Mufasa Rouge by Jason Hawk and Outlaw forge

​Mufasa Rouge $1,200.00

(The Lion Hunter)

African Neo-Tribal style.
Blade- forged 5160 antique finish.
Fittings-Copper.
​Construction-Hidden Tang.
Handle-Carved Mesquite,
with sealed cord wrap..
Blade length  29inches.    OAL-36 1/2 inches.
Sheath- Mesquite (open style).
African coin, Warthog tusks, embellishments.

Mufasa Rouge- A bush sword, from the African Plains. Mufasa was rumored to be the last King of Kenya before the British took control. After the fall of civilization the tribes rose again, forging scraps from their native land into practical weapons, as they have always done, nothing is ever new in Africa.
Adorned with the trophies of the hunt, and scraps of the world that once was. Mufasa Rouge is ready for battle, cause lets face it a Zombie Lion would be some scary shit!

The C.T.-1 (Crow Town) by Jason Hawk and Outlaw forge

 When the world is nothing more than some Nomadic raiders, what kinda blade would they carry?
​Across the wastelands into the burned out slums that make up the new world we journey.Scavengers collect up bits and pieces, remnants of a world gone, and craft a new world from them.The dusty world of Crow Town, This is Their Blade...  

http://www.jasonhawkknives.com/borderlands.html 

C.T.-1 (Crow Town) Price $450.00

Apocalyptic Second Gen., style.
Blade- Forged 1095 skin textured finish.
Fittings-Patinated worn steel wire.
​Construction- Narrow Tang.
Handle- Blue/Black antler and Leather.
Spent shell .38 casing pin.
Blade length 6 1/2inch.     OAL-12 1/4inch.

About Outlaw Forge ; Jason Hawk Bio

 

About Outlaw Forge ; Jason Hawk Bio

www.jasonhawkknives.com

Jason Hawk is passionate about making beautiful functional artwork. He is from a long line of master carvers, and he was taught by his father and grandpa the value of quality craftsmanship.

Jason started making blades in his teens living in Colorado. He got into historical re-enactment and making all of his own clothes and gear for rendezvous and extended treks into the mountains. At 15 Jason became Colorado's youngest licensed big game hunting guide. It was during this time he came to appreciate the functional homespun knives of the frontiers men.

When Jason graduated  he moved to Montana where he studied welding and metal fabrication. He then moved back Colorado where he worked his way up in the restaurant industry to became an executive chef. There he honed out his skills with fine kitchen cutlery.
Starting about 10 years ago Jason started teaching his primative and mountainman skills including blacksmithing to people from around the world.

Another important important part of Joson Hawk's life started about 20 years ago when he discovered Fillipino martial arts. Master Chris Petrilli taught Jason to not only be  deadly with his hands but he taught Jason the lethal art of knives, stick fighting and improvised weapons.

About 8 years ago Jason met the love of his life, Mary.  This tough country girl lived in a cave with  her family as a little girl before moving to the their current homestead. Jason was born in rural Arkansas, so when this hill-billy met his cave girl it was pure magic. Finally someone just as twisted as him. Mary is good with a knife, loves to butcher goats and chickens, loves to harvest and preserve food, loves to garden and get her hands dirty, and is rather crafty. She makes mesquite furniture, jewelry, soap, lotion, and herbal preparations. Mary recently decided to become Jason's shop slave and learn the art of knife making and leather working.

In the last handful of years Jason has been working with the History Channel resulting in one season of No Man's Land (a desert version of Mountain Men). This last year Jason and his family spent the winter up in the mountains of NW Arkansas filming for the 5th season of Mountain Men. The large and lethal population of wild hogs provided him with a unique testing ground for his combat knives. Knife hunting hogs was a dangerous and fast paced means to put some delicious pork on the table.
Jason Hawk has spent his life making and using knives. From guiding, hunting, butchering, and living remote, to slicing and dicing in high scale restaurants, to the study and application of the martial arts, Jason has dedicated his skills and passion to the persuit of perfect blades (for who could choose just one).

"Outlaw" Forge - Jason Hawk

My good friend and fellow blacksmith Jason Hawk has finally got his website up and running. Jason is a well known metal smith and bangs out some very beautiful, functional and artistic knives. I know he has been a bit behind on orders recently due to family issues and starring in 2 TV shows on History channel. If you are interested in his work you can either contact Jason directly via his website ORRR, you can email me at pathfindertom@gmail.com and I will ensure that he gets the message.

http://www.jasonhawkknives.com/

Check out the website for awesome picks and more detailed info.

Tomahawk - See you on the trail!

A poem dedicated to my hero - Pat falterman

Pat was an awesome young man, I met him in Mexico and south America, his intelligence and confidence impressed me. Simply put....he was a good kid.
Now, sadly with his passing, he has joined the ranks of lads like Everett Ruess, and Chris Mcandless. The world traveler/vagabond community is small and Pat will be missed. I would like to dedicate this poem to him. 

 "To An Athlete Dying Young" by A.E. Housman

The time you won your town the race,
We chaired you through the marketplace;
Man and boy stood cheering by,
As home we brought you shoulder-high.

To-day, the road all runners come,
Shoulder-high we bring you home,
And set you at your threshold down,
Townsman of a stiller town.

Smart lad, to slip betimes away
From fields where glory does not stay
And early though the laurel grows
It withers quicker than the rose.

Eyes the shady night has shut
Cannot see the record cut,
And silence sounds no worse than cheers
After earth has stopped the ears:

Now you will not swell the rout
Of lads that wore their honours out,
Runners whom renown outran
And the name died before the man.

So set, before its echoes fade,
The fleet foot on the sill of shade,
And hold to the low lintel up
The still-defended challenge-cup.

And round that early-laurelled head
Will flock to gaze the strengthless dead,
And find unwithered on its curls
The garland briefer than a girl's.

Hitchhiking & signs from the road

Carrying a destination sign when hitchhiking is a lot like going to college. Even though deep down inside it may not mean a thing, it’s a convenient way of explaining to people what you’re up to.

–Ken Hicks, The Complete Hitchhiker

I want to share this awesome Eulogy about one of the most interesting young men I have ever known by Patric's father;

Patrick Joseph Falterman II – Eulogy

Posted on 19/09/2016 by MN under Final Post

 

https://hitchtheworld.com/2016/09/19/patrick-joseph-falterman-ii-eulogy/#comment-10873 

 

The last thing any parent thinks about is what to say at their child’s eulogy. However, when the time came, I felt we owed it to Patrick to at least make an attempt to provide a glimpse into his life and how he became the incredible, unique person he was. I will try to recreate Patrick’s eulogy as I told it at his funeral on 10 Sept 2016. In certain areas I have taken the liberty of adding or subtracting bits of information for clarity but will leave the bulk of the speech intact to the best of my recollection. Plus, I never let small details ruin a good story. I will also do my best to convey the emotion of standing in a church in front of so many people that loved Patrick and I will try to do his amazing life justice.
My wife was aware that I wanted to do this eulogy but questioned the fact that I had nothing written down in the way of notes. I did not want to read a prepared speech as the written word is often short on heart, especially when read by a dad struggling to keep it together. I wanted to convey the raw emotion I felt…the hurt, the love, the respect, the overwhelming sadness I had from losing my son. Also, I wanted to work without a net as a tribute to Patrick whose entire life was lived without a net. I am not good at many things in life, but I am a good storyteller so I decided to try and explain Patrick’s choices with two stories from his life.

I hope to get through this eulogy and fully expect it to be the hardest thing I have ever done. As a former Air Force officer, I know eye contact is crucial to a good speech. However, y’all will have to forgive me because if I make eye contact with all of you who love Patrick so much, I will never make it through this.

Patrick was born at Minot Air Force Base, North Dakota while I was stationed there flying tankers. He was always an active child, into everything and questioning anything put in front of him, especially rules. Patrick was our first child, and from day one we didn’t know what hit us. He didn’t come with a manual or a checklist, and without any family members living near us, we were often at a loss on how to handle this unique little person. In his first year he provided us with many highs and lows and also a glimpse into the person he would become.

One such glimpse is my first story, and it occurred when I returned from a night flight late one morning. Patrick was just over a year at this time, and when I entered the house my wife was sitting on the kitchen floor with that look all men know so well. My first thought was, “I hope she isn’t mad at me,” but upon entering the kitchen, I soon realized it was Patrick sitting across from her who was in her crosshairs. I said “Hey, what’s up?” and was soon briefed that Patrick had taken his breakfast of dry Cheerios and dumped them onto the kitchen floor on purpose. Patrick was never a sit down and eat your breakfast type of child, so we usually gave him a cup of dry cereal to eat as he scurried about getting into everything. This morning he not only decided to dump the Cheerios on the floor, but refused to pick them up. So, I had walked into a standoff that had been going on for awhile. Cindy was firm but caring and had sat with him, even guiding his hand to each Cheerio as Patrick slowly put them into the garbage. When I arrived, Cindy used this opportunity as leverage to break the standoff. “When you finish picking up the cheerios you can go play with your dad.” she said to Patrick. This seemed to have the desired effect and he began to move bit faster as I slid down next to Cindy to referee this contest of wills. Patrick was soon down to the last Cheerio and held it in his hand. “Put that last one in the trash, and you can go play with your dad” Cindy told him. Patrick looked at each of us, the Cheerio, the trash can, and back at us. Then with a gleam in his eye we learned to fear, he ate the Cheerio. My wife and I looked at each other and realized we had just been schooled by a one-year old.

For the next story, fast-forward with me to the Amazon Basin. Patrick had been vagabonding around for the past 4 years and had finally settled down in Brazil working as a fishing guide in Barcelos, Amazonia. He asked me to come down and stay with him awhile, and since I had the time, I agreed to meet him for a few weeks. The young man I met in this remote jungle outpost was much different than the boy who left home at 19. He had become fluent in both Spanish and Portuguese. I am told by his Spanish-speaking friends that his Spanish had no American accent and sounded as if he were a native speaker. The same could be said for his Portuguese. He moved around Barcelos with the ease of a native, going from store to store and shop to shop conversing with the locals as we purchased what we would need for our jungle adventure. I speak no Portuguese, so when I inquired about certain terms, he would ask a local about the correct way to pronounce a word in the regional dialect. I asked him why he took such care to be sure and pronounce each word as the locals did. He told me it was a matter of respect…respect for their culture and their country. It was the least he could do to repay all they had given him was to speak their language correctly. This from a boy who flunked Spanish in high school.

Within minutes of paddling away from Barcelos in his boat, we were swallowed up by the vast Amazonian landscape. The first evening, I watched Patrick disappear beneath the dark water to retrieve a net that was lodged under some brush while large black caiman alligators watched from a nearby sandbank. I asked God that if he had to take Patrick, please don’t take him now as I had no idea where we were. I would just have to curl up next to Patrick and die myself because finding my way out of this maze of waterways and jungle seemed impossible. Patrick navigated without a compass and claimed his greatest asset in navigation was time. He was never really lost as he rarely had a specific destination or time to be at any given place.

The trip to the jungle was everything I thought it would be and more. I expected the incredible flora and fauna the Amazonian basin is known for. What I didn’t realize was the thing I would come to cherish the most was spending time together to reconnect as father and son. We talked all day, but the nights we lay in our hammocks smoking cigars and talking about anything and everything were my favorite times of the trip. It was during one such talk that Patrick confided in me an interesting viewpoint on some comments that he received on his ongoing blog hitchtheworld.com. If you haven’t heard or read about this site and would like to further understand Patrick, it is an excellent source of information and also well-written and entertaining. The comments he spoke about concerned the numerous readers who insisted that he was brave to hitchhike through all those countries, build a raft and go down the Amazon from its source to the sea and then sail back upriver and spend so much time alone paddling through uncharted territory. Patrick seemed confused as to why they would call him brave. He viewed bravery as doing something even though you were afraid to do it. He said, “Policemen are brave. Firemen are brave. When you were in the military, you said you and your friends were afraid yet you still accomplished your mission. What people don’t understand is that I have never been afraid. I was never afraid when I hitchhiked, never afraid about who would pick me up, never afraid of what would happen if my boat flipped over in the middle of nowhere, never afraid of where or when I would get my next meal or where I would sleep that night.” He paused and said nothing for a long while. For once as a parent, I did something that I recommend to all parents, and it is something that I am not very good at. I said nothing at all. I let him work out on his own what he was feeling until eventually he spoke again. “What really scared me was going to college, getting a job, settling down, and being all the things that you and Mom expected me to be because I felt I owed it to you. That scared me. So for me to be brave, I would have never left.”

One of the readings today was the familiar story of the Prodigal Son. This reading and all of today’s readings were carefully chosen for this occasion by my other incredible son David. None of these readings, as Father Vincent pointed out in his homily, are traditional readings for a funeral. The music was also chosen by David and it is also not traditional mass material. Patrick’s life was not traditional but still managed to touch people mainly due to its unique and personal message. For those who know her, my daughter is also anything but a conformist. She is currently an instructor pilot and will be participating in tomorrow’s memorial flyby formation as my wingman. David and Ellen can relate, I know, to the story of the Prodigal Son. I told Patrick when he left that he was welcome back anytime. We had money for his college saved and we agreed that the money would be there for him when he returned if he chose to go to school. However, I did put an age limit on the use of these funds. The funds would be available until Patrick turned 25, after which we agreed the money would go into an airplane fund and that any plane we bought would be named after him. Patrick agreed to this with no argument, and I felt sure that he thought he would never return to claim this money or continue any formal education.

However, just before Patrick’s 25th birthday, we received a message from him stating he had a plan and wanted to know if he had to go to college in order to receive his education money. The words of my mother came back to me as she would always say, “Any education is no load to bear.” So I asked Patrick what sort of education he was contemplating. He said he wanted to return to the States and get his flight ratings, from private pilot to commercial pilot. This would enable him to get a flying job as a crop duster. He had recently learned he was to be a father so I believe this turn of events had something to do with his plans. He had done the research on just what he needed to get his ratings, and had all of my questions answered before I could even ask them. If you know Patrick, when he decides to do something, he puts his whole heart and soul into it. He did return, just as he planned, and moved quickly through his flying qualifications, logging over 400 hours the first year while working as a waiter at Pappa’s Seafood five days a week. He was within a month of achieving his final flight rating. He had met the love of his life, Isa, and they were planning a future together. I don’t know why he was taken now while performing, for him, such a routine flight. I guess I am not supposed to understand why, but I do know if he had to pick how to go and with whom to go, it would be flying with his lifelong friend Zach Esters. My wife and I used to say privately to each other that Patrick would never grow old and die in a nursing home. I just wish we could have had a little more time with him.

Thank you all for coming and God bless.

-Pat Falterman

Stretching a beaver "Plew"

Back in the day my bro-in-law and me were into the mountain man and eastern long hunter reenacting. We attended rendezvous , made our own buckskin clothing, bought period rifles (1750 to 1840 era) etc. We hunted, trapped, tanned our own skins and grew our own tobacco. It was a good time, but eventually we both grew tired of the play acting and ceased to do it. But every once in a while the old feeling comes out. The other day we were talking about Green river knives and my bro-in-law produced 2 GRK knives (see pic) I traded him back in the late 1970s. I was surprised that he had kept them in his "Plunder" all of this time. So, in true mountain man tradition, I traded him a Beaver plew I had in my "Plunder". I simply soaked it in water over night, cut a beech sapling to make a withe ( a slender flexible branch or twig; especially :  one used as a band or line) then stretched the skin on the withe hoop. It was fun and brought back memories and thoughts about future wilderness adventures.

 plew (pluː) ,plu or plue(Textiles) (formerly in Canada) a beaver skin used as a standard unit of value in the fur trade.[from Canadian French pelu (adj) hairy, from French poilu, from poil hair, from Latin pilus]

Backwoods stew or "chowder"

I woke up today and it felt like fall.....That put me in mind to make a backwoods stew or "stump stew" as my bro-in-law calls it. I have some rabbit meat in the freezer, and the other ingredients around the shack, Ill dust off my cast iron and get to work in a bit. Here is a bit of info for you on the history of this type of dish.

 Backwoods stew or "chowder"  is very different from the New England and Manhattan chowders. The term "chowder" is of French-Indian origin. It refers to both the food and to the social gathering at which it is prepared and served.

Traditionally, the chowder time season commences when the first tomatoes ripen and closes with the first heavy frost. Chowder is usually cooked outside in large black cauldrons, ranging in size from 20 to 70.

The ingredients are added to boiling water according to their cooking time, so that all are cooked and ready at the same time. The main ingredients are beef, chicken, tomatoes, cabbage, lima beans and green beans. Traditionally, squirrel meat was a common addition.

Chowder is usually considered ready when the ingredients have amalgamated into a fairly thick soup, usually taking four or more hours. The kettles must be stirred almost continuously so that the chowder does not "catch" on the base and scorch. This is accomplished using a wooden blade known as a "paddle". Measuring between eighteen to twenty-four inches long and six to eight inches wide, a paddle has had several bored holes through the blade and a handle attached at right angles. One cook will paddle the chowder - causing the bones to rise - and another cook, called "the bone picker," will use tongs to pick out bones as they separate from the meat.

RIP to my hero Patrick Falterman

The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.

 ~ Hunter S. Thompson

Today, I was deeply saddened to find out that my hero and fellow adventurer Patrick Falterman was killed in a plane crash in his home state of Texas. I met and began following Pat about 8 years ago while he was on his hitchhiking trip from Houston, TX to Tierra del fuego in South America. His mental and physical toughness impressed me as well as his writing ability. Our Vagabond travel community is small and Pat will be greatly missed.

Please feel free to check out his blog for awesome travel stories and pictures of his adventurers.
www.hitchtheworld.com

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patrick_Falterman

http://www.yourhoustonnews.com/cleveland/news/plane-crash-kills-two-near-moss-hill/article_254262b0-f904-5240-ad58-ff6c65cee15c.html