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
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