Camp Cookery - Fish Tacos

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  • 3 tilapia fillets
  • 1 cup of pre-cooked shrimp
  • 1/2 cup of chopped onions
  • 1 tablespoon chili powder
  • 1 tablespoon oregano
  • Crema Mexicana
  • Queso Fresca
  • 1 lime
  • 1 avocado
  • Tortillas
  • 1 green pepper
  • 1 can of black beans

Camping on the beach calls for seafood! Last time we cooked a meal on the Gulf Coast we made a big ol' seafood stew, this time we chose something with a little less ingredients. We opted for those cheap frozen tilapia fillets and frozen shrimp. One, because I already had some in my freezer. Two, if you throw some in a cooler in the morning with ice by time you're ready to cook dinner they'll be thawed out (unless of course you have one of those fancy Yeti coolers that actually keeps things cold). 

Get your fire going about forty five minutes before you want to start cooking as you'll want some hot coals ready when it comes time to cook the fish. As thats burning you can chop your onions, put the beans in a pot and cut the pepper.

Once you have some good coals place a grill grate over them and grease up your pan, allow it to heat up for a few minutes. Then put the tilapia, shrimp, onions and spices in the pan. We also put the black beans and pepper on the fire at this point.

As the fish begins to cook you can break it into smaller pieces, this will help with the cooking time, and the end product is going to be flaky anyways. Continue to stir the fish and black beans as it heats up. 

The fish is done when it becomes an opaque white and can easily be shredded just by pulling at it, about ten minutes for us, but times could vary a bit based on the strength of your fire and how close you place the pan to it. Place the fish in a tortilla and top with black beans, cheese, crema and avocado!

Lessons learned: Something I should have already known, but if you are cooking on the beach make sure to always cover your pots and pans. Nobody considers sand a seasoning. 

Developed - Big Bend National Park

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Shot on - Lomography iso 800

Big Bend National Park

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I've been here before. This long desolate drive is familiar and I use ranches and distant mountains as markers to tell me how much further we have to go. WELCOME HUNTERS, a huge banner says strung across two light posts on the main street of a sleepy town. It's the kind of place that always makes me wonder what people here do for fun. Ten in the morning and there are a few old farm trucks parked in front of the one place that seems to still be in business; a bar. I guess that's what they do for fun. "Six more hours" I think to myself. The stops are few and far between so when something comes up on the horizon it's easy to remember it, "I've bought coffee at that gas station, four more hours". The smell of oil starts to permeate the air. The first time the scent that is so familiar to Texans entered my car years ago I actually pulled over because I assumed it was leaking out of my own engine; now it gives me the feeling that I am going somewhere. "Two more hours." We pass a tilted brown road sign that reads Sierra Madera Astrobleme, my friend Jake and I both yell "astrobleme". We pronounce it incorrectly because it is more fun to say the wrong way. We're almost there. 

My face probably doesn't show it as I spit my thousandth sunflower seed shell out of the window of a truck that is loaded down with tents, sleeping bags, camp stoves, propane, coolers and three of the most genuine people I have ever met in my life; but I am excited. Excited to share this place with the people who mean the most to me, excited to experience it through the eyes of those that I love, I'm excited for their excitement. 

There is a sign on the ranger station instructing us to pay the entrance fee inside the visitors center. We walk in and scribbled on a white board I see the words, Rio Grande Village Full, Chisos Basin Full, Cottonwood Full; all of the campsites are full. My heart sinks as I walk up to the grey haired volunteer leaning against the desk. I badger her a little bit, "Nothing? Really? Not even a primitive site?" She doesn't seem amused, but i'm sure a hundred other people have already asked her the same thing today. She informs us of a private ranch eight miles outside of the park where we could camp, it's our only option at this point.

I walk outside feeling defeated, I had an idea in my head as to how this weekend would go, step by step it was all planned out up there. Jake seems to take it all in stride, I have been in this position with him before and it turned out to be one of the best nights of camping i've ever had. But still i'm thinking back to being here in the past and how much those trips transformed me. I'm frustrated because I want Jake, Lindsey and especially Lauren to feel what i've felt here before.

We turn around and head back towards the entrance of Big Bend and start making our way towards the ranch, I can tell that Jake is trying to convince me that everything is going to work out but i'm being stubborn and only quietly mutter a few words. As we walk into the ranch office, which also serves as a general store, conversation is immediately struck up with the man behind the counter. He is telling us all about his life, travels, and the secrets hidden within the park. Lauren pulls a six pack of cheap beer out of the cooler and places it on the counter. We find out that it is actually fourteen dollars, not cheap, but still money well spent after being on the road since sunrise. Before we push the screen door open and head back out into the desert Lauren asks the man "What's your favorite place that you've been too?" without hesitation he answers, "Well Big Bend of course."

This is what it's all about I thought to myself. Yes I have been here before, but I have not been here. As i've touched on a previous time in my writing, it is not about the place it's about the people. I could visit the same place a handful of times and every time would be different because of who i'm with or who I strike up a conversation with. Maybe I had forgotten this on the drive to the park, but Lauren's interaction with the man overcharging us for Tecate was surely a reminder.

The gals in the back seat, Jake and I looked at each other while driving down a dirt road looking for the perfect campsite. Without speaking a word we knew that the park campgrounds being full was actually a blessing in disguise. The gravel crunched beneath our tires as I let my hand ride the wave of wind out of a wide open window while we pulled up to a spot that looked ideal to pitch our tents. 

Later we chased the last remaining bit of light through the park so we could sit in the hot springs situated on the border. I relaxed in a corner spot, taking it all in as a couple of guys jumped into the river and swam across just so they could say they went to Mexico. With the sun setting in the background I took a sip of wine from a cup I had carried down with me. Jake is asking me if I want to take the plunge into the Rio Grande when I see two National Park Rangers walking up to us. I know what's about to happen. 

"What's in those cups?" one of them asks me.

"Wine" I say without hesitation

"Okay pour it out and come with us."

The four of us get out of the springs and gather our shoes, clothes, backpacks and cameras as everyone just gawks at what's happening. We start to make the walk of shame back to the truck as the rangers shine their flashlights behind us, lighting up the short dusty trail ahead. The rangers give us the standard run down of questions and take our licenses, one of them calls our info in to make sure we "aren't hardened criminals", as the other searches the truck. 

They call Jake over and I watch him take a sobriety test; we've only had a drink or two so I know he'll be fine. We're sitting in a dirt parking lot in wet bathing suits as Jake follows the finger of one of the rangers. "Okay you guys are fine." They let us know that the springs are the one place where you can't have alcohol in the park, but of course we already knew that. 

Service is spotty in the park but the next day an Instagram notification comes through on my phone. I open it up, it's from the ranger who had talked to us at the hot springs. We all lose it, it's an unbelievably a small world. I converse with him a bit and apologize for making him go through the hassle of last night. This is just another reminder that i've been to Big Bend before but I have not been here.

The rest of our days in the park were filled with hiking, a lot of laughter, and even a seafood dinner (yes we brought seafood to the desert and lived to tell tale). Everything about this weekend was a reminder of why I like to revisit places I have been before.

After our run in with the law we're back at the ranch with a roaring fire, one we wouldn't have been able to have if we stayed in the park. Now i'm sitting by the crackle and warmth of one as I watch my friends dance in the in the glow of headlights from a truck that was blasting Justin Beiber (or maybe Taylor Swift, I can't remember). I questioned why I even thought things had to be like they were when I had come here in the past. Big Bend was not the same this time around, and it wasn't supposed to be. I had been here before but this time was different. Different, but better. 

New years road trip - joshua tree

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in the middle of the desert, miles from any big city, lies joshua tree national park. a place that, honestly, doesn't make much sense. yucca trees for miles and giant rock formations that seem to have somehow landed in the middle of nowhere, for no reason at all, other than to provide a grown-up play ground for you and me. 

hiking, playing, and walking around this place brought so many questions. how did these rocks get here? how do they all seem to have nature-made staircases that allow us to get to the top so easily? what are these cactus things that fade in color? and how on earth does that giant rock look like a skull? again and again, i kept asking Jeremy and myself, how is all of this possible? so many questions, not a lot of answers.

next thing i know new years eve rolled around and i suddenly realized, all these questions about joshua tree and not a single one about 2016 and what i wanted it to be. a whole new year to be whoever i wanted. but what did i want exactly? how could i prepare myself for the hard times 2016 would bring? how could i be a better human? and how could i possibly make these little dreams of mine come true? sitting in the quiet and reflecting on these questions i felt myself turn into a ball of panic, paralyzed by the fear of not having any answers for myself.

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but what i came to realize sitting in this place that couldn't provide answers to my questions, was that maybe life's the same way. maybe we aren't supposed to be given the answers. maybe knowing the answers right now isn't the point. maybe the point now is to simply have patience for these questions. to have patience for ourselves while our soul seeks out the answers. 

New Years Road Trip - Salvation Mountain

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If ever there was a single symbol of my wandering ways it would be Salvation Mountain. 

Driving through the sun burnt landscape of inland California, surrounded by various shades of brown, it rises from the earth as a beacon to those who have traveled far and wide to experience it's magic. There amongst the tanned earth the painted mountain looks as though it was dreamed up by a child; something out of a coloring book.

Like many, I first heard of Salvation Mountain through the book Into the Wild. A book that inspired my first major endeavor into traveling, a cross country bicycle tour. Five years after that maiden voyage, I had just moved to Texas and again had wanderlust in my heart. Although it was a forty-two hour round trip drive to Niland, California I felt like it was something I had to do. Almost two days in a car just to see Salvation Mountain for a few hours.

When you gaze upon Salvation Mountain you can't help but be overwhelmed by the conviction and dedication it took to create such a powerful symbol. Something was born in me on that initial trip, the joy of traveling became real. That trip was what sparked all of this. It showed me that I held the power to see and do whatever I wanted if I put the effort into it. It made me believe that rather than spend my days talking about what I hoped to do "when I had the time", I just had to take that step and go for it. 

And four years later there I was again, staring at the technicolor hues of someones life's work. As I watched Lauren walk around the painted ground with wonder and beauty in her eyes, I couldn't help but reflect on how much had changed since the last time I was there.  

Four years ago I didn't know how to properly work a camera, I couldn't have cared less about "blogging", and I had no idea what Instagram was. But seeing what one man could create inspired me to document and share my travels through photographs and words, with the hope that maybe someday I could make an impact on someone the way that Leonard Knight's creation impacted me.  

At the end of the day I still hope that I can somehow inspire at least one person out there, but have realized that all of this has had a bigger impact on me than I ever could have imagined. Because of what was instilled in me on that first trip, I have been able to see places that I never could have dreamed of. Because of that first trip, I have met people who I will forever call friends.  

 

-Jeremy

camp cookery - fried egg & asparagus

6 asparagus stalks
1 egg
2 bacon slices
1/4 cup cheese
cracked pepper

a quick breakfast (or dinner in this case) that can be cooked in single skillet!

start by cooking the slabs of bacon, once this is going you can cut the ends off of the stalks of asparagus. Keep an eye on the bacon, flipping as necessary. 

i let the bacon go a little longer then i normally would to get it extra crispy for use at the end of this dish.

since the skillet is already greased from the bacon you can just throw the asparagus in with no extra oil. cook the stalks until tender (about four minutes).

next up crack a single egg into the pan. no need to flip, having it a bit runny is a good thing.

when the egg is just about done sprinkle the cheese on top. use a bowl (or a lid) to cover the egg and help the cheese melt faster.

throw that thing on the asparagus and crumble the bacon on top.

outpost - maine year three

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“Surviving is important. Thriving is elegant.”

- Maya Angelou

For the three of us, it's our third trip to Maine. Three years of three flights to travel Austin to Portland, three full days together in the cabin, and three years to forge traditions that will last at least another thirty years. 

Now, after these three years, Maine means Johnny Cash, questionable kitchen smells, coffee, nertz, reading out loud, boiling pond water, photos, coffee, leaf collecting, distinct lack of moose sightings, platonic bed-sharing, coffee, boulder-sitting, ship-yahd pumpkin beer, and fireside conversation.  

We are genuinely stoked about these simple, haphazard traditions. And really, we can recreate them anywhere. So why are we so crazy about this long weekend? Why are we so in love with Maine?

I think Maine makes routine something special, even magical. It’s now an established pathway in our mind that’s as simple as a habit. Like putting on warm socks in the winter or the open sound of piano keys. Because we know them so well, there’s nothing left to do but enjoy it, anticipate it, tune into it. Let it work its magic on us all over again. We trust those feelings will return, you know? They just do. 

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maine americayall america yall canoe

Tradition, established by us three for these three years, is so powerful because it gives us the security to thrive, not just to survive. To rest in the love of it all. It’s not the adventure we crave anymore (although it certainly started that way), it’s the sanctuary. 

Videos: Stringer Productions - www.stringerproductions.com

Photos: Photo by Betsy - www.photobybetsy.com

Author/Writing: Joanie Turner - www.kindergrey.com

Music: Abby Gundersen -  https://abbygundersen.bandcamp.com/

Outpost - Maine Year Two

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How lucky am I that I can carry the peace of the forest in my heart.

- Jane Goodall

 The cabin in Maine was built by a wildly charming family. They spent their young summers here. They lit those fireworks stashed in the kitchen drawers, slept next to friends in all angles along the painted wooden floor, told stories of a water monster (“Megladon”) who drowned a swimming deer on the adjacent lake. They laughed and shared and warmly greeted the kayaking neighbors.

There is romanticism in these stories, embedded in the way they were told to me. I met the two brothers while working as a waitress in the Florida panhandle. One brother was engaged to a fearless woman from New York. I used to crush pretty hard on the other one. We all had perpetually sunburned shoulders and an internal compass pointing directly toward the waves.

Romance is the collected understanding that there is beauty and grandeur connecting the intangible inside of a person to the physical and tangible outside of a reality. It explains why we treasure the small, resonant memories when our stories as a whole can feel overwhelmingly dull and uneventful. Romance overflows the heart and seeks out the soul’s open wounds where reality has not met desire.

Years later, the cabin held a new kind of romance. The kind that opens you up and helps you sleep without dreams because the mind has been truly employed during its waking hours. Unlike the previous inhabitants, we didn’t set fireworks or sleep on the floor. Late October only allowed for one stupid-cold jump into the lake. But we made a pie, undercooked breakfast hash and grilled cheese. We read books, took photos, video, notes and nature walks. We stoked coals, dragged canoes, and drove in silence. Steam rose from every coffee pot and every cup of soup. The floor was too cold for our bare feet. 

I think romanticism is something entirely common, rooted in the menial but rarely experienced until days and decades pass, and time erodes the stress that caused us to miss it in the first place.

Jane Goodall said, “how lucky am I that I can carry the peace of the forest in my heart.” I think this statement was made by a person who loves her life, treasures it now. Someone who understands romance. How lucky am I that I carry Maine in my heart.

Videos: Stringer Productions - www.stringerproductions.com

Photos: Photo by Betsy - www.photobybetsy.com

Author/Writing: Joanie Turner - www.kindergrey.com