Seafood chowder in the high country. One can dream, you say. But there we were, three days into the Eagle Cap Wilderness. And there it was, a simmering pot steaming its promise of fresh salmon and spice into the pristine evening air. A hard-earned pot of chowder, I might add.

You see, as good as Mountain House brand freeze-dried chowder can be on the trail, we all knew that some creative additions would help. So the night before this hearty repast we had packaged our leftover fresh salmon and corn in a plastic zip-top bag and anchored it to the bottom of icy-cold Copper Creek with a rock.

Throughout day three, we all monitored our precious cache. No critters had discovered it during the previous night and it appeared that our culinary coup was a lock. We could already taste that fabulous soup, and had mentally paired it with a fine Tyee pinot gris that we’d brought along.

But around 2 p.m., a heavy downpour had everyone diving for shelter. We were tent-bound for two hours as the onslaught turned our peaceful valley retreat into a flashing, banging funhouse. The voices of torrents raging down surrounding cliffs and precipitous side channels accumulated into a deep roar indistinguishable from a jet engine. Water ran over the ground in sheets, rippling under tent floors as if they had been set in streambeds.

Finally, as the storm subsided, heads started poking out of tents to view the scene. Soon, a bald eagle landed atop a nearby tree, setting off the local marmot alarm, and just like that, things were back to normal. Except, of course, our gentle, meandering, Copper Creek, which had more than doubled its volume and now hissed along through the meadow with an energy just short of fury. The same thought came to all of us simultaneously: The salmon!

Everyone ran to the spot, knowing what we’d find: nothing. Dave and his brother Tom must have been the hungriest, because they responded first, hustling downstream along the bank, intent on snagging our precious dinner if it surfaced. The rest of us hung back at camp, ever hopeful.

About 20 minutes into our salmon watch we thought we heard a ”whoop!” echoing off the valley walls. Then another. Then the two brothers appeared in the distance, Dave waving the salmon pouch overhead in victory. Our banquet was saved.

We wouldn’t have starved, of course. It was never about starving. It was about making the most out of an already fabulous place and time. And so as titanium camp spoons dipped into the creamy chowder, chock-full of tender salmon chunks and juicy kernels of Willamette Valley corn, we toasted our good fortune and wise choice of friends.

Whether you’re on the trail or in the kitchen, a hearty chowder revives body and soul. I love them because they are evocative of comfort. Just don’t try to pin me down for a definition, since the origins of the word are somewhat obscure. Some say it’s a seafood soup associated with New England; others, a buttery, hearty soup made with corn, chicken, fish, or other chunks of food. The fact that there’s no rigid definition means you’ve got some wiggle room during preparation. So, consider the following recipes as merely a starting point, then go in whatever direction you gol’ darn please, as long as you end up in the Land of Yum!