I grew up hunting. When I was 14 we hunted an area we hadn't hunted before. I was always an explorer and walked way too far one day, and got myself turned around in a series of swamps and ridges. It was snowing, light wet snow - getting deep. As the day wained, it became apparent to me I wasn't going to get out that day.
My grandfather, imparting knowledge while telling campfire tales, had prepared me for the situation I found myself in. I built a fire to try and dry my damp clothes, but the wet snow was falling heavy enough to make it a lost cause.
In a thick grove, I gathered boughs, cedar and spruce, and made a matress two feet thick. I made a kind of lean-to over the matress with two feet of boughs on top. I lay on the matress and kicked the lean-to down on top of me. I was damp all night, but the boughs, above and below me, provided enough insulation so I made it through the night - even though the night time temps plummeted. It wasn't comfortable, but it was survival.
In the morning, crisp and cold, I dug myself out of the boughs and built a fire and partially dried my clothes. While the sun never really came out, the brightness in one portion of the sky gave me a decent aid as to direction. Using the two tree method, I walked in a straight line in the general direction I'd entered the forest. Along the way, I came on a nice young deer. I shot him, and started a fire to cook up some backstraps. I was just starting to eat when my grandfather and father showed up.
My father had been worried. My grandfather appeared not to be, and had told my father I would be fine. I received a lot of ribbing for this incident over the years, "Get everyone all worried, and there's Pierre, shot his deer, cooking it up, and living happy off the fat of the land."
It was a good way to impart wisdom, those campfire tales, and I've been glad, many times, I had a chance to listen to these bits of woodlore distilled into humourous stories.
PG
My grandfather, imparting knowledge while telling campfire tales, had prepared me for the situation I found myself in. I built a fire to try and dry my damp clothes, but the wet snow was falling heavy enough to make it a lost cause.
In a thick grove, I gathered boughs, cedar and spruce, and made a matress two feet thick. I made a kind of lean-to over the matress with two feet of boughs on top. I lay on the matress and kicked the lean-to down on top of me. I was damp all night, but the boughs, above and below me, provided enough insulation so I made it through the night - even though the night time temps plummeted. It wasn't comfortable, but it was survival.
In the morning, crisp and cold, I dug myself out of the boughs and built a fire and partially dried my clothes. While the sun never really came out, the brightness in one portion of the sky gave me a decent aid as to direction. Using the two tree method, I walked in a straight line in the general direction I'd entered the forest. Along the way, I came on a nice young deer. I shot him, and started a fire to cook up some backstraps. I was just starting to eat when my grandfather and father showed up.
My father had been worried. My grandfather appeared not to be, and had told my father I would be fine. I received a lot of ribbing for this incident over the years, "Get everyone all worried, and there's Pierre, shot his deer, cooking it up, and living happy off the fat of the land."
It was a good way to impart wisdom, those campfire tales, and I've been glad, many times, I had a chance to listen to these bits of woodlore distilled into humourous stories.
PG
Hadn't seen that one coming.
Cheers for that Pierre!
