I took to drinking brandy and smoking pot and cigarettes to calm myself down from the anxious excitement of being in the outdoors.
I also cooked.
I discovered that cooking in the outdoors is an exercise in focus, balance and intense ergonomic planning. The simple act of retrieving an ingredient that is not within your reach requires a complex dance that calls for the unfolding of your hip flexors, balancing on rocks as you pick your way to the said ingredient, more folding and unfolding of hip flexors as you bend down to pick it up, more balancing on rocks to return, all the while being careful not to knock over the other ingredients and equipment also precariously balancing on other rocks.
The first night, I cooked pasta with bison sausages, bell peppers and fresh basil.
The second night, I made pasta with zucchini and the rest of the basil. This accompanied the trout that Jason had caught, which I stuffed with sage, rosemary and thyme packed from my garden, and which I then panfried.
The third night, giving in to a curiosity about dehydrated camping food, I reconstituted an unremarkable beef stroganoff-in-a-bag from MEC. To accompany this, however, I made a perfect pot of basmati rice - no mean feat over a camp stove that does not simmer, let me tell you.