The Horse by Fred Burnham

Excerpt ; "Scouting on 2 continents" by Fred R. Burnham

This is some excellent information on horse husbandry by Fred Burnham.While working as a packer and guide in Montana and new Mexico, I have seen horses and Mules eat "people food" on several occasions, Personally, I have always wondered if "Our" food was nutritionally balanced for other animals. This excerpt from Fred's book clearly states that Horses CAN eat "most foods"  that a man eats...... 

 
A scout knows that a horse can thrive on most of the food that a man eats, even cooked food. One of the reasons why I was sometimes able to outride the cowboys and frontiersmen of the west was that I gave infinate care to my mount. In Alaska and the Klondike our horses would eat bread, all kinds of drief fruit and vegetables, crackers, sugar , prunes, raisins, candy, syrup - even bacon, dried meat and dried fish in very small quantities.They also ate raw eggs when obtainable, dried milk, and other things not ordinarily thought of as foder. The twig ends cut from willow and cottonwood give roughage and some strength. In the deserts a man may save his mount by gathering the fig like fruits from the top of the pitahaya or suhauro. The "Spanish bayonet" also has a good fruit. Horses will eat crushed mesquite beans, acorns soaked and ground, and other desert shrubs and seeds in season. There are bunches of gramma and other grasses clinging to the cliffs that can be gathered for the Scouts faithful friend in time of need.
 
See you on the trail!

Tomahawk

Louis in the Huachucas

In 2009, I had been camping in the Huachuca mountains of south Eastern Arizona for 65 days before I headed south of the border all the way to the Panama canal and back. During my 65 days camp out and survival outing, I enjoyed getting up early in the mornings, brewing a cup of Montana guides coffee and sitting by the creek to watch the animals come down to drink. Over a period of time I have seen many deer – both “Mulies” and white tails, Antelope, coatimundi,and other species come to slake their thirst.

One morning in particular, I was sitting on my pack in the shade of a live oak tree, sipping a cup of guides coffee ,waiting on my friend Matt AKA “The wildcat missionary” to show up so we could drive his truck deeper into the mountains to explore a trail to a remote spring. Suddenly I saw some movement out of the corner of my eye, Looking in that direction and saw an illegal alien limping down the trail wearing torn pants and sporting an injured knee.

Hailing the man in Spanish, and told him to take it easy and that I was friendly. After his initial "deer in the head lights look", he approached me, stuck out his hand and said "Hello, my name is Louis, I can speak English".

I shook his hand and introduced myself as Tomas. I asked about his torn pants and injured knee. Louis told me that he ran after seeing a "Fucking Oso"(Bear), fell and hurt his knee.

After talking for a bit I asked him if he was hungry and he said "Yes". I fired up my stove and made some more Guides coffee and broke out some of the grub I had in my pack.Louis in turn got out a large bag of "Carne seca"(dried meat), this was the good stuff, slowly dried over a smoky mesquite fire - not the over priced, chemical filled "Jack links" type junk you get in the USA.

Taking a look at his injury, I had him clean it with some hand sanitizer and baby wipes, next I made some ointment for it by mixing crushed aspirin, garlic powder with a few drops of olive oil.

After he applied my home made ointment to his injury, we covered it with a bandage made from a napkin and some duct tape, which I peeled from my Nalgene brand bottle. All in all not a bad job for and adhoc first aid application. we couldn't do much for his torn pants other than sew them up but Louis declined the use of my sewing kit.

We sat there chatting over coffee and jerky , he showed my pictures of his wife and 3 boys in Maryland. I was told by him that he had been living and working in Maryland for 12 years , he was deported back to Honduras after being caught driving without a license.

Personally, I really appreciated the fact that he preferred to speak English to me instead of his native Spanish.

Louis told my that he had been traveling for 68 days since leaving his parents home in Honduras. He jumped the Border into Arizona at Nogales Mexico and had been walking across the Canelo(cinnamon)hills and Huachuca mountains for 4 days when I ran into him.

Being a world traveler, survival oriented, minimalist type of guy, 68 days of trekking is pretty impressive to me. He had only the clothing he was wearing,150 bucks of Mexican pesos, and a small day pack with some food, water and medicines in it.

No Knife, shelter, maps, etc. It impresses me that Louis would take off alone across an unknown range of mountains with very little in the way of equipment.Shoot... he still had to get past the Border Patrol, and get all the way back to Maryland to be with his family again. I'm not sure but it has to be around 2000 miles to Maryland from this part of Arizona.

After answering a few of his questions about the town of sierra vista, and filling his water bottle in the stream, Louis shouldered his pack, and handed me the rest of his "Carne seca" as a gift for helping him. I wished him "Bueno suerte" and "adios".

The last I saw of this tough little Indian guy was as he took off at a trot over the hill heading for town. I dont agree with Illegal immigration but, I have a grudging admiration for the guts and desire it takes to complete the type of trek Louis had made. I hope he makes it.

See you on the trail,

Tomahawk

Once upon a time in Afghanistan...............

 I am "on post" in a guard tower at a F.O.B. in Northern Afghanistan, the night is blacker than 4 feet up a bulls ass. My AK-47 is slung on my chest, resting on the trauma plate  of my body armor. I have a bacon sandwich in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other , I'm listening to "Black Betty" by Ram Jam via my Mp3 player, and all the while scanning my area of responsibility through night vision goggles. For me it doesn't get much better!, I cant believe I get paid to do this!

Tomahawk

Life in the raw

Im often asked why I choose to live life "in the raw" in remote places or 3rd world countries...Well, To borrow a few words from "Magnum PI"; "When counting the assets of a paradise, you have to start with geographical and bio diversity". Take the Sonoran desert for instance; a few miles miles in any direction and you've been to the hills of Montana, a tropical jungle in the Philippines, the ranches of Texas, or even the Moon from the beginning of time. its Impressive. I like the idea of living in such a place.

What I don't like (now) are the narrow minded and PC people who seem to have swarmed this area in my absence. In addition ,I dont like or understand, the crazy cost of living here and in Mexico, or anywhere in Latin America for that matter. What happened to having a good time, living cheap  ,relaxing, and just being part of the ecosystem called America. I am afraid we as a people have morphed into something I no longer recognize. It is sad indeed.

So,as therapy for myelf, im going to sit cross legged on the ground in front of the fire "indian style", relax, reconnect with nature, then go to town, be as NON PC as I can be. Sometimes you just need to just get out of the woods, chase girls, get drunk, get into a fight, eat good food, speak a different language, drive a long ways ,and piss off border guards on both sides of the fence. Then, maybe, ill take a hike in the hills and journey to the "moon".


Tomahawk

George Orwell, "Down and out in Paris and London"

Down and Out in Paris and London is by far my favorite George Orwell story.
 it his only work in the Picaro esq gerera, additionally,it is his first full-length work. Published in 1933. It is ^{his personal account}  in two parts on the theme of poverty in the two cities. The first part is an account of living on the breadline in Paris and the experience of casual labour in restaurant kitchens. The second part is a travelogue of life on the road in and around London from the tramp's perspective, with descriptions of the types of hostel accommodation available and some of the characters to be found living on the margins.

After giving up his post as a policeman in Burma to become a writer, Orwell moved to rooms in Portobello Road, London at the end of 1927. While contributing to various journals, he undertook investigative tramping expeditions in and around London, collecting material for use in "The Spike", his first published essay, and for the latter half of Down and Out in Paris and London. In spring of 1928 he moved to Paris and lived at 6 Rue du Pot de Fer in the Latin Quarter, a bohemian quarter with a cosmopolitan flavour. American writers like Ernest Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald had lived in the same area. Following the Russian Revolution there was a large Russian emigre community in Paris. Orwell's Aunt Nellie Limouzin also lived in Paris and gave him social and, when necessary, financial support. He led an active social life, worked on his novels and had several articles published in avant-garde journals.

Orwell fell seriously ill in March 1929 and shortly afterwards had money stolen from the lodging house. The thief was probably not the young Italian described in Down and Out. In a later account, he said the theft was the work of a young trollop that he had picked up and brought back with him; it has been submitted that "consideration for his parents' sensibilities would have required the suppression of this misadventure. Whoever reduced Orwell to destitution did him a good turn; his final ten weeks in Paris sowed the seed of his first published book."Whether through necessity or just to collect material, and probably both, he undertook casual work as a dishwasher in restaurants.

 In August 1929 he sent a copy of "The Spike" to the Adelphi magazine in London, and it was accepted for publication. Orwell left Paris in December 1929 and returned to England, going straight home to his parents' house in Southwold. Later he acted as a private tutor to a handicapped child there and also undertook further tramping expeditions, culminating in a stint working in the Kent hop fields in August and September 1931. After this adventure, he ended up in the Tooley Street kip, which he found so unpleasant that he wrote home for money and moved to more comfortable lodgings.

My last trip to Maine - in pictures

Here are a few pictures from my most recent visit to the Jack Mountain bushcraft school in Aroostook county Maine www.jackmtn.com

"Old come and get it"

Several years ago I had attended a wilderness Hunting Guides and Outfitters school in Montana, after working as a mule skinner/packer then Hunting guide for several years I made a decision to become a camp cook. I mean after all I can sling some hash and make decent biscuits. Being a camp cook for a Guide outfit can be a challenge but I not afraid of a good challenge, especially in the wilderness.

After leaving the Montana guide business in 1992, I went to new Mexico to Guide but got a Job as a packer then later camp cook for Blackhawk Outfitter in Raton, NM . As I recall Raton Had a few decent pawn shops and junk shops on the street near the rail road tracks. One of my favorite things to do is haunt all junk shops,resale shops and salvation army stores. I am always amazed at the things people donate to these places or simply throw away. I never buy big name brand Gear or clothing , I simply wait to find it in one of these shops or dumpster dive it. Hoorah for wasteful people!

I found my venerable frying pan in a pile of old pots and pans in the corner of a shop. I noticed that it had a folding wire handle ,was light weight and nearly brand new. I bought it for 2 bucks and headed for the door.

in the Time that I have had this pan it has cooked a legion of trout, a school of bass, a herd of deer steaks, a flock of ducks,a gaggle of geese, a coup of chicken, a galaxy of beans, countless strips of bacon, Bannock bread, pancakes, cakes,and gallons of "Old Dew claw" Rum.

It has served as a shovel, lid for another pot,container, and defensive weapon. I love this old pan. Every time I use it to cook some grub or make a brew I am reminded of the countless fires this old veteran shared with me over the years.

The name for this pan I borrowed from Edmond Ware Smith in his book "Up river and down", he talks about his pan by the same name. Foods cooked over an open fire, a grill or in a dutch oven have always tasted better to me. It must be the open air, the effort to cook it and sitting down to a decent meal in the wilderness after a long hard day in the saddle.

See you on the trail,

Tomahawk

Geronimo!

Fort Benning Georgia, November 19th 1976, three days before my 19th birthday, I was “Chuted up” and sitting on board a C123 Provider Aircraft as it taxied out of the loading area for takeoff. I was the 2nd man in a “stick” of ten jumpers who were embarking on their first jump at the U.S. Army Parachute School. The 123 lifted off and the pilots swung the aircraft wide of the drop zone then came about and lined up with the Target area (DZ) for the Drop.

I had been watching the open Jump door as we took off and was waiting for the red light to come on above the door which indicated that we were approaching the Drop zone, suddenly the light flashed Red and a split second later, using hand and arm signals and a loud and thunderous voice, I heard the Jump Master shout “six minutes” and throw up six fingers, followed almost immediately by “Get ready”, with that, all of us student jumpers unbuckled our safety belts and waited for the next command.

“Outboard personnel stand up!”, I watched my fellow students and comrades in arms stagger to their feet under the awkward weight of the parachutes and harness, then brace themselves. “Inboard personnel stand up!” with that command my good buddy Richard I. Parker slapped me on the arm, gave me a sideways look, and we stood up, as I said earlier that I was to be the 2nd man in the stick out the door buy Richard was to be the first.

I don’t know how it worked but Richard and I went through Basic training, Infantry school and Jump school together. If we had wanted to do it the Army would have said no. I first met Him at the Military processing center in Chicago and like Forest Gump both of us just followed orders and that seemed to work out pretty good.


After a brief moment the Jump Master yelled and signaled “Hook Up!”, with that command we attached our static lines to the anchor line cable that runs the entire length of the aircraft, snapped it shut and placed the safety wire in the proper receptacle.

“Check static lines” we all checked our own static line and glanced at our buddies to make sure all was correct. “Check equipment” I did a quick check of my gear as I had been taught by the “Black hats” , canopy release assemblies, reserve chute, harness release, etc. then made a check of Richards gear , static line, parachute pack then, we all looked at the jump Master and waited for the next command.

“Sound off for equipment check” with that command the last man pushing the stick shouted 10 OK!, followed by all of the others down the line 9 OK!, 8 OK!, 7 OK!, 6 OK!, 5 OK!, 4 OK!, 3 OK!, Then Me, 2 OK!, followed by Richard, All OK!

“Stand in the Door”, Parker slid his static line out to the jump Master and took up a perfect door position as we had been taught over the past three weeks of this course. I watched with anticipation for the green light above the jump door to come on, signaling that we were over the DZ. Even after 35 years I can still vividly see the ground 1,250 feet below as it flew by and the sight of my then best buddy standing in the door waiting to execute his first ever parachute jump.

In a flash the green light came on and I heard the jump master shout “GO!”, and watched him slap Parker on the leg, my friend exited the 123 and I saw him tuck into a perfect body position and he seemed to hang there for a second, then he was gone!

I cannot remember sliding my static line down the cable or handing it to the Jump master but I do remember taking up a door position and leaping out of my first war bird in flight after I felt the slap on my leg and heard the “GO!”

Being a bit of a smartass for most of my life up to that point, I had made up my mind to shout Geronimo!!! As I made my first jump, I did in fact shout the name of that famous Apace warrior but it was drowned out by the sound of the rushing wind, and the Aircraft.

I tucked into a perfect body position and counted “One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four thousand” and waited for the opening of my T10 parachute canopy. In the 4 seconds it takes your ‘Chute to open you fall approximately 250 feet through the air. Once open you need to check your canopy for malfunctions, tears, holes, twists (Mae West) etc.

After my T10 opened I had around 1000 feet of air and the rest of my fellow Airborne students to negotiate, Even in my excitement, I remembered to “pull a slip” on my risers in the opposite direction of drift to minimize my landing shock, I saw the ground rapidly approaching and got ready to perform a parachute landing fall (PLF) using my 4 points of contact, balls of the feet, calf muscles, thigh, and back muscles. I hit the ground in a near perfect PLF, rolled, got up and ran into then around my canopy to collapse it.

Woohoo! Airborne!, Private Tom Moore AKA “Tomahawk”, roster number 62 had just completed his first parachute jump from a military aircraft in flight and survived. I pulled the release pin on the harness release assemble and shed that burden then, rolled up my canopy and packed it into the aviators kit bag along with the harness. Next as instructed, I attached my reserve ‘Chute to the handles of the Kit bag, threw it over my head and then took off at a double time to the rally point.

I looked for my buddy at the rally point and saw him standing in line at the parachute turn in point, grinning like the Cheshire cat of Alice in Wonderland fame. After I turned in my gear, I jogged over to see my buddy, we shook hands and slapped each other on the back for a job well done, followed by some good natured ribbing by our fellow students and comrades in arms.

And so it went for 4 more jumps to earn the Silver Wings of a U. S. Army paratrooper, It was a fine day for this young soldier as one of my instructors pinned the wings on my chest, as I’m sure it was for all of the others.

My Army career next took me to Fort Bragg, North Carolina where I was a member of Scout platoon 2/505th Infantry before going to Germany where I served in the 11th Aviation group pathfinder Platoon. During my time in the Army I had the opportunity to earn parachute wings from France, Germany, and Holland and to attend the U.S Army parachute riggers school at Fort Lee, Virginia. In total I made 49 parachute jumps from planes and helicopters.

I never really liked making jumps and would never do it as a sport like the sky divers do. It was the extra money and the adventure which drew me to it.

Jock Cunningham in the Spanish civil war

Jock Cunningham, this dude is a 100% combat P.I.M.P. Please feel free to check out what wikipedia has to say about him. Im wayyyy to lazy to write it all out for you.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jock_Cunningham

A Moveable feast - Hemingway in Paris

It is good to see that Hemingway's granddaughter is producing a film based on his last book "A moveable feast" about his life in Paris. Personally, I look forward to seeing it.

http://www.movieinsider.com/m6458/a-moveable-feast

https://www.facebook.com/A-Moveable-Feast-253445441343005/

Huachuca bike trip

"I have not tired of the wilderness; rather I enjoy its beauty and the vagrant life I lead, more keenly all the time. I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities."

~Everett Ruess

CHRISTMAS eve 2008; I had planned on spending a lazy day cooking and watching movies then turn in early since I have no wife, girlfriend, kids or family to speak of.

But my adventurous spirit got the better of me and I grabbed my mountain bike & survival gear (camel back HAWG) and Lit out for the Huachuca Mountains abt 10 miles away.

It is a tough ride and uphill all the way from my apartment, I managed to make it into the foothills in about 1 1/2 hours. I was battling wind and rain, and I could see that there was a lot of snow coming down in the higher peaks so I made the decision to set up camp in Brown canyon.

It took me a few minutes to set up my cheap walmart tent, then rig my plastic tarp over it for additional protection.

I grabbed my gear and threw it into the tent, then it was just a matter of riding out the weather.

The gear I had on my bike consisted of tent, plastic sheeting, army goretex bivvy bag, slumberjack summer bag, crazy creek chair, my cook set, 4 knives my trusty old Green river knife named "old butch", my Case hobo, a Swiss army knife with a saw, and my old timer whittling knife.

Type 1 and type 5 nylon(parachute cord's). 1 gallon of water, camera, a light wind suit, extra socks, gloves, beanie cap, ball cap and other misc gear. my food consisted of 3 cans of sardines, instant coffee, sky flake crackers, animal crackers, thai style instant tea, and some candies.

darkness fell pretty quickly so I crawled into my sleeping bag and settled in for the night. I laid there in my sleeping bag listening to the rain hitting my tent and singing Christmas carols to myself.

During the night i could hear several Javalina moving around in the dark and heard the hoot of some owls, I noticed in the morning that a pack rat had stolen the lid to my travel mug.

It turned out to be a rainy, cold and windy night, I stayed in my bag until 1st light then got up to a cloudy Christmas morning.

The time was only about 7 am and since it was not raining I wanted to make some coffee before heading down the mountain. I kindled a small fire from oak and juniper wood using my bic lighter.

sitting in my crazy creek chair I filled my old army canteen cup with water and sat it on the coals to boil.

It was somewhat refreshing to be out in the cold air. I sat there watching wilderness TV(the fire) while the water boiled and munched a few animal crackers for breakfast.

I had done a lot of thinking during the night about Christmases in the past, I came to my own conclusion that it is all and illusion, and created by merchants to sell products.

The necessity people feel to buy and celebrate a false holiday never ceases to amaze me.

I would much rather be sitting alone near a small fire in the beautiful mountains then to be in a house full of people I don't really like or get along with, celebrating a false holiday - just my opinion.

By and by the water boiled and I made myself a full canteen cup or Folgers brand(my personal favorite) instant coffee, ate some animal crackers.

While dining in regal splendor there in the mountain I decided to stay over another night, I still had a little food and plenty of coffee. The only problem was water but I knew where to get that up the trail.

I packed my gear, then locked my bike and hid it in the woods, cached my tent in another area then headed up the trail.

My intention was to go to a spring I knew of and top off my water bottles, do a quick scout around then return to my camp area before dark. As I hiked along I began to see a lot of illegal alien signs, i.e. cast off clothing, candy wrappers, sardine cans etc.

Since I was low on food I made a quick scout around to see if I could locate a "Lay up site" and recover some canned food from the back packs the illegals throw away.

As luck would have it I located a small lay up site and was able to recover 2 cans of re fried beans, and 2 cans of tuna con vertudes(vegetables), a good score!

I stuffed the cans into my pack then continued my hike up to the spring.

Upon arrival at the spring i did as planned, topped off all of my water bottles then hid all but 1 of them.

I emptied out my pack and hid the contents of it along with the water bottles. Taking only food, water, and my bivvy sack I headed up the trail to Carr Peak. There was a bit of snow on the ground but the trail was clear.

Along the way i saw a flock of turkeys(10 i think), they were difficult to count due to their moving around. I also spotted several sonoran Coues deer, and saw plenty of javalina and Bear sign.

Since I had left Camp at about 8am I intended to hike 4 to 5 hours up the trail then turn around and head back to camp so that I would have plenty of light to do so.

It was great to be on the trail and seeing all of the different wild life, the temperature was slightly cool with a biting breeze, I loved it!

I made it all the way to the top of Carr peak 9000 plus feet, but was a little off of my allotted time schedule.

I decided to run back down the mountain to where I had stashed my water and pack contents. Stripping down to my hoody, shoes and pants, I stuffed my wind suit and other clothes in my pack then began my jogging decent.

It was a fairly easy jog down the mountain, I got to the gear stash, recovered my gear and water, then walked the remainder of the trail back to camp as a cool down.

My feet were a little sore By the time I got to camp, I left my bike hidden in the woods but recovered my tent , after pitching it and the rain tarp I again kindled a fire to boil water for coffee.

I remembered the cans of food I had recovered and made the choice to eat tuna and crackers for dinner, washed down with stout black coffee - It was a culinary delite! I finished off the meal with some hard candies for desert.

Thinking abt it I realized that I was eating an international meal - Mexican style tuna, Filipino crackers, american coffee and korean candies. Almost like dining in a 5 star restaurant!

Needles to say i was a little tired that night so I took a swig or two from my whisky flask then crawled into my sleeping bag, I do not remember anything from that night because I slept very soundly.

Early the next morning I got up, mixed instant coffee in my nalgene bottle , drank it cold, packed my gear and headed for home.

It was a good two nights in the woods and great way to spend a "holiday" weekend, I enjoyed it very much.

Tomahawk

Napo To Babag - Camp red Cebu

by  Jing Lavilles de Egurrola

NAPO TO BABAG TALES CV: Woodlore

WHEN YOU ARE WITH the Camp Red Bushcraft and Survival Guild, everything is interesting on any given Sunday.  Their saga continues on and they could go anywhere they wished to and indulge in their favorite past time, which they called as “dirt time”. They love to work with their blades to make survival tools, to prepare their meals and to talk about its qualities which is just about infinite.  Then they cook feasts, which is the best part of their day.

Coming with them for the fourth time straight is the Colonel himself – Thomas Moore. Pathfinder Tom is one of the stars of the high-rating Discovery Channel survival TV show, Dude You’re Screwed, which was shown in Asia as Survive That. He is in Cebu to organize the team for Expedition Philippines, another survival reality show that he is planning to direct and participate in in one of the eight episodes.

I am with them today, October 11, 2015.  We all wished to spend the day at Camp Xi, a nice piece of flat land beside the meandering Sapangdaku Creek, which is perfect for big outdoor activities. After securing our food ingredients at Guadalupe, we proceed to Napo and walk the short distance to Camp Xi.  Jhurds Neo is leading the guys, totally comfortable on the idea of a happy walk and a very enjoyable day.

Coming along are Ernie Salomon, Aljew Frasco, Bona Canga, Jonathan Apurado, Justin Apurado, Locel Navarro, Christopher Ngosiok, Angel Villaganas, Niño Paul Beriales, Nelson Tan, Cleos Navarro and the Quijano Family of Richie, Francelyn and 7-year old Legend. With us, as guests, are Peter Tortusa and his Japanese lady friend, Kaoru. They all would be glad to spend the day with Pathfinder Tom.

We will spend another Sunday cooking up another feast.  All unsheathed their blades and begins the process of extracting useful firewood from debris.  A spark from a ferro rod gives life to a fire and water is boiled, presumably for coffee. Coffee. Oh, coffee. Where art thou? It came in a short while.  Why would people disdain coffee? Do they not know what it gives to a thirsty bushman?  A ton of inspiration.

With my William Rodgers bushcraft knife, I go down the river bank and look for bananas. No, I am not looking for the fruit or its blooming heart but I need the trunk for food. I rejoin the rest when I have a banana trunk with me, all quite perplexed when they learned that I am going to cook it.  They watch and they ask a lot of questions which is good because bushcraft cannot progress if your curiosity is confined to your eyes only.

Meanwhile, others proceed on to what they do best. Ernie has his grub wagon open and Jonathan is a willing subaltern. Angel and Locel blow some life into a fledgling flame for what I believe a grill session.  Aljew kept those coffee in good stead with his improvised billy can suspended by a tripod.  Francelyn just fried an amorous mix of spices on a small pot.  Christopher is everywhere, clicking on the shutter of his camera as if it is an assault rifle. Click click...click click.

Tom and Jhurds joins Aljew and Bona in a little chit chat.  Somebody just got mentioned and laughter roared as if a gang of hyena suddenly got transported from the Okuvango and wandered here. Peter watch the separate actions and unleashed his knife to make the best of the moment while Kaoru is in a daze, witnessing a new experience. A little while she begins to blend in by throwing a few pebbles to a faraway target with a slingshot.

Oh, I forgot about little Legend. He is watching his dad making a bamboo bow and arrow. Cleos and Justin are also in that observation platform.  When it was done, Legend begins to shoot at imaginary targets.  Her mother, meanwhile, is cooking soup from a dehydrated kelp which immediately got Kaoru’s attention.  Cultural gaps are better bridged by food and, once the connection is established, understanding and pleasant conversations follow.

Lunchtime ultimately came and the food is served. Ernie had cooked a local pasta (Local: pansit bihon) which he paired with pickled raw cucumber. The rice is neatly spread on frayed banana leaves to imitate a popular military style of meal, the “boodle fight”. Grilled pork are placed above the rice.  Seaweed soup is in its pot while my banana core adobo is in another. Game time!

After the meal, I organize all the ladies into one group and tour them around Camp Xi for a lecture of plant identification. This is in response to Tom who sees a need to involve a contemporary Filipina in one of the episodes of EP.  There will be auditions for that slot and, before that, I will train prospective lady applicants into advanced wilderness skills and that includes a plant ID tour.

What I am doing is just an eye opener since not all qualify as an applicant for they lacked the basic training in bushcraft and survival which is a prerequisite.  The show do not need actors but real bushcraft and survival practitioners.  We approach a colony of taros. There are purple taros, white taros, giant taros and giant wild taros. From among these, there are edibles and there are the toxic ones.  Identifying which from which is mind boggling since they almost look the same.

We transfer to a bunch of bananas.  I point to them the edible parts like the blossom and the fruit. I also reminded them of the trunk which I just cooked which came from here. On a stump of banana which I just cut, I carved a hole in the middle and, a few minutes after, water slowly filled the cavity.  They looked at the blade of my AJF Gahum which have stained after contact with the banana.  Do not worry. It is called a patina. It is good for the blade.

We cross the stream and climb up a path to another level ground.  I look around and I tow them to a tree which bear several strings of round green fruits.  That is a lanzones. Unbelief. I pluck a yellowish one and opened the skin.  Lanzones.  I eat a part and pass the rest to the ladies.  LANZONES! And they wanted more. I climb the tree and found a few half-ripe fruit which the ladies gorge among themselves.

I move to a thick growth of birds-of-paradise.  Too dangerous to be near.  We do not know what is behind that thick curtain of stems which have grown so close to each other, but I know there is water and, where there is water, there could be a predator or there could be food.  I stood on a rock and gaze down below.  Some ferns grow and another smaller fern variety which is very familiar because it is edible (Local name: paku) is also in this mix-up.

We cross the stream again and the guys are waiting for us.  It is now 14:10 and just about right to pack our things and go back the way we have started in the morning. Just about right, is it? How about the part that ends all activities?  The knife porn? Indeed, all the blades has its 15 minutes of fame.  A log becomes home to some of the blades but it ran out of space, necessitating for another log to accept more blades. Very impressive!

At 15:00, we leave Camp Xi for Napo and, from there, for Guadalupe and to Red Hours. Tom and I opt for big bottles of the coldest San Miguel Pale Pilsen to ourselves without drinking glasses. The rest choose to drink it with glasses. It was a fine occassion to toast good health and fortune to little Woodlore, the newly-born son of Nelson, who arrive with her mother.  Tom carried Woody in his arms and the little guy did not let out a whimper.

To good health and fortune Woodlore!

Dickey Chapelle, Photo journalist

Dickey Chapelle, is or was one bad ass lady. I have always admired her combat photography and journalism. I am especially impressed with her being a parachute test jumper and later earning her Vietnamese and American jump wings by jumping into hostile areas with the troops.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dickey_Chapelle

Tomahawk

Robert Capa, war correspondent

Robert Capa is perhaps my favorite war correspondent from the WW2 era. He covered 5 wars over several years and some of the images he captured during the Spanish civil war still remain captivating images.

Being a former paratrooper and current amateur journalist and world traveler who has lived in war zones and hostile areas, I can relate to Capa and his vagabond Journalistic lifestyle.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Capa

Tomahawk

Papa : Hemingway in Cuba

I am looking forward to seeing this movie. I have always been a Hemingway fan.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZXC8hm8iWMQ

"Wild Bill" Moreland AKA "The Idaho wildman"

 "Wild Bill" Moreland AKA "The Idaho wildman", survived 13 years, in the wilderness of Idaho, with very little in the way of equipment. When apprehended by the authorities, his gear consisted of,  A canvas tarp with rope sewn to the ends, a wool blanket, the clothes on his back, a coffee pot, skillet ,flint & steel, pocketknife, and some hooks & line that he scavenged from rivers and streams.

 He was known to used fire-tower phone wires to snare deer. The gear he possessed was stolen from cabins and hunting camps. He found a single shot  .22 rifle and a box of ammo in a cabin he raided. over his last 2 years in the wilds, he fired only 24 rounds, taking one deer with each round. He said that he aimed for the head, and was always able to stalk within a few yards of the deer before firing.

Having "survived" my self on several occasions, at locations world wide, I can vouch for the difficulty in surviving such a spartan life style.

I know for a fact that none of the current world survival "Experts" has never lived for any length of time off grid. And when they do they usually have a whole truck load of gear to help them along. I seriously doubt that any of the manufactured "experts" in wilderness survival could survive anywhere except on youtube or TV.



See you on the trail!


Tomahawk