Preserving Fire through Gail Force Winds, Rain and Snow

LESSON #1

Never get wet.

When it's cold outside, you want to make sure the one thing you never do is get wet. This is a basic tenet of survival I've heard time and again. Even sweat in sub-freezing temperatures is not your friend. Wet clothes don't hold heat well and when it's cold outside, they can quickly bring on hypothermia. Hypothermia, if left untreated, will lead to death. Avoid hypothermia at all costs.

I knew this tenet going into my last adventure weekend, so I went in with a plan to do it right. After reading several articles and watching countless videos from the various survival channels I subscribe to, I went into the weekend with what I thought would be a solid plan.

Purchasing two large 10' x 12' tarps from Orchard Supply Hardware and procuring loads of paracord, I set out to make a huge A-frame super tent over top of my tent, my fire and my dry wood. Had it not been for the gail force 40-60 mph winds, it would've worked out fine. However, nature decided to teach me a valuable lesson instead.

PLANNING

Saturday, January 30, 2016 was a picture perfect day in So Cal. The frigid daytime temperatures in their 50's (yeah, I know) had let up. The sky was cloudless, the temperature was in the 70's. It was a perfect day to hike up then down to Strawberry Meadow to set up camp.

After stopping to talk to countless people I saw on the trail (unlike the last time wherein I saw not another soul), I arrived to one of two campsites there. There was no fire pit, but the site was clearly marked with a post. Its freshly engraved 11 had been recently painted bright yellow. Game on.

I sat down my gear and began the process of figuring out where to place my tent, fire, jumbo A-frame structure and extra fire wood. I knew by tomorrow morning I'd be experiencing torrential rainfall, a 100% guarantee according to various weather services, so I wanted to work hard today to set up everything just right.

I only had one option on where to set up my fire, per fire regulations, which was right in the middle of the sandy swath which was the campsite. I would've preferred to put it on higher ground, but the Earth was bone dry at this point, and I couldn't afford to risk starting Station Fire #2.  The only issue, however, was there was only one tree to tie anything to--a massive dead oak--it's burned out branches a reminder of the fire that had all but destroyed this area several years ago.

However, there were loads of scrub and other chapparal nearby surrounding the other three sides of the site. I'd just have to make due.

The other issue I was up against was that the sandy pit was clearly in the bottom--the lowest point of this area. Any overflow of rain, and everything would be soaked. There was a 1.5 foot ledge surrounding the back and right side of the site. I decided to set up all of my firewood there, covering it with its own small tarp to ensure it stayed dry.

I cut down loads of chapparal with the new machete my good friend Cynthia had given me. The heavy 2' long blade made quick work of negotiating these otherwise very tough and thorny plants. Stacking the thorny chapparal branches on top of each other, however, created a sort of spring mattress. When I placed my wood upon its prickly fingers, it was held high above the sandy ground. After that, I used my Bahco-Laplander saw to cut down several dead trees in the area, as I knew I'd need a lot of wood to last through today and tomorrow through the night.

I also gathered about 5 more downed trees roughly 8-10" in diameter nearby. Dragging them all over to my campsite, I created a sort of  animal deterrent fence around me while still keeping everything under the tarps. I had to plan everything out meticulously in order to keep the wood, my fire and my tent dry.

After spending hours cutting down wood and pulling up loads of dead mugwort for kindling, I set about to build my huge A-frame overhang. Pulling paracord as tight as I could, I strung it on all corners as well as each middle to something be it tree, bush, chapparal even sage brush. Once I got the fire started, and the smoke started to suffocate me as it gathered in the rafters, I jimmied one of the longer trees I had cut down into the center--both opening up a smoke hole and creating a sort of teepee, so the inevitable rain would run down each side. I marveled at how the Indians had perfected the teepee system so many eons ago.

I then set about to dig a 4" deep trench around my entire campsite to force the rainfall around my tent and down the small incline on which my site was perched. My tent lay at the bottom of this incline--far from optimal, but I believed the trenches would keep it dry. By nightfall, I was satisfied I'd have enough wood, that everything would stay dry, and that this would be another successful weekend.

What I didn't plan well for, however, was the 40-60 mph gail force winds and the effect they would have on the trajectory of the rainfall.

 THE PLAN IN ACTION

At precisely 8 am the following morning, the rains started. It was beautiful to watch the heavy clouds push over the nearby cliff face as the slate gray skies threatened the downpour to come. As the rain started, everything went according to plan. The rain poured off my tarp into nearby buckets or neatly going down the sandy gutters I had meticulously constructed the day before. The hole in the roof allowed for dripping rain to accumulate in a pit I'd dug in the ground, but I had thought to place my fire aside of that, so it still burned brightly.

I ate my breakfast and enjoyed my morning coffee--satisfied with my meticulous planning.

Shortly after, the winds started to pick up. The flaps on my A-frame construction began to billow violently. Gushes of rain poured off now in unexpected places. I was forced to re-dig my gutter-pits, to redirect the streams. Suddenly, a giant gust of wind snapped one corner. The wind was so fierce, it literally snapped the paracord in half. Rain gushed down one side onto my wood pile, Donning my cold weather boots, I pulled my rain poncho over my head and went out to reset it. I had to pull the tarp tent corner with all of my might against the crazy winds to reset and retie it. Fighting the violent rain, but determined to do so, I finally got it back into place. My fire was saved, only I was now drenched all the way through.

Since I was already wet, I decided to see if I could further fortify my structure when the tree I'd placed in the middle to hold everything up came crashing down. My entire tarp system, on the verge of total collapse, had to be saved if I was going to keep everything dry. Not to mention, if I couldn't pull the tree back up into place quickly enough, my fire was going to go out, and in my mind, no matter what, I had to keep that fire going strong.

What I believe to be 60 mph winds pushed my tarp into a giant sail. I stood in the middle, soaking wet, the 10' high tree I'd placed to hold up my structure, now pushing me into the ground. I stood like the unknown soldier, fighting to keep that flag up, anchored at an angle, feet digging into the wet sand. The winds and rains pummeling me with their ferocity, taking everything within me to stand my ground. I laughed, understanding that as a 51 year old woman, I take my strength for granted. All of the years of lifting weights were paying off in this one moment. The rains, now coming in at a 45 degree angle, were soaking one side of my tree fence. Pushing up against my center teepee pole with all of my might, I reset it into place, before sitting down, now exhausted,  to reassess.

No sooner had I sat down, than snap! Another paracord broke. This time it was in the back, clean in the middle. The corner of the tent drooped, a veritable stream of water gushing down. I knew I was already wet at this point, soaked through. Now I just wanted to fight like hell to keep everything else dry. My fire still burned. From my viewpoint, it appeared my tent was dry too. That side of the tarp teepee had not yet been affected, so I wrongly assumed no water was getting in.

Standing in the pouring rain, battling the winds as they pushed the rain sideways, I marveled at how the sage bush had not buckled. No, it was the paracord that was failing me, not the trees to which they were tied.

I spent the better part of the next 7 hours fighting the elements. Still believing the insides of my tent and what it contained were dry, I mostly spent the day fighting to keep my A-frame tarp up, repairing 5 broken paracords, moving my wood pile 3 different times, re-positioning the tent, re-digging the trenches even re-cutting my teepee pole and digging a 6" hole to place it in, so it wouldn't continuously get knocked down. I laughed at how funny Mother Nature was. I was hoping to spend the day in the rain practicing throwing rocks with my new sling. Instead, I was being tested by her challenge.

At about 5 pm, I sat down to rest and determine my situation. It was still pouring, although the winds had let up slightly. Although my wood was wet, it still burned. It wasn't a very hot fire, but it was alive and well. My feet were drenched. The boots I'd purchased were water resistant, and now I knew they were far from water proof. My wool socks were so wet, I could wring them out. My clothes, even underneath my rain poncho were soaked through. My down jacket, which I had under the poncho was also soaked. Wet down does not hold heat, I thought. I had to figure out what to do.

I had laid everything out in my tent the night before, not thinking to roll up the sleeping bags or put them on higher ground. I had falsely assumed from quick glances within, that everything inside was still dry. This would prove to be a disastrous lack-of-paying-attention-to-detail later on.

It began to sleet and hail.

Small pebbles of ice now poured onto my tarp. I knew the temperature had dropped. The ice piles gathered in the trenches I'd dug, but I was grateful the rain had stopped pouring down.

As I got into my tent to warm up, now shivering mildly from the cold, I became aware of the potential severity of my situation. Not only was everything wet, everything was completely soaked through. I could literally wring water out of my sleeping bag, despite placing plastic underneath them when I'd set up my tent the day before. When I had looked in on the situation earlier, I could see little puddles of water pooling in the corners of my tent, but I had in no way believed everything was getting drenched through. I had even sat down in their earlier to take a break, and everything was still relatively dry.

I decided to see if I could get warm.

I put on the additional clothing I had brought. Stored in my upright backpack, it was still dry. Pulling my extra socks from the bag, I now realized they were the only warm footwear I had left. I decided to guard their dryness like it was my last dollar bill, opting to go barefoot when outside tending to my fire or the forces of nature. Much to my surprise, it wasn't as cold as it would seem.

Pulling the flannel liners from my soaked boots, I placed them by the fire to dry. I also hung my soaking socks over a log nearby. Sitting on my bear tin now stool, trying to stay warm, I mulled over my situation.

I placed my trekking poles near the fire and draped my soaked orange down jacket between the two, creating a sort of drying rack. I hung my wet wool undershirts from my teepee center pole. I was valiantly trying to see if I could get enough items dry that I might be able to stay the night.

I dug out my emergency foil blanket, wrapped myself in it and sat right next to the fire to get warm. The reflective surface worked well, foiling back the fire's rays to me. I was toasty here.

I wondered if I could use the blanket to find a way to stay warm inside my tent for the night. I wrapped myself inside its tin-foil like plasticness, then wrapped both sleeping bags around me, foiling off their dampness.

I was not freezing now, but I was far from warm. Out of the corner of my eye, peering from beneath my wet cocoon, I noticed one of my wool socks catching fire, a small hole now engulfing half of the toes. A huge wind swept up again knocking my jacket into the flames, along with my what-I-thought-was-a-fully-entrenched center tee pee pole. I raced outside my tent to quickly handle the situation, wetting my only remaining dry clothes.

Now being smothered by my tent and inhaling copious amounts of smoke, I grabbed my jacket from the fire and fought the wind to once again right my center teepee pole--surprised that my 6" deep hole had not been able to hold sway in the wet sand.

Sigh. Will this rain ever end?

It began to snow.

I sat down, now shivering slightly and realized I had to make a new plan. I was truly being challenged by the elements here, and I was grateful for the lessons they bestowed. That being said, I knew I couldn't take my situation lightly, and I had to decide what to do.

At least without direct rain, if I went out in the snow, I could stay relatively dry. I set out to gather some more wood, not sure if I could get now thoroughly soaked wood to light. I dragged several whole dead trees right up next to my fire. To my delight, after about 30 minutes of drying out, they begin to alight.

It was now dark, about 6:00 pm, and I had to make a decision. I could gather more wood, wrap myself in my foil blanket and wet sleeping bags, and vainly try to stay warm all night (which would mean continually getting back up to re-stoke the fire), or I could call this a loss and head back down the snow covered mountain.

I really did not want to leave.

I knew that if I stayed I would survive. I'm too smart and too stubborn not to. However, I also knew that I would be in for a VERY uncomfortable 12 hours until sunrise. Or, I could pack up right now and head down the hill.--a mere 3-4 hours of pain the assness.

The snow could potentially make the downhill trek dangerous too.

After much mulling, I decided that likely the snow would still be powder, but if the temperatures kept dropping overnight, then rose in the morning causing it to melt, it could likely turn to ice, making departing the next day an even worse idea.

I had to go.

PLAN B

Donning my headlamp in the pitch black of night, I cut down all of the now frozen paracord. Its heavy weightiness made folding it up awkard and tedious. My tarp, now icy and much heavier, could in no way regain the meticulously seemingly-ironed-flat folded shape it had when I purchased it. It now resembled more of a giant fitted sheet whom someone had given up on folding and just wadded up into a ball. Bungee cords wrapped tightly around it enabled it to somehow be fixed to my pack.

I stuffed my wet clothes and wet sleeping bags into their respective pouches. I donned my now dry socks and now pretty dry boots, put back on my still wet, but pretty warm down jacket, my still wet fingerless gloves, my two hats and my ski pants and prepared for a long 4 mile trek.

The pack, now weighing in a 57# (I weighed it when I got back. It was only 40# when I left), was nearly impossible to put on. Although I truly love my Osprey women's heavy duty pack, it really is nearly impossible to put on alone without something high like a picnic table to set it on. Well, there was nothing remotely close nearby, so I had to figure out another way.

I lay the pack on it's back, the side where my back goes, beckoning me with its open spongy "hip hugging" arms. I laid into it and strapped myself in. Rolling onto my belly, I leaned heavy onto my trekking poles, and with a huge heave righted myself up. Once standing, its heavy weight, evenly distributed, seemed fine.

I set off along the snow dusted path into the void of night.

There was snow everywhere, so lulling in its beauty, I'd hoped the path would still be easy to follow.

I decided early on that if anything about this dark downhill journey seemed to put my life in danger, I would turn back, set up camp and wait it out. Fortunately, I was faced with no such decision.

I knew the first half of the trail would be uphill and the second half down. The downhill on the snow concerned me. I'd have to decide that when I got there.

As I trekked up the hill, the sandy path revealed itself--naked. The snow did not cling there. I was grateful.

Heading up the mountain the day before had taken me 2.5 hours to cover just over 4 miles. I'd come across ONE crossing which I considered a bit scary, a tree branch hung over the trail, making passing it precarious. A fall would send a hiker tumbling down potentially to their death. I knew I'd have to pass this again on my way up. I vowed to be super careful.

It would take me 3.5 hours to get back.

Wow! The heavy winds and rains had done great damage to the trail. I came across 3 huge branches, their spindly snow-covered fingers grasping tightly to the hillside, as they blocked my path. I picked up each 8 foot long sectioned, tumbling it down the mountainside to clear the way. I pressed on.

Bobcat tracks preceded me. I'd guessed they were bobcat because of the 4 asymetrical toes and the 3 tiered heel pad. Later upon perusing my tracking books, then attending a tracking class, I was sure I was right. The freshly sown prints lead my way for almost the entire first 2 miles. I never saw the bobcat though I hoped I might.

Downed tree #2 crossed the path. This was an entire full grown pine tree, its huge trunk thoroughly blocking the path alongside many of its spindly branches still attached. It's 2.5 foot circumference gave me one choice, to go over it, as it was too close to the ground to go under. As I looked at the angle in which it lead down the mountainside, I had visions of straddling the snow-covered tree only to slide down it to my death. I opted instead to remove my pack and go separately. Tossing my super-heavy pack over, I climbed over the massive trunk to the other side. Laying on my back to once again don the crazy thing, I righted myself with my trekking poles and continued on my way. I hoped there wouldn't be too many more of these.

No such luck. I wound up either having to cross over , belly under or remove a total of 10 trees and or branches from the path on the way back.

I decided if I felt it necessary, I would leave my pack behind to retrieve in the morning. I never felt it necessary.

I approached the backside of Strawberry Peak. It stood as a massive black silhouette against the dark and starry sky. It seemed far away, but I saw the pass to the other side clearly, and I pressed on. The bobcat tracks were still guiding me.

Streams where there was before zero water, crossed the path. I gingerly crossed them, not wanting to get my boots wet. The water in my water bottle began to freeze. I felt plenty warm, and indeed my spirits were high.

As I got to the top of the mountain pass, the lights of the City lay far across many valleys before me. I still had a long way to go, and I was already almost 2 hours in.

Rounding the corner, the winds picked up tremendously. I was grateful they were pressing me into the mountain rather than away from it, as otherwise, I'd likely have to abort or leave my pack behind.

The dusty snow, still powder, not ice lay below my feet. Mainly covering just outside the actual path, it stood as a reminder of the cold.

I pressed on.

The bobcat no longer accompanied me.

Periodically, when traveling at night, I've learned to put my headlamp on bright and scan the area. Two little lights peering back at me indicate an animal. All night, I had seen none. Now deep in the caverns of the valley below, two eyes peered back at me, watching.

I howled. Nothing howled back.

I kept along the trail keeping my eye on the animal. Its gaze followed me, but it in no way seemed interested in a pursuit. I figured it was likely a coyote.

I kept moving.

Boredom and weariness crept in. I stared to make up songs in my head and sing them out loud.

Another tree blocked my path. The mere size of its trunk would've made it impossible to crawl over, and going up the steep mountainside from whence it came was out of the question. I had no choice but to slide on my belly underneath it. When I got to the other side, my crazy tarp mashed-up-mess was lopsided. As I walked, I knew I had to stop and fix it. A big wind or a misstep with an unbalanced load was not a good idea.

Once again I had to lay on my back to don my overloaded pack. I laughed at the ridiculousness of it.

Realizing I still had another mile to go, I stepped up my song. My fingers were slightly numb now, and I needed to get home. I dreamed of In N' Out and a warm dry bed.

As I finished the trek and got into my car, I was grateful the roads hadn't been closed. The lights to the house near the Hahamonga Cultural Center were on, and if I had to, I could've slept in my car overnight or knocked on his door. That being said, I realized I'd made a lot of mistakes this weekend and had indeed been very lucky everything had mostly gone my way.

If I had to do it all over again, here's what I would have done.

1. Focus on keeping EVERYTHING in my tent dry foregoing a fire. My sleeping bags were plenty warm, and as long as they stayed dry, I would've been fine.

In retrospect, I should've secured both tarps directly over my tent and put my tent up on the ledge under the nearby manzanita bushes.

2. If I really wanted a fire, I should've built a separate teepee like structure large enough to contain that fire, with a tarp wrapped around it, and large enough to keep additional wood inside.

Had I just stayed dry, rather than worrying about maintaining an unnecessary fire, I wouldn't have put myself in a potentially life threatening condition.

Glad to be learning these lessons now before I head into the wild this August.

My First Squirrel

2015 Started my foray into adventure land. After always wanting to learn survival skills and only dabbling in them before, last year started my immersion full steam ahead.

Why am I doing all of this, I've been asked? Honestly, because life is short, and I've seen too many people close to me pass away before having the chance to go on that big adventure. My Dad, the picture of health, died in his prime from a rare form of leukemia (in adults). My Uncle, having just finished building the organic picturesque farm of his dreams, died the very day he invited everyone over to partake in its bounty. No one saw it coming.

We all know that we don't know when we're going to go, which is why I am doing this now. There never will be a perfect time. Ever.

I've been hinting around about my plans long enough, so I'll open the secret drawer a wee bit wider. I'm planning to live in the wilderness for 4-6 months. I'm going with one other person, and that's as much as I'm going to say for now. Someday, alongside further developing my expertise as a strength and conditioning coach, I also want to become a master of survival.

Once I made the decision to go on this survival adventure, all of my training took on a new sense of urgency. It's one thing to learn these skills for fun and party tricks. It's quite another to learn them when you're going to need them to survive. Purpose inspires motivation.

Obviously if you're going to live in the wilderness for a bit, procuring food is essential, which is why I'm learning to hunt. I bought my first gun, a Ruger .22 take-down rifle recently, as I figured learning to shoot small game first would better prepare me for larger game later. You have to be a better shot, as the animals are small and fast. Besides that, small game is more abundant, the seasons are longer and generally the limits you can take in a day or possess would be enough to actually live on. I mean you can take an unlimited supply of jack rabbits. Assuming you could catch one every other day (good luck!), and you didn't tire of the meat, one could actually theoretically do this. (Of course with rabbit, you'd need an extraneous fat source so you didn't die of rabbit fever,but that's another story.)

I drove up to San Luis Obispo County on Friday morning, as hunting small game with a rifle in LA County is illegal. After doing some research online, I decided upon the Los Padres National Forest. A few folks on a hunter's forum I visited suggested the area. I decided to car camp in Figueroa State Campground, as my task for the weekend was to kill, field dress, butcher and eat a squirrel, not to go back packing or demonstrate my amazing camping skills.

I arrived about 10:30 am on New Year's Day, set up my camp and headed out, my Ruger .22 take down, all taken down and stuffed in my back pack. I headed out on a nearby trail hoping to find a spot that I felt safe enough to take a shot. If there's one thing the Hunter Safety Course drilled into my head, is not to take a shot unless you are absolutely sure of everything surrounding it. In other words, no shooting off at a squirrel when there's a field of trees you can't see through on the other side. I figured the only way I could do this safely, would be to ensure I was facing a ravine with an opposing hill on the other side. I'm a decent shot on a target range, but ain't no way accidentally killing someone or damaging property is something I'm interested in. That ranks right up there with ain't no way I'm taking out a cyclist on Angeles Crest highway, because I'm in too much of a hurry to slow down around blind curves.

The day was cold, but I was overdressed in my two hats, my flannel lined beanie on the inside and my hunter orange sweater cap on top, my orange down jacket and my new cold weather boots made in Canada. Still no way I was removing my orange jacket or hat. I'd heard too many stories of hunters accidentally getting killed by dumb asses not thinking straight and shooting blindly at a noise in the trees.

I walked down about a mile across a broad hilly field covered in foot high yellow grasses to what looked like a bunch of oak trees from above. As I approached the trees, I realized the oaks were few and far between. The hill sides were covered more in Manzanitas than anything, and no squirrel's going to set up shop there for lack of food.

After a few hours of walking around looking for more signs of trees squirrels would like, I realized I was in the wrong place. I retraced my steps back to my campsite, got in my car and drove.
I headed down the road until I came to another broad hillside that looked promising. I headed out, walking up the hill, frequently stopping to listen and be still. Nothing. I wasn't hearing or seeing anything! I've been camping enough to be able to recognize squirrel chatter, and this place was dead silent.

Frustrated, I drove down the road to a nearby fire station. About a dozen firefighters were hanging outside seemingly chatting on a break. I parked my car, got out and headed over to them. "Hey, any of you guys hunt squirrel?", I asked. "I've been looking all day, but I haven't seen even one." A stereotypically good looking firefighter of about 28 with striking blue eyes laughed. "Just over the hill there. Head back up, park on the left, and I swear you'll see about a dozen of them."

Yes! Excitedly, I headed my car back up, parked where he said and got out. I walked, stopped, looked and listened. I took great pains to be still. Nothing. I kept this up for over an hour. Still nothing. Finally, I decided to call it a day, but not before driving around the area looking for what I hoped might be a better spot for tomorrow.

I drove past my campground then kept going, winding my way up until I came across a patch of woods loaded with oaks and pine. "This is it!", I said to myself. I felt sure I saw signs of squirrels with recently chewed pine cones and loads of fresh holes dug into the ground. Maybe I'd just gotten too late of a start.

The next day I woke up early and headed out to the new hunting area I had found. With my rifle broken down and secured in my backpack, I planned to stay out most of the day. I'd heard that one has to be patient and spend a great deal of time listening and waiting.

The hillside was steep, but my heavy duty snow boots clung to the ground nicely. As I stood atop a 45 degree swath trying to figure the best way down, the branch to which I was clinging, suddenly gave way. My hand grasped its ends at it sliced me open before sending me smack down on my ass sliding 50 feet down. A huge cloud of dust settled all over me. This, my friends, is why we were taught not to carry loaded guns. Thank the gods I was a good student and listened. Embarrassed, I got up, laughing at myself and glad no one else was around. "Well, at least I was down the hill now", I thought.

I pushed on, noticing a small dry creek. There was no water up here, which didn't bode well for my squirrel theory. I somehow expected to find water here. I followed the dry creek bed down, taking careful note of my surroundings. There were loads of deer trails, loaded with deer pellets. There was a possum skull that had obviously been there awhile. Finally, I found a few fresh mounds of dirt piled above holes, holes which I was sure must be the home of ground squirrels. Add to that the fact that there were dozens of freshly eaten pine cones surrounding the area and branches with the bark eaten away, and I felt sure it was just a matter of time before a squirrel got up to gather its breakfast. I sat down at about 8 am, loaded my gun, put the safety on, left the action open and waited.

The last time I stayed in Valley Forge Trail Camp, a squirrel came out at precisely 10 am from a similar hole. He scampered across the log to another hole, got an acorn, then scampered back. He did this twice each morning I was there. I was hopeful by 10 am, Mr. Squirrel of Los Padres would make a similar appearance.

It was cold. Today I had on a pair of leggings, a pair of pants plus a pair of snow pants on top of that. I had on a nylon base layer, then a merino wool base layer then my down jacket. I had on two pairs of socks and my snow boots as well as two sweater caps. I was completely comfortable while moving.

As I sat there, waiting, my toes started to be cold, then my butt. Then I had to put on my gloves. I heard an animal off to my left. Realizing that if a squirrel did appear, closing the action would cause him to run away, I decided to ready my gun for use.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

The sun was slowly creeping up in the sky, but there was a lot of cloud cover. I decided that if I didn't see a squirrel by 11 am, I was calling it a day at this spot and moving on.

At precisely 11 am I packed up my gun and decided to head deeper in the canyon. I love how much the forest can tell you. There were deer trails everywhere. I decided to follow them just for fun to see where they would lead. I followed the deer track trails up, taking note of spots where deer had bedded for a while. I saw swaths of feathers where some bird had lost its life. Finally, I decided to just head up hill. As I expected, I wound up on the road from where I started, so I walked down it a bit to get back to my car.

As I approached my car, about a half-dozen fifty-something male cyclists were taking a break in the same parking lot. One approached me and struck up a conversation. I told him I was trying to hunt squirrels, but so far I hadn't seen a one.

He told me he and his friends had ridden up from the other side starting down in the valley and that he'd seen a bunch of squirrels on their way in. He also mentioned a ranger station in the same direction. I knew all of that area was private land closed to hunting, but I figured I'd head that way to the ranger station anyway. Perhaps they could direct me to a good hunting spot.

Along the way I passed a stream, offering an unexpected chance to refill all of my water.

As I headed down, I passed farms and vineyards, ranches and dwellings--all private property and no ranger station. A squirrel darted across the road, then another, then five squirrels darted in front of me. I kept driving. A dead gray squirrel lay in the middle of the road.

I decided to pull over and check it out. It was still warm! It must have recently been hit, but it was definitely dead. Blood was starting to crust on its lips and one of its eyes had been knocked out of the socket. I'm guessing the impact of a wheel must have broken it's neck or fractured it's skull. Besides being obviously dead, it was fully in tact.

I got an idea.

Part of what I set out to do this weekend was to learn to field dress, cook and eat a squirrel. Well, if I couldn't kill one on my own, then at least I could learn the other skills I drove up here for. I put the now hardening squirrel into my passenger seat and headed back to the campsite. I sat wondering about how difficult this was going to be. I get squeamish cutting up chicken. I knew it was going to be a challenge, and I wasn't looking forward to it. I knew I had to do it anyway, if I expected to learn to survive in the wild.

After I pulled into my campsite driveway, I opened the car door and pulled out the dead squirrel. I laid him down face up on the picnic bench and pondered what to do. I'd watched dozens of videos and read loads of articles on how to do this, but actually doing it is always another story.

I got out my "Survival Wisdom, & Know How" book I had received as a Christmas present and turned to the pages on field dressing small game. One thing was for sure, I didn't want blood all over my campsite, making it more attractive to bears. I got my knife and some twine and headed into the forest nearby.

WARNING: NEXT SECTION CONTAINS GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF DRESSING A SQUIRREL. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO THESE TYPES OF THINGS.

The squirrel was fairly hard now, as rigor mortis had set in. Urine hung onto his little penis, and I noticed the large comparative size of his balls. "Hmmm", I thought. Guess I'd never given much thought before to a squirrel's reproductive organs.

I knew you were supposed to make a cut in such a way as to not puncture the colon or bladder, somewhere around the anus. The tip of my knife had difficulty slicing through the fur, so I cut a large gash into one of his thighs. Dark red blood seeped out onto his white underbelly fur.

God this was gross.

I cut a line down one leg, then the other. I cut a horizontal line to connect the two and opened up his body cavity. His intestines fell out.

"Oh God", I thought. " This is so gross". I knew I needed to remove all of his organs and cut his windpipe, so I could pull all of this stuff out. Cutting his fur away from his body was harder than I expected. He was just so tough!

I couldn't bring myself to break his sternum, as I've seen done in some of the videos, so I decided to cut off his head instead.  The cracking sound his spine made was disgusting. Even though I knew the squirrel was dead, this was still more disgusting than dissecting a frog in biology class, which I had truly enjoyed. Somehow I thought this would be closer to that. Wrong.

Cutting off his head freed up his windpipe, so I was finally able to get the stomach, liver, bladder and intestines out in one fell swoop. I severed his colon and pulled everything through. No leakage. Good.

Then I set about to try to skin him. Jesus! This was tough. I mean it wasn't an easy process. Pulling the skin off the dang thing was akin to literally ripping it off. There was no way to be delicate about this, as I soon learned. Dirt was getting on the meat everywhere, so I decided to take my decapitated squirrel back to my campsite and finish up the job there.

I placed him on a paper bag and finished the skinning process. Cutting through the tail made my skin crawl. I imagine it would be like what cutting off someone's little finger would be like. It was tough and grissly.

As the skin came clear, it became obvious to me I was going to have to cut off the feet and the hands too. I had read in a book just to break the bones, so I decided to try.  Snap! Oh God! It was just so repulsive to break this poor dead animal's bones, but I did it anyway, finally removing all of its appendages from the edible meat.

Now that I had my fully skinned, decapitated and de-footed squirrel, I decided to try several attempts at squirrel fare. First, I dipped the two thighs into garlic and butter and pan fried them up to a golden brown. Second, I took the arms and breasts alongside some fresh rosemary sprigs I brought along, and I made a soup. Third, I filleted the back into thin strips, so I could try my hand at squirrel jerky.

The thighs were so tough, they were almost inedible. Think the toughest chuck steak you ever had or maybe rubber. I managed to peel off a few bits. The garlic was so strong, despite the texture, it tasted fine.

The soup was delicious. Along with the fresh rosemary, I brought along butter, so it had a nice subtle gamey quality to it. It was fatty and herbacious, and I drank every last bit of it down. The occasional squirrel hair added to its mystique.

The jerky, however, was a hit! I marinated it in apple cider vinegar for about 20 minutes before smoking it for several hours over some hot coals. It was crispy and delicious, and I honestly wish I'd had more.

I buried the head, feet, back bones, entrails and any remaining meat on the skeleton out in the forest--far enough away that I wouldn't be aware of any visitors.  Sure enough, in the morning, not one morsel remained. I'm thinking maybe the possum I'd seen the night before got to it.

Either way, I felt I had done that poor squirrel justice. Probably some animal would've gobbled him up that night anyway, but I was grateful I'd been able to make use of him to learn some lessons I needed to know.

Learning all of this makes me truly appreciate the lives we live now. As I sat cutting apart that squirrel, I realized I never have to do that. I never have to deal with animal hair or dirt in my meat. I never have to look in the animal's eyes and wonder about its life. I never have to wince as I remove its head or break the bones in its legs to remove its furry little feet. No, someone, somewhere else does all of that for me in a far off plant.  All I do is go to the super-market and buy the finished product, ready to eat.

I'm not adverse to eating meat, but I'm realizing that perhaps in learning to kill and prepare it myself, I will more fully appreciate what is being given to me. I know in a survival situation, I will not be able to take my next meal for granted. There may be weeks that go by without so much as an animal siting. My goal then is to learn to use every single part of the animal, so that absolutely nothing goes unused. I will learn to appreciate the parts that make me wince now--the grissle, the chewy bits and the dangling fat.

I will learn not to waste.

Why Fear is Important, an All Night Fire and Digging a Grave

No one improves through comfort. Period. Comfort is soothing, calming, predictable. It's what happens after it's been far too long since we scared ourselves. At first, it's a welcome respite, but if we settle into it for too long, it becomes a place of complacency, even of hiding.

The only way to grow is to expand the limits of what you believe you are capable of. Whether it be sticking to a diet or journeying into the unknown, it is this pushing beyond what we have already accomplished that is so telling.

As someone recently sober, I can honestly say that the act of simply learning to deal with life without the habit of seeking comfort through alcohol invoked fear in the beginning. It doesn't take a solo hike in the forest to challenge yourself and to find out what you're afraid of. However, it is only through walking onto an unknown path such as this that we discover new pathways heretofore untraveled.

It is only through looking our fears and ourselves squarely in the eye that we can learn to seek even greater challenges and create new healthier practices and habits.

That being said, it is hard, in the beginning to forge these new paths and pathways. Old habits die hard, and our perceptions have been molded over years of doing the same destructive things time and again.

To paraphrase a friend, "One path suggests we continue walking down this new way of life (new diet, new hobby, now cigarette free, etc.) in the spirit of curiosity, compassion and discovery. As it is an unfamiliar path, it requires more courage, even though we "know" it is the better way and intellectually should be the easier choice.

The other path is to throw ones hands up at the uncertainty continuing this unknown path will bring and leave it behind for the (binge eating, cigarette, drunkenness), the familiar hurt, a kind of pathological re-traumatization."

I put this out there for all of my friends and clients as a sort of challenge to take your own road less traveled, your wilderness adventure, your scarier path.

I sincerely believe in constantly pushing up against one's fears, which is exactly why I prepare regularly through my adventures to overcome my own limitations.

After having a coyote howl right outside my tent in Texas at 3 am, a pack of wild pigs less than 15' away that afternoon, stepping over countless rattle snakes on my hikes, sleeping solo in the wilderness, getting lost, being cold, being scared and having a bear eat my backpack, I can honestly say that each weekend I become more and more certain in my abilities toward one of my long-term goals which is a mastery of what it takes to survive in the wild.

I have much to learn and much to overcome, but each trial brings me jubilation.

This past weekend after being seriously cold 3 weeks before, I set out to be warm, dammit!

I decided to learn to build a heated rock pit and build an all night fire.

I arrived at my campsite Saturday about 3 pm ready to get to work. Saturday is usually a rest day from training for me, but today I had to make an exception. I stopped by Sport Chalet on the way there in hopes of finding a camp shovel, but alas, they didn't even have one in their selection. Lucky for me, I found a 2" thick piece of bark that was about 10" long near my campsite, which I would make work just as well.

I had about 2 hours until sunset, but I had to prioritize. First I cleared a pathway to the stream nearby. Then I set about to build a general fire. I also gathered about 15 nerf-football sized rocks, and after my fire had developed enough coals, set them deeply within, so they could get hot.

Then I set about to chop enough wood for the night. As I was going to make an all night fire, I needed more wood than usual. Although I sang the praises of my Bahco Laplander foldable saw my last adventure weekend, the little bugger was far too small for the task at hand, but I had to make it work.

I drug over about 8 fallen trees to my campsite, then I set about sawing their 8" diameter trunks into logs about 3' long for my fire. I turned each sawing venture into a WOD (workout of the day) of sorts. "Sawing for Time" was my favorite one, valiantly trying to make a game out of backbreaking hard work that I knew was going to take me hours.  Undaunted, I poured sweat, made mincemeat blisters out of my hands and soldiered on.

"One thousand one, one thousand two, one thousand three", I'd pant, as I tried to see if I could saw this log in fewer strokes than the one I just finished. My heart rate would race, and I'd push myself to sprint the finish, sitting down afterward to catch my breath for the next foray into a fiercely anaerobic log-cutting race for time.

At about 8 pm, I decided to take a break and begin the arduous task of digging a grave. Well, it was a rock grave, anyway. I was digging a hole about six feet long and one foot deep. I started by chopping up the soil with my knife, breaking up the entangled grass, then shoveling it out with my new bark trowel. Once again, I found myself counting each stroke as if I was competing against my competitive teammate Julie for the highest score. My battery powered headlamp lit the way, as I feared not.

I actually marveled at my fearlessness. It was pitch black outside my headlamp's gaze. I sang out loud the praises of the universe marveling at the loads of stars, cold air and endless black.

A hiker's headlamp peered over the ravine at me.

There was a small footbridge not 25' from my campsite that allowed travelers to traverse the now bubbling creek on the path from West Fork to Valley Forge, where I was staying. The last time I stayed here quite a few bikers arrived after dark, their headlamps aglow allowing them to be sure afoot.

I saw the headlamp, then it disappeared. Then it reappeared. Then it disappeared. I kept waiting for the hiker to cross the bridge, but they were holding back. Was there a campsite over there? I thought for sure there wasn't. Why were they taking so long? After a bit, their lamp disappeared. I figured maybe they'd turned back.

About three minutes later, I couldn't help myself. I grabbed my bear spray and my knife and I headed over to take a look.

The most wonderful thing about these adventures is that I always see something beautiful, and I always leave with more knowledge that from whence I came.

There staring back at me was a wolf. No, rather it was a coyote. You see, there are only seven known wolves in California, and they live in Siskiyou County. Apparently there may have been wolves at one time in California, but not likely in So Cal. Even then the proof of their numbers is sketchy, as coyotes used to be referred to as wolves at one time.

Fascinating.

What I found fascinating was that the reflection on his eyes was so bright, I was certain it HAD to be a headlamp and could not possibly be the eyes of an animal. Now I know better, and I know what to look for in the pitch black dark.

Mr. or Ms. coyote scampered off, never to be seen again all weekend long.

Back to digging my grave.

A plane soared overhead. I wondered if its pilot thought I was burying a body. I chuckled at the absurdity of the thought (for me), but realized it isn't out of the realm of possibilities for a madman.

After about another hour, my rock pit was dug--now back to sawing logs.

At about 10 pm, I finally finished my task. Twenty five logs of similar length all laid in a neat little row ready to protect me from bears, keep me warm and rock me to sleep.

First, however, I had to try out my new hot rock heater bed. I had a small barrier to overcome in that I had made my fire in the requisite deep fire pit, so now I was faced with getting 15 scorching hot rocks over a ten inch barrier to their ultimate home in mother Earth.

Forty five minutes later, I had the rocks assembled in nice little rows, and I set about to cover them with the loose dirt. After waiting half the suggested two hours, as now I was beat, I set up my tent and sleeping pad over the dirt and got in to test it out.

Success!! Not only was the dirt warm, it was almost hot in some places!! Tonight I was going to sleep like a newborn baby in its admiring mother's arms.

I set about to prepare my all night fire. Laying 5 logs on the ground, I then packed the cracks that separated them with dirt leaving no holes. I then lay another set of five logs in the opposite direction filling the crevices with dirt in the same fashion. Three more stacks completed, and I stacked the top with hot coals and kindling and set the whole top row ablaze.

It was a veritable bonfire!! No bear would dare come here!

It worked beautifully as planned. The dirt prevented the hot coals from dropping to the layers below too early, so by the time they did drop, the upper portion was pretty used up. Add to that the additional warmth, and I really did sleep as if it was my last dying wish to be once again near my Mother's succulent breast.

When I awoke the next morning at dawn, coals were still going, and it took no time to get my coffee going.

I love it when things go right!

On Living in the Wilderness

Thoreau: 'I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.'

What is it that draws a man into the woods?

Some cultures and religions believe in past lives. Perhaps there is some remembrance from ancient times, some spiritual connection that like spider webs sticky with morning dew has its pattern ingrained in us. We cannot help but to try to build webs. Perhaps there is some sort of genetic tape machine that records imprints of everything that ever was for each of us, everything we ever experienced along our many lives and at opportune times, those memories flow forth as if from just yesterday.

Perhaps those of us drawn to uncover the deep mysteries of the forest in the modern day were once like Ayla in Clan of the Cave Bear. It feels natural to long to return to the simplicity that defined our hunter-gatherer lives.

Maybe it is simply too much of being inside, in the four walls that make up our homes, then the four walls that make up our offices, then the four walls that make up our cars, our supermarkets and the drugstore where we stopped to buy the Advil to dull the pain of the headache we've had since yesterday.

It is simply an act of eliminating time, of extending ourselves into so much formless space that walls cannot contain us, and in so doing rediscover that part of our minds and souls which we used to roam so freely with when we were young and which we dare to allow to roam freely now despite our age and aspirations toward agelessness.

Have you ever meditated in the manner in which you just daydream, plan, pursue your thoughts and questions unflinchingly for hours? For me, being in the wilderness elicits that same sort of exhilaration.

A few weekends ago, I set off to a nearby trail camp, Valley Forge, to reconnect. I've stayed there before, but I went there specifically because each time I go out, I set myself up with a few tasks. I needed a place I knew would allow me the essentials I needed to work on the four tenets of survival : Shelter, Water, Fire and Food. In order, these four categories encapsulate how to prioritize any survival situation. In thinking about them, I've come to realize, they also mirror the essentials of life.

My goals for this weekend were to build a shelter I could sleep in, to test out my new pump water filter, to continue practicing how to make fires efficiently and  to identify as many edibles as possible. I also planned to practice tracking animals--getting a feel for their habitats and identifying their prints--and I planned to roast some acorns as well.

After arriving late on Friday, I made quick work of setting up camp, as Saturday morning was when the real work would begin.

At sunrise, I awoke, chilly and ready. After lighting a quick fire, I set about to make my first shelter of the weekend.

Wow!  If you have never owned a Bahco Laplander foldable saw, and you regularly have to bushwhack in the forest, do yourself a favor and get one. This little gadget cost me all of $20, but I got more than my money's worth in only one weekend. I sawed logs up to 8" in diameter with more ease than the bigger hand saw I have in my garage. I cut down various branches, long, short, thick and thin, filled with leaves and also some barren to make my shelter. 

Using the giant sized picnic tables as my backdrop, I set up a long pole horizontally from the benches, about 3 feet off the ground, and anchored it at a diagonal on the other side with a branch shaped like a Y. Deciding on a basic A-frame style, I got to work, spending about 4 hours cutting trees, sawing logs, weaving branches in and out, then finally laying loads of debris, leaves and vines over my temporary abode, I created a basic structure that I was excited to test out for the night.

Laying the foundation for the A-frame.

Here's the view from the front door looking in.

Shelter represents sanctuary, safety and a place to call home. It protects us from the elements, other animals as well as sets the stage for building the family structure from whence our personalities begin to emerge. Shelter, in our daily life might also represent our career, our calling, that which we base our view of ourselves upon.

After I finished building my shelter, I set about getting enough fire wood to be all but set for the weekend. I take tremendous pride in setting up my campfire. Spending a great deal of time peeling off small ribbons of bark to create my spark "bird nest" material, I second that with dozens of sticks no thicker than standard cordage put in a neat little pile. Next to that, I place pencil thickness sticks, then finger thickness twigs, wrist thick sticks, then calf and thigh sized logs. Loads of wooden body parts lay organized in the order in which they will be needed to fuel my fire. After several hours of work,  I had many bodies worth of wood laid out. I'd need to do very little extra wood gathering over the weekend.

To light my fire, I used cotton balls soaked in petroleum jelly, as they are the world's easiest fire starter. Once that was set up, I put on a pot to boil water adding about a cup of diced pine needles to make a tea.

Fire. The obviously physical correlation is warmth, but I also believe emotionally, fire represents adventure, daring, a lust for life, a quest or something that impels each of us forward. Fire represents our soul's thirst for discovery and the great unknown.

My campsite was set up next to a stream, which made for easy access to water. I'd accidentally ordered the "mini" pump, but despite having to refill its tiny bag over and over, it worked extremely well. Personally, I don't mind the taste of iodine, but sometimes it is nice not to have to use yellow water.

Water. Without it, you will die in a manner of days. It is that critical to your body. Thirst manifests itself as tiredness, then exhaustion. As we dehydrate, the tiredness also negatively affects our mind. To me, water is akin to the need for spirit. A daily dose of life infusing joy, beauty, love, excitement and enthusiasm helps keep us happy. Without those, our spirit stars to deaden and dry up--forcing life to lose its luster. Too little water and we wither and die.

My next step was to pre-set up my bear vault line. I found a tree easily 200 meters away and at least 20 feet up from which to hang my food. After the close call I had a few weeks ago, I would prefer any curious bears not be close enough to my tent to hear, and losing my food this time--forcing an early end to my glorious three-day weekend--was simply not an option.

Now it was time to forage the area for food. I set about to gather as many identifiable plants as I could. Buckwheat, horehound, chickweed, acorns, dandelion, curly doc and yucca were plentiful. I chaffed the buckwheat to make a porridge, and cracked open the acorns to begin the long process of blanching away the tannins to make them suitable for eating. The chickweed and curly doc I used for nibbling on, but I made a nice side of boiled dandelion greens to go with my dinner.

I also gathered dozens of acorns. I've read that acorns have as much protein as a hamburger, but according to Wikipedia, that is fallacy. Acorns, per 100 g (3.5 oz) have about 41 g carbs, 24 g fat and a mere 6 g of protein--about as much as one egg. However, considering they are plentiful in any part of the country, they seem a viable food source to learn to consume. The only issue is they contain massive amounts of tannins, which can cause kidney issues if consumed in great quantities (not to mention taste horrible) so they have to be boiled multiple times to remove these, then roasted to make them more palatable. 
I blanched mine six times, and some were still a bit tannic, but all in all they were fine.

For the buckwheat porridge, I simply rinsed the buckwheat, then boiled it in a pot of water. It kind of came out like a cross between cream of wheat and grape nuts. It was actually pretty good, but don't put ANY of the white buds in the mix, as they are very bitter and will ruin the entire batch.

Food. Food is the daily grind, our need for routine and regularity. As important as adventure, routine is also a sustenance we must have in order to have prediction and to plan and build our futures and lives.

I then set up my tent, got out the books I had brought along, and made myself comfortable by my fire until nightfall.

Valley Forge Trail Camp is fantastic. if you're looking to enjoy the beauty that is the San Gabriel mountains, in a not too far out of the way place, I highly recommend  Valley Forge. It's a short two mile hike in from the Red Box parking lot adjacent to the Hahamonga visitor's center off the Angeles Crest Highway. The path is well marked and almost entirely downhill on the way in. You'll pass a cool leaf tunnel with blackberry vines for ground cover, loads of oak and pine trees, rolling hills, a trail that looks like it belongs in a movie and loads of shade. The zillions of flies that dogged me the last time I was here were now gone due to the colder weather. 

I couldn't find any history on the area, but there are several small old stone houses that are abandoned-- appearing to have been used as lodging in the past. I don't know if the forest service uses them now, but they seemed to have been vacated long ago. I daydreamed of buying one of these homes and living here or one of those tiny houses near Chantry Flats. Even the thought of living without running water or electricity did not deter my fantasy.

After about 11 o'clock, I decided to call it a night and test out my new abode. Sleeping in the shelter was okay, however it was not as warm as I would have liked. I decided to try to improve upon my design the next morning, so I awoke early and got to work. As I lit my morning fire, I came across a very unusual discovery. Inside a giant pine cone, which I had grabbed to use as kindling, I discovered hundreds of lady bugs huddled together to keep warm from the cold. There was frost on the ground this morning, so I'm assuming this was what they do to survive. Later in the afternoon, as it warmed up, that same pine cone was found empty, and ladybugs were swarming everywhere.

A-frame plus tarp

Finished Shelter

As the morning progressed, the sunshine dwindled and ominously dark rain clouds started to threaten rain.  I decided to set myself up a stiff deadline to get my new shelter built. I figured I maybe had an hour.                            

View from the front door

I set about tearing apart my old shelter with great fervor. A nearby log presented itself as a viable option for one of the walls, but the sticks I had already cut would make my structure too low to the ground. I hauled a few bench tops from one of the other sites to create a raised platform for my bed. If it rained, I didn't want a small river to create a freezing bathtub under me. I placed the one long tree I had cut down at an angle to create the apex of the roof, then created a shallow tent-like structure with the remaining sticks and logs. I placed a tarp that a visiting troop of boy scouts left for me over the whole structure, then piled it high with tree limbs filled with leaves, debris, more leaves and vines from nearby weeds.

It was so small, I could barely roll over in it, which I figured would be all the better to keep me warm. I was looking forward to seeing if the stories I'd heard of shelters like these being so warm, one would sweat all night in them to the test. At the very least, I was looking forward to a not-so-uncomfortably-chilly night's sleep.

As I put the finishing touches on my new abode, the rain started coming down. I had thought ahead to move all of my firewood under the gigantic picnic table which fenced in my campsite, and I also was able to move my tent under there. As the winds picked up and the rain came down, I holed up in my tent to wait out the storm. 

It was interesting to note that a steady light rain was not enough to put out my fire. I realized how it must take something akin to a flash flood to put out a raging blaze.

I spent the rest of the day reading, studying, then walking around once the rain stopped.

After a dinner of acorns, pemmican (not homemade), dandelion greens and Cliff Bar's, I decided to call it a night early about 10 pm, eager to try out my new cozier shelter.

My second shelter was warmer, but not by much. It didn't help that the temperature had dropped into the 30's, and the winds howled ferociously all night long. I'm confident that sans wind, this shelter would've really done the trick. As it was, I had to stoke the fire all night to maintain a bit of comfort and warmth.

Sunday morning found me awaking earlier than planned, so I decided to make the best of it. I had found a major animal thoroughfare the day before, so after my morning cowboy coffee, I decided to take a walk to see whatever animal tracks I could identify. Wow! There were deer tracks everywhere in the wet sand as well as raccoon tracks. I was thrilled to even notice them, much less be able to tell what they were. Someday I want to build a tree stand and camp out all night in it, videotaping all the animals as they pass me by. I have a feeling I am going to be completely enthralled.


Building two shelters taught me what worked and what didn't. The larger one, while more comfortable, was cold and drafty. The smaller one, although less roomy was warmer by far.

Building a fire with care allowed me to be warm without giving it much thought. That freedom allowed my sleeping alone in the wilderness to stoke my need for adventure and the great unknown.

Having water nearby infused me with joy. Quenching my thirst and starting my day squatting next to a cold spring could not help but bring a daily smile to my face.

Enjoying the food I gathered was fun and interesting. I realized how much food it takes to sustain a human for one day. It makes me appreciate the laws we have in our great land to protect our many species and helped me realize how invaluable our farmers and ranchers are to our survival.

About 1 pm, I decided to call it a day and I headed back home to my wonderful business. Singing to the birds from a place of pure joy, I felt refreshed, high on life and stoked to see what opportunities the week would bring. I can't wait to go on another adventure!