The Little Trek That Failed: Part 2

And It Starts To Fall Apart
It was at this point that I realized how pathetic my thin veg tanned mocs were against the rocks. I felt every bump, every sharp edge, every painful step. When I reached a driftwood log that was at the waters edged I rapidly dumped my gear, after carefully resting my rifle against the log. I was thirsty, I was over heating, it was so hot. “Ok, you need water and you need to cool down.”  Looking around me and listening I couldn’t detect any sign of anyone about on this part of the river, aside from the mooing of cows on the other side. I stripped down to my shorts, pulled out the filter straw from my market wallet and slowly began to wade out into the water.

The water wasn’t nearly as cool as I was hoping for and I managed to find every painful rock with my bare feet until I was about fifteen yards out. Down the straw went into the water. I drew the water fiercely through the filter, sucking as hard as I could. I spit out the first several mouthfuls of water that was made black by the charcoal section of the filter back into the river. The moisture felt refreshing in my mouth. It was a relief to be taking in fluids for the first time in a couple of hours. I’d hiked about three and half miles through the woods, a good chunk through thick, waist high grass.

The relief, however, quickly changed as I began to notice a change in the draw of the filter. Things began to

slow, which isn’t all that unusual with a filter straw, but then things rapidly came to a grinding halt. “Crap.” I stood there in the water staring at my straw with disgust. “I know there’s always a number of these things that will fail, but, come on man…” I would try again. For the moment I would stand in the water allowing it to cool me down some. The water was luke-warm. 

After I made it back to the log I began putting my clothes back on, but only after I was sure I had removed all of the ticks. Shirt: 8 ticks. Pants: 13 ticks. “Swell.” Out came my little kettle and I filled it up with water. Into the kettle went the straw. No dice. “You piece of…” Out came a flour sack wash drying towel. I folded it over on itself until I had a thick square of material. I put it over the top of my kettle and filtered the river water through it into my tin cup. The water felt good going down until the third large gulp. My mouth finally recognized that this dish drying towel had gone through the dryer with a dryer cloth. “Ok, screw it.” I took a few swigs straight from the kettle to rinse the awful soap taste from my mouth and spit out the water. “Time to boil water, momma’s havin’ a baby.”

Leaving my gear against a downed tree where I decided I was going to make camp I began to search for wood for a tripod and a fire. I was being rather selective as I was feeling drained and wasn’t all that up to swinging a hatchet too much.  I was beginning to search aimlessly for deadfall. I wasn’t happy with what I was finding. I dragged a small pile of sticks to the camp and lay down, hat over my eyes. “Man it’s hot.”  I was thirsty again. The EMT inside my head started connecting the dots. “Leif, call Jeff.” “I just need to get the water boiling.” “Leif, this is onset of heat exhaustion.” “I’ve got this, I can make it work.” “Yes you can, but you should call Jeff.” “I’ll feel better if I just lay here awhile.” “Leif, make the call.” Forty five minutes later Jeff pulled up to my camp with a four-wheeler. He hopped off, smiled and threw a bottle of ice cold Gatorade at me. “You read my mind.”

The Assement
So the trek failed. I was pretty irritated with myself. I had followed the plan, resorted to backup plans and it still fell apart. The plan was partly broken. What would have changed things?

K.I.S.S. (Keep It Simple, Stupid): I wanted to accomplish too many things, and as a result I was lugging around too much gear for the conditions. This wore me out quicker. Even one trap would have sufficed for what I wanted to do.

Location, Location, Location: I ended up hiking about 3 ½ miles to the site. A location 1 mile in would have been sufficient for my needs.

Know Your Limitations: I had pushed too far, too hard. Though I have what I consider better than average outdoor skills, I’m not 23 anymore, nor and I in the same shape I was in at the age of 23. I’m 32 and fat. For a trek like this it’s perfectly acceptable to pace yourself. I didn’t do that. I shouldn’t have gone as far down river, full speed ahead, as what I did. I could have called Jeff and updated him of the new location.

Know Your Gear: It should be noted that it was not my period gear that failed me, it was the modern stuff. You should always test your gear under safe conditions before it needs to be used “for real.” Other options for the water that I could have used could have been drops and purification tablets. I also could have used the handkerchief around my neck to filter out the large sediments. A canteen would have been good as well. If this would have been an actual survival situation, would I have drank the river water? Given the conditions as they were during my trek, yes, I would have drank the water. Since this was not a survival situation I opted not to. I didn’t think it prudent to risk getting sick at that point.  As a result of this experience I now have a different filter system and purification tablets. Also, I take care of the washing of any the gear I use…no more dryer sheets for me.

Keep An Eye On The Weather: Ironically, that particular day ended up being the hottest day all week. It got to be 93 that day. If I would have looked at the weather info I likely would have done things differently. Possibly even brought along a plastic canteen of water just to play it safe and made camp sooner.

The Outcome
Despite the fact that my trek came to an untimely end, it wasn't a complete failure.  I was able to recognize the signs and call a spade a spade. I got out when I needed to. Sometimes knowing when to call a thing for what it is an important part of your survival skill set. Also, I know to take the above five mentioned things listed in my assessment into consideration for the next time I go out on a trek by myself.

On a slightly humorous note, about a week after my little adventure a man stopped by my friend’s house to show him a picture on his cell phone that was from one of his trail cams. He asked Jeff what he knew anything about a mountain man living in the area. Jeff looked at the picture on the man’s phone. (It was a picture of me…where I’d gone on the wrong trail.) Jeff shook his head and said “Nope. I’m not aware of any mountain man living in the woods.”

- Leif

The Little Trek That Failed: Part 1

I’m an Eagle Scout, a farm kid, a teacher, and husband and father of 3 young kids…I’m used to having a plan and backup plans and sometimes backups to the backups. If you make a plan and stick to the plan usually things work out, for the most part. Sometimes, however, you quickly discover that the plan might not have been the best plan.

Preparations

The summer of 2013 I decided I was going on a three day two night solo trek. This was going to be an “aux alimentes du pays” trek, or one that was going to be “off the nourishment of the land”. I was going to a familiar place, a place I’ve hunted a number of times with my brother and a close friend. I knew just the spot I was going to go to. I knew there would be squirrels, rabbits and coons in the area that I could snare or shoot with my trusty 1790s contract rifle and there were cattails in abundance. This was a place on the Yellowston River bottoms so I would have plenty of access to water and be able to fish. 

Several days before I left I started to put together my list of items that I would bring along and list of things I wanted to accomplish. My items list was fairly long and though my list of things I wanted to accomplish wasn’t, they required additional gear.  Part of my gear was rolled up into my bedroll, which consisted of my cotton duck ground cloth, a 10x10 cotton duck fly and a red striped blanket which was tied up with 1/2 inch manila rope. My non-period correct hatchet was attached to the out of it. It has no sheath. More 1/2 inch rope would be used like a tumpline to carry the bedroll in the woods.  (I wish I would have known what I know about tumplines now. I would not have just the 1/2 inch rope to wear across my shoulders. Check out this 3 part series on tumplines by Isaac Walters.) The rest of the gear went into my Russian drab market wallet and my Russian sheeting belt market wallet.

My market wallet was heavy. One of the things I wanted to accomplish was to set some snares, both from brass wire and from natural materials in the woods, as well as set some traps. Into the Russian drab market wallet went several 1 ½ duke coilsprings, snare wire, bait and lure. In also went my small lidded copper trade kettle, tin cup, sewing kit, period pliers, rope, hemp cord and some addition assortment of little gear. Into the Russian sheeting belt market wallet went my fishing kit, fire kite, pocketknife, camera, beefy straw type water filter, additional hemp cord and a few other random pieces of gear. 

I was wearing a blue check shirt, my drab felt hat, fall-front pants, side-seam mocs, vest, belt, butcher knife in its sheath tucked and tied to the inside of the back of my belt.  I also had my shooting pouch, horn and rifle. I did not have a canteen.

Heading Out

The start of “day one” I pull up to my friend’s house, hop out of my truck and start tossing gear into the back of his truck. He then gave me a ride to our usual “trail head”. I let him know that I would be hiking in a fair bit and the spot that I would make my camp. If anything came up I’d call him on my cell, which would be off unless something happened. I’d be checking the phone each evening. After shaking hands I headed in to the woods and began hike to “the spot”. 

Things started wonderfully…lots of vegetation changed the way things looked, enabling me to second guess myself…I end up on the wrong trail. I came across a tree stand that I recognized and realized I had gone about 100 yards into the woods the wrong direction. A deer jumped out suddenly about 15 yards away from me and out of instinct I raise my rifle, quickly lowering it when I realized that in late July we weren't quite into the October rifle season for deer. It would have been a great shot. 

Back tracking, I got back onto the main trail and this time made took the correct fork in the path.  The branches and leaves had grown quite a bit since the previous fall and masked much of the path that I usually go on. By fall, the lush leaves are gone from this part of the trail. I finally made it to the first big turn and paused. The rope that I was using like a tumpline was cutting into my shoulders and it was necessary for me to switch the market wallet onto the other shoulder. I was now standing in a big opening that I’d hunted. I paused for several minutes here to rest my shoulders. 

Further into the woods I went, following the remains of decades old trails, parts of which were still used, other which we no longer used. There was lots of deadfall all around.  I was starting to get a bit winded and really wished I had a canteen along. I don’t actually own a period correct canteen so I didn’t bring one. On and on I trudged through the woods. My stops were becoming more frequent. I would shift gear, rub my shoulders where the rope was really beginning to bite into my skin. It was hot and muggy and I was getting very thirsty. “I’m getting wore out and I really need water.” I said out loud to myself.  Finally I found and took a right at the proverbial “big cotton wood tree” in the woods, which is otherwise useless information unless you know which big cotton wood tree you’re talking about. “Almost there.”  

Down a big dip that the river had cut out years before and then onto a sandy finger which led to a rocky

sandbar.  I was starting to allow my frustration to make decisions and decided to make a cut straight for it instead of taking the usual path. It didn’t realize it until it was too late. My hands and legs were stinging. I was standing in the middle of a Canada thistle patch. “Crap.” Raising my rifle above my head I made a final push through and then down the four foot drop to the rocky sandbar.  

- Leif

The Garden 2013

So it started out as a project for my daughters, who are four. They wanted a garden. We rent the home we live in so tilling up part of the yard wasn’t necessarily an option. While driving around town and looking at Facebook and Pinterest (yeah, I know, I’m a guy who uses Pinterest) I was noticing a number of yard planters being posted. Being a farm kid, I ignored all the complicated directions posted online and bought a sheet of ¾” plywood. I had some leftover 4x4 chunks from a previous project. Measuring 8” I made a series of cuts the short way on the plywood and cut four 8” pieces for the corners of each planter. Using wood glue and screws I put everything together and made two 4’x4’x8” planters for the girls garden.

After doing some searching on the Frontier Folk Forum it was decided to do a 3-sisters type of garden. The varieties used would be Mandan Sweet Corn, Mandan Summer Squash and Hidatsa Red Beans. These were all purchased from Museum of the Fur Trade. Now, admittedly, this wasn’t necessarily the agricultural method used by the plains Indians in my neck of the woods.  In grade school it seems that anytime 3-sisters is talked about it’s going hand in hand with the Iroquois. That being said, with the space I had available, and it being a historic method, this was the route that was chosen.

The way this works is that mounds are made that the seeds are planted in. Usually at the bottom of the mound was parts of a dead fish or other animal matter to provide nutrients for the plants. Corn or maize was planted first and once it got so tall beans were planted in the same mound, which would crawl up the corn. In the middle of these mounds would then be planted some sort of squash. After the plants got established the squash would provide groundcover, helping to keep moisture in the ground, and would keep the weeds from growing.

Corn was planted first in germination pods in a plastic greenhouse box, which was then followed by the beans and squash.  They were then all planted in mounds as described above. The woman of the lodge (my wife) made it clear that no “dead fish or other animal or its parts” were to be used in this process as they would attract the neighbors cats. I told her that I had some nice 110 conibear traps that would take care of that problem nicely. Her response was “You are not allowed to trap the neighbors cats.”

Things grew pretty well, and then the hail came, twice. Despite that, the squash kept growing like gangbusters. In retrospect I’m thinking that I should have done some pruning to the squash a bit. I also think that if the planters had been in the center of the yard where they would have gotten more sun would have made a difference. 

For the first time doing this, we were fairly happy with the results. We planted 3 corn plants, 3 squash plants and 6 bean plants. The picture shows most of the harvest. For next year I hope to build a couple more planters and hope to learn more about the agricultural practices of tribes like the Mandan, Hidatsa and Assiniboine, three tribes from our area, and attempt to grow the garden more in accordance to their style of practice.