[R-G] In the Wilds: Be Sensible

[Hunter Gray]

 QUICK NOTE BY HUNTER BEAR:

This isn't a lecture [and apropos of the religious talk on political tv], this isn't a sermon either.

But as I watch yet another frightened and hypothermic city family [Sacramento] happily rescued from the snow-covered wilds, I do have a few thoughts.

Whenever you go into the Wilds, be prepared. That's the old saw from the Boy Scouts, but it's a solid one.  I was never much at all for Boy Scouting -- seeing it as far too regimented [albeit with that dimension well motivated in a paternalistic sense.]  I did have some fine experiences with the thoroughly informal Explorer Scout troop out of Flagstaff [Ariz], and high school level and mostly Mexican-American, that was sponsored by Monsignor Albouy and was pretty much a just plain and pleasant hiking club.  The Monsignor, older and rather frail, never accompanied us -- a couple of older parishioners took that on -- but we were free to chart our own course.

Just fine with me.  I'd been going, ever further into the Wilds, ever since I was seven years old and a fugitive from third grade.

And I was -- and still am -- Prepared.

Traditionally, I've always been the lone hunter type -- sometimes a friend or two, occasionally a family member -- but mostly by myself and on my own.

Once, at 17, I went with several friends -- we were barely out of high school.  It was late September, first day of deer season, and some snow had just fallen.  My companions were basically town kids and quite unfamiliar with the setting I recommended:  in and around Turkey Butte which is only a few miles east of my Special Turf -- Sycamore Canyon Wilderness Area.  We headed out very early in Marvin's car -- the roads were wide dirt at that point -- and at Turkey Butte we split up.  I immediately headed westward to the Sycamore rim country and was soon tracking a buck deer.  I found him, thoughtfully heading right toward the vast canyon to his winter range, but I missed my shot.  An hour or so later, still in the same general area, I heard a cluster of shots. Curious, because other hunters virtually never got even to the Sycamore rim, I slipped over in that direction.  And there I found Marvin with a buck he'd shot.

His first words to me were revealing.  "This is really a good view of Oak Creek Canyon!" he said happily.

 I sensitively and quickly explained to him that That was Sycamore Canyon and added that Oak Creek -- a tourist attraction even then -- was many miles away to the east.

Worried that lions or bears might get his deer -- he wasn't inclined, even with my proffered help, to take the deer to vehicle-accessible Forest Service roads-- he asked if I'd watch it until he was able to round up the others and try to make it in close.  It was obvious that he didn't want to stay there by himself. I readily agreed to "protect" the deceased buck.

And then Marvin confessed he was "kind of lost."

I had an ink pen with me and found an old letter in my wallet.  Using my gun-stock as a writing desk, I wrote out rudimentary directions for Marvin -- that would take him back to Turkey Butte.  He left, assuring me that they'd all get to me no later than late afternoon.

So I waited.  By 6 pm or so -- not surprised to see no one -- I rustled up some old fallen cedar limbs and built a small fire with the matches I always packed -- along with rich chocolate bars and a water-filled canteen.  I wasn't worried:  I had my rifle, an old Winchester 45/70 lever action and my J.C. Penney denim coat with a blanket inlay. At that point, I didn't need a hat but I had my wide-brimmed special.  When evening came and with it colder and colder darkness, I simply built the fire higher.  I listened to the pleasant coyote howls and, around midnight, heard a bobcat yowl.

It was a great night, sort of existential in a quasi-mystical fashion.  Did a lot of increasingly deep, reflective thinking.  Slept now and then -- and easily stayed warm.  In time, the eastern sky lightened and then I could once again see my surroundings in incipient sunlight.

Around ten a.m., I heard yells.  I yelled back.  And there they finally were -- in Marvin's car which had somehow gotten down a bare trace of a road to a not far-away point.  It turned out that, frightened as all hell, they had gone into Flag to the Coconino County sheriff's office that night and asked for what amounted to a "search and rescue" operation.  The deputy in charge had heard of me.  "You don't have to worry about that kid," he told my desperate friends. "I've heard of him and he'll be OK." [I've always treasured that one.] The officer gave them a USFS map and that, plus the directions I'd written out for Marvin, provided the route to me.

We went back to Flag and our homes. [They never went back into that specific area.]  But I didn't stay home beyond grabbing a bite to eat.  I took my ancient Model A and my rifle and was, in due course, back on the Sycamore rim to one of my own very special places. [The Model A was better than a contemporary Jeep and could take me right in there on what amounted to a high grade game trail.] A few hours later, I had a buck deer and the only possible danger I encountered was a dazy skunk wandering around under the high sunlight -- unquestionably rabid.  I avoided It and, after a bit of wandering, was home by dusk.

Whenever you go into the Wilds in any fashion, take matches.  You can start an enduring fire under any circumstances -- even in heavy snow.  If it's a wet situation, helps to have some paper to go with the matches.  Always take some water and at least some rudimentary food rations. And a knife. If you're in a vehicle, some blankets, hatchet or axe, and a shovel can be great friends.  Always helpful at every point to have a firearm,

In the desert [which can get cold at night] always take, in addition to matches, plenty of water, a widebrimmed hat, salt tablets, and a snake-bite kit.

But always matches.  They'll keep you warm -- and, if you're really trapped, they're the key to a Smoke Signal that'll eventually be spotted.

[I have other suggestions but that's enough from me. You all can go the rest of the way.]

Hunter [Hunter Bear]


HUNTER GRAY  [HUNTER BEAR/JOHN R SALTER JR]   Mi'kmaq /St. Francis
Abenaki/St. Regis Mohawk
Protected by Na´shdo´i´ba´i´
 and Ohkwari'
 
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