We’ve done a fair bit of talking about guns in these Friday sessions. While we all love fine guns (well, most of us do) and the activities in which fine guns are used, there is always a need for fine cutlery as well. If you hunt, then knives are important for a variety of things, especially after you’ve fired the final shot; that’s when the fun ends and the work begins and a good knife with a good edge will make that work go a lot more smoothly.
But there are many more uses for a good knife, whether your outdoor activities include hunting, fishing, camping, hiking or just lounging around in the outdoors. So, let’s talk about a variety of cutlery for a variety of purposes. Qualifier: This is about knives for hunting, fishing, camping and general outdoor choring; I won’t discuss fighting knives, throwing knives or any other such special-use stuff. At least not in this article.
Sheathe Knives
Two words: Full tang.
Western W36
My Grandpa had a great example of a handmade knife some years back. A local guy who Grandpa had done some carpentry work for during the Depression had no cash but was handy with steel. He had a bar of razor steel and offered to make Grandpa a knife out of that. Grandpa agreed, and the result was a wonder, a full tang (meaning the steel of the blade extends fully into the full profile of the handle, with grip panels on either side) knife with walnut grips. That knife would take an edge like… well, a razor, and would hold it. I remember watching Grandpa hone it, wipe it on his old razor strop, then proceed to slice paper by dropping it on the blade. Sadly, when Grandpa died that knife disappeared along with all his fishing gear and his old Fox double.
About the time Grandpa left us, my folks gave me a Western sheath knife, the old W36 Bowie type blade. That knife not only takes a good edge but (as I know from experience) will hold it through two deer or a cow elk, including not only field-dressing but skinning and quartering. A good solid full-tang sheathe knife like that will do you through almost any outdoor choring you’re liable to run across.
If you’re dealing with either small game or fish, there’s one sheath knife that really stands out; it’s flexible, holds an edge well, it’s lightweight, and it’s not even very expensive; that would be the fine old Rapala fillet knife. Its fine, tapered blade is delicate enough to take thin fillets off small fish and to deal handily with rabbits, squirrels and birds. With the 6” version you can easily field-dress a deer, so long as you have a hatchet or saw to cut sternum and pelvis. But the Rapala isn’t really a big game knife; it’s with small game and fish that the Rapala shines.
Some things to look for in a fixed blade sheath knife: A full tang, a stout blade (it shouldn’t be thin or whippy, unless it’s a fillet knife, when a thin blade is needed) and a good hilt to keep your hand from sliding up onto the edge.
Rapala Knife
Folding Knives
Two words: Buck 110.
Buck 110
There are many folding hunters by many manufacturers (Schrade in particular makes a very good one that is a doppelganger of the Buck 110) but the Buck 110 Folding Hunter is the gold standard by which all such folding hunting knives are measured. It has a fine stainless blade that will take and hold a good edge while literally (as Buck commercials used to show) being tough enough to survive being hammered through a nail. I have one that I have carried since I was about sixteen; I’ve dressed deer, antelope and javelina with it, along with all manner of smaller critters. It rode my belt through my Army service and saw duty there for everything from opening MRE packs to (closed) rapping on the crew doors of armored vehicles to get someone’s attention.
Buck, Schrade, Case and a number of other manufacturers make good solid folding hunters. I suppose there may be some off-brand blades that are of acceptable quality, but I have yet to see one. I have a small 3” folding knife that carries the Winchester name and according to the blade was made in China (what the hell isn’t?) and it’s of pretty good quality. I was given that knife as a gift back when Winchester was still Winchester; I can’t speak for the quality of any such knives now, if indeed such a thing is still available.
Some things to look for in a folding knife: A solid riveted hinge, a secure lock, and good brass or steel on each end of the knife. A quick-opening feature can be handy but isn’t essential, but a good lock is – you don’t want the knife folding up on you when you’re elbow-deep in elk guts.
Pocketknives
Two words: Swiss Army.
Sometimes I think there are many variations on the Victorinox Swiss Army Knife as there are stars in the sky. You can get a cheap little inch-and a half version with a tiny blade, a file and a toothpick, you can get a massive version with screwdrivers, a corkscrew and a magnifying glass, and everything in between. One thing you can count on; if it says Victorinox on the knife, it will be a good buy.
When I was a kid the Barlow was something of a standard among the farm kids, hicks, rednecks and roustabouts I grew up with. They were good for whittling, cleaning fish and small game, or any of the other thousand and one tasks for which we needed a cutting instrument. Those knives are now made by Schrade and are still a good handy pocket knife.
Some things to look for in a pocket knife: Light weight, portability, a good stainless blade (440 is the best) and a handle big enough to make for a good safe grip. Multiple blades are handy but not essential.
Oddballs and misfits
I can’t summarize this in two words.
Herter’s “Bowie.”
Those of us old enough to remember the old Herter’s catalog (the real Herter’s, not the purveyors of junk that have somehow acquired the name now) will remember that old George Leonard Herter had some very distinct ideas about outdoor equipment, and knives were no exception. I have one of what old George called the Herter’s Bowie knife, which isn’t at all like Jim Bowie’s classic design but instead looks more like a steak knife. But looks aside, the old Herter’s sheath knife has a stout, thick stainless-steel blade of good quality steel that holds an edge well; its lack of a guard makes some caution in handling necessary but it’s a good solid outdoor knife. Mine has been used to dress out few eastern whitetails back when I lived in Iowa, and always performed well.
The Wyoming Knife is another oddball, this one a specialty device meant for one purpose: Field-dressing and caping big game animals. It’s a funny-looking thing. While I’ve never used one, I have used knives with a back-hook meant for field dressing, and it’s handy to be able to quickly and smoothly unzip a deer, elk or antelope. It makes for a nice clean process, or at least as clean as field-dressing can be. Now that I think on it, I may have to try a Wyoming knife next season.
And don’t overlook such multifunction tools as the famous Leatherman. Plenty of military folks carried one when I was in back in the Cold War Army, Mrs. Animal among them. While it’s not really a “knife,” they do have knife blades along with all the other various and sundry tools found in the device. It’s a handy thing to have around and while I don’t carry one on my person as a rule, one does live in the tool box in my truck.
Wyoming Knife
And so…
And, finally, some unsolicited advice. For those who frequent gun shows or any other kind of outdoors trade venue, or even if you look in the glass cases in many gas stations and truck stops, you’ll see a wide variety of knives for sale at some incredibly low prices. Believe me when I tell you, they aren’t worth even the few dollars they charge for them. They might make decent paperweights, but as practical cutting instruments they aren’t much good.
Most of them are made from Chinese, Pakistani or Indian steel that is unevenly tempered and full of cinders. If you can manage to get one to take an edge, it won’t hold. Don’t bother. Pay some more, get a good quality knife from a reputable maker, and you’ll never regret it.
There’s an exception: If you know a knife is going to be abused, don’t spend a lot of money. My Dad kept several cheap pocketknives in a drawer, rarely having paid more than a couple of bucks for them. He used them for scraping paint, for prying, for digging, whatever his choring around the place required, and when one broke – they inevitably did – he would toss it in the creek, go in the house and grab another. While there’s an exception for every rule, that’s the only one I can think of in this case.
A knife is (or should be) a serious tool for serious business. You don’t have to go broke buying one, but neither should you cut corners. Pick carefully and you’ll have a good solid piece of cutlery that should last a lifetime.
You all know my preferences on firearms and so forth by now. I have plenty more to say on that score, but just to change things up, I thought I’d share a tale or two from my younger years, when I was a little tad learning my way around life in Allamakee County, Iowa.
To that end: It might be interesting to poll parents on the subject of what sound they would most associate with memories of their children. Some parents might remember the sound of laughter, the plunk of piano keys, or the squeak of a bicycle chain.
In such recollection about me, my parents would probably have said “thump.”
If there were a title for the Northeast Iowa Falling Champion, I’d have won it hands down for quite a few years running. There are probably less than three bodies of water in the northeastern quarter of Iowa into which I haven’t fallen; if you can fall into, off of, on, or out of it, I’ve done it. A typical scene at my parent’s house in my childhood years may have read something like this:
A typical Allamakee County foot bridge.
ENTER: DAD, sitting in his chair on the front porch, reading a book.
YOUNG ANIMAL enters from stage left, and stops in front of the door, water dripping from his hair and clothes.
DAD: (Not looking up from the book) “Fall in the creek again?”
YOUNG ANIMAL: “Uhh… Yeah….”
DAD: “Don’t drip water on the carpet. Your towel is in the shed where it always is.”
In spite of the repeated dunkings, often at times of year which made immersion in a spring-fed stream extremely uncomfortable, there was always the urge to attempt a crossing on a three-inch wide down tree covered with loose bark and wet from a cold rain. At times like that the conflict between ego and id approached the stage of a declared war:
EGO: “Go ahead, you can walk across on that.”
ID: “Are you kidding? You won’t make it five feet! Remember what happened last time? And the time before that?”
EGO: “Don’t listen to that wimp! Cross on over, there’s bound to be grouse in that thicket on the other bank and now that it’s stopped snowing, they’ll be out feeding.”
ID: “This isn’t a good idea!”
SPLASH!!
Northeast Iowa is full of wonderful climbing trees, but as a young boy I had less than the normal enthusiasm for them, probably due to the repeated impacts with the ground underneath. Several of my Mom’s gray hairs were directly related to my crashing, high-speed, gravity-assisted exits from large trees.
I gave up hunting deer from tree stands in my early teens for this very reason. Mind you, this was in those innocent years before modern tree stands.
I recently received a catalog from one of the nation’s largest outdoor suppliers and was amazed at the technology in today’s tree stands. It now seems that the properly equipped hunter has a tree stand made of titanium and nylon webbing, with a nicely padded seat and backrest, a comfortable safety harness, a tray for your lunch and a beverage holder. The modern tree stand weighs less than a typical sandwich; well, at least less than one of MY typical sandwiches. It also follows you out to the hunting area, scouts the area for fresh sign, aids in the location of a tree, climbs the tree by itself, and places convenient steps strapped harmlessly to the tree trunk.
Our tree stands consisted of a piece of 2×6 nailed into the crotch of a tree at least 50 feet up, to make sure the deer wouldn’t see you. Safety belts? Safety belts were for sissies. We shinnied up the tree and used a piece of bailing twine to haul our shotgun or bow up after us. It was generally considered wise to have a shotgun or bow in the tree; not for the chance of a deer happening along, but rather because the weapon provided something to break your fall when the inevitable happened. Black-powder guns with large protruding hammer spurs and bows with razor-head arrows were preferred for this purpose.
With typical teenage enthusiasm, a typical opening morning of Iowa’s December deer season would see me on stand three hours before sunrise, shivering in the sub-zero cold, waiting for legal shooting light. With the approximate speed of a two-toed sloth on Valium, the sun would creep up over the horizon and with the light, enough warmth that I would begin to feel almost comfortable in my insulated coveralls. With comfort came the normal drowsiness associated with a 15-year old operating on exactly 12 minutes of sleep. With the drowsiness, eventually, came sleep.
Some memories stay with you, vividly, for years.
Reminiscing about hunting from a tree stand always brings to mind a wonderful dream. In the dream, I was enjoying a remarkable, floating sensation. I was adrift among the clouds, floating weightlessly above the ground. I remember thinking, isn’t this neat! I remember, though, something about a tree… What was I doing, before I fell asleep, that involved a tree?
The memory at this point involves a vision of grains of snow among brown, dried oak and maple leaves, seen from very close up, for one reason: I generally awoke, facing downward, approximately six inches from impact. Not just any impact, either, but the sort of tooth jarring, bone-rattling IMPACT that loosens several vertebrae and has you seeing stars for several hours afterwards. It is a singularly unpleasant way to wake up, one that I don’t recommend.
My most spectacular fall involved a .22 rifle, a cliff, a river, and a squirrel.
The Chimney Rocks, circa 1975.
The Upper Iowa River winds through some of the Midwest’s most beautiful countryside. The best of the best is the Chimney Rocks area near the tiny town of Bluffton. The Chimney Rocks are a set of limestone bluffs that form rounded towers a hundred feet or more above the river.
Early one morning, my friend Jon and I were creeping along the top of the Chimney Rocks, rifles in hand, searching for gray squirrels. A barking squirrel in a large hickory had drawn my attention, and in a stalk with all the sophistication and woodcraft available to a teenage boy, I had managed to close the gap to about 30 yards. Doing this, however, had necessitated creeping along the very edge of the bluff…
The more intuitive among you, dear readers, have probably already seen this one coming.
I could see the squirrel’s tail jerking as he barked a greeting to the morning. Another step and I’d have a shot.
The structure of the Chimney Rocks was such that the edge was somewhat, well, frangible. Pieces of limestone would occasionally detach themselves from the top edge of the bluff, to splash seconds later, through six inches of water, into the gravel riverbed far, far below.
The Chimney Rocks are composed of marine limestone, formed under some primeval ocean, countless millions of years before there were squirrels, boys, or .22 rifles. Over the eons, the limestone hardened, the oceans receded, the land rose. Over that unimaginable stretch of time leading to the present, the Upper Iowa River formed, eroded though a hundred or more feet of rock in forming its present channel. The Upper Iowa River flowed along the Chimney Rocks before Indians came to what is now Iowa. When Columbus set out in three tiny ships for the New World, the Upper Iowa flowed placidly through the woods and meadows of this place, and the Chimney Rocks stood watch over the river as now. When Patrick Henry shouted about liberty and death to the Continental Congress, the Chimney Rocks stood over the river, unconcerned. When thousands of Americans went off to fight in two world wars, the Upper Iowa and the Chimney Rocks were unimpressed. It was only after all those events, after that vast, unknowable stretch of geologic time, that I came in my eye-blink of time, to hunt squirrels on the upper edge of the Chimney Rocks. On that particular stretch of the bluffs, where I crept closer to the tantalizing flick of a gray squirrel’s tail, a section of the edge of the cliff stood as it had for millennia, waiting for a seminal event in the Earth’s history.
That seminal event, of course, was my stepping on that section of the cliff top. A large section of the cliff face – the section I was standing on – chose that moment – that precise moment! After millions of years of geologic time, after all the seasons, all the events, the section of cliff face chose that moment to give way and tumble to the river a hundred feet below.
Not being entirely willing to plummet a hundred feet into the river myself, I grabbed the only lifeline offered – a two-inch sapling growing near the new edge of the cliff. I then found myself in the interesting predicament of being suspended over a vast gulf of chilly mid-western air, a hundred feet over a six-inch deep river with a hard rock bottom. I had a rapidly shrinking sapling in one hand and my rifle in the other.
The squirrel bounded to the end of his limb and looked down. I wasn’t aware until that time that squirrels could adopt an intolerably smug expression.
Several seconds later, the detached rocks pattered into the water far below.
With the usual teenage aplomb, I flung the rifle up over the edge, to free my other hand; I was unable, however, to reach the sapling with my free hand.
After several years (well, it was probably only several seconds) it occurred to me that my salvation lay in my hunting partner Jon, who still stalked tree-dwelling rodents some fifty yards away. With a voice pitched a couple of octaves higher than normal, I calmly called to him.
“Hey! I could use a hand over here, Jon!”
Jon wasn’t known as a particularly bright character, but he did possess a certain primitive slyness.
“Are you trying to get me to spook him your way?” Jon replied, referring to the squirrel. “You can’t catch me that way! I’ll be on him in a minute!”
The squirrel grinned down at me from the branch.
“Jon, just get over here!”
Jon, walking towards the sound of my voice, was rather intrigued to find a .22 rifle lying unattended on the ground. At this point, even his primitive intellect sensed something amiss.
“Say,” Jon noted, “You can’t shoot no squirrel without your rifle.”
At this point, the sapling had shrunk to approximately the diameter of 2-pound test monofilament. The squirrel made himself comfortable on the end of his limb, in anticipation of shortly seeing a teenage boy attempt to fly.
Well, to make a long story short, Jon eventually saw my hand holding onto the sapling, and my arm disappearing, strangely, over the edge of the cliff. At this point, he realized that something had to be done and with a strength born of all his summers of tossing hay bales, he got hold of my wrist and managed to haul me to safety.
As I sat a few feet back from the edge that had almost led to the early and catastrophic end to my career, gasping hard enough to strip leaves off of bushes fifty feet away, Jon handed me my .22. The squirrel, sensing a reversal in his fortunes, had long since departed.
We trudged back to Jon’s van in silence.
Finally, as he was starting his ancient and asthmatic Dodge van, Jon decided to break the silence.
“So, I guess you didn’t get a shot at him, huh?”
As the years have gone on, I’ve grown somewhat more cautious. With age comes wisdom, after all, or so I’m told. (My wife may disagree.) In Colorado, mountain terrain offers unique opportunities for some really spectacular falls while pursuing mule deer and elk. Still, my record is improving, and my id and ego don’t fight over things as they used to, perhaps because 50-something-year old bodies don’t recover from spectacular drops onto sharp rocks as well as 15-year old ones do:
EGO: “Listen, those rocks are probably pretty stable. And you’re at least ten feet from that drop off, and the slope’s not that steep. You did see an elk over there three weeks ago, remember?”
ID: “I don’t like this. That’s at least a two hundred foot drop off, and I don’t think it’s ten feet, I think it’s more like three.”
EGO: “Well, maybe you’re right. Let’s go back to camp for a sandwich.”
Sailing (Or- Being wet, cold, sore and sick doesn’t seem like a Jimmy Buffett song.)
Sailing in “Hawaiian snow”
In the first part of this tome I advocated for giving a thought towards rock climbing as a possible sport for those seeking an individual freedom recreational activity. But some of you may live too far from climbable areas and others may go, “Wait, what did you say about bodies and granite blocks?” For you, I propose another sport with much to offer from an individual freedom aspect- sailing.
The popular thoughts about sailing bring up images of Judge Smails from “Caddyshack,” Ron Rico from “Captain Ron,” or billionaire sailors burning $1000 bills for lighting cigars while watching the America’s Cup. The truth about sailing is vastly different. Young people, old people, rich and poor people can all access the water, enjoy themselves and experience individual freedom while sailing.
The quotable CPT Ron…
and an appropriate boat name for this spot.
What is sailing and why is it better than just messing around in a boat? (Or- Isn’t a sailboat on the water just like a Prius or a bicycle on the Interstate?)
Sailing encompasses huge areas of activity and the sailors who enjoy their sport widely consider other sailors to be misguided, crazy or boring. If you are interested in sailing you are quickly confronted with questions like: monohulls, multi-hulls, one design racing, day sailing, cruising, racing inshore or offshore, just getting out on the water, and a mix of some or all of the above.
You can participate in any or all forms of sailing once you learn the basics on how to more or less safely balance the interactions of two fluids while manipulating a vertically mounted airfoil. Once you have made headway on that you can then follow activities according to your interests, sailing areas, available cash and potential partners.
I initially learned to sail while in grade school on a golf course pond in southern AZ. I didn’t think much about sailing again until I was living in the German Alps with a young family and lots of lakes nearby. I needed a weekend outdoors activity I could do with my youngun’s while their mother was at work. Bingo! We could go sailing. The challenges and joys were real and it was an activity that they liked as well.
But back to the question at hand. Why an ancient method of propulsion like a sail when you can speed around with huge engines and modern speed? Short answer: freedom and relative costs.
The pointy end is in the front and the stick goes up. (Or- As Captain Ron said, “Well swab, once you do that job well, you can get a better job, then another and you may become a mate.”)
Most people learn to sail either by starting on a small and simple boat or by crewing on a bit larger boat and picking up skills. I think a combination of the two is probably the optimum way, if the option is available. In a small boat you can learn how to manipulate your sails to achieve a desired result while keeping the costs of error very low and easy to recover from. My first boat was an open hull with a basic lanteen rig (one triangular sail mounted partway back from a corner).
Dbl Eagle’s first yacht
I could sail in small bodies of water near home at speeds that didn’t freak out young kids and if the boat went on its side it was easy to recover from. That was good since one absolute fact is that if you sail a small boat you will go into the water sometimes. All these things were great since I had to judge weather, water and could work my way to my goals.
Many local groups use smaller boats to keep expenses low, and open up sailing instruction to kids as young as seven or eight. If you get a youngster deciding on a course and learning how to get there and back you breed an independent spirit within them. As their confidence and skills grow so is their ability to direct their exploration.
But don’t sell small boats out. Pretty well all great modern sailors learned on small boats and the Olympics feature only 1-2 person boats. Your basic Laser class sailboat is found everywhere from local resorts and community sailing classes to the Olympics. A well-tuned and well sailed Laser goes like a bat out of hell and is great challenge.
Laser with beginners in light air.
Laser with US Olympian Anna Tunnclife in more air.
Sailing with a more experienced crew is another great way to learn. I didn’t have this opportunity when I was first learning how to sail since there wasn’t a well-developed sailing community where I lived. That meant I had to learn AND FAST how to make decisions to protect my crew (aka family) but it also left holes in my knowledge.
After I moved to Hawaii I first joined sailing with others on their boats and I have learned an amazing amount from some incredibly experienced sailors. I had to take the initiative to introduce myself to a skipper and convince them to take a chance on me. Luckily, that wasn’t too hard, but to get an invitation to return for another sail I had to show that I was open to instruction and was a good team member. As I did that I gained more responsibility and then that opened more responsibility.
There is no government process that says who must let you sail, what responsibilities you get and when you must be promoted. It is up to you and your crew. If you aren’t happy you can freely depart and find a new crew that may better agree with you.
Fast is relative. (Or- Jeebus! We are going 18 knots and it feels like we are flying.)
Sailboats range the gamut from older boats with traditional sail plans to the new planning boats that actually are above the water and any sailboat can move faster than the apparent wind propelling them. On a smaller boat that I race we are ecstatic if we can hit and hold 6 knots, on other boats we are feeling down if we dip below 15 knots for any length of time.
Yeah, a power boat can speed right up with enough engine and a proper sea state, but to get to near a sailboat’s theoretical speed is exciting in and of itself. Another plus is the wind is free. When I was sailing in Southern California in the 1990s there was a midsized powerboat a few places over. One time talking with the owner he mentioned how he was happy with the dip in gas prices because he could go to and from the Cali coast to a nearish Channel Island for only $100 in fuel. I was gobsmacked and asked if he was going at hull speed and he said no, that was a cruising speed. With my sailboat it cost me a few cents of gas to get out and under sail and a few cents more when having the engine on while anchoring and getting into the slip at the end. My trip to and from the islands was less than a Quarter. He got to the island quicker, but it cost me less money for the initial investment, in maintenance costs, in fuel costs and as a bonus no damage to my hearing from engine noise.
Entropy is supreme at sea. (Or- Why fix it right when we can fix it right now?)
Boats break, things on boats break, things that hear the word “boat” break and they all need to be fixed. Sailors get to be handy at making repairs because things don’t like to break when it’s convenient or when a professional is nearby. Some very rich sailors with the mega yachts have entire crews to make repairs at sea while the owner catches up on binging a Netflix show using the alternate power systems. The rest of us learn how to make repairs, figure out a jury rig, think up alternates and determine stockage rates of tools, repair parts, fuel and lubricants.
It doesn’t matter what you sail, be it a small boat like a Laser, a mid-range boat, or a larger boat- ongoing maintenance is key and even then it will not be sufficient. Every sailor I know with at least a modicum of experience can do some small engine maintenance, rig tuning to keep the mast upright, sail repair, and hundreds of other small tasks. You need these skills since at some point you’ll be called on to fix something or develop a work around while far away from shore. Or at worst, you must be able to abandon a boat with all your crew and sufficient supplies to survive while you send out an SOS.
I know a couple of sailors who could make MacGuyver throw up his hands and exclaim, “How did you do that?” I’ll discuss it more later, but a good mechanic, computer or radio tech can make more than enough to be able to finance an unlimited time cruising. The above principle applies to medicine as well. Sailors know they are the first responder for their vessel and those who travel beyond the horizon often have more medical knowledge than that. People who are able to keep systems running through their own, or small group, knowledge tend to see beyond the trope that government must take care of us.
Your horizons while sailing are virtually unlimited. (Or from Captain Ron again- If something is going to happen, it’s going to happen out there.)
Many sailors decide that they want to venture farther than what can be conveniently sailed when you must get back to your starting point before the day ends. This doesn’t mean you need a 100 foot long mega yacht. I started “cruising” with my kids in my first boat with some camping gear and we sailed to a small island in big lake and camped the night.
Many cruising areas feature passages which never involve leaving the sight of land. Some of these areas can be explored for your entire life and you’ll never run out of new places to see. But the common feature of almost all cruising areas is that the vessel crew decides on timing, routes, speeds, what to see and what to skip, where to spend the night(s) and what is your luxury and how you want to accommodate it.
Poorly named Desolation Sound, BC.
Passage making is not the government’s responsibility. Depending on where you go the variables can be easy to very challenging and it is all on the skipper, perhaps with the assistance of the crew. You are responsible for studying the weather, tides, currents, depths, available daylight, strength of crew, logistics of the boat and any other variables and then you make the call. The government is not there, it is up to your judgment alone.
It is wise to let others know of your plans- but there is no governmental requirement. It is judicious to not be too adventurous for your experience- but it is your call. If you speak with the skipper and go, “No, I don’t think is wise (or fun)” it is up to you to make the call to not go. But the water and atmosphere can always throw in an unexpected variable and it is up to crew to deal with it. People who seek out this responsibility tend to be distrustful of the judgment of government “experts.”
The first rule is to stay on the boat.
When I am cruising I like spending the night “on the hook” and am not big on tying up to a dock and dealing with paying and all the hassles of dock life like lights streaming into cabins and/or lines hitting masts all night. When we sailed in Puget Sound and the San Juan Islands we rarely spent the night in a marina since there was always a new place to anchor for the night. Once on the hook I would throw the crab pot out, we might go to shore to go clamming or collect mussels and start enjoying evening cocktails.
Here in Hawaii it is a rare interisland passage where we don’t catch a fresh mahi mahi or tuna to grill in the evening, again while enjoying a cocktail after a dive to check out the local sea life. Because of the realities of anchoring and having sufficient space for “swinging around the anchor” it is a rare night to have many boats close to each other. If you want to have others over or dinghy over to another boat that is great. If you want to ignore the others, that is great too. I especially like those nights which the anchorage is mine alone.
Anchorages sometimes have limits emplaced to protect features or because local knowledge knows some areas are dangerous if the weather turns. But most anchorages are totally up to the skill and judgment of the skipper and crew. It is your job to determine the spot (knowing that it your responsibility to stay away from earlier anchored boats), making sure the anchor is set, how long of line should between the anchor and boat (7 to 1 is pretty standard), that the boat will remain safe if a storm blows in/the tide drops or rises etc.
Then when it is time to leave it is up to you to recover the anchor and make your way safely out of the anchorage to open water. I have been “trapped” in a small anchorage for almost two days because an unexpected swell closed the entrance to safe passage. But since provisioning the boat is up to the skipper and crew with no government minimums, we had plenty of food, water and beer, but we did run out of black strap rum.
Sunset in a “crowded” Maui anchorage.
Taking the big jump. (Or- When you see the Southern Cross for the first time You know now why you came this way.)
It doesn’t happen to every sailor, and for others it may only happen once, but many sailors look at a sailboat and go why shouldn’t I just sail to Tahiti? (Or to Hawaii, across the Atlantic, to Iceland, around Cape Horn, to Bermuda, or, or, or, or) Plenty of sailors have crossed oceans on sailboats less than 30 feet and most sailboats crossing oceans are under ~40 feet.
You know how to keep the boat moving forward, you know (and have hopefully practiced) emergency procedures, the boat is well “found” (maintained and equipped), between you and your crew you have knowledge of repairs, plenty of food, drink and appropriate clothing. So why not, why the HELL NOT, shouldn’t you just let loose the lines and sail over the ever receding horizon?
Many sailors do decide to sail away- some for an occasional passage and others for days, years and even decades at a time. They take advantage of the freedom of the ocean to become worldwide travelers and view the entire globe as a potential port of call. Thanks to modern communications and transportation these free spirits can stay in contact with loved ones, and for a lucky few their employers.
I have met people who work editing technical publications, freelance authors, and developing/testing code to keep a regular paycheck coming in. Others are great with their tools and hands and refill their coffers by performing repairs beyond other sailors’ skills. Almost without exception none of the people are rich in money and they fully acknowledge the sacrifices in other aspects that they are making to live the life they want.
Some are poor, very poor, in a material sense. Everything they own is in their 32 foot long kingdom. A kingdom that is decades old but lovingly maintained. But I have never met a cruiser that didn’t have lifetimes of experience and a spirit that valued nothing above freedom.
Approaching Oahu while returning from Maui. These crew members are working to keep the boat properly healed over.
The first time I went on an extended passage I was with some experienced people and one other first timer. A few hours after leaving shore we were far enough out to sea that all you could see was the constantly moving blue water spreading to every horizon; that night’s moonless sky was so full of stars it was hard to make out the constellations and the Andromeda Galaxy (M31) was a clearly distinct smudge in the sky. The sound of the water rushing past a few inches from my head as I tried to sleep and the never ending motion was freedom to me. To the other first timer……….not so much. He’s a hard charging inshore and off shore racer who can still be counted on to be there and bust his ass to try and help us win, but he discovered that a day on the boat is enough for him. He pulled his weight and nobody gave him anything but good natured ribbing for deciding that he would buy a flight home and not return with us. Like I said at the start of this tome- every sailor has their own way and every way right for them.
Crew rest is important while cruising.
Racing. (Or- Don’t kid yourself. If two boats are sailing the same direction there is a race going in in at least one skipper’s mind.)
At one end of the spectrum of sailboat racing are the round-the-globe races. These are expensive, grueling tests for a solo sailor or crew and the boat. At the other end of racing spectrum are two skippers betting on who buys the first round while heading to a location. (There is much truth to the dictum: sailboats are propelled by the wind but are powered by alcohol.) Wherever your race falls on the spectrum it will probably make you a better sailor.
There is no self-delusion on how well you are getting speed. Those other boats are keeping you honest about how good your choice of direction is, how well your sails are set, how balanced your rudder is and a hundred other details.
I started racing on a regular basis when I moved to Hawaii and have received a constant tutorial on boat speed, sail shape, balancing a vessel, and anticipating wind shifts. One to two nights a week year round and several weekend days each month I am out there learning. Plus when we do well, the prize pitchers of Cuba Libres or Margaritas taste extra good. Since people who make decisions well outside the norms of the fleet can end up winning, most sailors don’t believe in blindly accepting the approved wisdom delivered from on high- they’ll make their own decisions thank you very much.
Start of a race. Balancing boldness and caution is supreme.
Downsides to sailing and cruising. (Or-Guerrilla. Gorilla. Huuuge difference.)
Well to be frank- you will get seasick at some point. Everybody does, so the only thing to remember is concentrate on the horizon if you can and go ahead and puke over the leeward (downwind) side of the boat because you’ll feel better after you chum the water. You will be late at some point for some event important to your spouse/employer because the winds will be either too low or too high. Sailing is much more work than most people think so you’ll get sore muscles, bruises and “boat bites”; but these are a sign of a life well led. There is much truth to the saying that the two happiest days of boat ownership are the day you buy it and the day you sell it.
The final downside I’ll address is the US Coast Guard. “Coasties” do sometimes perform amazing acts of seamanship or flying to rescue professional seamen or recreational sailors. For that I doff my hat at their skill and bravery. However, the USCG does not like recreational sailors or boaters because: A) We are too independent on the water and have beat back their every attempt to try and force people to use tracking beacons on their vessels; B) We do not like inspections at sea and regard “safety inspections” (aka snooping for drugs or contraband) of our vessels with at best ill hid contempt. Yep the government is the biggest downside to sailing- imagine that.
Lasers during World Championships demonstrate the downside of failing to properly balance the interactions of two bodies of fluids.
When is enough enough? (Or-Swallowing the anchor)
Sailing can be a lifelong experience. Multiple times a year I see the local yacht clubs running classes for 7-8 year old boys and girls. I love watching them getting that first taste of responsibility and freedom. There are young teens I race against who know how to get speed almost like magic in any wind condition or sea state and understand the Racing Rules like a Supreme Court justice knows the law. I have met older men who were still racing, and beating our collective asses, at 92 years of age.
I shared an interisland passage with a couple in their 70s who had full professional lives, grown kids and multiple grandkids. After they retired they decided to cruise for 3 years. They are still cruising and said that their original decision was almost old enough to vote, but one year their 3 year cruise would end.
I hope to have time to cross oceans, see Cape Horn to port under a full moon, gunkhole in deserted bays in Desolation Sound while listening to the sounds of Orcas speaking through my hull as I enjoy a glass of wine and fresh caught Dungeness Crab. And most of all to continue to enjoy the freedom that sailing offers far from suffocation of government. My advice is to give sailing a try since it can be experienced all over the Glibertariat. If a young person is looking for a chance to learn skills, experience the freedom of literally “shaping their own course” and to compete against others- let them learn to sail. The worst that will happen is that before you know it you’ll read the entire Aubrey/Maturin series of books.
Out for a sail-or- a bad day on the water beats almost any good day on land.
** Except for the Laser photos, I am in or took most of the photos.
The Glib community is full of people (and reptiles) with some amazing work and recreation skill sets. I read the articles and comments in awe and trepidation of how many valuable skills sets are assembled in this small part of the “Certified Family Friendly” internet. Someday, if the trends continue and Zombie Hillary becomes POTUS we will have to try to survive the HRC/antifa apocalypse then we will be doing nothing but trying to survive.
But until that day arrives we all enjoy recreation in our downtimes. Sometimes that recreation is rumored not to include drinking, drugs or Mexican ass sex. This got me thinking about what outdoors recreation attracts liberty valuing individuals. Many of us participate in or are at least familiar with hunting, fishing, home brewing and other activities that encourage these traits. But I can propose two others for consideration by you, friends, or younger people- rock climbing and sailing. Wait and hear me out. All climbers aren’t hippies and all sailors don’t make Scrooge McDuck look like a welfare recipient. In fact both sports favor those who don’t fit those stereotypes.
PART THE FIRST
Climbing (Or- How do they get the ropes up there?)
Short answer: They bring it themselves.
Bringing the rope up the steep side of the Yosemite’s Half Dome.
Rock climbing is the usual gateway into the entire enterprise of mountaineering. The basic skills that you develop on the rocks are adaptable to the other forms of climbing, but most climbers continue in rock climbing alone. Most stay with shorter climbs since these offer plenty of challenges without adding the additional hard work and dangers associated with the deep dark corners of climbing like high altitude expeditionary, extreme ice/mixed, or even big walls. Pat Ament, a famous rock climber from the ’70s, tried a winter mixed rock and ice climbing route one time and after that stated the only ice he ever wanted to encounter again would be in a cocktail glass. So this little essay will only use the “gateway drug” of rock climbing to expound on climbing and liberty.
So why does climbing attract liberty lovers? Trust and autonomous decision making are the simple reasons. People climbing together literally hold their partner’s life in their hands and are responsible for assembling systems to prevent each other from plunging to the ground. They alone are responsible and they know it.
Belaying is life. (Or- climbers, unlike skiers, do not return from the mountains with knee injuries- if a climber misjudges the situation they generally have the good grace to die.)
I was 16 when I learned to rock climb and quickly discovered that if I fucked up, my friend and/or myself would be dead. In my technical rock climbing classes I stopped the sandbag, and then caught controlled falls by fellow students (and they of me) all while being carefully watched by instructors.
It was only a few months later, on a climb with a friend, that the seriousness of what we were doing really got imprinted in me. We were climbing a pretty moderate route and I was belaying about half way up a 300 foot cliff. My partner was slightly below me and moving sideways to get around a bulge so he could then come straight up to the belay ledge. All of a sudden I saw his eyes get big and heard a strained squawk as he disappeared under an overhang below his feet.
I locked up the belay, then felt the shock on myself and the belay anchors system as I caught him after he fell down and left and stopped with a snap and started swinging in a circle a few feet away from the cliff. Now I was holding my friend 150 feet off the ground as he tried to get back on the cliff after falling around 15 feet. He recovered, got back on the rock and then climbed up to me.
As we both let the adrenalin work through our system we took stock. We could retreat, but hell no, we would get our heads back into the game and keep going up. As he prepared to start up the next stretch of the climb the seriousness hit me with a jolt. If I hadn’t caught my friend he would have hit a ledge around 100 feet below and bounced off until the rope ran out about the time he would hit the ground. If I had screwed up the belay anchors it would have been worse. When the shock hit the system they would have ripped out and both of us would be finding out how much gravity sucks until we hit the ground and died.
As it was, the rest of the climb went well and we stuck at the sport. Over the course of the next decades I fell many 100s of times and caught many 100s of falls. Place into a person’s hands the responsibility of life and death and they tend to take other responsibilities more seriously.
This is why you have the rope.
Placing protection and arranging belays is life. (Or-Unravel the mystery or soon become history.)
Some climbs take very little thinking to protect since you just clip your rope into existing protection and anchors. This involves trusting other members of the climbing community since they and not any government agency is responsible for placing and maintaining these bits of metal. But on most climbs the climbing party has to design, place, recover and use again the system that enables the rope to stop a fall.
Climbers get proficient at a real life understanding of high school physics concepts such as forces, vectors, potential and kinetic energy. The other thing they get good at is judging and balancing risks. An old climbing joke is, “Judgment comes from experience and experience comes from poor judgment.”
When a climbing party gets to the base of a cliff they look up and normally see a big old rock and a series of cracks. To get to the top they’ll need to determine how to take a bunch of nylon and a small pile of aluminum shapes and use them in a manner that will prevent people from hitting the ground if they fall. No government agency or larger group is there checking: do they have the right things, is the weather okay, do they have the permitted experience and strength to try the crack? The decision to attempt this climb is totally on the two climbers and their judgment.
Once they start it is up to the first person (aka “the leader”) to use the nylon and aluminum in a manner that will prevent him or her from falling farther than they want to if something goes wrong, while the other person is responsible for using the remaining materials to set up a belay that will hold the force of a fall and the combined impact of two bodies on the belay.
While climbing, the leader evaluates risk and their meager pieces of aluminum and must always remember that they will fall twice as far as they are above the last piece of protection (aluminum bit) they placed into the crack. When the leader decides he wants protection, he must find a place to stop that he can take at least one hand from the rock, then size up the crack with his eyes, unclip the hopefully correct size of aluminum, place the metal into the crack in a manner that won’t rip out under a shock but be removable by the other person, pull up slack rope and clip it to the protection and then start climbing again.
This continues for the entire pitch (one section of a climb between belays) with the leader constantly judging the difficulty of the next section, how the crack changes size, how much stuff he has that will fit the crack and the knowledge that when he stops he must have enough stuff left over to set up the next belay.
When the leader gets to the end of the pitch because the rope runs out, or it is a natural stopping place, the leader uses the remaining stuff to set up an anchor. This anchor will protect the leader from falling to the ground and provide the second with a belay as they climb up removing all the stuff the leader left in the crack.
Normally what happens next is the two people switch roles and the initial leader remains the belayer and the original belayer takes over the role of the leader. This gets swapped back and forth until the top of the climb is reached. Take a person and make them responsible for designing, using and recovering the system that will keep them alive and you get a person who learns to trust in their judgment and not the judgments of others.
These pieces of metal and nylon are placed…
in those cracks so the rope can work.
Rappeling is Ugg (Or-great climbers die on rappel)
Sometimes when you complete a climb you can just walk off, other times you must set up a rappel. A rappel (or abseil for the Teutons in the crowd) is conducting a controlled slide down a rope normally using a device to provide friction and your hand to control speed.
Most climbers instinctively dislike rappelling. During a climb, if you never fall the climbing chain is a backup. The rope, protection, climbing harness and belay anchors are redundant because you never fully tested them because you never fell. On an abseil, you are 100% dependent on all those items. If one part of the chain fails- you die.
Again, the rappel chain is entirely the responsibility of the climbing party. They set it up, or inspect and use it- or they approve of an earlier anchor set up by parties unknown. The climbers hook into the rope and friction device with only their approval, or after the quick inspection by their partner, and the party is responsible for recovering their rope at the end so it can be used again. Independence is grown within people that learn to trust their own judgments on a regular basis for their continued life.
If you screw up one of 4 different systems here- you die.
You are Responsible for You (Or- did you know that a body falling from a great height can break a granite block by the force of the impact?)
Some climbing takes place in intensely public places but most climbing takes place far from the madding crowd. And even within popular climbing areas like Yosemite Valley, Joshua Tree, Mt Lemmon or the Shawangunks, there is a bunch of space, 1000s of climbs and relatively few climbers.
If something goes wrong the chances are you are on your own for a matter of hours (or a day or more on a Yosemite big wall). Go climb at a more remote location and you might be the only two or three people within hours, or even days, of the climb and you are on your own, period.
Combine this with the decisions you make concerning the route you will go, the protection you will place and the chances that you’ll take with the weather or other dangers (avalanches, heat or cold etc.) and climbers tend to trust their own judgment and often are not willing listen to others without the same base knowledge of the subject and environment. Looking at a scary move above a bad piece of protection looks a lot different a 1000 feet up a climb that is multiple days from the trailhead than it does where you can see the parking lot in Joshua Tree. People used to, and who enthusiastically embrace self judgment, tend not to see collective solutions for many issues.
Protection math. The leader falls twice the distance he is from his protection. (Unless he screws up and a piece fails- then he gets the additional distance penalty.)
A sub-set of “you are responsible for you” is “you are responsible for your decisions about your partner.” Since your partner holds your life in their hands and their decisions, you are vested in the determination you make about climbing with somebody. There is no governing body to stamp them OK or to tell somebody you can’t climb because you are a dangerous fool.
At best there is the reputation a climber will earn within a social network. But because climbers travel and may not have their usual partner with them, it is not unusual to link up with a climber you don’t know well for a climb. You watch the new partner on smaller routes and speak to see if styles and techniques mesh. But ultimately it is up to you and nobody else to say. “Yep, I trust her with my life. Let’s go do this climb.” I have done El Capitan with a climber I knew only a few days and there were other climbers I knew for years that I wouldn’t tie into a rope with no matter how short and easy the climb.
Your belayer and the anchors he set up. Your life is in his hands. Did you choose well?
Another sub-set of “you are responsible for you” is self-rescue. Climbers will go to great lengths to help other climbers but, and it’s a big but, they are incredibly judgmental of those they try to help. If the accident involved something truly beyond the climbing party, it is a point of honor to help a fellow climber. E.g. in 1980, Yosemite Valley was hit with a large earthquake and a party needed to be rescued from partway up El Capitan. They were well equipped, but the quake changed the size of the cracks so much their gear didn’t fit and falling blocks from the earthquake had destroyed some rappel stations. They couldn’t go up or down so a rescue was mounted to enable them to retreat.
If you need rescue because you didn’t follow basic climbing safety skills- you will be judged harshly. Combine a climber’s inherent pride in their own abilities and responsibility with a desire not to look incompetent/stupid to their group, and people often take the initiative to learn self-rescue skills and figure out their own way out of a problem. These type of people aren’t much fond of handouts.
You Choose the Parameters (Or- This is my Everest so bugger off)
Climbing has many sub-genres, differing levels of commitment and inherent skills, plus no scoring so how to tell a “winner” depends on the person involved. Climbing does have internal socially accepted rules. The most basic socially accepted norm (not a legal requirement) is the first ascent party sets the initial terms of a climb and if you can’t improve on that, don’t bring the climb down to you.
Over the years and decades since technical climbing first started, climbing equipment, training, skills and experience have continued to evolve and improve. Because of these improvements the average climber of today can accomplish more than their predecessors and the very best climbers can now accomplish climbs that were not even dreamed about when I learned how to climb in 1976.
One of these world class athletes recently accomplished a free solo of El Capitan in four hours. Translated: a guy climbed a 3300 foot high cliff that steeply overhangs for hundreds of feet in places with no ropes and no partner in under four hours. (The film in theaters now is incredible.)
The climb in question was originally done in the early 1960s in almost a week with lots of specialized climbing techniques that involve making a movable ladder, and even today most parties take 3-4 days while still using the same movable ladder technique. It is still acceptable to climb that climb the older way or to improve on the older way at some point less than the free solo.
What is NOT acceptable is to chip new holds or add permanent features the original party did not use. Again there is no legal force to the prohibition, but there is a great deal of community pressure. If you want to not face condemnation you don’t bring the climb down to you. Back off and come back when you have the skill and the community will support you for that decision.
Her Mt Everest for the day. It might be short but it ain’t easy.
There is no scoring in climbing and the mountains don’t care that you are there. Most times there is no other spectator to witness what you do on a climb and talk about afterwards.
Some things are considered cheating, but only if you omit them. What does that mean? A leader placing protection and then having the rope pulled tight so they can rest is considered less than top form. If you say, “I rested from a Hex placed right before the crux but then did the move clean.” No problem. If you lie about that and are found out then people will color their judgments of you.
All that being said, other climbers understand that skills deteriorate with age, work/family commitments etc., but the desire to climb remains in many of us. In my best days I could do some intense climbing and frankly climbed some routes that today I have a hard time believing I did since they are so far beyond me now. I climb more moderate routes with my nearly 60 year old body and still get great joy from doing so. The rest of the climbing community realizes that every route can be just the right difficulty for a person and so enjoy the climb. (As long as the norms are not strangled).
Climbing takes commitment (Or- summit or plummet).
A person can learn the basics of belaying and rappelling in a weekend, but to learn how to be a safe and proficient climber takes extended periods of learning, physical training, and the ability to “get into the Zen of the suck.” No matter your skill level there is always the next climb that makes you stretch beyond to increase your limits.
That is one of the addicting things about climbing, there is always a new climb that will challenge you beyond your limits. Whether that “next” climb is because of a harder difficulty, less chances at protection, danger from elements beyond your control, an extensive commitment of energy etc. Even with basic climbs you will be working with muscular exhaustion and failure, fear, pain to the limbs and extremities, remaining focused during periods of intense boredom, heat/cold/wind/rain and even insects, birds or reptiles. (Yes, a chuckwalla bit and opened up my finger that I stuck in a crack too near to it. I had to quickly make a move up without falling while my blood was making the crack too slick to hang from.)
As I told my kids (and others) when I was teaching them to rock climb, “Climbing isn’t necessarily fun, but it is enjoyable on balance. Those are two different concepts.” People who learn how to accept and manage fear or discomfort/pain while remaining focused on accomplishment tend to make their judgments on what a person should accept as a personal responsibility.
Climbing opens up areas, vistas and experiences closed to others. The first is the knowledge of what an amazing thing the body and mind are. When you unlock the mystery of physicality and practical engineering that enable you to climb something new and just beyond your earlier abilities you feel great (maybe after you regain control of muscles and the taste of fear in your mouth subsides).
Plus that great feeling is always there as a potential for you. As an older climber, I have re-climbed routes that were easy for me years earlier, but with my current attributes the same route still had the same sense of individual accomplishment.
Most climbing areas are outdoor wonderlands. Being able to traverse these incredible spaces open up vistas to you that others simply can’t experience. Watching the day end 1500 feet up a vertical cliff while having some food and preparing to sleep because you still have another vertical 1500 feet to go is like being in space and looking down on earth. You are in a different place than the horizontal world below.
Sometimes the experience is not as benign but just as incredible. Huddling part way up a cliff on top of your nylon ropes trying not to touch any metal while in the middle of a sudden thunderstorm gets much more exciting when the St Elmo’s fire starts, you hear buzzing in the air and the simultaneous blinding flash from lightning and artillery like crash of thunder as you smell the ozone from the lightning strike one crack over. With that experience you REALLY get an idea of the power of a storm.
View from 2700 feet up Yosemite’s El Capitan. We spent the night here in hammocks and did the last 300 feet in the morning.
Enjoying the route near Prescott, Arizona.
If climbers are so cool and freedom embracing why aren’t they running the world? (Or- At both ends of the economic spectrum there is a leisure class.)
So climbers tend to be self-starters who have a strong independent streak and intense desire to make their own judgments. They enjoy working in small teams who rely on their combined skills (and equipment) to solve problems and realize that the mountains don’t care about their personal issues, and that they must resolve the dilemma in front of them. There are many climbers who are doctors, engineers, run businesses etc. But there are also climbers who are well named “climbing bums” as well.
Climbing can be addicting for people who can’t get the emotional highs and physical rushes elsewhere. The larger world seems too small and insignificant to what they receive from climbing. A percentage of these people have the innate physical and developed emotional skills to drive the sport farther and standards higher. Some push too far and die or suffer grievous injury. The vast majority of climbers do balance the outside world and the climbing world and even if they give up climbing retain the lessons learned and apply them to life and business.
For me, taking up climbing in high school did contribute to my outlook on life and a person’s relationship to society. I embraced climbing fully and went beyond weekend rock climbing for decades. By the time I entered college I had climbed big walls, some well-known mountains by challenging routes and was part of a mountain rescue group.
There has been very little thrown at me by the “real world” that I hadn’t already faced. So IMHO my relative success in life was positively influenced by climbing.
My advice is, tie into a rope yourself, or if a friend or younger relative wants to give climbing a go- tell them “hell yeah.” They’ll have a chance to become a person with a well-developed sense of personal responsibility and most likely will be liberty and freedom embracing individual for it.
Loyal sidekick Rat and I pretty much plan our year around our primary hunting season.
This year, while we put in for and drew tags for deer, cow elk, and bear, the primary draw for us both were buck deer tags for the 30,000-acre Bosque del Oso State Wildlife Area in Colorado Game Management Unit (GMU) 851, west of Trinidad and very close to the New Mexico border. My project work in New Jersey this year forced me to pick one particular hunt, so the difficult-to-draw Bosque received out attention.
So, we did our map recons, cleaned, serviced and checked zero on rifles, prepared sidearms, sharpened knives, packed camping gear and everything else into the inestimable Rojito and headed for the Bosque the Friday before the season opened. We got down to the area early enough on Friday to have a quick vehicular scout around, seeing two big gangs of wild turkeys and a few does, but no bucks. That mattered little to us at that time, though, with a full five-day season ahead. A day-by-day recap of that season follows.
Day One
Cherry Canyon.
Opening Day dawned bright, clear and warm. That makes for a great day camping and woods-bumming, but not a great day for hunting. The woods were bone-dry, which made moving a lot like walking through dry corn flakes.
The Bosque was obtained by the State of Colorado, assisted by the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation, from a natural gas extraction company. Natural gas extraction is still going on there as part of the purchase agreement, so while access into the Bosque by hunters is limited to foot or horseback traffic from the few designated parking areas, there are good roads for into the unit and we used those on opening day to make a quiet, if not really stealthy, foray far into the right fork of Apache Canyon on the north side of the Bosque. We took a good stand on a hillside overlooking a wide place in the canyon for a while but saw nothing other than scrub jays and chipmunks. Later we walked almost off the end of the property, seeing signs of black bear and turkeys, but no deer.
Mid-day usually doesn’t see much movement on warm, clear days, so we went up Bingham Canyon and proceeded to crawl Rojito up the ultimate portion of the access road, known to the local game wardens as the “Jeep Trail.” It lived up to its name, about a three or four mile climb up a steep, narrow path littered with boulders. It was a bad trail but nothing Rojito and I hadn’t done before, so when we conquered the trail, Rat and I admired the view for a bit, knowing that once any precipitation came in we wouldn’t be able to return. There was no deer sign about, so we headed back down.
In the late afternoon we went over to the eastern edge of the Bosque. By this time, it was t-shirt weather, but we walked up into Cherry Canyon. That location is much drier and more open than Apache, but while we saw some tracks, we saw no deer. But we knew colder, wetter weather was to move in overnight, which normally gets deer moving, so after repasting on Rat’s patented Heart-Stopper Bacon Bacon Cheese Bacon Double Bacon Cheeseburgers with sides of bacon, we retired that night optimistic for the next day.
Day Two
Rat, glassing from a ridgeline.
When we awoke on Sunday morning, the temperature had dropped noticeably, and the sky was low and gray, which boded well for seeing game. We headed again over to the eastern part of the Bosque, this time up Alamosita Canyon, a big, open canyon with pines on the south-facing slope and junipers and sage on the north-facing slope.
The wind was right in our faces as we left Rojito and headed on foot up the gas company road – ideal. Stepping slowly, we moved quietly up the road and into the broad canyon.
Not long after we entered the canyon and began ninja-ing our way up through the sage, over the top of a small spur poking out from the canyon wall to the left came two forkhorn mulies, maybe 60 yards away.
“Nice meat bucks,” I whispered to Rat. “Want one?”
Rat’s deer.
Rat replied by dropping to one knee and taking aim. I watched through binoculars as he fired, sending a 165-grain .30-06 pill right into the bigger buck’s vitals. Through the glass, I saw a big puff of hair explode from the buck’s far side and knew we had a dead deer; the buck hadn’t quite figured that out yet and ran in about a 150-yard semicircle up the hillside, crossing a gas wellhead clear-cut and dying on the far side. When we found the buck, we could look about a hundred yards down the hill and see Rojito parked; as the Bosque allows using the gas company roads to retrieve game during midday hours, once Rat had the buck dressed we were able to pull Rojito up to within thirty feet or so to load the deer up.
I have to say here, I’ve shot deer I had to drag for miles and miles to get out, which really makes one appreciate a convenient extraction for once.
Then the snow moved in.
By the time we had Rat’s deer loaded the sky was spitting wet pellets of snow, which were beginning to accumulate. Since Trinidad was only about 20 miles distant, and since our featureless campsite had nary a tree from which to suspend a game pole, we decided to run the buck into town for processing. On the drive out of Alamosita we saw on an adjacent sage flat another forkhorn meat buck, a near twin for Rat’s. Rat asked me if I wanted to sneak in and get a shot at him, but I kind of wanted a bigger buck, so declined. We ran Rat’s buck into town to the processor, grabbed a hot sandwich, and rode back out to the Bosque and ventured once more up the right fork of Apache Canyon.
Not really suitable for cold weather.
There we remained until night was coming on but found no fresh tracks other than those of a cow elk who had crossed the canyon on her way somewhere in the previous hour or so. Even so, we went back to our cold dry camp that evening with one deer in the bag and confident of the prospects for a second.
Day Three
Cold.
On the third day, my luck changed, and not just because I was still toting around a 10-pound .338 Win Mag whilst loyal sidekick Rat was happily hiking along encumbered only by his day pack and sidearm.
The snow had stopped, but the day was still chilly (low 30s) and the sky still mostly cloudy. We ascended Torres Canyon in the morning and saw a few tracks in the recent snow but no bucks. Spotting a few does on the road over to Alamosita gave me a bit of hope, but despite a long afternoon tramp up the canyon that had been good to us the day before, we saw no shootable bucks. By day’s end I gave up most of my hopes for a big buck and determined, with two days left, to take a meat buck if the opportunity presented itself.
High point of the day, though, was watching several huge flocks of sandhill cranes as the afternoon sky cleared. The big birds were flying high and heading south, and as always, we marveled at how their cries came down so clearly from their considerable altitude. It’s a sound always associated with hunting in southern Colorado.
Day Four
Alamosita Canyon
The penultimate day of our five-day hunt broke clear and cold.
With Rat again happily unencumbered by his rifle, we decided to hike up the left fork of Apache Canyon, having previously only gone up the right fork. That side of the canyon was a little narrower than the right fork, heavily wooded on both sides, steeper and rockier on the north-facing slopes.
The warm afternoon before had melted snow and produced mud in open areas which had frozen overnight, preserving tracks. We cut some interesting trails: A trio of turkeys being trailed by a bobcat, a mountain lion track left in the snow, and tracks of fox, coyote, rabbits and pine marten. But the big event of that hike was when the sound of a rock tapping down the canyon wall to our right led us to see two bull elk trying to pick their way along the slope to get out of our sight. One was a middling five-by-five, but the other was a huge, magnificent six-by-six that any elk hunter would have been proud to have on the wall. The bulls were a mere hundred and fifty yards away and could have been easily taken, but we had no elk tags for the Bosque, and so we watched them picking their way slowly along the steep, rocky slope until they were out of sight.
Bobcat, tracking turkeys. Hope he scored.Lion track.
Then, this being a Tuesday, misfortune struck. A large drilling rig and its crew entered the left fork and proceeded to drive up the company road, making a fair amount of noise and pretty much scotching any idea of hunting that canyon any further. Rat and I walked on out, picked up Rojito in the parking lot and decided to hit one place we had not yet explored, that being the nearby Cirueta Canyon. As it happened, we didn’t get to explore that location.
On the approach to the canyon’s parking area, we spotted a gang of mulies in a creek bottom not far from the road. We determined that there was one forkhorn meat buck in the band of does.
Now I’m no fan of road-hunting, but when the blood-wind blows you such an obvious prize, it’s folly not to accept. As Rat was driving, I grabbed Thunder Speaker, bailed from the vehicle and creeped into the creek bottom, moving from juniper bush to juniper bush to within about sixty yards of the little buck. Finding an opening in the juniper in front of me, I slid Thunder Speaker through the branches, rested the fore-end on one large branch and let fly. The little buck was facing me with his head high; I put a .338 pill right between his front quarters. He ran about sixty yards – towards the road, mind you – and collapsed. Once again, the extraction was easy, which was something of a first, having that happen twice in one season; I don’t know about most of you, but I rarely have that kind of luck.
Thus ended the 2018 mule deer hunt, with no trophies but plenty of high-quality, additive-free, free range venison in the freezer. Any day hunting is better than the best day working, and a day when you bring home venison is just that much better.
Other Notable Events
About to tag my freezer-filler.
An observation: I’ve always maintained (and have done so here in previous articles) that you can shoot little stuff with a big gun, but you can’t shoot big stuff with a little gun. While this is true, in the case of this year’s plump little meat buck I ran across the down side of that. While my shot killed my buck quickly – and I will tell you, a .338 Win Mag will put down a 125-pound deer right now – there was a drawback, as the buck wasn’t facing me straight-on but quartering a little more than I had suspected, so that my 225-grain .338 bullet exited rather forcefully through the right front quarter, destroying most of that quarter’s edible meat. So, I will have to bear that in mind in future deer-only expeditions.
Sunday evening (Day Two) the weather precluded cooking in camp and the cold had us wanting a hot meal, so as evening set in we headed down the road to the village of Segundo. The general store and deli at that location were already closed, but the bar across the highway (Sam’s, in case you’re ever in that area) was open, and while they didn’t have a menu they did have a free-lunch counter consisting of an open bag of chips, some cookies, and a big crock full of sausages alongside a supply of rolls and condiments. We had out hot meal, but the real entertainment of that evening was meeting the man who was apparently the inspiration for the character Gabby Johnson in Blazing Saddles. He was an older gent with an impressive beard and did speak authentic frontier gibberish, offering such gems as “Ash-a-stebba garage cat inna gorge thang” and “Mer dawg issa horsa bit off da kin beet.”
And, finally, having tagged out a day early gave us an afternoon to explore Trinidad. In case you aren’t familiar with that Colorado metropolis, Trinidad is an old mining town a few miles from Raton Pass and the New Mexico border. While most of the mining in the area has faded away, it seems to have been replaced by recreational weed, as we counted over twenty rec-weed shops during the two or three hours we spent strolling around town seeking cold beers. That close to the New Mexico border, I suppose that should come as a surprise to no one.
What’s Next?
A few more cold nights in the old summer-weight tent has us now shopping for a canvas wall tent with a stovepipe hole, to keep us warmer of an evening; that will make sleeping a whole lot more pleasant. But plans for next season always seem to begin during an actual hunt, and sights seen in the Bosque have me determined to seek fall turkey and bear tags for the area in coming years. Rat and I also have a wealth of preference points for elk but haven’t yet decided what to spend them on.
Any day hunting is indeed better than any day working. Work may beckon now, but there are a lot of grouse and other small game in Pennsylvania, not so far from my temporary New Jersey digs, so watch for some news from that quarter soon.
