10 Lessons Learned about Preparing 5 Month's Worth of Food

Food.  In general, there are two ways to do it on the trail:  You can buy your food along the way or shop and package it all before you go.

The Spreadsheet.

In the along-the-way method, you stop in the small towns scattered along the trail, raid the grocery stores for trail-worthy food for the next 5 or so days, divvy out your portions and shed extra packaging, load your pack, and go.  Sounds pretty good, eh?  There, of course, are some downfalls to this system.  Your grocery store may be a gas station . . . . which makes your protein bar option a Twinkie.  You have to spend time grocery shopping and food packing . . . time that you might otherwise spend doing luxurious things like showering, eating steaks and sundaes, and simply resting and thinking about the poor souls who are on their feet shopping.  And little outposts are little outposts -- Mom-and-Pop's supplies inevitably cost more than Costco's.  That's about it for downfalls.  And some weigh these as less than the benefits which, as I see it, are basically two:  One, you have the ability to buy yourself whatever foods your thru-hiking little heart and exhausted body desire (rather than being stuck with that trail mix that you loved on Day 1 but hate on Day 30 and still have over 100 days of.)  And, two, you avoid the logistical nightmare that is planning, purchasing, portioning, packaging, and post-officing 5 months worth of food.  Before you go.  While you're still trying to work the last few weeks of your job.  Still trying to train.  And still panicking about your pack that's too heavy, the maps you don't have, the trail name you're going to be blessed or cursed with, and how you're going to get to the Mexican border.  Among other things.  Like which underwear you want to live in.

Needless to say, I chose the before-you-go method.  Because I decided I would eat better, save a few bucks, and be able to relax on trail and in town knowing that I would have plenty of time for showering, eating steaks and sundaes, and lounging around while shaking my head at the poor souls who were still on their feet, grocery shopping.  Now, I knew the before-you-go method would be a little tedious.  But I decided it would be worth it.  And it still may prove to be.  But I do wish someone would have expanded upon just what I was getting into.  And so, for future distance hikers, I would like to share the following lessons learned about the before-you-go food process.

Working on The Spreadsheet.

1.  You'll spend more time with The Spreadsheet than with your family and friends.  I spent 20 hours creating and editing mine.  20.  And 8 hours filling in the blanks during pre-purchase research at the store -- recording the package size, price, and per-serving Nutrition Facts of every single item on my list.  At Costco.  And then Winco.  In order to spend 8-hours checking items off during The Shopping Trip.  Yes, it's a 40-hour workweek with The Spreadsheet just to buy your food.  Pack-out will be at least another 20 hours.  Just remind yourself of the fudgesicles you'll be eating while those along-the-way folks are on their feet shopping.

(Here's my spreadsheet:  DBK's PCT Food Planner)

2.  You may be accosted at the grocery store while conducting your research.  By a 6-foot-something male who will approach you from behind your left shoulder.  He'll speak in an authoritative tone using grocery store jargon that you don't understand.  You'll jump, toss The Spreadsheet, and haphazardly try to explain that you don't work for his competitor by saying, "I'm planning for a trip!  I'm hiking the Pacific Crest Trail!  Look, my spreadsheet says 'DBK's PCT Food Planner'!"  You'll confuse him enough that he'll leave you alone for the next 3 hours.

3.  On Shopping Day, starting with the relatively easy Costco (or any mega-package-size store) shopping will convince you that this isn't going to be so bad.  Don't worry, bulk-bin time at Winco (or whichever bulk-bin food store you choose) will crush you.

4.  You will develop mad bulk-bin shopping skills.  After 3 or more hours in this small square of the store, you'll be able to feel a rush coming on without raising your head from the dried apple bin.  You'll learn that during a rush, you should either a) plant yourself firmly at a bin close to the scales, not budging no matter how cute the kid is who is helping his mom shop or b) move temporarily to a less-desirable area -- like the black licorice bin.  You'll become friends with the bulk-bin restock employees.

Happily reunited with my cart.

5.  At some point during shopping, you'll feel overwhelmed, crabby, and sorry for yourself.  When this happens, go to the food sample folks and have a snack.  Then look around for what appears to be a mom and 6 kids.  Watch her.  She does this AT LEAST TWICE A MONTH.  With 6 kids.  You're being a sissy.  Eat your sample, stand up tall, and lunge forward with your 150-pound cart.  If she can do this, you can do this.

6.  If separated from your food (because these discount stores require cash, and you met your daily limit on your debit card at Costco, so your cart is now in the holding pen), text your mate immediately with an alarming message like "I NEED $300 AND YOUR HELP!"  I tried it.  It's extremely effective.  You'll be reunited with your food within the hour.

7.  You can never buy enough Ziplocs.  I started with 720.  Child's play.  I'll need closer to 2,000.  Get them in all sizes.

8.  During pack-out, you will develop "Ziploc finger."  Ever zipped a Ziploc?  Heck, yes!  Red and blue make purple.  Fun.  After 100 zips, your zipping finger gets red and sore.  You'll switch to your second string finger.  It will get red and sore, too.  You'll switch to third string.  It's a terrible zipper, and so you will go back to the first.  It smarts.  And you're not even a quarter of the way through.

My fellow perfectionist pack-out mate and
package person, Guy.

9.  Pack-out is better with a friend.  And your favorite beverage.  And a fully belly.  Here's what you do: Enlist the help of your most anal, Type A friend.  Someone who is going to zip Ziplocs tight and with all of the air out, who can scoop a measuring cup to 4.1 ounces every time, and who relishes in order and organization as much or maybe more than you.  (If you're both Type A, perfectionist sorts, you are in business.)  Start pack-out by opening snacks (NOT something you are taking on the trail).  Begin.  Order food out about halfway through packing.  If you do it too early, you'll be hungry and crabby by the halfway point.  Snack though the first wave, and reward yourself midway with take-out.  Trust me.  You don't want to burden yourself with cooking.  Then put on some dancing tunes, and dive into the second wave.  You will finish tired, sore, and a little ticked off by midnight.  Don't talk to anyone.  Especially your pack-out mate.  Just go to bed.  Wait a few days, and let your fingers heal.  Repeat.  That was just breakfast -- you still have to pack out lunch and dinner.

10.  Once you've begun the before-you-go food process, don't ever ask yourself if it is worth it.  You might realize it is not.  And then you'll have 5 months and 321 pounds of dry food that you are already sick of seeing.  Just keep going.  You still have to finish portioning and packing, and your Resupply Spreadsheet needs at least 10 hours of work.


Good luck!