Tomahawk in New Mexico

I was at my camp in the Huachuca mountains of South Eastern Arizona, and getting a little bored. I had been living there for the winter, Surviving on the meager funds I had at my disposal and a lot of dumpster diving on the army base. There were some pretty rich pickings in those dumpsters at the training areas. One morning, over coffee, I decided to head for New Mexico. I had no clear destination in mind, I would just headed east to see where I would end up. I packed up and Cached some of my extra gear, then hiked the 5 miles down to town from my "Stealth camp" in the mountains.

After a stop over at my storage locker in the town of Sierra Vista, where I swapped out some gear and clothing. I walked over to the dollar store and bought some sardines, crackers and the cheapest jar of instant coffee I could find. On my way back to the locker to get my pack I stopped at the tortilla factory and picked up 2 packages of corn tortillas, that left me enough $$ to buy a can of skoal dip, and a small bottle of coke. Im not really a pop drinker but I have found that, a few drops of coke in a canteen of water makes it a bit more palateable, especially warm or tepid water that has been sloshing around in a plastic canteen.

I crammed all of my gear into a small Northface "Krag dancer" pack and headed out. I walked to the edge of town then caught my first ride that dropped me off near tombstone. I took Highway 191 north through Arizona, and finally , in the town of Strawberry, Arizona. I caught a ride East with a kid who was going to new mexico. He wasnt a bad cat as I recall, and worked as a chef in phoenix. It was a long ride , and about 20 miles outside of Gallop, NM, I asked him to drop me off. Going into a town at night when you are hitch hiking is a pain in the ass unless you have the funds to get a hotel room.

After I got out of the car and my eyes adjusted to the moon light, I could see some cottonwood trees in the distance and could smell cow crap, so I knew there was a coulee near by. I jumped the fence and walked toward the cottonwoods, After about 300 meters and came upon a bluff over looking the coulee. I set my tent up near there with some sage brush shielding me from any view of the road. I have always made hidden camps, mostly for 2 reasons; 1. im probably trespassing and 2. I dont trust folks 100%. There is a line from a movie I remember, "It is very imprudent to let your presence be known in hostile country". Words to live by.

It was good to relax, eat some food, then stretch out in my tent. It had been a long day of travel and I was tired. I didnt have a sleeping bag with me, Just an Army poncho liner, and it got a bit cool toward morning. I tend to go by the old U.S. Army Infantry saying "Travel light freeze at night", it certainly held true that night.

In the morning, it was see your breath cold. After packing up, I headed down into the coulee out of site of the road, then built a small twig fire from sage brush. I took out my canteen cup, with lid, G.I. Spoon, coffee and tortillas. I heated some water for coffee, and scorched a few tortillas for breakfast. The cheap coffee I bought was horrible, so I added some coke to sweeten it up. The combo of coke and coffee is my own version of "Jolt cola".

Thusly refreshed, I headed up to the road and stuck out my thumb, the rest of the day was a series of rides with some very interesting folks.

My last ride picked me up just outside of the Jicarilla Apache Reservation near the town of Jicarilla, new Mexico, the term Jicarilla comes from Mexican Spanish and means "Little Baskets". This guy was a self proclaimed pot grower and claimed he had plantations all over the mountains. He told me he was heading toward Taos and knew of a place near Valdez that was good for camping.

The Dude dropped me off in the mountains outside of Valdez, New Mexico, in the Hondo river valley, of the Beautiful Sangre De Cristo Mountains. It is a pretty, riparian area with lots of wild edibles to be had. Its only drawback is that it is near Taos, NM, which like Tombstone, Az, has become a major tourist trap, with over priced everything.

I shouldered my pack then headed off the road and into the woods, walking toward the river. I didn't have much food left in my pack, but my last ride gave me some beer, corn chips and donuts. It was late in the afternoon so I dropped my pack , took off my leather hiking boots and changed into my canvas high top sneakers. There were numerous large dandelion plants growing at this spot so I pulled up several and cut out the "crown" where the leaves meet the root. Earlier in the day I had collected some burdock root and curly dock while on the Jicarilla Apache reservation.

wading knee deep into the river, I went searching for crayfish or any type of wild plant edibles that I may find. I had already bagged 2 decent sized crayfish when I spied a bunch of water cress growing in a small stream feeding into the Hondo.

I drew my old Green River knife from its raw hide neck sheath and carefully cut several bunches of cress. This combined with the burdock root,dandelion crowns, and curly dock I had collected earlier would make the base for a decent stew. Placing the cress into my net bag along with my crayfish ,I waded back into the stream to look for more. After about 15 minutes more searching I ended up with a total of 5 Crayfish for my stew. It was a good haul.

Wading back down stream to where my pack was stashed, I Picked up my gear and looked about for a decent place to camp. I spotted a good looking area with some rocks behind and a small cosp of aspens to the front, I decided to pitch my tent there.

It took me about 10 minutes to set up my tent and tarp and to change out of my wet high top sneakers and back into my hiking boots. Grabbing my fishing line I headed back to the stream to try my luck , I was surprised to catch 2 decent sized trout, one right after the other.

A sprinkle of rain had began, so I cleaned my fish at the stream and headed back to my camp to gathered some fire wood and tinder. I wanted to get a fire going and cook my fish and wild veggies.

I chopped up the fish and veggies and threw that, along with the crayfish into my small blue enameled cooking pot. I added some salt,and let it cook until the fish fell apart. After the stew had cooked I added some crushed chillies, olive oil,and a dash of vinegar for flavoring. I had a few beat up corn tortillas in my pack so I heated those on the coals and made a canteen cup of coffee.

All in all it was a tasty meal, I rounded it off with a few handfulls of home made trail mix and raw oatmeal. Sitting there by my fire looking around, I noticed that the river bluffs reminded me of sleeping mountain lions, I listened to the sound of the aspen leaves as they danced on the wind, and in the gathering twilight I could see bats and nightjars swoop and dive at the insects along the river. It was a good way to spend a summer evening. You dont see Riparian animals too much in my neck of the Arizona Mountains.

It was refreshing to be there along the Hondo.I hung out for a few days along the river and the Bull of the woods area, it was beautiful there, and I did some hiking near Wheeler peak , which is the highest point in New Mexico.

After about a week of hiking around and hitching rides into Taos for supplies, I packed up and headed north to Raton to stop off and see my friend Alan and check on my favorite Mule Arlene. I managed to get to Raton with 3 rides, one was from a game warden....It marks the first time I was ever given a ride by law enforcement while Hitchhiking. Alan was out and About when I arrived so I dropped my pack in the Tack room and walked out in the pasture to see if his Remuda was around. but, no, they were not there except for Chief and another horse I didnt recognize. The rest of the remuda must be up in the hills above Raton, grazing on fresh grass.

I went back to the tack room and raided one of the Kayak boxes for some mountain house meals, I got down a stove, then heated some water for javva and to rehydrate the meals. I was 1/2 way through my 2nd freeze dried meal when Alan showed up. Ha had to run a few errands and as luck would have it, getting ready to head up to the NM/Colorado state line to set up a camp for a horse pack trip. We hopped on the quad runner and went out to wrangle the rest of the stock. Followed by a pack of dogs and a cloud of dust.

The area where the Remuda was at, is one of my favorite environments, it is where the mountains meet the prairie, so you find plants and trees from both areas there. It is a very rich environment. With lots of great Elk, deer, and Bear hunting in the Fall. We drove the quad up the fire break and the dogs were out ahead of us - they knew the deal and so did the horses and mules. With a lot of barking, some shouting and a bit of whistling, we got the equines headed down hill. I was actually able to rope tequila - one of my favorite horses, and hopped up on him for the ride back down the mountain. I dont know why, but for me, the scenery seems to be prettier if you are forked up on a good horse or mule.

Anyway, we drove stock down to the corrall, and would come fetch them up in the morning, we threw out a few bales of hay , then went back to the barn and loaded into a 10 horse trailer, all of the needed saddles, tentage, ropes and food for an over night trip.We were taking along Chief, Tequila, Arlene, Jake, Janet, Josie, and a couple others I didnt know. But all of Alans stock are good stout bastards and trail savvy, not to mention well trained. In my 7 years as a hunting guide, working around Mules, I found that there are 2 things they dont like - dogs and strangers..and, they can spot a rookie pretty quick. Though Im far from a rookie about working with Equines, I didnt know some of the newer Animals in Alans remuda so, I was going to work with Arlene as my mount, then josie and janet as pack animals.

We made all things ready for an early morning departure, then Al broke out some elk steaks and a gallon of cheap red wine....What a great way to spend a summer evening! sitting around outside, sipping wine, grilling bush meat, and swapping yarns with an old friend....I always liked that part of New Mexico as well, it is one of my favorite places.

Wayyy too early the next AM,we made guides coffee, then hopped in the truck and drove the trailer down to get the Horses and Mules, we caught them up, tied them off to the trailer, then groomed and saddled each animal, hooking the bridle and bit to the horn of our riding mounts saddles. After loading up, we drove to the sugarite state park on the NM/Colorado state line, parked the trailer and truck, unloaded the animals, packed our mules, with tents to set up for the upcoming guests, our food, water, a stove and some fuel, along with an axe, and a cross cut saw. Then we bitted our riding mounts, saddled up and lit out down the trail.

It was cool in the forest, there was a slight chill in the air, but it was refreshing to be out. Mounted on a good savvy trail Mule has always been a pleasure to me, it is one of the things I have always enjoyed. We climbed higher into the mountains , parts of the trail were pretty steep but Arlene had no trouble hauling me. Alans little black pack Mule, Jake was being a bit of a problem though, by fighting the others, and constantly trying to pull the lead rope away from Al.

I heard my friend say "Jake, you little Bastard" about 1000 times on that ride. There is something about black mules, they are - in my experience - always causing problems. Compared to red mules, which I have found are easier to work with. In fact, one Guide outfit I worked at in Montana would not mix red and black mules together in the same string. It was either all red mules or black mules. Never mixing horses into the pack string either. Horses are a pain in the ass on the trail, and compared to a good tough mule are delicate. Needing grain, special care, always tearing up a pack string etc. I have found that even the dumbest mule is still 10 times smarter then the smartest horse.

It took a few hours to get up to the first camp site area. We set up a picket line, then unsaddled all but our riding mounts and 2 pack animals. Taking the Axe and crosscut saw we went out and cut dead standing trees to make a tent frame for the sheep herder tent we brought along for the future guests. We set up the tent, then saddled up and went to the next location to do the same thing. We returned to the 1st camp site, unsaddled the rest of the stock, watered them, and broke out the grain and alfalfa.

There was no fire danger as of yet so we kindled a flame in the true Guides fashion with Ohio blue tip matches and coleman fuel. I cooked up a big pot of spaghetti,on the coleman stove, made coffee, and Alan dug a mostly full bottle of crown royal whiskey out of his war bag. We polished off dinner with a few apples and gave the cores to the pack stock. We also fed the dogs from the bag of dried food we brought along.

We sat around sipping coffee fortified with crown royal, swapped some lies and war stories about past hunts, and the people and Animals we have known. Alan, like most mountain man/cowboy types is very well read, and has a college education, it is always a pleasure to talk to him. He can intelligently talk about or discuss most any topic, with the exception of sports - same with me. I have never had an interest in sports, and find it silly, that most city types spend their lives worrying about what team is going to the toilet bowl or what ever it is called. To each his or her own I guess.

It was a good time up there in the woods with my friend Al and some of my favorite Animals. We eventually grew quiet, there were longer pauses in the conversation. I could see that my friend was deep in thought about something besides being here in the moment. I soon fell to sleep there by the fire, and awoke to throw a saddle pad over me and under me, to help ward off the night time chill. In the morning we packed up, saddled up, and hit the trail back to Raton. It was a good trip, but I was bound for another adventure.

Simon on the island of Reunion

Day 1:
I was leaving Saint-Denis heading straight to the south on some broad but pretty steep hiking path.
Quickly gaining higher ground I got a beautiful view over the city and the coastline, until finally the forest got thicker.
Passing the village of Le Brûle, where the local youth was having some kind of party, I reached the area of Camp Marmode in the late afternoon and set up sheler for the night.
Marmode is a leisure area on the border of the national park, which provides some wells and also prepared fireplaces.
I had a meal of rice & bread and went to sleep in my hammock.

Day 2:
The night was uncomfortable cold, and I realized thaht the jungle sleeping bag is on it's limits up here in the hills.
I made a strong black coffee to heat up myself and got ready to move on. At least the last-minute homemade alcohol stove is working great.
The terrain got even steeper today, with a lot of ups and downs. Finally, the decent into the valley of the Galets river began.

Day 3:
Getting to the bottom of the alley took me until nightfall yesterday, and my camp for the night was just the hammock between two trees on the edge of the river,
quickly thrown together in the darkness. Nevertheless, sleep was good this time, and today was a nice and easy hike following the river into the basin of Mafate,
which is still without a connection to the road network of the island and supplied fully by helicopters and people carrying their stuff over the mountains I crossed the last two days.
Passing the villages of Cayenne and Ilet de Beos, where I bought a bottle of ice cold Coca Cola from a little grocery shop located in a reed thatched hut by road. I found a nice spot for the night in a little pine forest.
Setting up hammock and mosquito net gest some kind of routine by now, and since the weather was good and no rain in sight I didn't setted up the tarp most nights.
A meal of lentils and sausages was prepared quickly and I later fell asleep to the sounds of drums and singing from the nearby village.

Day 4:
Today I went through the swampy rainforest in the Grand Sables area, realized the expected shelter place is no good and pushed on to the town o Hell Bourg.
I hitchhiked the last kilometers once I got out of the jungle into a more rural area and even got a neat and cheap accomodation in one of the typical creol wooden cabons. A hot shower and a hot meal served by the owner completed the day.
What I realized today is that the influence of the french goverment does not reach into the backcountry of the island, and fortunately also the french attitude is gone here. This is africa, and somehow I don't think that has to be bad.

Day 5:
I stocked up my supplys in Hell Bourg, mainly fresh fruits and cans of thuna. I also made the decision to bypass the Piton des Neiges (highest mountain on the island), because I'm doing already enough meters up and down every day.
(On a note, I returned two weeks later to the center of the island just to get on top of that mountain.)
For almost the whole day I followed a dirtroad that was created timber workers. I reached Camp Bebour, an old sugar cane farm that is abandoned now. A thick fog covered everything and the humidity condensated on the walls and clothing.
I assembled a makeshift bed in one of the empty buildings using parts of old üalettes and a loose door. I expected rain for the night so it was good to be indoors.

Day 6:
The weather was clear again the next morning. I hiked further south, and the rainforest opened up to a steppe-terrain with a few cattle farms in the wide open. On the horizon I can now see the vulcanious ridges of the Piton Fournaise.
While forcing myself up that ridge that seperates the vulcanious desert from the steppe, at arround 2000m above sea (consider the whole trip started at the coast)it got really sunny, and I realized that I left the clouds below me.
Seeing some of the huge peaks in the slowly setting sun above the ocean of clouds was an amazing view. I also marks how the area arround the vulcan got more and more sureal.
I started to run out of water when I reached the high point of the ridge, so I decided to continue the decent on the other side, into the desert, by night. I would sweat less and I knew the next cottage is not even a days march away.
After reaching the desert flat at arround 4 in the morning, I placed myself under some crippled small trees, rolled my sleeping bag out and napped for a few hours. The sky up here was amazing, it was a almost full moon and the stars
were so different from my home on the northern hemisphere. Thankfully, the lava sand was still warm from the heat it absorbed during the day. While gazing at the stars, I realized a strange red shine on the south-eastern horizon.

Day 7:
I was back on the trail by 7, crossing the desert towards the east and heading straight for the cottage. My waterbottles were all empty, and I now and then ate some pieces of the orange I had bought in Hell Bourg.
I reached the cottage by noon, gladly refilled my waterbbottles at the tap, andgot me a cup of coffee at the little tourists shop. There were a lot of tourists, and as i figured out, the red shine I saw last night was an ongoing eruption
of the vulcan. Which is an absolutely amazing sight. Seriously, it makes you feel small and hubmle. It is beautiful, yet intimidating.
There was a bushfire due to the eruption, and I decided to move to a safe shelter until the way to the southern coast was safe. Two hours to the north of the vulcan was a little hut next to a cattle farm, were I was away from the tourists,
had a steady supply on water through the waterhole on the farm, and the hut provided shelter.

Day 8:
It was stormy today, so I spend most of the time inside. Did some repairs on my gear, cooked 2 hot meals and finished "The Heart Of Darkness". I decided to dump my long trouser, because it was ripped beyond any chance of stiching it up.
Still had a short one and it will only get warmer the more I get towards the coast. I harvested all buttons for my swing kit though.

Day 9:
Time to move again. I'm getting bored and my supplies low. Not the rice and lentils, but the tasty stuff. I once again passed the vulcan and went back into the desert. The air was a thick mix of fog and cold smoke, and the view less than 100m.
I followed little rock piles that marked the way through the black vulcanic desert. From time to time I passed burnt down trees, and as the view got better I could see the black cones of smaller, long gone cold vulcans.
I spent almost the whole day crossing this surreal wasteland, and when I setted up the hamock for my last night in the outdoors, it was almost dark. I was back in the rainforest again, and the night was filled with the sound of unknown birds
and insects.

Day 10:
It started to rain last night and I had a mouse that chewed on my backpack. With the first daylight that got through the dense treetops I packed up my stuff and got back on the trail. It was only going downhill and on a few occassions, I could see the ocean again.
The jungle reaches almost to the shore, and once it opened I had the black cliffs of Cap Merchant straight in front of me. I walked out to the edge, stood there in the salty breeze, heard the thunder of the rolling waves and knew I have made it.
I crossed the island of Reunion.

Spring bushcraft canoe expedition JMBS Maine

 

Part 8 of 15 shot in the North Maine Woods on our spring bushcraft canoe expedition course. In this episode we see some large native brook trout caught on a fly, learn about the Vers-Sweeper, see Big Fish cooking gingerbread in the reflector oven, and catch up with Whiskey Jack.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBNSH59hxaU 

H.W. Tilman Explorer

From Wikipedia cause im wayyyy too lazy to type it out myself......

Major Harold William "Bill" Tilman, CBE, DSO, MC and Bar, (14 February 1898–1977) was an English mountaineer and explorer, renowned for his Himalayan climbs and sailing voyages.

 Tilman was born on 14 February 1898 in Wallasey in Cheshire, the son of a well-to-do sugar merchant John Hinkes Tilman and his wife Adeline Schwabe (née Rees). He was educated at Berkhamsted Boys school. At the age of 18, Tilman was commissioned into the Royal Field Artillery and fought in the First World War, including the Battle of the Somme, and was twice awarded the Military Cross for bravery. His climbing career, however, began with his acquaintance with Eric Shipton in Kenya, East Africa, where they were both coffee growers. Beginning with their joint traverse of Mount Kenya in 1929 and their ascents of Kilimanjaro and the fabled "Mountains of the Moon" Ruwenzori, Shipton and Tilman formed one of the most famed partnerships in mountaineering history. When it came time to leave Africa, Tilman was not content with merely flying home but rode a bicycle across the continent to the West Coast where he embarked for England.

 He later volunteered for service in the Second World War, seeing action in North Africa, and on the beaches at Dunkirk. He then was dropped by parachute behind enemy lines to fight with Albanian and Italian partisans, was awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his efforts, and the keys to the city of Belluno which he helped save from occupation and destruction.

Following his military career behind enemy lines in the Second World War, Tilman took up deep sea sailing. Sailing in deep seas on the Bristol Channel Pilot Cutter Mischief, which he purchased in 1954, and subsequently on his other pilot cutters Sea Breeze and Baroque, Tilman voyaged to Arctic and Antarctic waters in search of new and uncharted mountains to climb. On his last voyage in 1977, in his eightieth year, Tilman was invited to ship as crew in En Avant with mountaineers sailing to the South Atlantic to climb Smith Island. The expedition was led, and the boat skippered, by the youthful Simon Richardson. He and his crew aboard the old, converted steel tug made it successfully and without incident to Rio de Janeiro. Thereafter, en route to the Falkland Islands, they disappeared without trace - it was presumed the ship had foundered with all hands.
Tilman was involved in two of the 1930s Mount Everest expeditions - participating in the 1935 Reconnaissance Expedition, and reaching 27,200 feet without oxygen as the expedition leader in 1938. He penetrated the Nanda Devi sanctuary with Eric Shipton in 1934, and in 1936 he went on to lead an Anglo-American expedition to Nanda Devi. With the support of a team which included Peter Lloyd and H. Adams Carter, Tilman and Noel Odell succeeded in making the first ascent of the 7,816 metres (25,643 ft) mountain, which remained the highest summit climbed by man until 1950. Tilman later described their arrival on the summit:

Odell had brought a thermometer, and no doubt sighed for the hypsometer. From it we found that the air temperature was 20 °F (−7 °C) but in the absence of the wind we could bask gratefully in the friendly rays of our late enemy the sun. It was difficult to realise that we were actually standing on top of the same peak which we had viewed two months ago from Ranikhet, and which had then appeared incredibly remote and inaccessible, and it gave us a curious feeling of exaltation to know that we were above every peak within a hundred miles on either hand. Dhaulagiri, 1,000ft higher, and 200 miles away in Nepal, was our nearest rival. I believe we so far forgot ourselves as to shake hands on it.^[1]

In 1939, Tilman was the first man to attempt climbing in the remote and unexplored Assam Himalaya, exploring the Southern approaches of Gori Chen, 6538 metres, before his team succumbed to malaria. In 1947 he attempted Rakaposhi, then made his way to Kashgar to join up with Eric Shipton in a lightweight attempt on Muztagh Ata, 7546 metres, which nearly succeeded. On his way back to India, he detoured through Afghanistan's Wakhan Corridor to see the source of the river Oxus. During his extensive exploration of the areas of Langtang, Ganesh and Manang in Nepal in 1949, Tilman was the first to ascend Paldor, 5896 metres, and found the pass named after him beyond Gangchempo.
He was awarded in 1952 the Royal Geographical Society's Founder's Gold Medal for his achievements.

Sam Larsons new book

I'm happy to finally announce a project that I've been working on for t

In To Tread in Wild Places I went out to try to explain wilderness living skills to a 13 year old me. It's a relatively quick read at 160 pages, but my goal was to trim the metaphorical fat that exists in many books on this subject. For example, instead of showing 20 different ways to set up a tarp, I show a handful of ways (maybe 5) that happen to work really well. Everything is kept simple and straight forward.
The book also includes stories about my time in the wilderness from Maine, to Arizona, and yes, even British Columbia. These stories give practical scenarios where the skills shown in this book were utilized.
I wanted to share a bit of the book with you guys, just to give you a better understanding of what it presents, and why I wrote it in the first place.

The book is currently on pre-order for the paperback version (estimated ship date is December 7th, and it is currently available for instant download

Currently, this is only shipping to the United States. If you live elsewhere, shoot me an email at sam@woodsongwilderness.com if you want a paperback (ebook is available to you still)

Buy Now

Here are the first 5 pages... enjoy!

Introduction

I did a lot of deep thinking before deciding to write this book.
After all, aren’t there enough “survival” books out there already? Hasn’t everything already been said, recorded or shared?
I can assure you right now that none of the content in this book is new. In fact, most of it is very old. My reason for writing this book is simple.
The earliest memory I have of my outdoor pursuits involves a PVC pipe bow that my parents bought for me for Christmas when I was 4 years old. I irritated squirrels in the backyard and constantly practiced my shooting. When I got a bit older I began to ask my parents about hunting and fishing. Throughout history, fathers have been the source for hunting knowledge. If you find a hunter and ask him how he got started, odds are he’d tell you his old man taught him. My dad was a pastor and had only vague memories of hunting as a kid with his father, most of which involved his favorite part about those hunting trips, eating bologna sandwiches. This is probably where most people would give up and look elsewhere for ways to have a good time. Basketball, baseball, football… all that good stuff. However, my loving parents saw that this had really become a passion of mine, so they looked for people in our community to help me. Soon I was heading for the hills every weekend to chase fish and game, and explore.
Growing up I always dreamed of being an explorer. I would spend my life searching the unexplored corners of the world, mapping new lands, and getting chased by a variety of large, hairy carnivores. Maybe someday I would discover a land that had already been discovered, and I would befriend the native tribes and learn their ways. This was a great plan, but when I saw my first globe at school, I began to feel a bit disheartened. What was I going to do with my life if there weren’t any undiscovered lands?
I forget exactly how old I was when I first stepped into our local history museum, but I don’t think I was much older than 3rd grade.  I remember getting out of the elevator and seeing one of the most incredible things that anyone can ever witness. There was a small TV screen that was playing a video of a man making a spear point through a process called “flint knapping.’ Next to the TV screen was a display of old arrowheads and spear points. Next to that was a miniature earth lodge. Above the display was a banner that read “The First Nebraskans.”
It wasn’t a macho thing. The man wasn’t beating his chest or wresting a bear. He just sat there on a stump and turned a stone into a spear point. I remember thinking ‘if I can’t be an explorer, I want to be like this guy.’ It hit me that although we humans basically know everything about the topography of the earth, there is still much to be explored in regards to how humans have interacted with the earth during our history.
Another major turning point in my life came when I got the opportunity to take part in a canoeing expedition in Ontario the summer before my freshman year of high school. I remember gathering up all of my belongings, tools, old Christmas gifts, and whatever else I could find, and selling them to make enough money for the trip. During my time in Ontario I met a guide who happened to be named Sam as well. She was a Samantha, but over the course of our week in the wilderness I observed her resilience through storms and long days of paddling. She was a fearless leader who never lost her positive attitude. She showed me what toughness was supposed to look like. She taught by example. I remember picturing myself in Sam’s shoes. Would I ever be a fearless leader? I resolved to find out…

Even after these great experiences at a young age I still didn’t have a basic set of wilderness living skills. I had a lot of ideas and theories of how I could live in the wild and have adventures, and I had spent a considerable amount of time in wild places, but that was about it. I eventually turned to books to learn more about the forest.
I love books. In fact, I love reading and encouraging younger folks to explore so much that I’ve included a link to my online reading list at the end of this book. But, of the 100s of excellent books on the genre of wilderness living, none of them were composed specifically for 13 year old Sam. Some were too broad, some too advanced, some weren’t relevant to me and the resources that I had access to.
I wrote this book, because I wanted to write the book that I wish I had read as a youth. I wanted to write a book for the indoor oriented folks who are curious what adventure might lie beyond highways and cell phone coverage. I wanted to write a book that would give the young, or beginning woodsman a well-rounded view of what it takes to live comfortably in the wilderness with limited equipment. I wanted to write a book that my parents could have simply handed to the 13 year old Sam and said, ‘go for it!’
So… here we go.
Let’s jump right in! The sooner I finish this book, the sooner I can go play in the woods again.

Freedom in the Forest

I believe that the only way to feel truly free is to experience wild places, either by foot or paddle. During this time only my strokes or footsteps dictate my direction. Each action is purposeful, and meaningful.
Perhaps the true reason for why I decided to write this book is to provide people with the necessary skills to experience this freedom. A solid base of wilderness skills removes or lessens the need for money or complex social hierarchy.
It is our job to spread the joy of the natural world, not to out-do one another. This becomes clearer every time we gaze over an enormous expanse of land or water. It only takes one big storm for a person to learn that (for better or worse) nature doesn’t play favorites, and it’s far more powerful than any person.

Many books have been written about what modern humans refer to as “survival” and many more will be written after this one. I will never claim that my teachings are superior, but rather, that an appreciation for the outdoor lifestyle is, in some capacity, necessary for everyone who treads the earth.

In the 21st century we strut into the woods with our expensive backpacks, we sleep under perfectly manufactured nylon tents, we cook with our omni-fuel-ultra-stove 3500s, and then we sit back and say “I sure have this ‘living in the woods’ thing down.” We walk on trails and look at scenery without knowing anything about the flora and fauna surrounding us, let alone how to utilize it in a way that would allow one to live in the forest for any length of time.

Concerning the Internet

Perhaps the greatest hypocrisy I see amongst outdoor enthusiasts in our culture is the reliance that our outdoor community has on the internet. This is not to say that it is bad to use the internet or that there isn’t good content available online; I simply fear that relying too heavily on such sources can lead one to disregard a practical education of the natural world to an unsafe and unhealthy extent.
Although a great deal of learning can be done through the web, it doesn’t compare to time spent in the woods. It’s important to note that the internet (and television) should be used as a tool to draw people towards the natural world, not a substitute for experiences. There is no “virtual reality” for the wilderness. It greaves me to think that there are people who attempt to satisfy their urge to explore wild places by indulging in reality television and the internet. It’s like eating old bacon bits every night, when you could be chowing down on a big, juicy steak (sorry vegans, I can’t think of an analogy for you; got steak on the brain).

A human needs to tread in wild places; to breathe clean air, to smell the prairies and the forests. Sure, it’s dirty. The real world is often uncomfortable, and dirty, but at least it’s real. 

Maps.....

 “When I was a little chap, I had a passion for maps. At that time there were many blank spaces on earth. But there was one yet, the biggest, the most blank, that I had a hankering after”

This statement by Charles Marlow in the book “Heart of darkness” by Joseph Conrad, struck a cord with me when I was about 12 years old. I have always loved maps, and can spend hours reading an atlas like others will read a novel. My dream as a youth was to travel the world and see those "blank spaces", and perhaps help fill a few in. As a kid I spent countless hours learning how to draw maps the old school way (like Lewis & Clark),or by using cartographers tools. 

Had I know the U.S. Army had a cartography program/MOS I would not have wasted all of my military years in the Infantry. Anyhoo, Grab an atlas sometime and thumb through it, I'm sure you will find something interesting and learn a thing or two.

Tomahawk

 

Knife use by: "guns" in Cebu

Guns Beltran Pestaño

 

I Carried this partially home made knife(The handle is hand pounded copper) for a whole week, used it to cut candy and biscuit packaging, whittle emergency wooden door stops, peel and cut apples in half, cut meat, potatoes and carrots for a lazy man's stew, cut and sliced onions, tomatoes and other veggies for food prep, worked indoors and outdoors, got soaked in pouring rain during one of my motorcycle rides going home, and after the day and work is done all i have to do is wash it in warm soapy water to remove dried fruit juices and food particles, give it a good shake, a thorough wipe down a drop of oil at the pivot and she is back for more action. I kinda noticed also how it patina'd with everyday handling and use. Now she has that character that a lot of people force on her, mine is going slow and steady and has aged with everyday use. Thomas D Moore was right carry and use your knife like no other.