache to symbolize the Gauchos, and adorned a foot high version of UCSB's Storke Tower that could be seen as she crossed the stage. 

Finally waving down a boat like hitchhikers, it was time to part paths again from my friend. On the voyage back to Bastimentos, it was crazy for me to think that on a remote set of islands off the Caribbean coast of Panama, I'd randomly run into a friend from school. It made me look forward to more experiences like that. 

And So It Begins

I guess I should start off with a little more about myself. My name is Wyatt Dooley and I was lucky enough to grow up in a family that lives on the coast of California. I was even more lucky to have grown up in a family that surfs. To tell you the truth I didn't like it when I was really young - I never had a wetsuit that fit me right and with the cold water of Northern California not wearing a wetsuit wasn't an option.  I had other ideas anyways. I wanted to fish and snowboard instead. However, by the time I was eight, things rapidly changed and I was out in the water surfing and it became the only thing I ever wanted to do.

Ever since I could remember, the outdoors was the place I wanted to be. It wasn't just surfing that I enjoyed but I wanted to camp, backpack, hike, kayak - anything to get me outside. My parents, family, and friends helped fuel this. We went for camping trips in the redwoods, very hot and dry camping trips in Baja, and backpacking trips to amazing high mountain lakes.

These trips only made me want to travel more and it was around eighth grade I told myself I was traveling after college. After graduating in 2014 from UCSB, I kept hold of my goal and here I go! Lets see how long I end up traveling for.

High mountain lake in Northern California. photo: Karen Stuff

Cold mornings at higher altitudes. photo: Karen Stuff

Chet and Karen, my two friends who I will meet up with in Mexico.

Yeah... I had classes on the beach.
photo: Patrick Fitzpatrick

UCSB graduation in front of Storke Tower.
photo: Bob Miyasaki

Missing UCSB and all of my friends.
photo: Lauren Perkins

While I don't have a lot of experience in creative writing (lots of essays and scientific writing), I will try my best to make it entertaining to read. Also just to let you know, I'm not sure how detailed my posts will be since I will be writing them from an Iphone. While I'll have the convenience of a laptop for now, I won't for much longer. Some posts may only be photos or just a small blurb of what has been happening. Hopefully I can make them longer somehow.

Anyways after graduating, I was working for Fish and Wildlife, and between work I was packing. I will be heading to Kauai for a few months and then meeting some friends in Mexico and head into Panama. For the trip I ended up buying an internal frame backpack that will fit in the overhead compartment of a plane. Lets say making everything fit in one pack for seven months isn't easy. I found myself constantly packing and repacking. In the end you end up taking what's actually important with you. You ask yourself questions like is it more important to have a couple of extra shirts or a couple of extra pairs of underwear? Should I leave the sleeping pad and hope that I can hang my hammock everywhere I need to? Luckily I will be in primarily tropical areas, we will see what happens next year when I will be in multiple climates.

All of my belongings traveling with me.

Bummed I can't take my guitar too :(

Not only do you ask yourself questions such as the ones above, but you question yourself with how far you can push the TSA at the airport and what are you willing to leave behind if you can't take it. I haven't yet figured that out yet but I'll let you know when I get there. Some of the questionable things I'm taking are a camping stove, fuel bottle and rope. No worries I checked TSA regulations and it's fine to carry them on. However, the TSA website doesn't always uphold to their rules from what people say. I'm really hoping I don't have to leave anything behind because I really do need everything I have packed.

Also while packing I found getting vaccinations are bit of an experience in itself. I had to go to the doctor to get prescribed the vaccine mefloquine for malaria and typhoid fever. It was also recommended that I get a yellow fever vaccination. I'm glad I got a second opinion though and didn't end up getting in (thanks Ann for the help). Apparently from reading up on it, it one of the gnarliest vaccinations that you can get. Some of the more serious side effects are nerve problems, coma, and organ failure. It's the highest risk vaccine out there supposedly. But thankfully it's more important for parts of Asia and Africa, not Central America. Felt like I dodged that one.

After going to pick up the prescription, there were plenty of curious people asking me what I was there for. It seemed to calm the tenseness of the pharmacy. When I first walked in, the pharmacists and assistants were madly running around and packing drugs while customers were frustrated and yelling at them. I could only compare it to the DMV.

One man with heavy stubble, faded Levis and an old blue flannel was plenty curious and talkative. The air around him was heavy with the smell of cigarettes and pot. He couldn't help but tell everyone around him he was getting the flu shot and was terrified of needles. He kept saying things like "they are here to put a f!*king lawn dart in me, I should have smoked an entire blunt before I came in here!" Needless to say he was stoked I was going to get "harpooned" with him. I think that calmed him a little bit. When asking me what I was getting lawn darted for, I told him I was traveling to Central America. With his nervous voice he told me I was nuts with all of the cartels down there. Told me I could lose my head. With that he gave me a thumbs up and headed out of the pharmacy.

Well that's all I have to update you on. Heading out tomorrow morning for SF.