Fall is a great time for hiking, as there are fewer people on the trails and the weather tends to be just about perfect — not too hot and not too cold.

On Labor Day, I decided to celebrate the arrival of autumn by hiking Phelps Mountain, one of the Adirondack High Peaks.

Phelps, I was pleased to discover, is an underrated mountain.

We chose it mainly because it’s supposed to be easier than most of the other high peaks, and I wasn’t expecting too much. My hiking guide described Phelps as modest. And at 4,161 feet, it is relatively small. But Phelps is beautiful, from start to finish. The trail parallels a crystal-clear brook for much of the way and, although most of the hike is tree-covered, the flat, open ledge of a summit offers a stunning view of the surrounding peaks.

Upon arrival, we found a nice patch of rock to sit on and settled in, rummaging through our backpacks for refreshment. We carefully laid out our banquet: I unwrapped the cheese — brie, our favorite — and opened the package of garlic-herb crackers and a bag of trail mix — a medley of nuts, chocolate and raisins. My friend set out small plastic containers filled with cut watermelon and cucumber, as well as pepperoni slices from a local deli.

“Where’s the brie?” my friend’s son asked impatiently.

His question caught the attention of three hikers seated about 10 feet from us. “Brie?” one of them said. “And we thought we ate well on hikes.”

“We eat it with pepperoni, with crackers,” I explained. “It’s really good.”

“It would be better on apple slices,” our newfound friend informed us.

“I have an apple,” my friend said, and soon we were eating brie on apple slices.

When I hike, I like to eat like a king.

My theory is that hiking is long, painful and physically taxing, and if you do it, you should be able to eat whatever the heck you want.

If I’m going to wander around the woods for eight hours, drinking nothing but water, aggravating my bruised toe and plantar fasciitis, listening to my friend’s son babble his head off (he often likes to tell us that the mountains we hike are nothing compared to Mount Everest — as if he’s ever hiked Mount Everest) and sweating profusely, then the least I can do is pack a lunch that will not only keep my energy level up but also make me happy. If I don’t exclaim “This is delicious!” or “This is the best food I’ve ever eaten!” at least once on a hike, then something has gone terribly wrong.

So what do I eat when I hike?

Well, I always bring brie and crackers, as well as a bag of trail mix. But I’m very picky about my trail mix, and I almost always make sure that I select a kind that’s filled with chocolate. (I also look for yogurt-covered raisins.) And a few weeks ago, I packed a zucchini bread made with zucchini from my garden, which we slathered with peanut butter.

I can count on my friend to bring fresh fruit, some meat to go with our brie (sausage or pepperoni usually) and a wild-card item, such as boiled eggs, pancakes or a tortilla-style sandwich. We always pack some granola bars but hardly ever eat them: At this point, I consider the granola bar a food of last resort — something to eat if we run out of the good food and are in danger of starving to death.

As for liquid refreshment, I mainly stick to water, but I recently started bringing a small bottle of Gatorade along, which has been one of my better decisions of late. On hikes, I’ve long been plagued by sharp, painful cravings for something to drink besides water, and the small bottle of Gatorade has helped solve this problem.

One troubling development is that my “eat like a king” attitude has started to bleed into other areas of my life.

The longer I hike, the more I believe that the strenuousness of the activity entitles me to do whatever I want. I feel completely justified in oversleeping, procrastinating and ignoring all criticism. After all, I just hiked a mountain! I’m tired! And sore! Why would anyone expect me to be functioning at a high level? This attitude can be dangerous, but it can also be sort of liberating.

It can be difficult to block out petty concerns and just focus on the here and now, but hiking makes it easy. When I hike, I have exactly one concern: Getting up and down the mountain. And I find that when I reach the summit, take in the breathtaking view, and find a comfortable place to sit and rest, I generally feel terrific. It’s like all the things I was worried about simply don’t matter anymore. And like I’m free to gorge myself on a wonderful feast.

On the way back from Phelps, we stopped at a Stewart’s, and I decided to get an ice cream sundae. Normally this would seem ridiculously self-indulgent, but not after a 9-plus mile hike! I even added extra toppings, for good measure. Back at the house, we ate pizza and drank beer. And the next day, I ordered a double cheeseburger, which is something I never eat.

Except after hikes, that is.

Because for a brief window of time, I can do whatever I want.

Foss Forward makes a weekly appearance in print, in The Gazette’s Saturday Lifestyles section. You can email Sara atsfoss@dailygazette.net.