When I was a girl, popcorn was a special treat reserved for weekend sleep‑overs at my grandparents’ house. By the time I was a teenager, however, it had become a regular Friday night tradition, to be enjoyed with a glass of soda and a favorite television program. Later on, as a young woman, I often turned to popcorn for a midnight snack after coming home from a late shift on the ward. It was therapeutic as well as tasty. The mingled aromas of popping corn and melting butter helped drive the lingering stink of urine and disinfectant from my nostrils. Then, many years later, the Friday night tradition of popcorn and a movie reentered my life, as a shared pleasure in a little shack on the ‘Flow, where windstorms sometimes brought pine branches raining down on the metal roof, winter ushered in week‑long sieges of subzero temperatures, and the nights often reverberated with the cries of hunting coyotes.

Today, though, popcorn has become an infrequent indulgence. Now that I no longer haul water from a spring in six‑gallon carboys or clear snow and ice from a quarter‑mile of rutted road with a pick and shovel, I have to watch what I eat. But I still look forward to occasional popcorn nights. And what better time than on a paddling trip? So it should come as no surprise that popcorn occupies a place near the top of my list of staples whenever I plan backcountry menus. In fact, I’ve come to think of it as the quintessential camp fare…Read more…

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