There are a few things that are essential to successful surviving in the outdoors. Food, clothing and shelter are basically at the top of the list. Food, of course, is a necessity and tools you need in the preparing of food in the wilderness often comes up. I once believed that the packablilty of pots and where you got your fire from were the only questions needed to be asked concerning the issue of sustenance. A nice set of stackable pots and a good stove allow for easy cooking and clean-up of meals.

Space and weight are a concern for a long expedition so the smaller and lighter pots and stove are the better off you will be. Sustenance, though, can mean many other things. The physical sustenance that food gives you is good. The mental sustenance that drugs give you is even better. In the outdoors, the importance of food is followed closely by the importance of drugs.

I used to subscribe to the theory that alcohol was the one true and safe drug. It's legal, isn't it? Everybody uses alcohol and besides, it's part of the American tradition of blind bullying and morning after regrets. However, on one clear blue day all of my preconceived ideas and societal induced drunken binges were wiped from my consciousness:
The hike was short, the hill was steep and our packs were very heavy. Heavy because my roommate, Yo, and I had loaded them down with about 20 cans of beer and two fifths of liquor. Beast and tequila. (This was when I was young, before the evil mistress that is tequila wormed her way into my brain and created a intense revulsion for the golden liquid... Oh yeah, Beast sort of sucks too.)

Huffin' and puffin' were our names. Me huffin' - my beer belly wouldn't quite hide under, around or over my hip belt and Yo puffin' - his many Marlboro breaks indulged in at every crest in the trail didn't seem to make him any faster. Around the time beer-sweat had completely soaked my shirt and the tobacco smoke had rendered Yo's lungs crispy and black a tall stranger passed us with a slight wheeze to his breath and a nice lift to his step. His old canvas pack didn't seem to be cleaving his shoulders in two like ours and his long, ratted hair wasn't shiny with sweat like mine.

As he glided by, nimbly stepping over rocks, I gasped, "What's your secret, man? I'm about to fall out!"

He paused in his next step, stopped the strange sort of repetitious throwing gesture from his right hand and said "The portability of pot."

I was puzzled at first, but then I seemingly grasped his idea and dropped my new pack, pulled out my new, titanium stackable pot set and said, "Check these pots out, they're the lightest on the market!" He put his head down and chuckled. Yo gave me a quizzical look. The stranger hiker sighed and said, "The portability of pot, man! Pot! Marijuana? You know... weeeed!"

"Oh," I said, "We don't use any of that shit, it's the gateway drug, don't you know? Plus, it'll make you grow breasts and kill your brain cells and, besides, it's illegal."

"Dude, what have they got you believing?," he muttered under his breath. He then proceeded to give us a long lecture on the many benefits of the marijuana plant. He started in on the many uses of hemp, which include rope, clothing, food, paper, whatever, I'm sure you've heard it all before.

Basically, he explained that you can take one seed and grow almost everything you would need to survive. After his sermon he reached into a hemp bag at his side and scooped out a handful of small, hard, speckled seeds and scattered them all over the trail. "I'm fucking like Johnny Hempseed, you know?," he said with a grin, "I walk the trails and backwoods of America and spread the gospel of marijuana. It doesn't matter if the climates right or the season is right, I spread'em everywhere.

Somewhere, at the right spot, there will grow a special plant. In this plant is the potential for a million more. The ones that survive will be the ones that continue the next generation. They will adapt and cling to life wherever they land. Marijuana is a small part of God and it must be allowed to grow unfettered across this mighty land!" The last part came out with rising volume and tempo, followed by a thin shriek. "Don't you know that the poisons you are carrying in your packs will kill you? Alcohol and tobacco is evil!," he screamed. We stood back and looked at him in awe.

Froth was sliding down his chin and a wild gaze shot from his eyes. He blinked once and said, "Sorry, dudes, I got a little carried away. What you guys need to do is drop all that heavy alcohol and enlighten yourself with some nice, fresh sensimilla." He proceeded to pull out a fat florescent green bud that was dripping with crystals and orange hairs.

"This is a Northern Lights strain and it will do you right!," he squealed. We took his offering, which included a small wooden bowl and a handful of seeds.

"Spread'em everywhere," he cackled as he started to hike away.

We shouted, "Thank you, old man!"

Needless to say, that night around the campfire with our packs considerably lighter and our minds considerably higher, we understood the true meaning of the portability of pot(s).

Oh yeah, stackable pots and a light stove allow for easy and effortless munchie satisfaction. Get higher.

Next issue: Fungal infections.