A Guide to Coffee in the Backcountry

Figure 1.A

I like good coffee. I have a Chemex, a Bialetti moka pot, three variously sized but mostly neglected French presses, my beloved Aeropress and even the new Aeropress Go. I like small coffee shops and local coffee roasters and I prefer to grind my own beans. But I'm no coffee snob. I buy most of my beans from Aldi and I actually like "bad" coffee. I like left-on-the-burner-all-day gas station coffee. I like that hot, brown, water Waffle House calls coffee. And I like Folgers-industrial-grade-teacher-work-room coffee. Whether pretentiously artisanal or strictly utilitarian, I just really like coffee.

Like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers coffee is an essential piece of gear. It fuels all of my outdoor pursuits. "No coffee. No sendee." (Is that on a shirt? It should be.) And, like many backpackers, alpinists, or dirtbag climbers, it can be difficult to enjoy a good, well-crafted cup of coffee that meets the utilitarian necessities of the backcountry.

Figure 1.B

For a long time backcountry coffee drinkers were faced with a series of trade-offs. Like economists, we were caught in an opportunity costs dilemma: a well balanced, silky smooth cup of java or a piping hot cup of bitter brown water. Good coffee was coffee at home or in town. Bad coffee was in the dirt, under a tarp, or from the back of a truck (Figure 1.B). This was the paradigm I inhabited for quite sometime as a snooty, snarky, ultra-light backpacking snob. As a mountain guide, a halfway decent cup of joe was mandatory to maintain sanity in the mountains with teenagers all summer. But it was dirtbagging around the American West, living out of my truck with the comfort of a two-burner camp stove, a moka pot, and a decent bag of beans that broke me out of the either-or binary and opened my eyes to the tasty potential of camp coffee.

Coffee is, after all, a fluid and should be thought of on a spectrum (Figure 1.A).

Circumstances often dictate where on the spectrum of artistry and utility your coffee falls. At the artistic end, Velo Coffee Roasters in Chattanooga will make you an Americano with espresso filtered back through an Aeropress before adding water. It is one of the finest things I have ever tasted. But as far as climbing is concerned, it isn't very utilitarian. On the utility end, you have the dregs of a Love's truck stop "house blend" pot somewhere in Missouri or Kansas. But between those two ends, there is a vast and fluid scale of artistry and utility and, I have learned, backpackers and alpinists and dirtbags don't necessarily have to give up one, artistry or utility, for the other. You can, at least to some degree, have both.

For example, it is easy to produce a delicious cup of coffee from the tailgate of a truck with a camp stove, a moka pot, and your favorite beans. Add some left over hot water you boiled to make oatmeal and you've got an Americano that will not only impress your climbing partner but also get them to have their morning constitution before you are about to tie in at the base of your project. The Aeropress is a delightful coffee travel companion because of its portability and versatility made only more-so by the new addition of the Aeropress Go. The original model already has a dedicated social media cult driven to post images of the Aeropress mid-brew on airplanes or beaches or mountain summits. More on the "Go" down below.

It is the ultra-light backpacking or 3:30 A.M. alpine start scenarios that often force us to sacrifice artistry and taste for utility and efficiency. I admit that in my more legalistic light and fast days on cold and starlit mornings in the Colorado Rockies, I would forgo the cup and bean all together and hustle down a couple espresso flavored energy gels instead. But this grotesque and troglodytic consequentialist behavior was an unnecessary trade-off imposed by a false sense of binary either/or choices. 

Once, in the Linville Gorge, my friend Russ and I filled two water bottles with water chilled in the North Carolina winter air and dumped in a packet of Folgers instant coffee each. Together, we pounded one and then stashed the other with a cache of cams while climbing 3,000 ft in a day. We'd stop, take a couple swigs, grab the gear we needed, and run to the next route. It may not have been technical cold brew steeped overnight by your local coffee shop, but it served its utilitarian purpose (and it didn't taste terrible either).

The Aeropress Go is a nice addition to this "light, fast, and delicious" category. I have taken mine bouldering and I am dying to take it backpacking. One push through the Aeropress Go can make three servings of espresso-like concentrate; add water to taste or inject it straight into your veins to jump start your central nervous system. However, I imagine that its weight (11.4 oz fully packed) will deter the ultra lightweight super zealots among us.

The MSR MugMate is, for me, and for Backpacker Magazine, the gold standard of taste and efficiency equilibrium. For efficiency, this little pour over weighs just .98 ounces, fits inside your cup, cleans easily, and makes little to no waste because it does not require a paper filter. For taste, it is what you make it. Pour over coffee allows you to experiment with the temperature and amount of water as well the roast and grind of the bean. The best brew is to bloom the coffee in boiled water for a few minutes and then pour it through the filter. Mmm! It's fast, light, efficient and tastes great too. My summers spent as a backpacking guide in Colorado were fueled by the MugMate and I stand by it. (The GSI Ultralight Java Drip is another lightweight option for delicious drip.)

A new trend in the Outdoor Industrial Complex, are artisanal instant coffees. Start ups like Kuju and Alpine Start market pre-packaged instant coffees marketed as "speciality grade" (Kuju) "that actually taste good" (Alpine Start). Alpine Start comes as a stir-in packet and Kuju as a disposable pour over. I picked up a handful of Kujus while trying to use up an REI gift card and I was unimpressed. It creates a lot of trash and at approximately $2.50 per serving you'd be better off with literally any other option.

Figure 1.C

Figure 1.C illustrates various camping coffee options rated on multi-axis scale: more efficient to less efficient and more tasty to less tasty.  Efficiency is determined by ease of brewing, pack-a-ability, weight, and waste. Taste is relatively subjective, but it remains an objective truth that the french press sucks (this includes the ESPRO travel press, GSI Java Press).  There is almost always a better option available than the French Press.

While the french press may be nice for brewing for groups, I find it bulky to pack, difficult to clean, and the coffee just too dang weak. The coffee to water ratio, for me, is too wasteful. If you want it to taste remotely more powerful than Waffle House, its coffee to water ratio must be astronomical. A youtube video swears you can brew a tasty, silky, balanced cup but it takes upwards of nine minutes! Which is nice for a rainy Saturday at home but won't cut mustard if you're trying to beat the crowds to the Valhalla Wall at Ten Sleep. Finally, LNT clean up is a chore, especially when compared to the moka pot or Aeropress. I reserve the right to be wrong about everything but I will not be convinced otherwise.

Figure 1.D

 Lastly, Figure 1.D ranks various camp-coffees with more value placed on efficiency than taste. This scale is useful for the ounce counters -- be they alpinists or ultralight backpackers. Since taste ought to be king, it is given more weight (10 pts) but ease of brew, weight, packability,  and waste account for twice as many points. Under this ranking system, GU espresso pouches score higher than my beloved moka pot while the Aeropress Go outscores the MSR Mugmate by a point.

Camp coffee isn't your granddad's Ozark Trail blue enamel percolator anymore. And while Sam Elliot-style cowboy coffee may be a crucial skill, backcountry coffee doesn't have to be that either.

All for Fun and Fun for All!

highballin' and funhoggin'

Alex Lowe once said that "the best climber in the world is the one having the most fun." Well Mr. Lowe never had the good fortune of watching Adam Ondra power scream his way through the world's hardest sport routes, boulders, big walls, and soon the summer Olympics. The next best climber is obviously Tommy Caldwell and then probably Ashima Shiraishi. At any rate, if you are reading this, you're pretty far down the list of "the best climber in the world." So far down, in fact, that having fun is just about all that we can do. Which is good because rock climbing is fun.

But sometimes that's easy to forget. Like when you're on your seventh try of a sit-down-start boulder problem and you can't even get your butt off the ground; or you fell just before the anchors on your sixteen-bolt sport project; or you're gripped, three pitches up, fifteen feet above your last C3. It's moments like these you wonder why you started climbing in the first place.

Maybe rock climbing is your "fun," your "zen," your "solace" as you squeak out an existence in your soul sucking, labor alienating, 9-to-5 day job. But in your quest to maximize climbing's "funhogging" potential you've become a slave to the grade chase or to sending that project you've worked on all season -- so much so that climbing itself has become just another task rather than a life-giving exercise and you've forgotten the unadulterated joy rock climbing brought you long ago.

Whatever the situation, I think we all, from time to time, need to be reminded of how fun rock climbing is and why we gave ourselves to this "conquest of the useless" in the first place.

 

A few weeks ago, me and some of the Choss Boys AKA the Chosstafarians AKA the "Three Chossineers" went bouldering at Zahnd but instead of working Razors Edge and other Phantom Area classics, we ran around the woods climbing and giggling on Zahnd's contrivances, oddities, and triflings -- The "Zahnd Tour de Weird," so to speak. It was a reminder of just how purely fun rock climbing can be. 

According to Tony Alva, "You didn't quit skateboarding because you got old. You got old because you quit skateboarding." And the same could be said about climbing or playing in the woods because here we were, three 30 year olds, goofing around in the forest like a bunch of school children. It's hard to quantify your "most fun day in the mountains" but this is certainly up there for me. I didn't send anything noteworthy or difficult, I just felt like a kid again.  I hope I never forget days like this one.

And as weird as it is, Andrew and I both talked about how "Annie's Full Moon" got us both psyched to get out there and try hard-for-us boulders this season. So, just by getting out and having fun I feel motivated to project. Which is not something I've ever felt toward bouldering.

Rock climbing is fun.

THE TICK LIST:

Cheesecake Arete: V0
One of the best of the grade anywhere. Despite its height, it just doesn't climb long enough. Enjoy it while it lasts. A classic.

"Cheesecake Arete"

Around the World: 12a, "V-Long"
In the Middle Blocs area, traverse the entire block. Very chill until you turn the second corner. On the back side of the massive boulder, hang on for the red point crux of overhanging jugs with a substantial amount of the Zahnd "curse."

"Around the World"

No Hands Slab: "V-Fun"
Immediately behind "Cheesecake" is a well featured low angle slab.V-Fun if you climb only using your legs. Never skip leg day...

no hands slab

Annie's Full Moon: "V-Next Level"
In the Land of Aretes zone, climb into the hole and sit down. This may be the best "end of the day" boulder problem of all time. Classic.

Other Bizarre Must Do's: Hotdog Hole, The Channel, Classic Warmup (nothing bizarre, except its height). 

"All for fun and fun for all!" -- The Three Chossineers

A Brief History of the Shaka le Moose

Vedauwoo, Wyoming

The "shaka" -- the Hawaiian hand gesture for "hang loose" or "positive vibes" or "right on" or " take it easy" or "aloha," which itself means "love" or "affection" or "peace" or "compassion" or "mercy" or "greetings" -- has become, like its meanings, near universal. It is no longer just surfers on the pro circuit who flash the shaka.

President Obama waves the shaka. Jock bros on fraternity row throw the shaka. Duck-butt hair cut "let me talk to the manager" suburban moms named Karen who drive from yoga class to the closest wine bar even have the shaka printed on the bumper stickers of their Land Rovers. The shaka is ubiquitous and perhaps it is its universality that allows for its vast and sundry use and application. Indeed, it would seem, the shaka has become all things to all people.

The shaka comes to us from Hamana Kalili (1882-1958), a legendary fisherman from O'ahu, Hawai'i who lost the middle three digits of his right hand in an industrial accident, working at a sugar plant circa 1917. Later, Hamana worked security at that same plant and local children looking to murk some of that sweet sweet sugar cane would mimic his deformity by waving their pinky and thumb to alert that the coast was clear. And thus, according to the oral history, the local tradition of waving the shaka was born.

Hamana Kalili was also a Mormon. And it makes sense that, given the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saint's central tenet of open revelation,  that the shaka would go on to take new life and new forms around the world. Hawai'i Magazine readily describes "7 ways to throw a shaka." This youtube user illustrates 13 different shakas. But the definitive source of all things shaka is Thomas Campbell's  2005 surf film Sprout, which explains the many types of shakas:

 Sprout (2005)

In Sprout we have our first known example of the Shaka le Moose in the wild. In this variation of the shaka, the practitioner raises a double fisted shaka to their head, resembling the palmate antlers of the male moose. The film claims that the shaka le moose is reserved for Canucks who come to visit the Hawaiian islands. But while moose are closely associated with our friends in the Great White North, these largest members of the deer family also inhabit the boreal and temperate broadleaf forests of the United States from the Utahlorado Rockies to New England as well. So while Mormonism was exported to the Hawaiian islands, the shaka was imported to the mainland where the Shaka le Moose was set free to populate the mountains and spread the shaka spirit in the high country.

Sometime around 2010, I discovered the Sprout clip on youtube and was introduced to the "shaka le moose." During my tenure as a mountain guide in Salida, Colorado (2013-2015) the shaka le moose became my go-to summit selfie pose. The first such instance occurred at the summit of Mt. Guyot in July of 2013. Mt. Guyot was the "white whale" amongst our guiding outfit. It lacked clear trails to high camp and featured a long, exposed ridge traverse that was prone to bad weather in the summer months. Ours was the first group to summit in years and I celebrated the good vibes with some hang loose moose.

Mt. Antero, Colorado

Wetterhorn Peak, Mt. Guyot, Mt. Shavano, Colorado

From there the shaka le moose and I went up and down the Rockies from New Mexico to Wyoming, across the Great Plains to the Southern Appalachians and then internationally to its apropos motherland: Banff National Park, Canada. But the shaka le moose is in decline.

Based on very reliable and highly scientific instagram data using the #shakalemoose, #shakalamoose, and #shakamoose hashtags, the shaka le moose is vulnerable to extinction in the wild. Posts tagged some variation of shaka le moose peaked in 2015 and though it saw a modest resurgence in 2018, the general trend is down. This threatened status begs the question, where has all the mountain shaka gone? Like the moose population in temperate climates declining due to human-induced climate change, the conservation of this species of positive vibes and good tidings depends on mountain people like you and me. Become part of the conservation effort by getting out there, doing rad things, and throwing those good vibe antlers up. 

Heart Mountain, AB, Canada

Viva la Shaka les Moose!

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What was your best climbing day of the decade?

photo by Logan Mahan

I'm a sucker for nostalgia. I always get a joyful kind of pensiveness at the end of the year. So when Mountain Project username "plantmandan" started a thread titled "What was your best climbing day of the decade?" I was thrown into a nostalgic journey through the past.

I'm also a hopeless romantic, so I listened to Neil Young's "Journey Through the Past" on repeat while doing so.

I started rock climbing (and this blog) toward the beginning of the decade and since then it has brought so much joy and memories it's hard to pick a singular day. Rock climbing has been my conduit to travel, my social outlet, a source of friends and companionship, and my respite and sabbath from school, work, and stress.

Significantly, it isn't the climbing that stands out the most.

It's the meaningful conversations that I genuinely believe can only be had on long car rides driving across the country.

It's spending $40 of gift card money on margaritas at the Canon City Chile's while flash floods swept through the canyons and gulches of Shelf Road.

It's bringing the wrong crampons on your first alpine climb. (I'm basically Alex Honnold.)

photo by Barrett Pckard

It's the profound sense of clarity and peace of mind as you top out that highball boulder problem all by yourself, alone in the woods, as the snow begins to blanket the forest.

It's sitting around the campfire listening to the Knoxville crew picking and grinning bluegrass music at Del and Marte's campground.

It's tying an inner tube to a boulder and floating for hours on the South Platte River.

It's running an inner tube down the Clear Creek rapids after a big rain at the Obed.

photo by Ragnarok Endurance Competitions

It's the fist bump from your partner after a proud send or a scary whip.

It's shotgunning a PBR at 10:00 AM on the side of Independence Pass because the can got a hole in it and Josh has a strict "no beer left behind" policy.

It's sitting around the campfire, listening to Doc Watson underneath the high desert stars when a huge herd of open range cattle come marching through your campsite.

It's the silhouettes of elk at ridge line, as the sun peaks up from behind that makes that 3:30 AM alpine start all worth it.

It's the summit hug and selfie after accomplishing a big goal you set for yourself with your best friend.

It's proposing to your wife at the top of her first multi-pitch in North Carolina.

photo by old lady hiker at Table Rock

It's getting in your truck after a day at work, driving to the local cliff, and talking about your day with your belay partner who happens to be your co-worker.

It's eating BBQ on the bench outside Jed's Gas Station at the base of Pigeon Mountain where most people boulder but you, proudly, had a 50-pitch day trad cragging at Lost Wall.

It's stuffing your sleeping bags in the floorboard of your truck and cranking the heat to make them nice and toasty when there's a fire ban in Tennessee.

photo by Vance Cato

It's the stories and laughter shared around the campfire with folks you only met an hour ago who came from all over the country or the continent to climb the same rocks you are.

It's Eli talking about Peter Gabriel's "Solsbury Hill" while driving to King's Bluff and then turning on the radio and it being the very next song. (We screamed like school children on the playground.)

It's playing games in the dirt when you get to your backcountry camp.

photo by I don't remember

It's sleeping in the dirt, in a tent, or in the back of a truck, making a cup of coffee and walking to the cliff in the early morning air.

It's dipping into that well-spring of youth every time you go play in the woods and realize you're a full grown adult who still gets to play in the woods.

It's countless sweaty summer days chasing the shade at Sunset Rock or up in Suck Creek.

It's talking about the historicity of Ice Cube's "Good Day" and the age appropriateness of pooping your pants while hiking into North Clear at the Obed.

It's the view from the anchors, the sound of the river at the bottom of the gorge, and the sun setting behind the Southern Cumberland Mountains of Tennessee.

It is the memories of places and people that make rock climbing so special for me.

But if you want a straight answer to the question, "What was your best climbing day of the decade?" It goes like this:

trad: climbing 3,000 ft in a day for my 30th birthday at the Linville River Gorge with Russ.

sport: clips and whips (no significant sends) and then inner tubing the Clear Creek rapids at the Obed with Eli.

video

boulder: last month, running around Zahnd climbing and giggling on all the oddities, triflings, and V-Weird boulders with Andrew and Hobe AKA the Choss Boys AKA the Chosstafarians AKA The Three Chossineers.

the not climbing part of climbing: sitting around the campfire every night for a week drinking cheap beer and listening to Doc Watson in El Rito, New Mexico with Josh.

5 Classic Southern V0s

"Yosemite Slab"

V0 -- the shudras of the bouldering caste system. It's the grade you warm up on or the grade you aspire to move on from. They are the boulders you walk past to get to your project or your well-rehearsed circuit. Nobody's spraying about V0 on Instagram or Mountain Project or 8a but there are some really great problems at the grade. Boulders that stand on their own as absolute classics despite their diminutive difficulty.

Perhaps V0 is your warm up or your cool down grade. Maybe V0 is your limit or your project as you begin climbing outside. Or maybe, if you're like me, you have been training for a 50K and you have neglected your forearms and lat muscles and fingers for so long V0 is all you can manage to send when you finally make it back out to the boulders with your buds. Whatever V0 is for you, below are some southern classics that should not be missed regardless of your climbing ability. Boulders that are megasplitter uberclassics but don't get the love they deserve because of their low end v-scale.

Cheesecake Arete

HM: Cheesecake Arete -- Zahnd, GA

Honorable mention is due to Zahnd's "Cheesecake Arete." This tall line up a picture perfect bloc in Zahnd's aptly named zone, "Land of Arete's" is unmistakable; walk around long enough and you'll see it. A perfect slice of tasty southern sandstone. The crux is standing up at the top without falling off either side. It falls just outside the Top 5 only because it's over too quick!

5. Easy Crack -- Boat Rock, GA
Boat Rock's de facto warm up is so good it has its own t-shirt designed after it. Just a short walk from the entrance, it allows one to sink one's paws into the area's sharp and abrasive granite before padding up precarious slabs all day. Despite its earned reputation as a slab mecca, Boat Rock has a lovely crack circuit to get gobie'd up on. You'll wish "Easy Crack" went on for a full pitch... or four.

4. El Classico -- Rocktown, GA
Slabs generally lend themselves well to the V0 grade because their low angle makes otherwise diminutive holds seem like bucket jugs in the gym. This one should be done every trip down to Rocktown.

3. Donkey Show -- Horse Shoe Canyon Ranch, AR
Low angle cracks and slabs don't do it for you? Travel to the Ozarks and try Horse Shoe Canyon Ranch's "Donkey Show." Follow the line of steep hero jugs to ≈ twenty-feet. Sally up for the crux and continue to the top. If it were any longer it would be 14c at the Red.

2. Jaws -- Sand Rock, AL
Is it a trad lead, a top-rope, or a boulder? "Jaws" toys with the grey area between bouldering, soloing, and third class mountaineering. Whichever way you do it -- and for the purposes of this blog, you should boulder it -- you'll enjoy the in-cuts and horns on this butt puckering arete. Don't blow it at the top! Just remember it's V0 (or that dreaded, archaic, sandbagged 5.9+) so it's all there.

1. Yosemite Slab -- Jackson Falls, IL
For this one, we must, as reluctant we may be, venture north of the Mason-Dixon Line. Illinois may not be geographically Southern but southern Illinois, with it's Kentucky and Missouri neighbors, gets an honorary position. And "Yosemite Slab" is worthy of its honor: a mammoth, beautiful, and seemingly blank piece of stone smack in the middle of the Prairie State's grandest canyon. It is perhaps the most iconic and classic V0 this side of the Mississippi River. It is tall, daunting, and plain ol' fun.

On a weekend solo adventure a few winters ago, I went out to the Falls and ran laps on this rig in between chapters of Brian Panowich's Bull Mountain. It is the only thing I have climbed at Jackson Falls and I could easily be persuaded to return and do the same again. It's just that good.

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What did I miss? Tell me in the comments.
Forth coming: 5 Classic Southern Party Trick Boulders...