DIME – WHORE

And this is no shit! In 2003/2004 I was doing logistics work for a youth wilderness program operating in the Big Bend Texas National park area.
When I came across a job announcement from a company I will call “Dime-whore”. The job was to work as an armed security officer in the small Middle Eastern country of Qatar. I figured what the heck and filled out the application, attached my resume along with the other requested documents and sent it to the recruiter.
It wasn’t more than 10 minutes before the recruiter called me on my company issued cell phone and began to give me his spiel about the job.
After a few minutes of listening to this recruiter I told him to mail me the recruitment packet and I would get it back to him as soon as I completed all of it. Thus began my 1^st encounter an extremely annoying recruiter .
This guy called me several times a day, every day until I completed all of the papers. I figured then and there that the Job was either a really bad one ,and he didn’t want to loose a sucker Orrrrr….. I was highly qualified and my services were needed – the former proved to be true.
What I did like was the free travel to Qatar and the speed in which this company got me in country. The very next day after completing my papers, I was at the Tucson, Arizona airport for first leg of my journey to Qatar.
The trip took me to Atlanta, Frankfurt Germany, Bahrain, and then Qatar. I was told that a representative of the company would be there to meet upon arrival but, of course that didn’t happen. Taking that information to Heart, I foolishly did not write down any number or names etc. The only name I had was the one of the company I would be working for.
After 17 hours in the back of an airplane and 2 or 3 plastic meals, I wasn’t in the mood for too many problems, and my bullshitameter was pegged. After about an hour of sitting around waiting for a company representative to arrive I happened to hear a guy speaking American English so I asked him if he knew the number to the “Dime-whore” people on the U.S. Army base. As luck would have it he did and gave them a call. I thanked the man for his help and sat down to wait for the rep to show up.
After another hour or so I saw a guy approaching holding a sign upside down that said “Dime-whore”, I had to chuckle at this moron who just happened to look like a cross between Humpty Dumpty and Clem Kadiddlehopper. But, I was relieved to finally see someone so I could at least go to my apartment to get some sleep.  I stuck out my hand and introduced myself and all this A-hole could say was “Grab your shit”, “Let’s go”.
And so began my association with most likely the worst employer I have ever had in my life. This job was filled with the largest bunch of neurotics, misfits and losers (my self included) I had ever seen in one place.
This Job seemed to be a dumping ground for X army Special Forces, Navy SEALS, Air Force PJ’s , Rangers etc. Oh, and SWAT team members. And just about everyone I spoke with had an advanced degree from a university. I was a miracle to have that many highly qualified people in one spot!
In actuality, aside from a few guys with legit qualifications, most of the  people working there were non combat arms types like cooks, secretaries and truck drivers. There was also a smattering of correctional officers and former policemen. I noticed that a lot of the Police officers who worked there had been fired from or asked to resign from their jobs in the states. We even had one guy that got his experience from being a Wal-Mart security guard!
Out of the hundreds of guys that cycled through that job I only met maybe 10 that were what I would call “Normal”. Those guys headed out to better jobs with other military contracting companies is a very short time.
I completed my 1 year contract with this company but it was a difficult because there always seems to be guys and gals around who love to make things more difficult then they need to be.
During my “Training” I was issued 3 sets of uniforms, a Kevlar helmet with no head band or chin strap. A gas mask with no filters, a pistol belt with a broken buckle, a broken right handed pistol holster (I’m left handed), 2 ammo pouches with no buckles and a bullet proof vest with no trauma plates,  And the most uncomfortable pair of boots I have ever worn.Later on I purchased my own equipment and boots out of pocket.
The training consisted mostly of standing around on the various posts listening to the guys who had been there for a while complain about the job. One thing though, we did get to qualify with the M16A2 rifle and do a familiarization fire on the M2 50 cal machine gun.And prior to deployment, I had to quality with a 9mm pistol on a police standards course.
In due time, I was assigned to the main gate of the base. Personally, I think it was because I could speak complete sentences and didn’t use several colorful metaphors in trying to describe something.
On the gate I met 4 interesting guys with whom I enjoyed working. One of the guys, Jon martin, had traveled all over the world for free doing military contracts. We ended up sharing an apartment together. He was a good roomie and usually had a few lovely ladies hanging around.
Another guy was Lee Head AKA “the pimp of Doha” this rascal had more ladies in the year I was there then Kareem Abdul Jabar claimed to have had in his basketball career. Lee was from Florida if I remember correctly, and was a former county deputy and army vet. Lee had some great stories from his days as a cop in the sunshine state.
Then there was Roger Her from North Carolina, he was a good guy out building a resume to be a military contractor. I admire the fact that he never made any claims about being anything like a SWAT cop, army ranger or navy seal ,commando, CIA, or gung ho guy.
What impressed me is that as shitty as this job was, Roger did it every day in a dedicated professional manner. And later on he went to K9 handler’s school then worked in Iraq as a dog handler for 2 or 3 years.
And finally the Old vet Jimmy Reser. He had vast experience with armies all over the world and was the best K9 handler I have ever met or had the privilege to work with. Jimmy is an expert horse/mule handler, hunter and mountain man. He also liked to smoke Cuban cigars as much as I do.
I loved working with these guys and a few others, but the majority were pretty worthless.After working on the main gate for a while in the heat, humidity and blazing sun I began to look around for other options.
While on the Bus coming into work I noticed some M2 machine gun positions with the guys manning them sitting around in the shade. I asked about them and was surprised to hear that most people didn’t like to man those positions or work in the guard towers due to boredom. Hell Bells! I’m an introvert and it sounded perfect to me.
What I hated most about working the gates was the forced interaction with folks coming on and off base. But worst of all was interacting with my fellow employees aside from the ones I mentioned.
In a tower or on a gun I could sit there in relative peace and quiet unless some A-hole came by to test my knowledge of the post orders and weapons etc., which was pretty common. I never understood those guys that have to make things more difficult then they need to be.
It was my practice to avoid talking to or hanging out with 90+% of the guys I worked with. The recruiters who hired there characters must have went to every halfway house and bus station in the USA looking for people. Most were severe alcoholics and chain smokers and were usually broke all of the time due to spending all of their per dium and pay on booze, hookers and smokes.
Qatar itself was a tiny shit hole of a country. Like all Middle Eastern countries it is not a pleasant place to live due to the rules and laws of Islam where everything is “Haram”. Now, I’m all for religious freedom and freedom of choice but Islam does not allow for any lateral movement. I love pork products, booze and ladies. If you are Muslim it is Haram – forbidden. And if you are not Muslim it is still Haram.
I can’t live under that yoke. Besides, anyplace where it is forbidden to hold hands with or kiss a lady in public is not my kind of place.
I believe and many of my friends believe that the Middle East was (and still is to me) a real shit hole place to live. Less than 60 years ago those folks were living in tents in the desert now they are enjoying the good life due to oil which foreigners helped them find, when the oil runs out they will be back to living in tents again.
Anyway, back to “Dime-whore”, I worked there for a year mostly on the M2 positions or in the towers. I got lucky and made friends with the project manager who happened to be from Arizona. The PM hooked me up with a sweet gig at the Primary ammo supply point about 40 miles from the base. Aside from the drive to and from work it was a great place to work. It is a case of simple demographics – fewer people, fewer problems.
PSP was peopled by older guys, most were retired army or USMC and were not into the drama associated with the younger crowd. If I had not gone to PSP I would have not returned from my vacation.
In Qatar, I worked 7 months straight before I had a day off, then I went on vacation. In fact my 2 weeks of vacation, and the 10 scheduled days off I had in a year, were my only free time in Qatar.
After returning from my vacation in Nepal, I was sitting on my front porch smoking a Cuban cigar in the apartment complex where a lot of us lived, when I saw this piratical looking character walking around. I was tempted to call security but noticed he looked like an American…..
Turns out he was indeed American – from Minnesota of all places! I struck up a conversation with him because he had an intelligent looking face. His name was Jeff Olson and as I was to learn later, one of the most piratical, scallywag, intelligent rascals I ever ran into.
Jeff had something like 10 years in the USAF security field, worked as an EMT , rode horses, loved guns, travel and survival stuff. My kinda guy! After a few months of working at the PSP, I was offered a position as the force protection equipment tech, or FPET/ DYN4, this job was to take care of all the electronic equipment used in the security of the base – easy peasy. I worked as the FPET for the remainder of my time in Qatar, I decided not to renew my contract even with this easy job. There were too many Army senior officers that really got on my nerves and also too many “Dime – whore” officers that were equally annoying.
Living and working in Qatar as a military contractor was a good experience for me, I learned that the contractor world is too full of self-important types for me, and I also learned that I do not care to work in that environment . I’ll stick to the outdoors where the people I know are real and not trying to impress me with bullshit.


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The Sudan; Darfur Goat BBQ

Back in 2008 when I was working in Darfur, Sudan my South African and Zimbabwean co- workers decided to throw a South African style BBQ to celebrate the completion of our new Kitchen building project.

We purchased a Goat from a local merchant in the town of Nyala which is the capital of southern Darfur. The Goat was killed in the Local Muslim fashion otherwise our Islamic brethren would not eat it or even touch the meat.

My good friends Patrick, Andrew and Hansie (The Bear) who were the Mofo’s in charge of this operation made a combination of spices and herbs mixed with coca cola then injected it into the meat by way of a syringe given to us by the medical staff.

Next we built a fire in the BBQ pit and wired the Goat to the rack and rubbed in a bit more of the coke and spice concoction,when the coals were just right Patrick and Hansie placed the Goat on the Spit and flipped the switch on the electric motor to operated the turning of the spit.

While the Goat was turning on the spit there was little for the rest of us to do except imbibe our favorite beverage. Mine consisted of  non alcoholic beer and some home made Russian “Vodka” made from potatoes, I like to call this mix “Desert Madness”, it had a good kick but smelled a bit like sweaty feet. Alcohol was difficult to obtain in the Sudan due to it being a Muslim country so one had to make due with what was available. I stood there with Patrick and Andrew sipping my concoction and watching the Goat turn on the spit. I began to salivate like a Pavlov dog in anticipation of this meal. I was looking forward to eating it because I had not had any food of this type for a while.
In fact, I think it had been about 2 years earlier when I was at a Cabrito (Goat) BBQ in Monterrey, Mexico. “I think” because in Mexico as most people know, Alcohol is available in every bottled form, so consequently the Tomahawk spent a lot of time sampling tequila.

Periodically Hansie would check the heat of the coals and adjust the flame/heat if necessary. I cannot remember the amount of time it took to cook this Goat but after it was done the boys from RSA cut it up in the new kitchen and the Goat was served with Salad, Local bread, Zimbabwe style corn mush, tomato sauce and a few other local dishes. all in all a pretty tasty way to celebrate the new kitchen facilities.

Darfur was an interesting place and we were a mixed group of guys from places like Canada, USA, Russia, India, and all of Africa, I genuinely liked and respected the majority of my co- workers which is more than I can say for other contracts I have worked on in the middle east and the Philippines,
I have served on many military contracts all over the world but they were all US military contracts, and I can honestly say that I didn’t enjoy any of them. But I did enjoy working in the Sudan because there were very few of my fellow Americans causing problems.

Needless to say but, I had a good time in The Sudan and would probably still be working there had the Sudanese government not kicked out all of the American citizen contractors working there.

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Agave needle and thread

A Decent emergency needle and thread can be made from the Agave plant using the sharp needle like point of the leaf and its adjoining fibers.

It is a known fact that the Apache used these instant needles and thread to sew clothing and moccasins. With this system you have an option of either collecting them as needed on the trail or keep in a small supply in your pack for emergency uses.

I have personally used the agave needle and thread to make emergency repairs on my back pack and sew the hood back on my sweat shirt in the field.

You can adjust the size of the needle by simply shaving it to the size you need.

To harvest the needle and fibers you need to cut around the needle and do a bit of twisting and pull hard on the needle then the adjoining fibers will pull away from the plant. I have used my teeth to grip the needle and pull it free but you have to be careful doing this because it is easy to get a poke in the eye.

Also, some people are allergic to the Agave plant, if exposed to the juice of the plant you can develop poison ivy type blisters on your skin and suffer from extreme itching – I know, I am allergic to this plant and suffered the consequences of getting the juice on my skin while processing the fibers for cordage.

I also have bad hangovers from drinking tequila and I believe it is due to my being allergic to this plant.Agave hearts (the sprouting stalk) were baked and eaten by native peoples all over the North American deserts.

Agave is most commonly used to distill tequila. In Mexico there are huge farms which grow the plant and process it into my favorite drink. I believe there is something like 500 different brands of tequila on the market.There is a bar in Mexico City which features all the tequila found in the world – A cool place.If you live in Agave country head out and give this trick a try, it is a good thing to know in an emergency.

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“Lucys Tiger Den – Bangkok” A true Tomahawk Adventure

Back in the 1980s, My first experience as a military contractor took me to SE Asia where I worked as an aerial delivery specialist (Kicker), for a company that shall remain nameless.

I was a young smart ass who was still living under the illusion of invincibility. I had served in the U.S. Army for several years, worked as a Cop, Been a Hunting guide, a bike messenger, a ranch manager and several other jobs which were ok ,but never really seemed to keep my interest.
It wasn’t until 1986 , when I was bumming and drifting around SE Asia, and Bangkok in particular, that I wandered into Lucys Tiger den Bar at 285/11 Silom road.

Now, Im not much on bars but, I felt at home in this place and began to talk with some of the older “Gentlemen” who haunted this establishment.

The owner “Tiger” Rydberg was a salty old dog as were many of the other patrons of this place. Lots of WW2, Korean war, and Vietnam vets. All manner of Pilots, Oil field workers, Mercenaries, and general roustabouts called this bar “home”, Myself  Included. I met many colorful individuals there which guided me on my current path as a no good drifter bum.

There really isn’t much out there on the net about Tigers bar. It’s a shame too because this is actually a piece of American history by proxy.
I have included below a copy of a story written by, Richard Ehrlich about Lucy’s Tiger den Bar. I’m pretty sure you will like it.

In his story Ehrlich writes “Tiger is the last of a rugged breed”, I would have to disagree with that. There are many Rugged and colorful characters out there who like myself enjoy wandering around the world. Guys Like Jimmy Reser, Lee Head, Wil Rhys Davies, and Many others.


War and Peace in Lucy’s Tiger Den
Copyright 1986
by Richard S. Ehrlich
BANGKOK, Thailand — A Western mercenary is talking with an American Vietnam veteran at the bar.

“The Burmese government is using phosphorous bombs!” the ex-soldier tells the mercenary.
“The rebels never seen nothing like phosphorous bombs before!”
The beefy mercenary, is not excited.
He stares at his glass of beer and complains, “I’ve been waiting two weeks in the hotel for that damned telephone call.
“Doing nothing except drinking, sleeping and sweating. I can’t keep waiting there forever.”
Their cryptic conversation drops to low tones while they discuss a vague plot to help guerrillas inside Burma.
Someone punches a coin into the jukebox and Al Jolson begins wailing: “M-A-M-M-Y…”
Upstairs, a Western diplomat is chatting with a few friends about a special bar girl’s beauty.
An American construction worker wants to know if any new U.S. football games are available to watch on the bar’s video which is showing “The Deer Hunter” for the millionth time.
And, if you listen hard enough, you can hear Alban “Tiger” Rydberg’s gravelly voice telling a buddy a raunchy joke.
Born in 1916, Tiger is drinking water and serving “hobo beans” bacon, French bread and onions at the bar.
His bar.
Tiger is the last of a rugged breed.
This bar, which he’s named “Lucy’s Tiger Den,” is a meeting place for “every present and former soldier, flyer, oilie, construction stiff, merc, ironmonger, cowboy, pipe layer or deep-sea diver” passing through Thailand, according to one loyal customer.
By now Bangkok’s mid-morning sweltering heat has inspired most people at the bar to opt for another cool drink rather than face the sweaty outside world.
Tiger is under a bright spotlight across the barroom, in a wheelchair because the one leg was recently amputated. Diabetes.
But Tiger, one his first day back from the hospital, bravely hollers to his cronies, “I want to get me an authentic pirate’s peg leg, a black eye patch and a parrot on my shoulder to shit all down my shirt!”
He started the day as he usually does — opening the bar at 10 a.m. and personally greeting people as soon as they enter the door.
Tiger’s a humble man.
“I once told a priest, ‘As rotten as I am, I might make purgatory’,” he drawls in his gravelly voice, half Bogart, half sandpaper.
Looking like Walter Mathau with his baggy, lined hangdog expression, Tiger is helping his bar girls prepare for “Hobo Night.”
Most Fridays he lays out plenty of beef stew and salad. All you can eat. Free.
As soon as he’s sure things are going smoothly, he starts praising the old-fashioned, American-style, sit-down shoeshine stand which he installed yesterday next to the jukebox.
The shoeshine stand is huge — a customer is supposed to sit in the chair atop a platform while the shiner scurries around below polishing an extended foot.
But hardly anyone has asked for a buffing yet. Tiger doesn’t care.
He says he bought it because it’s sort of a work of art.
“This is the first shoeshine stand in Thailand,” he boasts in an interview. “It’s really a conversation piece.
“I wanted a good-looking babe to shake her butt and shake her titties while shining shoes.”
He gazes at the empty shoeshine stand, lost in his fantasy until someone asks for a drink and Tiger decides to make sure won’t have to ask twice.
Tiger came to Thailand the hard way.
Born in California, he suffered the Depression and hammered his way out by pounding steel bolts on construction sites scattered throughout, Chad, East Pakistan, Canada and the United States.
In 1971 he went to East Pakistan building bridges in the sweltering jungles.
He first came to here to Bangkok in 1982, “workin’ iron.”
He helped build Bangkok’s airforce base after running out of work in Vietnam’s Danang and Saigon.
“I put up hangars in 1983 in this city, out there past the perimeter road,” he says.
“When I came out to here again in 1988, I got drunk for 54 days straight and somewhere in the middle of it I married me a local woman, Lucy, and when I sobered up I decided to go into the bar business.”
His guiding philosophy was bestowed by his ol’ pal Vern Engals way back in 1937.
“Vern Engals told me a bar should have sawdust on the floor, cold beer in the box and none of those empty liquor bottles on the shelf, but instead stock plenty of booze.
“Keep a lot of loose change in the drawer and if somebody’s got a check to cash, then cash it if you can.
“I’ll treat anybody as good as they’ll let me. I can tell an s.o.b. as soon as they come in the door of my bar.
“When some guy comes in with a chip on his shoulder and mouthing off, I run him out before he’ll get a drink. Nobody here has got anything to prove.”
Tiger also doesn’t like any “anti-American assholes” barging in, or, for that matter, anyone who insists on expounding leftist views on any subject.
Tiger and his buddies are staunchly right-wing.
Hundreds of photos cover the walls, displaying pictures of pals, Tiger’s mementos, plaques, and an American Legion plaque.
Ask him the story of his life and he’ll begin by telling you a tale about “Shorty Moran, the first bartender I ever got a drink over the counter from.
“That was in Jamestown, California, where I was born, three-and-a-half miles from Sonara.
“You could fall out the backdoor of any of the bootleg joints, fall into a fight and wake up in a hard rock jail full of whores.
“Shorty Moran would pour half a glass of moonshine whiskey, drink it down and puke it up in the sink. He died drinking.
“What a funeral that was. The whores, pimps, cowboys and rounders all showed up. My dad run a lot of cattle in the Sierras and he knew them all.
“My dad wasn’t a politician, he made them. But a banker put us out of business.”
Suddenly, the telephone rings and Tiger’s bar girls start handing out a round of free drinks for everyone.
“Someone just phoned from Manila and says he’s coming to Bangkok in a few days,” Tiger explains.
“He phoned just to buy a round of drinks for everyone, and to charge it to his bill.”
No one else in the bar knows the generous caller from the Philippines, but everyone cheers Manila as the jukebox blares Merle Haggard.
Tiger sells Soldier of Fortune magazine at the door and still receives his personal copy of “Ironworkers” newsletter.
Tiger’s bar also hosted in 1984 the first overseas reunion of American Legion Post Number One, now functioning in exile.


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Montana; EXTREME HUNTER

Ah Montana! I have many wonderful memories of the “Big sky country”, I was a Mule packer and Big game Hunting guide in the Bob Marshall and Scape goat wilderness areas of that state for 5 years before heading to New Mexico and other adventures.
I had just recently returned to Montana from Maine via Virginia. My good friend Chelsea was in Virginia and informed me that she was moving back to Montana, and asked me if id rather ride with her instead of hitch hike across Canada.
I accepted her offer, took the train to Boston, then south to Virginia,  and met my friend at the depot. We drove to her digs in the woods; Chelsea had an excellent meal of venison prepared. I ate like a king, well stuffed and satisfied; we sat around talking for a while then crashed out. An early departure was expected so I wanted to get at least 4 hours of sleep.
After a 5 day drive across the USA with stops in West Virginia, Illinois, and South Dakota we arrived in Missoula, Montana at night, located Chelsea’s new digs, then hit the sack. I awoke early the next morning and began unloading her truck and the Uhaul trailer.
The next Morning she dropped me off at my friend Jagers house near Helena. Of course no one was home, so I went to the shed where I keep my gear cache and dug out my tent, army cot, and wood burning stove.
I set up camp in my usual spot on the Jager ranch and settled in. It was a little cool outside so I fired up the 2 dog stove and set a pot of water on to boil up some guides coffee. I had some staple foods in my cache also in the form of coffee, oatmeal, salt, sugar etc, so I cooked up a big pot of Oats too.
Call me strange but I love to eat cold oats in the morning with my coffee, I had just cooked up enough for 3 days or so.
I poured myself a cup of strong brew then headed outside to make friends with and to pet Jagers new dog Scout. Now Scout is a replacement dog for Alpine, old “Alpie” had to be put down last winter due to advanced age, cancer and a few other maladies from which he would never recover. I sure did love that big old dog. He was as big as a bear and very loving and friendly, he was also a great foot warmer on a cold day. However, Scout seemed to be a good dog also. She has a smart looking face, a pretty coat, seemed to mind well, and was easy to train. I’m sure Ill like her as much as I did old Alpine.
Anyhow, in due time Jager rolled in to the homestead and as always we exchanged greetings, and information. It was good to see my friend again! Jager is another of those hyper intelligent guys I have met in my travels, he has a great sense of humor, is very articulate, well traveled, educated and a force to be reckoned with if you piss him off.
The man can fix anything from a Zippo lighter to a diesel engine; he is combat vet, a 4^th degree black belt in some type of karate, and expert with ASP baton, Night stick, or knife. Jager is also very knowledgeable about the wilderness, big game hunting and all types of weapons. I have seen him pull off some amazing shots with a compound bow, rifle, shot gun and pistol.
For instance – making a head shot on a deer at 150 yards off hand, with a scope mounted .22 rifle in driving snow and very cold temperatures, through thickly growing lodge pole pines. Or, nailing a trophy sized Mule deer buck with a bow in the driving rain, or a 460 yard shot to bring down a trophy antelope, etc. etc. the list goes on.
He also has a wonderful library of excellent books and the largest video collection of movies and outdoor documentaries I have ever seen. I could spend years just going through his collection.
We sat down to some Blackberry brandy and coffee to talk about a hunt he wanted to make in an area that had just opened up to Pistol hunting. We made plans to head out the next morning before light so that we could get to the area just as the sun was coming up.
As we were setting there Jager told me about this character on a survival TV show claiming to be “An x Army Ranger and extreme hunter”, turns out he Lied about being an Army Ranger so I checked out his website to see what type of A-hole would claim such a thing . I couldn’t find anything to indicate that he was an “Extreme hunter” either .The only thing I could find on the website was Extreme Boredom.
Way too early the next morning, I was rousted out of my slumber by the sounds of someone splitting wood; it could only be one person at this hour – Jager! I heard him walk toward my tent, throw back the flap, come in, kick me in the foot and say – “You gonna sleep all day? It’s already past 3”.
Carrumba! It took me a few minutes to get my heart started, luckily Jager had a pot of Javva brewed up and I filled my old veteran travel mug. Now, I have traveled all over the world and tasted coffee from many places and I can tell you that Jagers coffee ranks somewhere in the top 5(maybe #3) for me in taste and consistency. Pretty good stuff on a cold Montana morning!
We hopped into the “Battle Blazer” as Jager calls his old beat up Chevy Blazer and lit a shuck for the mountains. As usual, my friend was correct as to the amount of time it would take us to arrive on site. He parked the “Battle Blazer” and we grabbed our packs. I was taking a leak and could hear Jager rooting around in the back of the Blazer looking for something. As I was zipping up I heard him lock and load his 1911A1 custom .45. It is sure a pretty looking piece, I am kinda jealous of it, I wished that I had one also.
We shouldered our packs and headed down the trail, After about 150 yards or so, I was walking behind Jager and finishing off the last of my coffee when I heard his .45 clear the holster followed by a shot! Then Jager saying “she’s down!”.
It was a pretty amazing snap shot. He hit the Doe in the head, on a down slope, through lodge pole pine trees that were growing pretty close together, after we paced it off it was about 50 yards or so.
I can’t hit the broad side of a barn at 25 yards with a 1911 but my friend Jager nailed this deer in the head at 50 yards while standing on slippery gravel in low light, on a down slope, through the trees– that is extreme hunting!
After we tagged the doe it took about 15 minutes to gut her out then another few minutes for us two old guys to drag this heavy doe up the hill toward to road. Once on the road Jager headed off to get the “Battle Blazer” so we could load up this old girl and head home.
The entire hunt took about ½ an hour to include gutting her out and dragging her to the truck .It took longer to drive to the area of operation then it took to harvest the doe.
Once we got back to the homestead we hung the doe, skinned her out, and quartered her then packed the meat in coolers to take to the meat processor. I remembered to bring the heart along from the gut pile and cooked it up later that evening with some onions garlic and chillies. I also made gravy from the drippings and poured that over some taters I boiled up.
We took the ribs, Jagers wife made a spice rub for them, then we roasted the ribs on the grill; tastier fare you have never eaten! Jager, his wife and son and tomahawk all stood around knawing on those deer ribs until they were just a pleasant memory.
Good stuff and another memorable time to add to the thousands I have had in Montana! I look forward to getting back there again soon to spend time with my friend.
As the old Merle Haggard song says “Big city turn me loose and set me free; somewhere in the middle of Montana” Truer words were never spoken!

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Fred Beckey

 Fred Beckey RIP

Fred is one of my personal heroes. I had the privileged to meet him a few years ago at Joshua tree and in Arizona. Rather than take the time to write about him myself. I will post a link to a story about him written by Jeff Johnson, the co-author of “180 South”.

https://www.patagonia.com/blog/2012/03/beyond-and-back-fred-beckey/
Enjoy.

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Arizona; Pictograph day hike in the Huachuca Mountains

 A few months ago when I was in Arizona for a short time, I took a hike with my friend Rhys to look at some pictographs I had heard about in the Huachuca mountains.
I grabbed some grub and water, stashed it in my well used Camel back HAWG and hit the door. Walking out to my Blazer I noticed that is was going to be another beautiful southern Arizona day, I’m not talking about places like Tucson or phoenix, those places are horrible. The area I’m talking about is Cochise County in the SE part of the state.
If I had to make a choice as to where I wanted to live permanently in the whole world, I would take the wide open spaces and clear blue skies of Cochise County.
The Blazer seem to drive itself up to the trail head parking area, on the drive up I saw a few Mule deer and the odd horned toad on the road.Upon arrival at the parking area I backed in, grabbed my gear and hit the trail.
While on the hike I ran into 2 Military Police customs officers on patrol in the back country, I informed them of what I was doing, and they told me that there are over 150 different archeological sites on the Fort Huachuca Military Reservation. That was an interesting bit of Information, I know the Chiricahua Apaches used these mountains to camp and hunt but never had permanent camps there; these sites must have been from paleo Indians. The type that drew the pictographs.
I continued on up the hill and toward the Pictograph sites, along the way I saw several sonoran coues deer – a sub species of the white tail.
Outside of the keys deer I believe it is the smallest of the white tail sub species, I’m not sure though. I also saw a Lone Prong horned antelope.
Back in the 1990’s there was an Antelope reintroduction project here in the Huachuca’s but I had not seen any for several years. It was my assumption that they had migrated toward Mexico and the wilder parts of the desert. Apparently not!
Anyway, this guy had the most impressive set of horns I had ever seen on an Antelope.
For 7 years I had guided Big Game Hunts in Montana and New Mexico and saw some pretty Impressive Antelope but this old boy “takes the cake” in Horn size.
I don’t speak horn or antler talk anymore but suffice it to say that horn wise – He was Bad.Other animals I saw were numerous Rabbits, Hawks, a rattler, humming birds and the most butter flies I have ever seen.
When I got back home and did a net search I found out that Cochise county Arizona has 38% of all the butter files found in North America, and the Huachuca Mountains are the Humming bird capitol of the USA. Anyway, on to the site! After about a 3 mile hike from the parking area I came upon the sign marking the Pictograph site.
I hiked the short distance from the road to the pictographs, dropped my day pack and got out my camera. There were only a few but they were interesting. Almost monochromatic in color, and looked like they were drawn by a 9 year old, there were spirals, eagles (thunder birds?) effigy men etc, kinda cool.
It is important to mention the difference between Pictographs and Petroglyphs. Pictos are Drawn onto the rocks and Petros are carved into the stone.
I snapped a few pictures, stowed away my camera, grabbed my pack and headed up the trail to the next site. This site had only 3 pictographs visible, they were drawn in red on the tanish colored sand stone and you could see them pretty well.
The area where the pictographs are located is beautiful , it has plenty of water and great shelter in the form of overhangs. It is not surprising to me that the primitive peoples of the area chose this site to live in. Heck, if I had to pick a place to hide in or live out an economic disaster, or some other type of scenario Id come here.
I hiked up to the top of the cliffs and took a few pics before I began the Hike back to my car, I really liked this canyon and was a little sad that my day hike had ended. Making a promise to myself to return soon, I chucked my pack on the back seat and fired up the blazer and headed for home.

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Tomahawk in the Sudan

“Immediately when you arrive in the desert, for the first or the tenth time, you notice the stillness. An incredible, absolute silence prevails outside the towns; and within, even in busy places like the markets, there is a hushed quality in the air, as if the quiet were a conscious force which, resenting the intrusion of sound, minimizes and disperses sound straightaway.”
~ Paul Bowles

I was at home in Arizona, when I got a call from a recruiter about a job in Darfur, Africa, I would be working as a weapons armorer for a Military contract company. I would perform maintenance on the weapons, used by the African Union Soldiers who were providing security for the food convoys. UNMID or United Nations Mission In Darfur. And AMIS, African Mission In (the) Sudan, were responsible for security in the region.

It took me less than a minute to say I was very interested in the position and could deploy immediately.

After the mountain of paperwork was completed and my shot record was in order, I boarded a plane in Tucson for Atlanta, of course the flight was late so I nearly missed my British Airways connection to London, I was in fact the last person to board the flight.
We flew into London and I had about ½ an hour to make my connecting flight for Nairobi, Kenya. I barely made that flight also but eventually after 22 hours total flying time from Tucson I finally made it to Nairobi.

As bad luck would have it my bag did not arrive at the same time I did so I had no clean clothing, no camera, no cell phone, and no power cord for my laptop. After letting the airport baggage folks know my bag was not there, I proceeded through customs and passport control and was met by the company representative who had a car waiting;He drove me to the Safe house in Nairobi and I took a nap for a few hours. After waking up and feeling a bit rested I searched out the kitchen and pilfered some coffee to make a brew.

That was a million dollar cup of coffee as I recall, and I went out to the garden, sat on the patio and watched the local folks walking by going to work.

As I sat there drinking my Javva I realized that I was finally in Africa – “the continent of adventure” as one of my friends once said. The neighborhood was pretty and I noticed that every house had a fire place and a garden. The homes looked more like cottages. This neighborhood must have been left over from the British colonial period.

Anyhoo, having no shaving kit and no clean clothes I went to see the company rep who gave me a $500.00 advanced payment.

I swung my timbuk2 messenger bag over my shoulder and headed for the compound gate. After exchanging pleasantries and asking a few questions of the local Kenyan security guard I went out the gate turned left and went searching for a taxi.

After walking about 20 mins I located a mall and a currency exchange where I converted my US dollars to Kenyan shillings. There was an Ethiopian restaurant across the way so I went there and bought some breakfast, good coffee and good food but I didn’t know how to eat in the Ethiopian style so I had to get a spoon to continue my meal.

After the meal I went to the taxi stand and hired a driver named Rufus, he quoted me a price for a 2 hour tour of the city which sounded reasonable so I agreed and we headed out.
Nairobi is a pretty city and I saw lots of gardens, and we did a drive by of the Massai market then went to a smaller market where I could buy some clothing.

Then we drove to a department store where I bought some towels, razors and other toiletries.
After farting around Nairobi for a while I asked Rufus to drop me back at the company house so I could check on things there and find out my status.

After speaking to the company rep again she informed me that I would be in Nairobi for 4 days until my Sudanese temp visa was approved by their embassy.

Damn! The prospect of staying at the company house for 4 days was pretty grim to me. It was a dirty shit hole full of dissatisfied company employees and no privacy at all.

My luggage still had not arrived so I grabbed my timbuk2 bag and headed out . I walked to the Mall again, found Rufus and asked him about accommodations like a bed and breakfast type thing.
Rufus told me he had a cousin that managed a time share condo and I might be able to rent one for a few days, so we went there and I managed to rent a room for the remainder of my time in Nairobi.
After dropping off my junk in the condo, I took a long shower, put on my new clothes then hit the door, I walked around for a while and located a net café where I printed out some papers I needed, bought some lunch, had a cup of coffee and did a lot of girl watching.

As I recall Kenya had a lot of pretty ladies of all colors.

Feeling a bit tired I returned to my room, made a gin and tonic and flipped through the TV channels for a while, I must have passed out from either exhaustion or from the booze but I woke up several hours later feeling hungry.

It was pretty late or early depending on your perspective but I was extremely hungry and tried very hard to locate an all night delivery service via the telephone. The security guards told me that there was nothing close by and all shops were closed. I was told there was free food and coffee in the main kitchen of the condo complex.

I went to the kitchen and got a few rolls and some coffee and returned to my room. Later on I walked to the company house to check in and see if my luggage had arrived.

The rest of my time in Kenya was about the same, my luggage didn’t arrive until the day I left for Sudan and in fact I had to pick it up at the airport before checking it in for my flight to Khartoum.
I checked into Kenya airlines for my next flight to Sudan then went on a stroll around the airport shops. I bought some wine gums candies and a rough guide tour book about the Sudan, it was a good book but I cannot remember the title.

Upon arrival in Khartoum I passed through immigration and customs and was immediately accosted by all types of local guys bugging me to carry my bag.
There were 2 Nepalese gentlemen Mr. Krishna and Mr. Podel who were traveling with me who were working for the same company. We went outside and finally found our company representative who was suppose to meet us inside at baggage claim but who was of course late!

Man, I remember the heat of Khartoum and all of the noise; I was reminded of other countries like Kuwait and Qatar. I cannot say I really liked it very much.

The driver dropped me off at my designated safe house then took my Nepalese friends to their accommodations in another neighborhood.

I introduced myself to Randy who was the manager of the safe house and our Maid Rose Leku Lojong, a very nice and pretty Sudanese lady.

There were also some other employees there who were in transit to and from the forward operating bases. I met Hermie from the camp I was going to; he is one of the greatest welders and metal smiths I have ever seen.
The other guys were from different FOB’s and camps around all of Darfur. I was heading for the camp at Nyala Darfur which was the largest camp in the southern sector of Darfur and the town of Nyala is the capitol of southern Darfur.
After a couple of days in Khartoum Hermie and me along with several other folks boarded a Russian AN-26 airplane and flew to Al Fasher the capitol of Northern Darfur.
We had a lot of supplies and groceries to unload so upon arrival we were met by other people from our company, after loading up the vehicles we headed for the tiny camp of Zamzam.
Hermie and I ended up staying in Zamzam for 5 days, it was ok for me tho because I got all of my reimbursement paperwork turned in and took care of all of my admin stuff.
I had a tent to myself an, air conditioner, plus the Internet technology guy hooked me up with a wireless sign in code. I was in business!
I was working on a Canadian Department of defense contract so there was a small detachment of Canadian Army guys and gals there. We were allowed access to their vast DVD movie collection so I just stayed in my tent watching movies during the hottest part of the day.
My habit was to wake up early and go for a run around the perimeter on the camp inside the wire. I was surprised to feel how cool it was in the mornings there in northern Darfur. Being from Arizona and having worked in the Middle East for 2 years I was use to extreme hot temperatures; Darfur heat was nothing thus far.
After about 5 days or so we boarder a soviet made An-28 STOL aircraft and flew for about an hour to the airport at Nyala, Darfur. We were met by Andrew in the company vehicle and after loading all of our plunder we headed for the camp.
I was given a tent which had an air conditioner, a wall locker a small file cabinet and a really shitty bunk which squeaked each time I moved.
After stowing my gear/plunder I met the work shop manager and was given the rest of the day off to get my things sorted. I cleaned and mopped out my tent, hung my mozzy net, set up my laptop with an internet connection; thanks to the IT guy.
We had a communal kitchen, weight room/gym, TV and internet room and our own Toilet and shower facilities which we kept locked at all times to keep out the rif raf.
I was liking what I saw so far.
Later on in the day I went to the mess hall and got signed up with a meal ticket and met the lead cook/catering manager – a cool guy.
After making myself a cup of stout coffee I took a walk around the camp perimeter inside the wire to lay out a jogging course, after pacing it out I found that according to my pace count, the perimeter was approximately 1 mile(1,700 meters) in length, that was good, I only need to jog it 2 or 3 times to get my workout in.
I slept pretty good that night but I can recall hearing lots of gunfire outside the berm toward the area of the refugee camps. It was pretty much the same every night, sounded like AK-47 and Chicom .50 mostly. You kinda got use to it. Also, I was again surprised to feel how cool it got after dark, I rarely used my AC at all during the night.
At night and in the early morning Even tho the temperatures were in the upper 60’s to low 70’s I would see The Nigerian soldiers dressed up in wooly pully sweaters and watch caps like they were experiencing winter in Montana, I kinda got a kick out of that. I also saw them wearing the old ww2 style British army issue wool great coats.
Anyhoo, I flew out the next morning on my first weapons inspection mission to the camp at Zalinje via an old soviet MI-8 (widow maker) helicopter.
It was a pretty camp and we were able to buy some decent citrus fruit due to the fact that Zalinje was famous locally for its fruits and veggies. We stocked up on many varieties.
Over the next few months I went on many missions all over southern Darfur where I encountered many good and not so good people. I was very impressed with the high standards of military soldiery which the Rwandan troops held themselves to; their weapons, equipment, vehicles and uniforms were always maintained to the highest standards. It was in stark contrast to the way the Nigerians acted as soldiers.
Anyway, the town of Nyala which is the capitol of southern Darfur is about as 3rd world as you can get. It had one paved road badly in need of maintenance, one stop light that everyone ignores, scores of horse and donkey carts and people galore.
I kinda liked the chaos and got a chuckle out of the vendors selling foods clearly stamped “This food is a gift from the people of the United States” – “Not for sale”.
I guess they could not read English.
One thing I found annoying about Sudan is that cameras were illegal except with special permit. We had a camera for taking pictures of damaged equipment and as my partner was checking it inside the helicopter before we took off, a Sudanese special police officer came on board and confiscated it. My partner was subsequently fired for having the camera even tho it was a company camera used for work purposes – go figure.
I really enjoyed my stay there and would welcome the opportunity to return to The Sudan or just anywhere in Africa –“The continent of adventure”.

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“Old Come and get it!” my veteran frying pan

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.

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Tumplines; world wide

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