I packed my bag in Edmonton

and jumped on a flight to Nanaimo to see two of my closest friends, Andrew and Nicole. They moved to Vancouver Island five years ago, and every time I visit them, we end up doing something slightly insane in the outdoors. This year was no different.

As we were getting ready for our trip, I noticed again how dialed-in Andrew’s camping system is. Everything he needs lives in a couple of bins. He just tosses them into the SUV and he’s ready to go.

Except for the food.
It’s always the food.

The most tedious part of the entire preparation wasn’t gear or logistics. It was trying to engineer meals that were healthy, portable, lightweight, non-perishable, and still enjoyable. We spent hours meal planning, shopping, and packing, trying to get the balance right. Not too much weight, not too little food, and nothing that would spoil.

The food cooler ended up being one of the biggest, bulkiest pieces of gear we carried.

Last year when I visited, we had an incredible time. We found our way to a lake in the middle of nowhere, inflated Andrew’s little boat, and discovered a creepy but fascinating old cabin just before sunset. It was the kind of place you’d expect a horror movie to start, but we explored it anyway... In flip flops. We returned to camp hungry, because, of course, nothing we had packed could just be thrown into a pocket and eaten on the fly.

This year, our goal was to actually stay in that same cabin.

We packed the dinghy to the absolute max. Sitting on top of our bags, barely staying above water, the 5-horsepower motor roared as we crawled across the still lake and made it. We slept in the loft, cooked dinner, and ticked off the first mission of the trip.

The next day was the big one.

We drove the rest of the way to Tofino, got to the wharf, inflated the boat (again), and carried load after load down the long, steep ramp. By this point I was starving. But this was the same old problem: nothing we packed was something I felt good about eating quickly. The choice was between eating chips and feeling crummy, or waiting until we could set up a stove.

I waited.

Our final destination was a small island

that required a forty-five minute ride into Pacific waters. The cooler full of ingredients took up a ridiculous amount of space in the boat, and the whole time I couldn’t help thinking how absurd it was that food, just basic, healthy fuel, was the hardest and heaviest part of the entire adventure.

When we finally reached the island, we set up camp and immediately headed out to explore. We only brought water because we didn’t have anything else that was pocket-friendly, and that decision forced us to cut the exploration short.

Which is exactly why the next part blew our minds.

In the middle of the dense forest, on crown land, we stumbled upon another cabin. This one wasn’t rustic or creepy. It was large, solid, clearly used recently, and filled with gear and supplies. It was almost surreal. We left a window wide open so that if anyone returned overnight, they would close it and we would know. Nobody did.

We stayed on the island one more night, but by that point the food situation had worn us down. The same ingredients. The same meals. The same bulky cooler. The same constant planning and rationing.

By the time we made it back to Nanaimo, all I wanted was a shower, a real meal, and to not think about packing food again for a while.

But on the drive home, something kept bugging me.

Why is adventure so dependent on food that is either unhealthy, inconvenient, or impossible to carry?

This wasn’t the first time I’d had this thought. All year, through different hikes, runs, day trips, and weekends away, I kept noticing the same thing.

The outdoor world is filled with incredible gear.
Ultralight tents. Futuristic backpacks. GPS watches.
But when it comes to food?
We’re stuck choosing between:

• freeze-dried meals that require a stove

• protein bars that aren’t real food

• "meal replacement" shakes that are really just a supplement

• or full coolers stuffed with perishables

Nothing portable. Nothing balanced. Nothing that actually replaces a full meal.

And if I’m not willing to eat protein bars every day in normal life, why am I willing to eat them only when I need my body to perform at its best?

That thinking eventually led me here.

I decided to stop waiting for someone else to solve the problem. I started experimenting. iteration after iteration. Failed attempt after failed attempt. But I finally created a bar that actually functions as a real meal. High calories, balanced macros, real ingredients, and a texture and flavour that I’m genuinely proud of.

It keeps me full for hours. It keeps me energized. And it fits in my pocket.

It solves the exact problem I faced on that island, and the hundreds of similar moments adventurers deal with every day.

Fuel Better is launching on Amazon in February 2026. If you want to get notified when it drops and get 20% off your first order, the waitlist is below.