Canned Bacon

~ Jordan Lakes ~

Skagit Co.
Mt. Baker Nat'l Forest
Aug. 25 - 29, 1969

It was near dinner time and we had a campfire going to fry our evening meal over, which consisted of potatoes, fresh cutthroat trout, and canned bacon (a staple we always took along on a hike) an item of import from Hungary or parts thereof I believe. At any rate, the bacon was cheap and usually quite tasty to the palate . . .

As the fire quieted down and the coals began to take on that special cooking glow, out from my friends (Kit Winn) Trapper Nelson backpack came the canned bacon. Shortly thereafter while opening it, Kit immediately threw the first piece to the ground.

"What the Hell did you do that for," I barked. "Have you gone loco?"

Now I knew it had been an arduous hike: getting a late start and staying the first night upon a cliff ledge, fighting the wet brush miles to the lake, but I didn't think it had been enough to make a guy go nuts!

In answer to my question, Kit in his uausal smart-ass demeanor replied, "one is going to wind up on the ground anyway, might as well do it now and get it over with."

With that, my other friend (Greg Relf) and I burst out laughing, though we had previously witnessed such an event many times during our other outings. And during most of our outings, we always seemed to drop a piece on the ground at the time of frying. Simply, Kit always being the wise-ass, he wasn't even going to give fate a chance. One of us though, not sure who, replied later, "You stupid-ass Kit!"

The piece of bacon eventually was thrown into the fire to add more fuel to the flame, but not before it had been attacked by the "flying army" of biting bugs that surrounded our hovel of a camp...consisting of only a 10x12 foot overhead rain tarp and no ground tarp to sleep on. Neverless, we were strong and in good health, young and stupid though, but we were like mountain Gods: for nothing feared us and we went wherever our hearts and strength took us. We had no cares, 'cept for exploration and catching fish that is. And the smell of frying bacon encircled the lake.

As the smoke cleared, though I don't think the campfire ever stopped, due to the rain which was a constant. Fishing in the lake was always top priority. We ate plenty of trout: breakfast, lunch and dinner for four days. The bacon however, grand as it was, got consumed rather quickly. And Kit's gut showed it for he never stopped eating the whole trip. We joked about his gut from time to time, but suspected he'd get even. And he did, for Greg discovered his mothers thick-heavy Bible in his pack, one that he would surely have to pack back out. "Damn you Kit," Greg was heard to say. Greg was Mormon.

When camping with Kit, you always checked your sleeping bag before crawling in - one never knew what he had placed inside: rocks, sticks, leaves and so on. Just enough to get your goat or disturb your slumber. And if he woke before you, one usually got some kind of rude awakening from him like...hey there's a bear!

Leaving the lakes and down the scant intermittent way trail we went, with Kit in the lead and Greg hot on his heels. As I lingered not wanting to leave, I brought up the rear, but I noticed my Trapper Nelson felt a little heavier than it should. Upon inspection, here was Kit's cooking stuff along with some of his other stuff, plus some rocks he'd saved for some reason.

"Hey Kit," I yelled. "You'd better come back and get your stuff, I'm dumping it out on the ground, you Bastard!"

It was in Kit's nature, and he'd gone to extremes to get an edge or play another joke. I dumped it out and shortly thereafter Kit passed me with a shit-grin on his face returning to the spot and reclaiming it.

Years later, we all had a good laugh about it all, Kit especially. And though our friendships have since grown apart for one reason or another, and I no longer take along canned bacon on my treks, sometimes I can almost smell that stuff frying in the gentle breeze that swirls in and about a mountain lake . . .

For history on the Trapper Nelson backpack see:
Trapper Nelson

KJM

(McPilchuck)

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