ULTIMATE
GUIDE TD
S U RVIVI N G
WITH NDTHING
BUT YOUR BARE
HANDS AND
WHAT YD U FIND
IN THE WDDDS
JOHN MCPHERSON AND CERI MCPHERSON
Ejk "During my first years of learning survival I took
a course in survival and primitive earth skills
taught by John and Geri McPherson. I was excited
by their unbelievable passion and their intrinsic
understanding of survival. Their teachings took me
from understanding basic skills to a full-blown love for
the ancient technologies that humans developed to
survive. John and Geri are the real deal. They don't just
teach this stuff, they live it. I loved the experience with them
so much I came back a second time a few years later. Now that
I have traveled the world as Survivorman — experiencing and
filming survival in every ecosystem there is—I can sit back and
watch my shows and see John and Geri's teachings peek
through in every situation. I have been able to understand
survival because of John and Geri, and ^iffl
can highly recommend this book."
— Les Stroud, AK A Survivorman
Packed with in-depih instruction and photos, L'ltinidte (initie to Wilderness
living teaches you the skills needed to survive and live in the wild using only
those things found in the woods. Learn ho w to:
#
#
Ignite a lire wit h a two-stick hand drill
Erect temporary and semipermanent shelters
^
//
^^^ ^ OVER600 \V
# Chip scones and bones into primitive tools // m-rn DV OTcn 11
^
#
[rap animals and hum with a bow and arrow
Fire pots, weave baskets and tan buckskin
U 01 Li Dl 01 Li JJ PHOTOS JJ
# Prepare .nul cook wild foods ^
$15*95
I >IMMIMII. J by
Ulysses
l'nl>li-li. i. iSMMp VI'CM
Press
Ultimate Guide to
Wilderness Living
Also by John and Geri McPherson
Primitive Wilderness Skills, Applied & Advanced
"How-to" Build This Log Cabin for $3,000
Ultimate Guide to
Wilderness Living
by John and Geri McPherson
Foreword by Cody Lundin
Wlysses Press
Dedicated to those who give of their time and all too often their health
and lives to ensure that we, and those like us, are able to pursue our
dreams in freedom—the men and women of the U.S. Military. More
specifically we single out the men that I, John, served with in the 173rd
Airborne Brigade (Sep) in the Republic of South Vietnam (A Company,
1/503rd Airborne Infantry) and the men of the Special Operations
Community who accomplish so much for so little.
Copyright © 2008 John McPherson and Geri McPherson. All rights reserved. No part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor
be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Published in the United States by
Ulysses Press
P.O. Box 3440
Berkeley, CA 94703
www. ulyssespress .com
ISBN10: 1-56975-650-3
ISBN13: 978-1-56975-650-8
Library of Congress Control Number 2007907767
Printed in Canada by Transcontinental Printing
10 987654321
Acquisitions: Nick Denton-Brown
Copy Editor: Mark Woodworth
Editorial/Production: Claire Chun, Lauren Harrison, Judith Metzener,
Abigail Reser, Steven Zah Schwartz
Design/Production: whatidesign @ whatweb.com
Cover Design: Double R Design
Cover Photographs: John McPherson
Index: Sayre Van Young
Distributed by Publishers Group West
PLEASE NOTE
This book has been written and published strictly for informational purposes, and in no
way should be used as a substitute for actual instruction with qualified professionals.
The authors and publisher are providing you with information in this work so that you
can have the knowledge and can choose, at your own risk, to act on that knowledge.
The authors and publisher also urge all readers to be aware of their health status, to
consult local fish and game laws, and to consult health care and outdoor professionals
before engaging in any potentially hazardous activity. Any use of the information in
this book is made on the reader's good judgment. The author and publisher assume no
liability for personal injury, property damage, consequential damage or loss, however
caused, from using the information in this book.
Chapters
Foreword vii
Introduction ix
1 Primitive Fire and Cordage 1
2 Primitive Tools—Making and Using Them 35
3 Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters 75
4 Makin'Meat-1 101
5 Makin'Meat-2 145
6 Deer from Field to Freezer 181
7 Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods 201
8 Primitive Wilderness Containers 221
9 Primitive Pottery 247
10 Brain-Tan Buckskin 273
Resources 312
About the Authors 316
Foreword
It was 1989 and I was a punk kid attending a major primitive living skills
conference. Toting a smelly deer hide, I walked up to him and asked his
opinion about softening the skin based upon advice I'd just been given by
another instructor. It was my first brain-tanned deer hide and I wanted it
to be perfect. After listening to me ramble on, he looked at me quizzically,
cocked his head, and said, "Son, we don't really care how it looks'—we
want it to work"
This was my first encounter with John McPherson, and his words of
simplicity and practicality have rung through my head ever since.
Years later, the world's interest in relearning indigenous living and
survival skills has grown by leaps and bounds. Whether it's a new magazine
article, book, or TV show, more and more people are exploring the art of
primitive living skills and self-reliance. Yet, as in any other "craze," many
who have dubious credibility in what they preach are eager to feed upon
the body of this growing interest. Legions of media producers and editors
who have zero experience in survival skills give their two cents' worth about
what it means to "survive in the bush." Many of these productions not only
are ridiculous in their format, but are filled with errors that, if taken literally
by a starry-eyed and naive public, may very well cause their demise.
Little by little, the simple, commonsense survival skills that kept every
race alive upon the planet were being sensationalized in order to sell one
more book or gain one more viewer. Commonsense reality had turned 180
degrees into a shameless bureaucracy of company-sponsored deception that
honored how a survival skill "looked" rather than whether it "worked."
In similar fashion, on the educational front line, well-intentioned
Foreword vii
professors lectured students about how indigenous peoples lived, even
though the vast majority of these professors had never even camped in the
wilderness—let alone created fire with sticks, a canteen from a gourd, or a
sleeping mat made from cattail.
Over time, the repetition of survival assumptions, half-truths, or outright
lies became an all-too-trusting public's "truth" about outdoor survival and
primitive living skills. The majority of the public didn't care (and still don't).
A plethora of survival books, as well, have been written by authors who are
not survival instructors; and, judging by their works, they haven't bothered
to try out the supposed lifesaving skills they regurgitate upon the page. Even
more common are survival skills practitioners who, while proficient in many
physical skills, don't psychologically live what they teach. This "walk-thetalk"
concept goes much deeper than simply doing a hand drill every other
morning while living in the city. It is an all-encompassing life attitude that
affects every decision one makes in their quest to do more with less. All
indigenous living skills revolved around people becoming more self-reliant
within their environment. The quest for the all-important calorie ruled the
day, and there was no time or consciousness for complicated, flashy skills
that didn't put meat in the pot. In essence, truly living a self-reliant life
(whether the lifestyle incorporates literal "stone-age" skills or not) demands
a lifestyle commitment on all levels that few can stomach.
I can count on one hand the number of survival instructors I know
whose passion for survival skills includes living a self-reliant lifestyle. On
this hand are John and Geri McPherson. They practice what they preach—
psychologically and physically—and have done so for a very long time. The
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living is a pioneer in the field of no-bullshit
primitive living skills and is loaded with practical, time-tested tips, tricks,
and photos that manifest only from many years of "doing it." True to John's
advice given to me nearly two decades ago, this book is written in a style
and spirit that embodies primitive living skills that really work.
Cody Lundin
Cody Lundin is founder and director of the Aboriginal Living Skills School
and author of the best-selling books 98.6 Degrees: The Art of Keeping Your
Ass Alive! and When All Hell Breaks Loose: Stuff You Need to Survive
When Disaster Strikes.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Introduction
This is not written as a survival book—it's a compilation of most of the basic
skills that original peoples around the world used in their daily pursuit of
life, known as "primitive living skills." Knowledge of such skills will allow
you to live in the wilderness with nothing except for whatever nature at
hand has to offer. In essence, the skills presented here are the ultimate in
self-sufficiency. Being capable of heading into the wilderness with absolutely
nothing and making a life there, not simply surviving, is the very definition
of survival knowledge. So, I guess this is in some manner a survival book.
Today, everything around us—all goods manufactured by humans,
whether it's the concrete we drive on, the vehicles we're driving, many foods
that we're eating and the utensils that we eat them with, the computer I'm
writing this on, even the paper that you're reading it on and the ink it's
printed with—everything comes from the Earth! In our case we ("we" being
mankind today) have modified parts of the Earth to create other things,
manmade things. Precious few of the components of everyday "things"
around us (Ford pickups, space shuttles, bread wrappers, clothing, and
so on) contain elements from the Earth that are unmodified. Everything
that we're familiar with has come from the Earth but has been modified
and tinkered with by so many hands that it's impossible for us to see any
semblance with the Earth itself. Ask most anyone to gather materials from
the Earth and make the simplest of necessities, then watch 'em squirm.
Primitive man, by contrast, took everything that he used in his daily living
directly from the materials that nature provided.
Introduction
Not only will this book show you how primitive peoples accomplished
this, but here you'll learn, step by step, how you too can accomplish that.
The purpose of this book is not to entertain; there's more than enough
media out there to do that. Rather, it was written to teach you, the reader,
how to actually do the skills addressed.
Several things set this book apart from other in-depth ones on the
market:
& We, Geri and I, have done the skills we write about. We've done them
a lot. So we write only what we've personally experienced. And it
does work! If you want to know how to do it, read about it here—and
you will know.
^ Each chapter was first written as a complete book of its own. It was
written on one or two particular subjects or skills for the purpose of
teaching another person—you—how to do it. Often a publisher will
dictate a list of subjects for an author to write on (whether or not the
author is familiar with it), and you the reader end up with a lot of
theories and wild ideas instead of facts. Here we decided what you
need to know.
& These skills don't follow any one culture or peoples. The idea is for
you to be able to understand what makes a skill work, which will
enable you to travel anyplace on the planet where resources are
available and for you to use that skill effectively. The rules that we
developed for ourselves are to be able to take from nature only, using
nothing modified by mankind.
& This book covers primitive wilderness living skills only. You'll
find nothing that is superfluous. Information on edible and
medicinal plants, camouflage, tracking, spirituality, and art must
be found elsewhere.
There's no big secret to mastering any of this. It's all just basic physics.
Once it's learned, you'll say, "Well, hell yes—why didn't / think of that!"
Some of it (no, much of it) is time-consuming, especially in this day of
instant everything. But I'm finding that many, many people are pretty sick
and tired of all the hustle. This consumer-oriented industrialized society that
we belong to has made most of its inhabitants dependent on others for even
the simplest of needs. These skills, once learned, because of their simplicity,
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
will be with you from now on till forever—and that's a mighty long time,
folks. They need not be applied or practiced every day to stay fresh in your
mind. And the comfort that comes from just knowing them will give you the
freedom to know that you'll be self-sufficient to the extreme.
You gotta walk before you run, though. Understand where you're
headed, and be aware that that path can—and likely will—change as you
proceed. Pick one or two of the skills in this book that interest you the •
most, then try to gain an understanding of how and why they work. The
learning and practice of most primitive skills can be done in your backyard,
garage, basement, or even living room (depending on the tolerance of your
wife or husband or partner). You can become proficient in them without
ever venturing beyond these bounds. And if you should find yourself in a
primitive situation, either by choice or by chance, though you'll find that
the application isn't as easy as when done in your own backyard, you'll also
find that through repeated practice you've developed the understanding and
"feel" of the basic functions, the muscle memory as well as the confidence
that you "know" how to apply the various methods. You'll own that special
feeling of freedom that comes from knowing that you need depend on no
other man, woman, or beast.
Learn the wilderness under controlled conditions. Use a tent, modern
sleeping gear, backpacks, and fire making. Hike and camp in familiar
surroundings where getting lost or in trouble isn't a part of the equation. Get
out there in all the elements—not just when the sun shines. Learn what it's
like to protect yourself in the rain and snow, especially when you're wet and
cold. Add primitive things a bit at a time. Remember, though, that it would
be rare to impossible for you to be placed in the outdoors with absolutely
nothing, unless you do it voluntarily. Certain of the skills we detail in this
book are necessary for survival: fire, cordage, traps, tools, shelter, and
containers. These six skills are the basis for any living or survival situation.
Everything else will grow from these.
We've read, within the past coupla years, of a group that spent some
time in the wilds of northwest Montana. They had "primitive" down to a T.
All their clothing, bedclothes, and gear were primitive, whether brain tan
or otherwise. Primitive bows. Primitive pots. Plenty of primitive containers.
Primitive fire-making sets. They had primitive under control. But, when they
placed themselves "out there" in the wilderness, it appears to me that they
found they lacked much of a grasp of the wilderness part. Although they
Introduction
commented that mice or other rodents were around and in their campsite,
they never did catch any for food. In 18 days, the only food harvested by
the group was reported to be one fingerling fish. When it rained they moved
from their shelter to the protection of boughs of trees in their attempt to
stay dry and comfortable. Oops? Maybe, but the experience will have
enlightened them to this fact—a part of the learning curve. I'd bet that, next
time, they encounter fewer problems.
As you read this book, you'll notice some references in the form of a
thank-you scattered here and there, but no list of references. This is because,
for the most part, we have learned the skills we present through a lot of
fieldwork and trial and error. We, meaning all of us human beings, are the
result of everything that we've encountered before. For sure, Geri and I have
read or heard somewhere that to make fire by friction we need, for example,
two pieces of wood to rub together. Yet it was through our own personal
efforts and labor that we've learned the little steps involved to make that effort
result in a fire on a somewhat regular basis. No one to credit here except us.
We learned early on that, in our day (the 1950s through the 1970s),
there was no easy way for us to master skills like this. Most books on the
subject only glossed over the information that we were looking for—there
was absolutely nothing available that we could find to teach us "How
To." True, there were a coupla books that tried to cover many of the skills
described here, but we soon discovered that their authors had a lot of talk
but little walk behind them. Some depended on the knowledge of others
(the perpetuation of myths) and since they, the authors and editors, knew
nothing about this, they had no idea that what they were passing along
was for the most part garbage. It might make for good reading but failed
miserably as field manuals. The reason that I early on depended on the use
of a great many photographs to illustrate techniques was to reinforce to you,
my readers, that we've actually done these skills, in the manner that we're
presenting them to you. They do work! (Other authors can draw anything.)
The primitive lifestyle isn't for everyone—in fact, it's for very few. But the
knowledge of the skills needed to live this lifestyle is within reach of anyone.
Enjoy your experience, wherever your path may lead.
John and Geri McPherson
Randolph, Kansas
January 2008
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 1
Primitive Fire and Cordage
The learning of the necessary "skills" to live directly with nature, eliminating
the need of intermediaries, isn't really all that difficult. You learn a little
about this aspect...a bit about that one...and then another. Pretty soon you
find that most of them overlap and the further you get along in your natural
education, the easier it is to learn.
Many years ago when I first got serious about putting all this together
(my first step was to get rid of the TV, and then electricity), I felt that if I
were to learn a few of the basic primitive "survival" skills, I'd really become
quite the woodsman. I soon found that the more that I learned, the more
I still had to learn. I read (and I urge anyone interested in learning to also
read) everything that I could lay my hands on that deals with living with
nature. There's a lot written on all aspects of it—some poor, some superb,
but most lying somewhere in the middle.
Before you can decide what's workable, you'll have to get out and
work with it. Reading only goes so far. When you actually begin to put into
practice what you're reading, then it becomes obvious just who knows what
he or she is writing about.
No special talent is needed here—only the ability to follow a bunch of
natural rules (physics). Any of the primitive skills, today as well as yesterday,
can be carried to the extreme and become an art. I'm far from being expert
in woodsmanship. I have, though, taught myself what I need to know to go
"naked into the wilderness" and not only survive but before long be living
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
fairly comfortably (unless, of course, I froze to death first). I refer to my
teachings as primitive "living" skills, not "survival" skills, though they can
be used in that concept. I have taught myself to be proficient in these
skills—not to be an artist.
Since 1987 I've made thousands of fires with the bow and drill and
with the hand-drill methods. So I'm proficient enough in this to teach it
to others. The same holds true with the making of cordage. The more you
learn, the more you realize what there is to learn—but the easier it becomes
to learn it.
Bow Drill and Hand Drill
The basic principle of making fire with either a bow or a hand drill is really
very simple. The amount of practice needed to develop that special touch
which enables you to regularly succeed in this is another thing entirely.
To say "make fire" with the bow or hand drill is really a misnomer.
Actually, what's accomplished is that the wooden drill spinning on another
piece of wood creates friction, which creates dust, and eventually things
get hot enough that a spark is created. The compressed pile of dust that has
been formed becomes like the hot tip of a cigarette that's placed into a pile
of tinder and coaxed into a flame.
Simple? Yeh, really it is. I've had students "make fire" within minutes of
being exposed to this procedure, and understand just what they were doing.
I'll first show you how to make fire (bow drill first, and hand drill a
little later). I'll quickly describe the necessary components and the steps to
follow. Then we'll get down to brass tacks and go through it again, dwelling
a bit more on how to assemble the parts and to put it all together. When you
finish with this, you'll be able to make fire.
We have five components: (1) the bow, a limber stick about 30" long; (2)
the drill and (3) the fireboard, both of which are softwoods; (4) a cup, called
a "bearing block," in which the upper end of the drill is placed to keep it
from drilling through the palm of your hand; and finally (5) the bowstring,
which will be covered in greater detail later in this book.
Simplified Directions for Making a Bow Drill
We take a knife and cut a notch and a slight depression into the fireboard,
twist the drill into the string of the bow, place one end of the drill into the
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Since there's a definite satisfaction in taking your first ever-spark created
with the bow drill and blowing it into flame, let's have you gather up and
prepare some tinder at this time. Let's make up a batch. I really like the dry
inner bark of cedar (cottonwood is good, also), plus some dry, fine grasses.
Roll these around in your hands till it's fine as a cotton ball. You won't need
much; a small handful will be plenty. Form a hole in it like a bird's nest.
Place this on a piece of bark or cardboard (so that when it bursts into flame
you won't barbecue your hand).
Using Your Bow Drill
With the information contained thus far, you're ready to "make fire." We'll
run you through it once now. The information presented below is certainly
useful (or I wouldn't have gone to the trouble to write it), but it deals mostly
with gathering the materials under primitive conditions.
BOW—Archers, string your bow! Almost any cordage will work, but
it should be strong and not too thin, as it will tend to break easily with
the first-timer. Also, the heavier cordage (not rope) seems to get more of a
grip on the drill. Here I'd suggest using a "rawhide" (not genuine rawhide)
boot lace, which is about ideal. I twist mine tight, which seems to grab the
drill that much better. In short order, you'll begin to feel precisely the right
amount of tension. The string will stretch considerably with use, especially
at first, and adjustments will have to be made as you go along. The bow
is not strung tight; considerable slack is left. When the drill is placed in
the bow, the slack is taken up (note top photo on page 9). Remember, the
tension must be just so; too tight is worse than only a little slack, but there
isn't much room for variables here.
DRILL—Now let's take our selected piece for the drill. I like to point
the upper end a bit (the end that goes into the bearing block). When
breaking in a new hole in the fireboard (as in this case), I find it easier to
operate if I carve the working end into a slight "tit" (study photos on page 9).
Doing this gives it a tendency to take a bit longer to mate the drill to the
hole, but also assists in keeping the drill from kicking out of the fireboard
while the depression enlarges to fit the drill. By the time the two mate, the
hole and the drill fit better.
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
Many times it seems that no matter what you do, a spark simply won't
come into being. The chances of this happening seem to rise proportionately
with the size of the crowd that you're demonstrating this to. But when—not
if—y°u do get that spark, whether it's the first or the hundredth, cherish
and glow with it. It's something that I never take for granted. Like calling
coyotes, there are so many things that can go wrong, yet each time it works I
feel a real sense of accomplishment.
Some Observations on Using the Bow Drill
For the last few passes of the bow, some folks advise that you apply slightly
less pressure on the drill, to kick out the spark that may be under it. I usually
don't find this necessary, but if unsure of the spark I sometimes do it.
If I seem to have difficulty getting a sure spark, I often make several
furious passes with the bow at the last. I don't like to do this, though,
because it has the tendency to wind me. Then I lose control of the operation
at this point and the drill kicks out, knocking away the dust pile.
Usually you can tell that the spark has formed, because you'll see a wisp
of smoke rising from the dust, separate from the smoke created by the drill.
On occasion, the entire pile of dust will suddenly glow—a good sign!
A single hole in the fireboard is capable of many sparks. Before using it
again, it helps to slightly roughen the tip of the drill and the hole.
After several uses, especially with too tight a string, the drill will become
too "round," causing the string to slip. This is usually easily corrected by
carefully shaving it till it's once again unround.
Ear wax, or oil from your hair or the side of your nose, will help to
eliminate friction in the bearing block. Always remember that you're
eliminating friction at the bearing block, and creating it at the fireboard.
Avoid placing the wrong end of the drill into the fireboard, as that little
bit of oil can really foul things up.
Under damp conditions, find and use the driest woods available, and
get into the driest location that you can to work. If the wood's only damp, it
can still work, but it will take a lot longer. The spinning drill eventually will
dry things enough to work, though you'll have a lot of strikes against you.
Under primitive conditions, the hardest components to gather will
be the string (covered later) and the bearing block. Sometimes you'll find
a ready-made block in a stone with precisely the right depression, but
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Using Your Hand Drill
To put this in action, get into a comfortable position. My left foot again
holds the fireboard, but your position may not be the same. For me, it's
slightly different. I need to place the foot out a bit further and drop my
knee out of the way somewhat, so that I can get a good full run of my
hands down the length of the drill. I use the side of my heel to hold the
board. Your hands must come down straight. You must keep the drill
perpendicular. By placing my foot and knee slightly different than for the
bow drill, I'm able to start my hands "rubbing" at the highest comfortable
point (in my case, 24") and to keep them going to a point about 6" above the
fireboard. Once you reach the lowest point, raise your hands again to the
top one at a time, so that you can keep constant downward pressure on
the drill. If any air is allowed to reach under the drill, it cools everything off.
Once both hands are up, repeat the procedure. Eventually the smoke, dust,
and spark will appear—though not all that easily.
This procedure will wear you out, I assure you. A completely new set of
muscles is at work here. After you've done this for 45 seconds or so, you'll
feel as if you've run the Boston Marathon, yet using your arms instead of
your legs. It's strenuous and it takes a lot of practice to get this operation
down smoothly, which it must be to be successful. I suggest that you do a
lot of practicing before you even think "fire." This is a bit more complicated
than chewing tobacco while walking. Here you must also juggle. It does take
practice, not only to get everything running smoothly, but also to get yourself
into some semblance of physical well-being. This does sap your energies.
(Anyhow, it does mine.) It also creates blisters on the palm of your hands,
which eventually will turn to calluses if worked at long enough. It took me
well over a month of daily workouts to develop a good set of calluses, which
a four-week vacation of "city living" took away.
Some Observations on Using the Hand Drill
When you first attempt making fire with a hand drill, I suggest going
slow. Get the movements down to where everything runs smoothly and
automatically. Your hands clasp the drill at the top, you rub the drill
between your palms (keeping constant downward pressure), you keep the
drill perpendicular at all times, when your hands reach the bottom you grasp
the drill with the left hand's thumb and forefinger, you raise the right hand to
Chapter 1: Primitive fire and Cordage
Making Cordage
I'll attempt to describe this simple craft by words—something not so simply
done. I'll also use photos of my own, since I'm more adept at taking them
than at arranging words.
Let's begin. Take several strands of thread; any kind or size will work.
Let's just make them 3' long for this demonstration. Lay them out on
a flat surface and use a magic marker (or anything similar) and dye the
strands black or dark for one third of their length (that's 1', folks). You
don't have to dye them; the color is added simply to make the process
more understandable on this trial run. Pick this bunch of strands up at the
point where the dye begins. Now, you have hanging from your fingers two
lengths of strands, one being 2' long and white, the other 1' long and black.
Correct? You right-handers hold them between the thumb and forefinger
of your left hand. Let's say that the shorter black strands are now the ones
uppermost in your grip. Begin with these (my reference to these individual
strands will now be references to either the black or the white—still with
me?). Now, take these black strands and twist them tightly clockwise
(that's to your right) for 1/2" or so. Twist the now-twisted black strands
counterclockwise, over the yet-untwisted whites; hold them securely. Now,
twist the whites clockwise and twist that over the blacks counterclockwise.
You'll find yourself always working the top bundle as they switch places.
That's it—the entire secret. Just keep doing this till you're within a few
inches of the end of a strand, and splice in more, to continue for as long as
you like. (See photos on page 27.) Keep the splices at different intervals on
the two sections, to keep the whole stronger. Constant splicing of few fibers
makes for a stronger whole. The twisting clockwise of the individual strands
and twisting them counterclockwise into one strand is the way to do it. The
contrary twisting holds the whole damn thing together. It's a very simple
concept—till one tries to put it into words.
With this knowledge, your life in the wilds takes on a new dimension. You
don't have to think for very long before the possible applications start forming
in your mind. From threads to ropes, the list of uses for cordage is endless.
Cordage materials need to be strong enough for the task at hand, but
also must be pliable. Although dry grass would certainly be strong enough
for the bow or drill (as well as numerous other uses), its brittleness makes it
unusable. It would break immediately just tying a knot.
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
We'll begin with what you're likely to have with you when thrown into a
survival situation: a neckerchief or scarf, or something similar. Tear this into
strips approximately 1" wide (a normal neckerchief is about 18" square).
Pick up the first strip as with the fibers (in thirds) and begin the twisting
action as described above. When reaching the end of one strip, I tear the
last 2" into thirds (also with the new spliced-in strand) to help interlock the
splice, and on I go. When I reached 3 1/2' with the kerchief I was working,
I quit with 5 strips left over. (See bottom photo opposite.) The advantage
to being able to use this technique is that in a survival situation you might
have access to a T-shirt, or some bandages from a first aid kit. The list of
possibilities goes on.
If you're lucky enough to get lost with a furry critter, so much the better.
I worked with the underfur of a dog and found that I had an unlimited
supply on hand. It wasn't all that difficult to get the hang of working with
it, either, though different than the longer fibers I'm more accustomed to.
In a few hours, I ended up with a good solid rope about 3 1/2' long. When
making fire with the fur, though, I found that it stretched easily and slipped
badly on the drill, till I wetted it—then it worked like a charm. You might
also come across the carcass of a furbearer (coon, coyote, and the like)
where enough leftover fur might be lying around. (See photos on page 28.)
Something that most people will have with them is a supply of hair. If
things got tight, you could cut your own. This works well. I ended up with a
good strong rope in little time (not my own—donated by Margie's Country
Image). The hair that I worked with was about 6" to 8" long, though a bit
shorter would also work. Again, it's easier to work with if wetted first.
Plants for Cordage
The list of fibrous plants that can be used for cordage is long. I won't cover
them all, as I don't know them all. I've never worked with dogbane (also
called Indian hemp), which I've heard is about the best plant around.
Stinging nettle, velvetleaf, and hemp (marijuana) are three similar,
widely distributed, and common plants (weeds?). All make a good, strong
cordage easily capable of withstanding the stress of the bow and drill. Using
dried plants, I take a rounded rock and lightly pound them to break the
stalk, and then tear this into strips (roughly thirds). I then begin at the top of
the plant, "break" the inner material, and then "strip" the outer layer loose.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 2
Primitive Tools—
Making and Using Them
For the most part, in this book we will be using modern tools to show
you how to maintain life in a survival or wilderness situation. But, you
might ask, "What's the purpose of learning a complete series of primitive
wilderness living skills if I have to resort to modern technology to
accomplish them?"
Great question. We feel that the best way is to learn the skills
themselves, then learn how to do them the hard way, this time using
primitive tools and implements.
Hard way? As you'll see in this chapter, "hard" is the wrong term.
"Different" is a better word. Different and more time-consuming. But in
adapting primitive to our modern lifestyles, aren't we trying to get away a
little from the time-consuming, overly complicated, highly mechanized, and
artificially powered tasks of ordinary life?
Of course, you can read up on any of these subjects in a variety of
reference books, and watch all kinds of demonstrations that you may find
on the Internet. But if you don't just jump right in there and apply yourself,
nothing's gonna happen.
Learning to make and use primitive tools in a day-to-day situation
really isn't hard. Still, we feel that if you're trying to learn to master tool
making while at the same time changing your accepted approach to using
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
such tools, you'll be spending a lot of extra time and encountering much
frustration. Therefore, we teach the skills first, and then we teach how to
accomplish them with primitive tools. As you'll see, eventually it all
naturally ties together.
But what do we mean by "tools"? Our hands are tools, aren't they?
I suppose that, for our definition, here we'll be making tools for our hands
to use to do the projects that we'll be covering. That will pretty much
encompass any project that you're likely to happen upon in a primitive
situation. There are three important points about tools:
& Tools need to be made from materials that can be found in nature:
stone, shell, bone, antler, horn, wood, and so forth.
^ Just what do we need these tools to do? Gouge or poke, chop, pound,
bash, split, and (most important) cut. Put yourself in a primitive
situation without a cutting implement of some sort, and you won't do
very well.
# Methods of manufacture include flintknap, peck, grind, and burn.
Now I'll try to break this down into some semblance of order.
First and most importantly, you need some type of cutting tool—a
pocket knife, so to speak. Think about all the projects that you do, or would
like to do, or might have to do, in your daily regime in the wilds, and what
tool will be the most important? A cutting tool. Let's begin with that.
Basic Flintknapping
Now, don't look at some of the photos in this chapter of fine blades and put
the book down, thinking "I can never do this." You may be right, maybe you
can't. But the tool that you're going to need to cut and chop your way into
or out of the woods is indeed within your grasp. Read on.
A lot has been taught, and some little written, about flintknapping,
which is the art of systematically turning stone, particularly flint, into
functional tools. ("Knap" simply means to break with a quick blow.) Some
of what we've seen in print is good, a little of what we've read is very good,
but most is just trash. Almost nothing generally available to the student of
primitive wilderness skills attends to the very basics, the most important
aspect of knapping: that is, the obtaining of the spall or flake either to be
used as is for the tool or to be turned into a tool. This first basic function
of spalling, called making the flake, is the most important part of knapping.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
One quality that all these rocks possess is that they're homogeneous (of
the same composition throughout). Simply put, they're all one, there's no
grain to them (unlike the grain in wood), and energy will travel equally in
any direction that it's directed.
Techniques of Working Flint
You can predictably remove flakes from a stone in three generally accepted
ways. All three have similar, but different, rules:
Mfr Direct percussion, where you hit the parent rock directly with
another rock, an antler, or a wood billet (a short, stout piece of wood).
# Indirect percussion, where you place a blunt pointed tool (such as an
antler tine) at the point of removal of flake from the parent rock, then
strike this with a billet.
# Pressure flaking, when you place the antler (or wood tool) against the
parent piece and remove a flake by applying pressure.
Here we'll work primarily with the basic direct percussion method, just
touching on pressure flaking as a means of resharpening. Pressure flaking
can also come in handy in platform preparation.
With direct percussion what we're doing is striking one rock with
another (wood, antler, and bone are some other tools that can be used).
Now, for our purposes, almost any rock will suffice as a hammerstone, even
the same as the core, but this isn't recommended. The better case is to use a
sand-type stone, but not some crumbly old piece. It should grip the platform
(defined below) for just a microsecond to allow the energy to be released
smoothly and yet be strong enough to take the abuse. The hammerstone
deforms as the core bites into it. The harder the flint, the harder should be
the hammerstone.
To remove large flakes from a large nodule, you'll need a large
hammerstone. I prefer to work with a fist-sized and smaller hammerstone
for my general work, as this fits comfortably in my hand and seems easier
for me. The smaller the hammerstone, the more force necessary for flake
removal; and the more force exerted, the less the accuracy. And accuracy is
important. You'll discover that if the rock is properly struck, the flake will
separate easily.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Rules
To make finely flaked, long, thin blades, you first must learn many, many
rules and have (usually) years of experience. In order for you to make the
stone tool necessary to perform the functions outlined earlier, you need
to know only two rules. With them, you can be turning out tools (flakes)
almost immediately. This has been argued by one of the country's foremost
knappers, but I have proved him wrong many times. In fact, after one session
I conducted of 45 minutes or so, 3 of the 15 students present were doing just
that—and they were on average 11 years old! The rest didn't seem to care.
Two rules. Pay attention, now. Your practice will be your finished tool.
Two rules (I repeat myself purposely), one more important than the other:
(1) the cone (angle), and (2) the platform. The cone is the more important.
The cone determines how rock will break when struck. Flint breaks
conchoidally. The instant that a force strikes the surface of the flint, the
energy is transmitted into a cone radiating at about 120°. The break in the
stone pretty much follows this cone. The significance of the cone is that
it determines at what angle and where you must strike a blow in order to
remove a particular chunk of stone.
The platform is the
surface that the blow is
Direction of blow delivered to. It must have
a particular shape, or the
If
blow will be ineffective.
The platform can't be
crumbly or fragile. If it is,
the stone will crumble when
Direction of energy transfer
struck, rather than fracture
cleanly. The platform is the
edge of the stone forming an angle of less than 90°. The importance of the
platform is that it determines whether or not a blow will produce a flake
at all. You can beat all day on an obtuse angle (more than 90°) and not
produce a predictable flake, or you can strike a weak platform and ruin it.
Note various platforms in the following text and photos.
You can know only the concept of the cone and produce tools, or you
can know only the platform and not produce any. Know and be proficient
with both, and you'll be a beginning flintknapper. You'll be able to remove
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Support
We've established that when you strike a rock, the energy is transmitted
conchoidally—into a cone. Still, there are some variances. If you were to
strike a blade from an end of a long, slender piece, shock waves from the
blow travel through the rock haphazardly. If the rock weren't supported
properly, these haphazard shock waves may snap the piece in two at the
unsupported end. So be aware of this for some of your basic work.
(Note photos.)
Three common ways to support a
piece. Above: First, here the hand's
doing the supporting, though this
particular piece is almost too long
for free hand support. The far end
is held against the palm while the
fingers hold the worked end.
Right, top: Second, lay the piece
on your thigh (in this case without
a pad, as would be the case in
the field). Most knappers use a
thick leather pad. In this photo the
worked end alone is resting on the
thigh while the other end is simply
"supported"by the knapper's
other hand. The entire piece could
be resting on the thigh.
Right, bottom: Third, in this case,
the worked end is free while the
other end's supported by being
pushed tightly into the thigh.
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Recommended
Once you have the understanding of the concepts placed forth here, you
might want to advance even further. The only complete book that I'm aware
of that's worth its salt is The Art of Flintknapping by D. C. Waldorf. Its
only drawback (that I know of) is that it doesn't begin with the basics—a
good reason for my own book! The first time or two that I went through
it, I was ready to trash it. I simply wasn't able to comprehend what it was
that the author was saying. It was too advanced. But, once I got some basic
understanding under my belt, I took in more and more of its principles. I
still read it occasionally and each time pick up more. Get it.
Another primer on this subject is Flintknapping—The Art of Making
Stone Tools, by Paul Hellweg. Online sources can help you find used copies
of many useful books on the topic.
Whew!
I'm sure glad that's over with! Not that the subject of flintknapping is so
difficult, as you've no doubt seen. What's difficult is finding the right words
and putting them with the right photos to make it all gel.
Let's proceed now to discuss other materials we can use for tools when
caught in a survival or wilderness situation.
Trying to figure some sequence for what follows has been about as timeconsuming
as doing it. You'll find that much of what I'm laying out from
here on to the end of this chapter ties back to the basic principles of stone
working (knapping). You'll also discover that working with one resource
requires, on occasion, working with another. It's that old circle of primitive
technology that kept so many of our ancient ancestors alive and kicking
(thanks, Great-great-great...grandpa!).
What I've done now is kinda laid out the photos that Geri and I have
created for this chapter. I'll write around them, since they speak much better
than any words or drawings of mine could. Since we've been concentrating
on sharp edges, let's continue along those lines.
Shell
Whether thick ones or thin ones, shells can be used in many ways as tools.
Heavier ones can actually take quite a bit of abuse as choppers or scrapers,
though probably the most common use would be as a cutter of some sort.
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 3
Primitive,
Semipermanent Shelters
Some of my fondest memories are of sitting in a shelter tucked under pine
trees or in a forest of oaks and other hardwoods, with the wind howling, a
freezing rain or snow outside, and inside a blazing fire and a warm drink.
We've seen and heard much on shelters from other experts with outdoor
backgrounds. When people learned that we were working on a book on
shelters, almost to a person they urged us to include the basic shelter: the
debris type. This is little more than a glorified pile of leaves, grass, and sticks
that you can crawl into, much like a sleeping bag, to get out of the cold and
wet. It insulates you from whatever you want to be insulated from. It does it
well. But in this chapter we'll do little more than touch on it.
When Geri and I were kids, it was only natural to build a shelter of this
type, as it didn't take much imagination or skill. Yet I can think of three
instances of where this shelter comes in handy: a true survival situation
when you won't have time to complete a better shelter, including making
a fire; in a situation where the instructor doesn't want to take the time and
effort to show the student better housing; and finally, where the instructor
doesn't know anything more.
A debris shelter has lots of problems. If weather is bad (reason for the
shelter), you're locked into your bed till it changes. If you venture out, you'll
end up wet—something you don't want when you're trying to stay warm.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
So in a true survival situation, you're pretty well stuck looking at leaves
and grasses at nose length and lying around waiting to get found (you're
also insulated from sound and well-camouflaged). If, like the vast majority
of modern woodspeople, you've placed yourself into this woods situation,
when you finally get bored, you get up and go home.
I've been accused, most of my life, of being somewhat crazy for
spending so much time outdoors in rain and snow. But when I venture into
the elements, I try to be comfortable. I've spent the vast majority of my life
"camping out" during the winter months, both as I was growing up in the
mountainous southern tier of New York State and also for the last 40-plus
years in Kansas. Winters get cold. Some of my friends may have thought
that when I ventured out I kinda curled up in a convenient snowbank and
had beavers offer me their waterproof coats. Well, I love winters and cold
weather, but I hate being cold and miserable. A good shelter makes for good
comfortable living out of doors.
If you find yourself without bedding, the debris shelter is your bedding.
But don't make it your house, too. Build something to live in while you're
up and about and can tend a fire. Use the litter for a sleeping bag.
Once you understand fairly well the basics of a shelter—what it's
supposed to do, what its limitations are—then it'll be pretty simple to adapt
the resources you have at hand and make a comfortable camp.
A special thanks to our friend Bill Lansdown of Alva, Oklahoma, who
spent nine days with us while we constructed the shelters illustrated here.
His strong back and ready wit were a tremendous help.
What a Shelter Keeps Out (and In)
A shelter is simply a barrier between you and whatever is out there. Wind,
sun, heat, cold, rain, snow, bears...bears? No bears here. Let's stick to the
weather—the elements.
From the above list, what we'll concern ourselves with here is
protection from cold and wet. If you can get those under control, making
barriers from the other elements (excepting maybe high winds) will be a
piece of cake.
We need to keep the water out, and we also want to be able to have a
fire in, or convenient to, the house—preferably inside. We'll be using strictly
natural materials.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Floor
For all our shelters, the existing ground will be the floor. It may be padded
with leaves, grass, dirt (if on rock), or some other material to your liking.
We don't look upon the floor, as in modern structures, as something to
keep litter free. Dirt comprises most all our house floors. Softer materials
under bedding does make for better sleeping for your aching body, though.
Primitives both today and yesterday often poured blood on the floor that
then hardened and became rubbery, like linoleum. If required, or desirous,
to build in a wet area such as a swamp, you can lay a network of poles over
a framework to raise you up.
Walls
For protection from the sun alone, walls might not be needed. For
protection from just about anything else, walls are a necessity. As we'll
see shortly, the walls are often integrated into the roof with the frame.
Sometimes, however, the walls will be separate. In many cases, the walls
will also support the roof. Sometimes a single-thickness wall will do the
trick, but more often than not, for the purposes intended here for protection
from water and cold, a double-thickness wall is what we want. Wind and
sun aren't all that hard to keep at bay. The interior temperature can be
raised considerably with minimal protection. But water has a way of getting
through almost anything eventually. So, if we can get our house waterproof,
we've got it made.
We'll illustrate here how to incorporate and use rocks in one circumstance.
What we find almost as simple to construct and highly effective, when using
most materials, is a double row of sticks placed in the ground and filled with
litter. This makes for a completely airtight, waterproof wall.
Roof
To us, the roof is one of the most critical segments in a shelter. It will usually
be the one most responsible for keeping out the water, so here's where we'll
give what seems to be the most attention. A roof is what makes a shelter.
For our criteria, the roof needs to repel water. Not a really simple task,
but also not that difficult if you're aware of some basic rules.
Rule #1: Water runs down. Seems obvious, yes, but it's surprising how
many forget this when building a shelter. Most rains are accompanied by
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
wind that pushes the water in from the side. Once water hits the roof, the
water will cease its sideways motion and begin to fall downward. What we
need to do is slow this fall till it gets beyond the inside of our house.
With a flat roof, once the water hits, it has nowhere to go but into
the house. Flat roofs don't work primitively unless we have a large rock
outcropping or something similar. Mostly, forget about flat.
Now, the steeper the pitch of the roof, the faster that water will run
down it, giving it less time to soak through the materials and come inside.
The thicker the roof covering, the more time it takes the water to
penetrate it. The finer the material used in the covering, the longer it takes for
the water to get through. Thus, coarser materials call for thicker coverings.
Long grasses make for good coverings. Water has a natural tendency
to follow the stems and leaves of the grasses. Every time the water hits an
obstruction, it will divert from its sideways following of the grass, and will
fall to the one below it. So we need the material to be thick enough that, by
the time it works its way around all the grasses and falls out the other side, it
will be beyond our living space.
Place the grass upside down on the shelter. As water follows the stems
and leaves, it will then naturally follow downward. If the grass is placed on
the way that it grows, whenever water reaches the junction of leaf and stem,
it will drip.
Smoke Hole
Since one major requirement here is the ability to use fire with (and within)
our house, we'll need some method to allow the smoke to leave.
Smoke will naturally seep out of the roof of all these primitive
shelters. We just can't get them completely airtight with the materials we
have at hand, though leaving some other opening (if kept small) doesn't
hurt. You'll see four methods in the pages to follow.
Keep the roof space high.
Rule #2: Smoke rises. If the interior ceiling is high, on days when the
smoke seems to linger, it will be above your heads. In the shelters here
illustrated using interior fires, in all cases when we've had fires, we've been
able to stand comfortably, as the smoke was sufficiently ventilated. Smokier
fires require more ventilation, so burn small-diameter, dry wood.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
Try any of these materials:
NfrSod ^ Stone
l^Dirt & Grass
# Wood ^ Leaves and litter
# Bark Lashing material
It is unbelievable, the amount of materials necessary to construct a good
weatherproof shelter. The larger the size, the more material that's needed.
If the house is for long-term use, make it large enough for however
many people and their supplies. The four shelters illustrated here are
designed for three to four people. Smaller shelters are easier to heat. For
interior fires, roofs must still be high.
Availability of materials should be real high on the site-selection list. It
can be tedious and time-consuming to haul materials from any distance at all.
Is there a sequence in building? Well, probably most times. I suppose it
might help to gather materials before you begin any construction, but then
again many times we'll just begin with the actual building and use whatever
we come across by way of materials.
Very seldom do we approach building with any actual plan in mind.
We just want to end with the best shelter possible under the circumstances.
Some might think that for an overnight shelter any old thing will do, but
what if you get a goose-drowner rain?
The importance of the roof is stressed throughout this chapter. The
foundation or the framework, or both, need as much attention, as they'll
hold it all together.
Do the best you can with what you've got to work with. There's not much
sense in spending a few hours in putting up a roof if it doesn't repel anything.
The Wickiup
Warm and comfortable, the wickiup is probably one of the quickest and
easiest shelters to construct. Using any number of materials, it can be put up
in as little as an hour or so if materials are at hand. It can be built to repel
most water, and a controlled fire is possible inside.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
The Lean-To
The second shelter that we illustrate here is also something of a quickie.
This is the shelter that I pretty much grew up with in the Appalachians of
southern New York State some 30 to 40 years back.
Now, in my estimation, the basic lean-to that most people are familiar
with falls far short of qualifying as a real "house"-type shelter. By its nature,
lean-to's are exposed in one or more directions to the mercy of the wind and
any wind-driven elements.
But when you're on the trail and using it as a one-nighter, this drawback
isn't quite as noticeable as it will then be (or should be) when built with its back
to the wind, or, if fitted with sides, possibly quartering the wind somewhat.
The wind is a fickle thing. Generally it doesn't blow exactly straight
from any one direction but constantly shifts directions a bit. This fact alone
makes sides on your lean-to a must (remember that walls needn't shed water
so much as wind). If you expect to call this shelter home for any period of
time, a coupla variations will help considerably to add to your comfort.
You'll note in the accompanying illustrations and photos that we've
indeed added substantial walls or sides to the lean-to. Also, we've extended
these to swing to the front right and left, to help block the wind. In addition
to this you'll be quick to note that we have constructed a wall of sorts to the
front of all this by several feet so that the wind is thereby blocked from all
directions. This leaves us with approximately a 2' corridor left and right to
enter by, and the fire is placed right in the middle of what little remains of
the open area directly in front of the shelter. In actuality, what we've done is
construct a chimney for our fire.
In Kansas, we generally build our shelters with the back to the West, as
that's the direction the prevailing wind comes from. In summer, though, we
face slightly north of West, and in winter we try to face somewhat south of
West as the seasonal winds shift accordingly. The day we built this lean-to,
the wind was from the Northeast (preceding a storm). The benefit of the
eastern wall was visible with the first fire, as the smoke was blown not into
the shelter but up and over it.
The basic framework of lean-to's varies slightly. Here we constructed,
though among trees, an entirely freestanding lean-to. There are a multitude
of ways of putting it together.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
More—actually, much more—time and effort will be spent in the initial
gathering and preparation of materials. Here we'll be thatching, meaning
tying bundles of grasses into place. This will require the use of more grass,
as the bundles are compressed when they are tied in place. So, though this
requires more time and energy to gather sufficient quantities, the resulting
house will require less upkeep over time. The bundles will be as thick as you
want (here a good 2") with three layers covering the whole as they're tied
overlapping from the bottom up, as in shingling.
Some type of lashing material also needs to be considered. In the
example shown on the following pages, we used basswood bark, which is
simple and easy to both find and strip. (Many other materials are available.
See pages 26-33.)
This style of house, in some form or fashion, has been used in most
areas around the world where the necessary materials exist (just not, as far
as I know, in the Arctic). In fact it's a common-style house in use still today
in some of the remaining primitive cultures.
While this may seem to be a difficult project at first, as in many
"difficult" projects the real "difficulty" lies in getting out and doing it. In
actuality, once the materials were all in one place, the putting together took
only about six hours' time, with three of us working.
So, let's do it.
Although we have good photos of the building process, maybe you'll get
a better understanding of the all-important framework if we line draw some
of it also.
Step #J; Gather some green poles,
somewhat longer than the intended
shelter's height (here we used
cedar). Stick the thicker end into
the ground (several inches at least)
in some semblance of a circle or
oval or rectangle (no real rules
here—your choice). Bend them over
and where the opposing tops of
pairs meet, lash them securely (they
overlap by several feet).
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
Step #2: At whatever spacing you
desire (we used approximately 18"),
lash horizontal poles into place.
These not only add stability to the
frame but are what we'll be lashing
our thatching to. The bent door
frame we just kinda stuck in (it need
not be). We find that this limits the
size of the opening, thereby cutting
down drafts.
Step #3: Cover the entire frame
completely with thatch. A good way
to save on a lot of long thatching
grass (and also create a completely
airtight lower wall section) is to
set shorter poles all around the
framework about 6" out, also placing
poles in between the existing
uprights. (They can be spaced
as close as you like. In fact, the
closer together they are, the easier
building you'll have, being able to
use shorter and shorter materials.)
The in-between area will be filled
with litter. You can build the entire
shelter in this manner, though the
roof wouldn't shed water as well as
the longer grasses do.
Note the "pointy" top. This isn't
necessary, but we find that it sheds
water better. It's nothing more than
three cedar limbs lashed together
to two cedar "hoops." This uses the
natural bend of the limb, and this all
is lashed to the existing frame.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Generic Shelter
We've now covered three different basic shelters—two of them quickie,
or "survival," types. In the construction of them we've seen three varying
frames and roof types, plus a simple way to build walls or sides.
When we build shelters, we usually have only a very basic concept in mind,
certainly no blueprints. Terrain and materials are the two main guidelines.
With this next house we'll approach the job at hand with a single
concept in mind: to use the rock face of one of our ravines to form at least
one side of our house (or better yet, two sides).
One benefit of this approach is the fact that, obviously, part of your
construction is already done, so you'll spend less time gathering building
materials. Another is the fact that they're also placed below ground level so
that you're additionally sheltered. Also, by placing your fire against the rock
face, you'll store up heat by day to help warm you through the night when
you don't want a fire burning (just like some houses these days use passive
solar heating principles to warm tiles and walls).
One thing to remember with this trick, however, is that many ravines are
the result of water runoff, and all of them are places where water will run.
You certainly won't want to build in the middle of a possible river that the
next rain will create. The secret here is to walk the edges of possible sites and
look for places where water won't flow. If the ravines were made due to water
running, they're still not excluded. Water won't run over all sides at every
spot. In fact, it will usually be a problem only at a few key points. You usually
won't have much trouble locating the dry streambeds to avoid. Flattened
grass is one sign, worn down to the bedrock is another. You don't want to
take shelter in your house during a rain, only to have it wash you away.
So let's take a walk through what we did here.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 4
Makin' Meat -1
I have found that many people who know of and talk, write, or teach some
survival and wilderness skills will take their students through to a finished
primitive product or skill from today backward, using today's technology to
a primitive end. I was guilty of that myself in the first of my books—using
nylon cords, steel blades, and so on. I've found that the reason that I am so
rounded in my outdoor education (like others of my ilk) is that we taught
ourselves these skills from nothing forward—how to go "naked into the
wilderness" and manage to live.
The Primitive Bow and Arrow
One example: the primitive arrow. To go from nothing, forward, you first need
some insight as to the type of wood to use—a knowledge, however simple,
of working with stone tools to peel and smooth the shaft; of making fire so
that the shaft can be heated and straightened; of working with cordage so as
to apply the fletching and point. A step up from the most primitive of arrows
requires the skills to work flint or bone to make a more serviceable point,
then to apply them well. It also requires the knowledge of boiling down hide
scrapings and other animal parts to make glue without the advantage of a pot.
That's a lot of different skills needed for a single puny (but magnificent) arrow.
In this chapter I don't delve into sinew (it's covered in Chapter 10).
The current chapter was, in its original concept, going to be just one chapter
that covers some of the various methods of subsisting in the wilderness,
Chapter 4: Makin' Neat -1
beginning with the bow and arrow, but, well, I plain ran outta room. By
the time I had finished the instructions on the primitive bow and arrow,
I found that I had filled the allocated pages for one chapter. Therefore I
wrote another one, Chapter 5, which goes into the use of snares, deadfalls,
marine life, insects, and the like, so that one can subsist in the wilds.
I don't pretend to have enough knowledge of edible plants to even
mention them. It's a skill that in itself requires years, if not a lifetime, of
learning. Certainly, I have learned a little along these lines in the acquiring
of other knowledge, but I can spend six weeks or less with an individual
and teach him or her how to live well in the out-of-doors, including how
to obtain sufficient sustenance to live. In that period of time I wouldn't
even have my foot in the door when it comes to edible plants. To me, this
knowledge would be nice to know—someday.
Now, the methods that I describe here are mine. They work for me.
What I describe as cardinal rules, not to be ventured from, are broken all
the time by a bowmaker friend of mine, whose bows work great. So what I
describe isn't the only way—but they do work for me! And what I describe
as happening to the wood at various stages may not be the reality for you.
But if you approach the project thinking the way that I describe it, your
finished product will be workable, and that's what counts.
We'll be using hand tools here—not the primitive tools that will be
required in a strictly primitive situation, but modern "white man tools." The
use of stone and bone for tools is covered in Chapter 2.
I'll also be throwing in ideas and tips that I've picked from various
sources. What I put forth does work—though, as I stress, it's not the
only way. In fact, throughout the entire book, I'll be showing you how to
accomplish the task at hand, but will also keep the door open so that you
may use your own ideas to come up with other, and quite possibly better,
ways to accomplish the same end.
Anatomy of a Bow
Simply put, a bow is a stick with a string tied at each end that will propel
an arrow. To understand how to successfully make this stick bend, time and
again, to its full potential, we need a quick lesson in physics. So, pay close
attention; this is important.
• Any piece of wood of equal dimensions from end to end will bend at the
middle when force is applied. With a bow, the midsection moves in one direction,
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
the two tips in the opposite direction. To counteract this, we remove wood from
the limbs of our bow—more from nearer the tips than from closer to the grip.
• When removing wood while shaping and tillering a bow, one equation
is of importance. If half the wood is removed in the width of the bow, the
strength is halved. If one eighth of the wood is removed in the thickness of
the bow, the strength is decreased by close to one half! What this shows is
that the bow will be more effective if it's narrower and thicker, especially at
the tips. (This is explained shortly.)
• The outside of the bend (back of the bow) will be trying to tear apart
(tension). The inside (belly) will be compressing.
• Most woods are stronger under tension than under compression.
The fibers of most woods will fail first under compression. This is followed
almost immediately by the tearing apart of the back, leaving you with the
false impression that the back failed first.
• Tillering, meaning equal bending of the limbs, is critical. If a portion of the
limb isn't bending, somewhere else is bending too much—and failure can result.
• Somewhere toward the center (between back and belly) of this piece
of wood is a neutral plane where no forces are in effect (at least, that we
need be aware of here). From this neutral plane outward in each direction,
all, or 100 percent, of the forces of tension and compression are being
exerted. Simple, yes. But...the closer to the neutral plane, the less force
exerted. So, how this affects us is that the nearer the outside (either side),
the furthest from the neutral plane, is where most of the percentage of
tension and compression is occurring. So, a higher percentage of tension
and compression is taking place in a smaller percentage of the wood. Fifty
percent of these forces are happening in the outer 10 percent of the wood.
What that tells us is that a flat outer surface will make a stronger bow
because this higher percentage of forces is spread over a wider surface. The
backs of bows, we don't have that much control over; we need only follow
the growth ring of the tree. The smaller the tree or limb, the rounder the
outer surface, and the more tension exerted in a smaller area. But the belly
we do have control over. That, we can make flat. And since the majority of
woods fail first under compression, this works to our advantage.
• Mass of the wood—the actual bow itself—slows down the working
action or response and so directly affects the performance of the arrow.
This is most noticeable toward the tips of the bow. So, the less mass (wood/
weight) for a particular weight bow, the better the performance.
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
• Each piece of wood has its ideal width-to-thickness ratio. Generally
speaking, the harder the wood, the narrower this is. The narrower that you
can make your bow, the more effective it will be because it will contain its
least mass. Less mass means faster performance. But...
• What we're after in our chosen piece of wood is the ratio whereby the
bow can be bent to its fullest extent (at a point somewhere around half its
length), and to have this wood not fail under either tension or compression
(all woods will fail if pulled too far). Let's assume our wood is stronger
under tension and that we have an unviolated back. All we need concern
ourselves with now is compression. All woods will fail under compression,
to some extent. Our ideal bow will fail only slightly noticeably. Assuming
that we're working with a straight bow, this is the stage we want our bow
to be in at this point in time. Each wood will be different, just as each
round from the same tree will also differ somewhat. There's no set formula.
A hardwood, such as Osage orange, will reach this stage, being thicker and
narrower than a comparable piece of, say, hickory (another hardwood).
• If a straight bow is made to this perfection, with the same length and
weight (let's say 48" and 55 lb, and with the specific gravity, (weight) being
about equal, the narrower, thicker bow will shoot farther and faster because
it will contain less mass (2:1 compared to 8:1).
This knowledge hasn't just appeared to me in dreams but has come
from many sources, some even the aforementioned books. But the largest
contributors to making my mind think "bows" have been Jeff Schmidt, a
professor of physics whose workings with the Asian composite bow have
enlightened me as to the physics involved, and Tim Baker, who has done
the most extensive research and testing of the primitive bow of anyone I
know. To both these fine folks, my thanks for their completely unselfish
sharing of information.
50% stress
50% stress
\ tension /
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
lemonwood, and mulberry are some of the others. But what was available is
what was used in days gone by.
Generally the softer, more brittle woods (yew, cedar) were made into
wide, flat bows and the harder and denser woods (Osage, white oak) made
into narrow, thick bows.
Finding the Stave
The perfect stave would be straight, knot free, and resilient; would spring
back to its original shape when unstrung, not staying bent (following the
string); and would be snappy, kinda like spring steel. A lot to ask for in one
piece of wood.
I cut most all my staves green, in the dead of winter when the sap's
down (excess moisture takes longer to cure and leads to more checking and
cracking). Occasionally I find a dead limb or tree that's ready to work in one
of the hard or dense woods, though not often.
I want the stave as straight as possible, though they can be heated and
straightened to a great extent later on.
I watch for knots. Best if there are none, but I've made several good
bows by working around them, which will be explained later.
I take limbs or trunks of any size 2 1/2" or thicker. You could get by
with smaller, but I like the extra freedom of material to work with. With the
smaller size, I only try to get one good stave from the round, as it's not all
that easy to split the smaller staves exactly in half. By carefully splitting the
larger pieces I can get several staves from them.
Curing
I've read and heard of as many ways to cure out a stave as I've heard of
making bows. Some folks bury them in their gardens, from six months to six
years. Some cover the ends, or the entire log, with wax, allowing the log to
cure slowly and minimize warpage and cracking...and on and on. I've also
heard that it's best not to use kiln-dried wood.
Now, here's some of my own thinking. Green wood won't work, as its
green, wet cells are especially weak under compression and fail immediately
when bent, and also it's too slow in response to cast an arrow. The drier the
wood, the faster (snappier). Too dry makes the wood too brittle, leading to
breakage. So we need something in between.
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
Final Working
When all the heating, straightening, and bending is done, now's the time to
get down to the nitty-gritty of finishing your project.
With rasp in hand, approach the bow cautiously. You're going to
carefully remove wood to the final size—very slowly, so as not to overdo it.
Remember, it can't be put back.
Usually, but not always, the grip will need no further work. If, however,
it was left oversized, for the purpose of straightening or whatever, start there.
Work it down till you have what you want. Don't just jump in and start filing
away, though, but look it over from all sides and remove wood so that things
stay uniform.
Final shaping and bending (tillering) should be done cautiously, slowly,
bit by bit. I work one limb at a time, rasping or scraping gently with a steel
blade held at an angle of 90° (plus or minus) to the belly of the limb. I sweep
the entire length, from grip to tip. The thickness of the limb should be
getting thinner, the farther out toward the tip you go. This is a must!
Also, I've found that some students read or hear me say that the belly
needs to be flat the entire length of the limb—and rightly so. But don't
misinterpret this to mean that you can ignore the shape of the bow's back.
If the back sways south, so goes the belly. The final limb may appear like a
rough road, but it must match the back in thickness.
Bend the bow to test it, by placing the tip on the ground and applying
backward pressure at the grip. Watch the bending. You don't want to see any
one area bending. If you do, it means that excess stress is being placed there,
so you must remove material from areas above, below, or both to even out
the bend. Most every time it'll be visually apparent that areas are thicker or
thinner, simply by looking from the side. Running your hand down the limb,
thumb on the belly and fingers on the back, will often feel thicker or thinner
areas. Take your time.
All material is to be removed from the belly. Leave the back (one growth
ring) alone! Do the other limb till it looks and feels the same. Many times,
that's all I need to do to now string the bow.
The last few paragraphs won't take but a minute to read, but, in the
doing, expect to spend the better part of a day to do things right.
Remember that, when finishing, you're going to remove any scorched
areas (except from the back; if you have scorched here, it'd be best to
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Read through this section thoroughly, and understand it completely
before proceeding. This step is kinda complicated to describe, even with the
help of photos, yet the actual process of sinewing is really much easier than
describing it. When you understand precisely what you're doing, why you're
doing it, with what you're doing it, and how to do it, the actual "doing" will
be a piece of cake. Remember, also, that here we're working in the kitchen.
It's really not all that much more difficult to do in the wilds, just much more
time-consuming.
Sinew is tendon. It's available from all animals, including us. It can be
taken from the legs or, preferably, from either side of the backbone. The
sinew from the legs works, but is shorter by far than the loin sinew, and for
this reason I don't use it, though I do keep some on hand. The much longer
strips, one lying on either side of the backbone, are a lot more pleasant to
work with and are easily enough removed from the carcass of any large
animal. (See the "Sewing with Sinew" section in Chapter 10.)
Leg sinew must be pounded thoroughly and then separated into
threads. The loin sinew, if cleaned properly, has only to be roughened
between the fingers first (we're talking about 2 or 3 minutes' work here) and
then separated into threads. I try to keep the threads all about a good 1/8"
thick. I've found that three average loin strips of deer sinew will allow me to
apply two coats to the bow and have enough left over for the bowstring. The
entire process of preparing the threads takes little more than an hour.
To prepare the bow, it must be washed thoroughly. All grease and oils
must be removed for the glue and sinew to adhere, and that includes the oils
from your hands. Some wash their bows with lye. I did on two bows, though
I didn't like working with the caustic stuff and went back to my method of
a good scrubbing. A toothbrush works well, with Ivory dish soap and lots of
hot, hot, hot water, then rinsed very thoroughly. Also wash the belly of the
bow for a couple of inches down from both tips. The bow can be sinewed
either damp or dry; I've found no difference. Now, don't touch the back of
the bow with your hands again till you're applying the glue.
Also, the nap of the wood on the back of the bow must be raised so that
the glue has something to adhere to. This can be accomplished with either a
file or a hacksaw blade, working gently so as to barely raise the nap. Don't
go so deep that you cut through the growth ring. This can be done either
before or after the washing.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
more quickly (nothing smells quite as bad as rotting protein!), which is the
reason for the flat sheet in lieu of a bowl. Leave it in sheets, or pulverize it
for storage and when ready to use it add water and heat.
Hide glue can also be bought. Making it can be a real pain, and timeconsuming
(being hypocritical now, ain't I?), so I tend to buy most of what
I use. It's available either granulated, as I just described, or in liquid form.
I made several bows years ago using this liquid stuff. It worked, but took
forever to cure out and always seemed tacky. I read in D. C. Waldorf's book
The Art of Making Primitive Bows and Arrows that this was due to an
additive and that it could be counteracted by adding vinegar. I tried that
once but still didn't like working with it. It's not easy to find the granulated
glue at times, though. You might try art supply stores and especially places
that work with stained glass. A pound of glue will make three, four, or even
more bows, with plenty of leftovers for arrows and other crafty things.
Now that we've got all the components together—sinew threads, hide
glue, and the prepared bow—let's get going. I'll explain my setup and you
can devise whatever will work best for you.
I work with two dishpans. One pan holds the bow for easy workability,
back side up. In it I put about 1 1/2" to 2" of cold water to soak the sinew
threads. Begin by soaking about one third (one loin strip) of your threads
(assuming that you've used three deer loin sinews), or whatever. I like to
soak them for several minutes. They become elastic when soaked and shrink
as they dry, thereby adding their strength to the bow. Hot water will cook
them, warm water will cause them to curl.
While these soak, add several cups of boiling water to a handful or so
of the hide glue crystals in the second, smaller pan. This is variable, and you
don't want it too watery but also not too thick, just like a thin syrup. After a
lot of stirring, the glue will eventually dissolve in the boiling-hot water. You
can speed this by first soaking in cool water.
The working temperature of the glue should be about 115° to 120°F,
barely warm to the touch. The glue will set up fast at roughly 85° to 90°F.
I find working at a room temperature of roughly 85°F about right. I prefer
it to set up kinda quick. The hotter the room, the slower the setup time.
Therefore, you might find it easier working during the cold of winter when
the room temperature is easier to control than on a 75° to 80°F day.
Place the pan holding the now-liquid glue into a third, somewhat larger
pan containing hot water, such as a double boiler, to keep it at a good
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
On one hickory bow that I made several years ago, I got to tillering and
really overdid it. What began as a 55 lb. bow, because of overtillering first
one limb and then the other, ended up as a 35 pounder. Instead of taking
an ax to it as I was sorely tempted to do, I let it sit for several weeks while I
calmed down. Then I simply resinewed it—a lot—and ended up with a fineshooting
55 lb. bow. So much for the power of sinew!
OK. The bow has been sinewed, cured, and tillered. Now take a knife
or some sandpaper and go over all unsinewed parts of the belly and sides to
remove any remnant of glue (just to make it pretty). Also, replace any ties
that you removed while tillering.
But now something has to be done to protect the bow. Not only the
wood (of which I spoke earlier), but also the sinew and the hide glue.
Remember, this is all water soluble. If we were to lay the bow in a tub of
water, before too long the glue would dissolve and the threads would all fall
off. No good, that!
It's best to figure that, on rainy days, the bow will stay at home. When it
rained, the Indians went home. And that's just about the truth. The bow was
no good in wet weather. Even if it wasn't sinew backed, the strings, which
were made mostly of sinew or rawhide, would be worthless.
The most common method of protecting the sinewed bow in days of old
was to coat it liberally with grease, with some brains maybe thrown in for
good measure. The smell? Well, I don't do mine that way.
I have coated some with a spar varnish, which didn't seem to hurt the
sinew at all, but I just didn't like the brand-new shiny look of a factory-made
bow on my completely hand-made primitive piece. I now coat all my bows
liberally with a paste wax. This coats both the wood and the sinew, and lets
me control the finish.
I've read in one source of intestines being used to cover the bow for
protection. In two sources I've seen discussions of skins of serpents (notably
rattlesnakes) being used for the same thing.
I have looked hard at old bows all my life, whenever I've come close to
them. They fascinate me. Since I began making them, I've looked even more
diligently, often taking notes and photographs. In the last coupla years I've
examined well over 100 original bows. This includes the bows on display at
the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.; the Museum of the Plains
Indians in Cody, Wyoming; and museums and National Historic Sites too
numerous to mention. Of all the bows I've seen, probably about half of them
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
were sinew backed, and not one of them had either intestine or snakeskin
covering. And that figure does not include the Smithsonian report of 1893
by Otis Mason on bows, arrows, and quivers; of the 43 bows illustrated,
most were sinew backed, but not one was covered.
These coverings do work. They're just not museum quality. I personally
like the neat lines of the sinew backing, and I don't like to cover what is, to
me, a part of the beauty and labor of my hand-made bow.
String
It's about time now, I guess, to make a string for the bow.
The best natural material to use here, which is what the Indians thought
also, is sinew or rawhide. Most vegetable fibers aren't strong enough for this
task, though some will work for lighter-weight bows.
I was once informed by two different people that one of the better
bowstrings could be made from the neck skin of a large turtle. I was told
that, unlike sinew or rawhide, this won't stretch when wet. Find a turtle,
"case skin" (like pulling a sock inside out) its neck, and cut the cord spirally
(like a barber pole), then stretch it and allow it to dry. This now is all that I
can tell you about it, as I've never seen one nor tried it myself—yet.
Deer rawhide makes for a good, strong, long-lasting string. Cut it in
a strip about 1/4" wide from a circle of good solid rawhide. Begin cutting
around the outside of this circle and continue till you get to the center. A
surprisingly small piece will give a lot of lace. Then soak the cut lacing till
it's pliable, double it and twist it tightly, and stretch it out to let it dry. For
heavier bows I'll prepare the lace the same, but then I will "cord" it, making
for an even stronger string. Again, do this while it's wet and stretch it to dry.
Remember, the finished string will only be as strong as the weakest spot
therein, so avoid thin spots and "scores."
Sinew was probably the favorite bowstring of old. Not only was it
strong, but also, because of its slightly elastic characteristic, sinew gave an
additional snap to the arrow as it was released. So use the leftover threads
from backing your bow, or prepare them specifically for this. It's important
to keep the threads as close to the same size as possible. One end of the
thread will be thicker than the other, so alternate as you splice in, to keep
the finished product even. I begin cording with two threads, staggered so
that the ends don't meet. You don't want the splices to adjoin, as this will
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
weaken the whole. Threads should also be soaked to make the cording
process easier.
Double this "two-ply" and begin cording. Kink the thread, not evenly in
half, between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand (for right-handers),
twist the individual two-ply strands tightly in one direction, and then
twist this in the other direction over the other individual two-ply strand.
(This sounds confusing as all hell, but read it slowly and carefully, and you
should be able to follow it.) Thus your two-ply will become a four-ply cord.
(Cording is covered extensively in Chapter 1.) Splice in threads as you
proceed. Many small splices make for a stronger string.
Arrow
Up to this point, you might have done everything perfectly, but, if the arrow
isn't made properly, it won't fly true. Then you might as well sharpen the end
of the bow and use it as a spear. Yes, everything said so far is important, but
if anything is to be considered all-important here, it would be the arrow. If it
won't fly consistently to where you want it, it's worthless. Therefore, much
care should be spent in the manufacture thereof.
Here again I'll stress that this is the way that I make my arrows. Not
only do they work, but they're museum-quality, Plains Indians arrows. I take
a few extra steps here that aren't necessary for you to end up with goodquality
shooters, and I'll tell you which ones you can skip over and still
end up with a suitable product. I'll also stick in, wherever suitable, other
methods of ending up with the same. / spend from 10 to 12 hours making
each arrow.
The materials that can be used for the shaft are many. The main
requirements are that it be strong enough to sustain the force of the bow
shooting it, and that it be straight. Any 3/8" to 5/8" limb, bush, or shoot is
a possible candidate. Something as flimsy as cattail stems can even be used.
In the southern parts of this country, reeds have been used extensively. As
with any other project, the Indians of old used what was available to them.
Although I have quite a variety of materials to choose from here in Kansas
(willow, chokecherry, ash cedar, and more, some of which I could cut
into lengths and then split arrow shafts from them), I favor working with
dogwood. It's abundant and makes up into real nice arrows. These I also cut
in the dead of winter while the sap's down.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
This next step, sanding, will do wonders for your cricked shaft. Using
two pieces of sandstone about 5" to 6" long with a groove cut for the shaft—
or with a 2" x 2" block of wood the same length, cut in half lengthwise, and
with the grooves cut for the shaft, and using sandpaper—place the shaft
in the groove and run it several times through this. Almost magically, the
"cricked" stick will take on the appearance of a lathe-turned dowel. The
length of the shaft-smoother cuts the high spots of knots and other bad
spots, leaving the lower parts untouched. After you repeat this several times,
brushing the stone or paper in between to keep it clean, you'll find that the
shaft has been wonderfully transformed.
Now return to the fire and grease or heat, and straighten again. You
should end up with a fine-looking shaft.
Many of the "old" arrows had grooves cut from the base of the feathers
to the point, sometimes two but more commonly three. These were just
slight cuts made lengthwise along the shaft with knife, stone, or bone.
Sometimes they were straight, sometimes wavy, sometimes with zigzags or
any combination thereof. The true purpose of these cuts has been lost. Some
refer to them as blood grooves, others as lightning grooves. Whatever, if you
want them, now's the time to put them in.
Cutting the groove to fit the arrowhead can require a number of
approaches. In some situations, you may just want to sharpen and fire
harden the tip. (I always think of fire hardening as removing only whatever
moisture remains in the wood.) Or you may want to splice in a blunt tip,
which is easily enough done, to make an arrow that's deadly on small game.
But for large game, we'll want a more appropriate "cutting" point. Bone
or stone may be used (the preparation thereof is covered in Chapter 2), in
which case, especially for the stone point, some custom sawing or fitting will
be in order. I use either a hacksaw or, just as often, a serrated piece of flint,
to saw into the tip of the shaft. This, in conjunction with a sharp knife, can
snug an awkward piece in little time.
Most commonly, though, because of modern game laws, metal points
will be used. About any sheet metal will make a serviceable point—including
scrap metal, part of an old fender, or, as I commonly use, a barrel hoop.
A hacksaw and a file will give you a point of your choosing.
The resulting metal points can usually be mounted snugly within a saw cut.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 5
Makin' Meat-2
The early mountain men of the American West proudly used the phrase
"makin' meat" to note that they had obtained sustenance, mostly by having
shot some game animal. "This child shore had starvin' times for nigh on ten
days afore he made meat," written in a journal, could be interpreted to mean
that the diarist had spent 10 days with no nourishment and then had shot
something, trapped something, knocked a bird silly with a rock, or even
found a half-eaten or rotted carcass left by some wolves.
Obtaining Sustenance in Nature
Deadfalls, Snare, Fish Trap, Atlatl, and More
This chapter delves into various methods of subsisting in the wilderness.
Chapter 4 covers how to make a bow and arrow from nature. (Actually, the
bow and arrow is quite a ways up the ladder when it comes to primitive
gathering.)
After a warning. I'll begin this chapter with a trapline, the first thing that
an experienced woodsperson would pursue if or when placed in a primitive
situation. On our line you'll note that most of the sets will be for small
critters such as mice, rats, rabbits, and birds. This is because it's an initial
primitive situation; that is, what you'd be depending on for life, if you found
yourself in the wilds with no lunch. Small things will keep you going. Large
critters will be a bonus. We'll also set a coupla fish-type traps.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
HANTAVIRUS
Pulmonary Syndrome
When it comes to any study of primitive living skills, trapping
is a necessary subject. We firmly believe that trapping was, and is,
responsible for the majority of sustenance in any sort of survival or
primitive living effort.
Plants can be gathered in everyday movements with minimal
effort, in many cases, but also with a minimal return of essential
nutrients and calories (as noted in several other places in this book).
Time spent hunting, in our opinion, is time better spent on other living
projects, using the hunting tools for opportunistic moments.
Traps will catch and hold just about any form of animal life,
from fish to insects to deer-sized game, but by far the major source of
sustenance will come from small, rodent-sized animals. Consuming all
or most parts of these quarry will supply most or all of the nutrients and
calories necessary for the human body not only to survive but to thrive.
Since 1993, however, there have been 465 confirmed instances
in the United States of a viral disease, hantavirus pulmonary
syndrome (HPS), which has a very high mortality rate. The host for
this virus? Rodents.
The first reports came from the Four Corners area of the
Southwest. Several persons on the Navajo Indian Reservation died
suddenly. It seems that many of the infected people had been collecting
pifion nuts (seeds), which had been conveniently stored for them in
caches by rodents, most notably deer mice. There had been a hearty
crop of the pinon nut, which led to a heavier than normal population
of deer mice, caused, some theorize, by unseasonably heavy rains.
Whatever, the deer mouse was pinpointed as the source.
Since then, there have been cases of HPS reported in 30
states: all of the West, parts of the Southeast into Florida, up into
the Northeast into New York and Rhode Island, and even into
Canada. Three fourths of the cases have been from rural areas.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Hey folks, that's like saying that the entire country has it.
Various hantaviruses are known throughout the world (the name
comes from a river in Korea), and there are several distinct viruses (or
species). Those (un)lucky enough to contract it in Europe have only a 1
percent chance of dying, while in Asia this is upped to 15 percent. The
strains in the Americas are much more lethal. When first reported, the
mortality was a whopping 70 percent, but has since dropped to about
35 percent, probably because of better communication and awareness
among medical personnel. The higher fatality rate comes from the fact
that in the American strain (HPS), the lungs rapidly fill with fluid.
The range of the primary carrier, the deer mouse, covers most all
of the U.S. And tests on them have shown the virus to exist throughout
most of its range. Other carriers are the cotton rat (Florida), rice rat
(Southeast), white-footed mouse (Northeast), the so-called pinon
mouse, and the western chipmunk. A carrier of the not-so-dangerous
Seoul virus (distributed worldwide) is the Norway rat. The infected
rodents exhibit no visible symptoms. The list, both of viruses and of
carriers, has expanded since 1993. Human cases of HPS have been
positively identified in the U.S. as early as 1978 and inferred back to
1959.
In all cases to date, victims were infected by coming into contact
with the feces, urine, or saliva of infected rodents. Since the virus is in
the body fluids, it can be assumed that it is throughout the body. Most
cases reportedly were a result of breathing the dust of disturbed feces,
saliva, or urine of infected rodents.
If your hands come in contact with
anything that's contaminated and then
reach your mouth or nose, there's a
chance of infection.
The survival time in the environment is unknown. Periods of up to
two days on a dried surface are suggested. You can also get the virus by
being bitten by an infected rodent. So far there's no evidence that it can
be transmitted from person to person or from insects (such as fleas).
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
The virus is easily killed with most general-purpose household
disinfectants (bleach, alcohol). In other words, if you got a lot of nests
or feces in your woodpile, shed, or outhouse, it would be best to spray
it down with a disinfectant prior to cleaning it up. A 1 percent (1:100)
dilution of household bleach is suggested for wiping down potentially
contaminated surfaces. A more concentrated dilution of 10 percent
is suggested for heavily contaminated areas such as nest sites. A fresh
solution should be mixed daily.
Just how concerned should you be? Well, of deer mice tested in
three counties of western Kansas in 1993, 9 percent were infected. We
live in north central Kansas, so that's getting pretty close to home.
You don't have to stick your head in a
bucket of mouse scat and take a deep breath
to become infected. One sniff is all it takes.
Something as mundane as moving the woodpile, with the
accompanying mice and packrat nests, becomes hazardous. A little
mathematics: Using 9 percent as the baseline, if there's one mouse nest
in the pile, there's a 9 percent chance that it's infected. Two nests, 18
percent. If among all the wood we move around here there are nine
nests, there's a 100 percent chance that we'll come into contact with
HPS. If infected, there's a 50 percent chance of dying from it. That
doesn't sound like good odds to me.
For clean-up of rodent contaminated areas, the Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends the complete wetting
down of the area with a disinfectant, wearing of an approved respirator
(in enclosed spaces with heavy, active rodent infestations), wearing of
rubber gloves, washing of the rubber gloves with a disinfectant when
finished, followed by the washing of your hands and burying or burning
of any suspected materials. Whew!
Symptoms are flu-like: fever; muscle aches; abdominal, joint, and
lower back pain; headaches; cough; nausea; vomiting; and diarrhea. If
any of these symptoms are exhibited, in a period up to six weeks after
possible exposure, seek help immediately!
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Since there's no known curative drug,
prompt medical attention is a MUST to
increase the chances of survival.
How does this affect us primitives? Let me tell you that Geri and I
don't mess with mice and packrats very much anymore. Recommended
precautions for campers and hikers, besides the obvious steps of
avoiding contact with nests or burrows, include not sleeping directly on
the ground—though, for us, that's as natural as making cordage. Mice
pee everywhere they go, leaving a scent trail, so sleeping on the ground
increases the risks of your breathing this.
This is serious business. One touch or
sniff and you're in trouble.
And yet...trapping, like friction firemaking, ranks right up there at
the top of the primitive's priority list. Can we discontinue this practice?
Should we?
We still teach and write about the importance of traps, and also
how, in a real survival or primitive situation, we may have to depend
on some rodents. We have to. Primitive living and survival demand this
knowledge. In a survival situation, the risks must be weighed. True,
the human body can go several weeks without any food at all. But we
stress staying away from the mice and other listed carriers if, and when,
possible. Each individual has to make his or her own decisions.
Knowledge, awareness, caution, and weighing of the facts of the
personal risks by each individual are in order.
The list of concerns grows constantly. What was considered safe
yesterday just might not be today, or tomorrow.
Suspect all rodents. Put off limits those that are, for sure, hosts of
this deadly virus. Packrats, and wood rats, are not on the list—yet. So
what do you do if you catch one? Or a squirrel? A muskrat? Weigh the
facts and the situation.
Heat kills. HPS is a fragile virus. If all portions of the rodent are
subjected to a high-enough temperature, the disease is killed. The safest
way that we've come up with to handle this would be to, first, not
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2 149
handle with the hands. Shove a stick in its mouth or butt, and be careful
of any blood or other fluids. Singe the hair off, scrape with another stick
(burn the sticks, trying not to inhale the smoke), and place the critter
directly in the coals. Or boil it. Or roast in a makeshift oven. Fry it on a
flat hot rock. Whatever you do, don't handle the animal until it's been
well cooked, meaning until the meat isn't pink and even then-some.
It should reach 140°F (better yet, 160°) for at least 20 minutes. (This
message comes to us direct from the CDC.)
Carrying the suspect animal in a basket will require the burning of
the basket. The danger lies not so much in the cooking and eating as
in the earlier handling. A rock or log falling on an animal is enough to
literally squeeze the pee outta him, and breathing the fumes can infect
you. Use caution!
The above was written by me in 1996 and updated for this book. I
wish to acknowledge Michael H. Bradshaw and Liz Boyle, Extension
Specialists at Kansas State University, and Lori Miller and Kristi Busico,
of the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, for their help in obtaining
information contained in this chapter. When I first contacted them,
they were kinda at a loss for answers pertaining to HPS and the eating
of mice. It just wasn't one of the areas that they study. The information
presented here was gathered with their help.
A fact sheet (MF-1117) can be obtained from the Cooperative
Extension Service, Kansas State University, Manhattan, KS 66531.
Information can also be obtained by calling the CDC in Atlanta at 800532-
9929 or writing the Department of Health and Human Services,
Public Health Service, CDC, Atlanta, GA 30333.
Some or all of the trap types that I will show are illegal in many states
(possibly most). Check your local regulations. Also, one of the trigger
mechanisms I'll discuss can easily be set to hurt, maim, or even kill large
game, including the human species.
What I'll show is how you can subsist in a truly primitive or survival
situation. I'll explain how and where to place some of the sets so as to
possibly catch some of the larger species of game, from which (besides just
nourishment) you could derive furs, skins, sinew, and bones (dealt with in
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
other chapters). Some of the traps, if left set around your home or grounds,
could be detrimental to the well-being of your neighbors' cats, dogs, or
children. Use caution!
One big thing here is to think small. Mice, packrats, minnows,
crawdads, insects—all will sustain life. If you were to approach your
primitive situation thinking only of larger game, you might starve.
Something else to think about: You could eat only the meat of wild
game for weeks on end, and starve anyway! Wild game isn't marbled with
fat, unlike our usual diet of domesticated meat. Creatures in the wild are
running around for their very lives, and don't build up large stores of fat.
You may have to break prejudices of eating habits that you have. In
a primitive situation, especially if it's a case of survival, you may have no
choice what goes through your mouth. Basically, the hair and skin and
intestines will go out, the rest will go in, except larger bones (you'll roast or
boil the larger bones and remove the succulent marrow). Cooking methods
are given in Chapter 7.
A story that I read somewhere: During the last century a ship was ice
locked in the Arctic and the crew taken in by the natives. Come spring, all
but one (or two) were dead and the authorities at first thought that the Inuits
had murdered them, till it came to light that the white man ate only the red
meat, whereas the natives ate almost the entire animal. Stomach contents
and the marrow of the bone didn't appeal to the whites, so they fastidiously
starved to death with full stomachs. Something else for you to be thinking
about before taking to the wilds.
Various plants can make up much of the diet, but I can't go into that as
my knowledge on this is extremely limited. There are many guides on the
market to fill your appetite for edible plants.
Once there's enough meat on hand in your camp, I'll show you the old,
natural way of preserving it. Do remember, though, that if you get bad meat,
bad tallow, or bad berries, I assume no responsibility for...bad bellies.
The Trap Line
One thing that just about all outdoorsmen, woodsmen, and survivalists
will agree on is the fact that the trap line is the most expedient method of
keeping a supply of meat on hand with a minimum of effort.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
If, for some reason, you're on the move, a couple (or several) traps
might be set out each night. But if you're in a good area that supplies all
your needs (food source, water, and shelter) and decide to spend some time
in one location, then there you'd set out one or more "lines." By line, I mean
a certain number of traps set in any given location—up a certain creek, or
along a certain ridge, or south of camp or north of camp, and so on.
I'll only mention a few tips that apply to trapping. It's a profession in
itself, and there are numerous books on the market to teach you the art
of trapping any particular type of critter that you decide to specialize in.
The same with hunting techniques. I can't begin to impart to you all the
knowledge necessary to become one with nature—that's up to you. Instead,
I'll give you the tools and information necessary to begin. It's up to you
to apply them, but you'll have to be aware that you can't catch it if it ain't
there—so look for fresh signs and then trap or hunt accordingly.
Also, here, with the deadfall and snare, I'll show you one trigger
system (actually, now three of them). There are several that are shown, and
shown, and shown in survival-type and outdoors books. I've tried a few of
them. None works to the satisfaction that I desire, and most are, I believe,
only perpetuated myths. They look good on paper and sometimes seem to
work—and so are included in any or all books dealing with this subject.
I thought for a long time about how I could get a 80 to 100 lb. rock to
fall where I wanted it to and when it was supposed to, nearly 100 percent
of the time. And yet have it be simple enough to set that the entire time,
from making the trigger to the finished set, took only a few minutes. I spent
one year showing the trigger system that I came up with to any and all
outdoorsmen that I came across. No one has yet been able to say that they
knew of it, and all agreed that it does work.
So pay attention to the accompanying photos and what I say, then
go out to your backyard and make it work. My first set, from the initial
inspiration to completed working deadfall with a 123 lb. rock, took right at
20 minutes. Your first should take no more time than this.
To make this work, you'll need about 12" to 15" of cordage (see Chapter
1 for details).
You'll see from the photos that the trigger needs to be shaved down
somewhat at one end, to hold it in the knot of cordage on the other piece of
the trigger.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
I've always believed in the power of photographs, but with these traps
we've had some questions posed as to their construction, so we're now
including line drawings of three of them to help clarify.
The only change you'll note is with the construction of the Paiute
deadfall. This trigger I've always touted as the easiest and fastest to make,
but the hardest and most time-consuming to set, so we seldom, if ever, used
it. But exasperation finally got me to experimenting. Two changes, and our
trapping world turned over! Now this trap is what we use for our bread and
butter. It's fast and easy not only to construct but now also to set. With basic
instructions, we've had 10- and 12-year-olds setting them in mere minutes.
And it has been proven in the field.
The modified Paiute deadfall trigger, two major changes, both in the upright
stick. 1 ) Use ofa natural T" to support the horizontal piece and 2) pushing the
upright into the ground to stabilize it... this being the most critical change. Just
insure that the upright isfar enough out to prevent the weightfromfalling onto
it or even brushing against it which will slow it down. For most efficiency, keep
the two woodpieces at approx. 90° angle -which will keep the string at
approx. 45°.
159
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
This trap is slick but much time is required in making it - a hard wood is
more effective because the four contact points will round easily if made
from softer woods ... and once rounded, it becomes a real trick to set.
direction of force (cord) from spring stick.
ground level
- cordage
Drawing of trigger.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
time and again. Their trails will be visible to the naked eye in the grass and
leaves. These will make good places to set snares, or just off the trails for
baited deadfalls and snares.
If the "right" pool of water is available, you can put out a stout snare.
Most all critters that you're trapping will eat your snare material (if you're
using natural fiber cordage), and actually do include it in their daily diet.
You need to kill them, or in this case preoccupy them with staying afloat, so
that they won't consider turning around and biting your cordage in two. Just
give them a chance to drown.
This is one good reason to use deadfalls in lieu of snares whenever
possible. Even if you were to catch a rabbit by the hind foot and it wasn't
able to reach the cordage (which is unlikely), the ruckus that it would
make would attract a coyote or fox, and your dinner would be gone come
morning. So, a good lesson here: deadfall whenever possible.
Here's an idea for catching big meat with a snare (of course, you can see
just how you could easily construct a deadfall of almost any size, using the
first trigger system illustrated). If you've ever spent time around a campfire
in the woods, you've surely heard noises just outside of the circle of light, or
maybe even seen eyes reflected in the light, or spotted fresh tracks around
(and sometimes inside) the perimeter the next morning—signs of coyotes,
raccoons, deer, or large cats. A snare on the ground with a trip cord hooked
to the trigger or a baited snare set just might get you a larger critter tied up
long enough for you to grab your club or spear and apply a fatal wound.
But use caution! Have a torch ready, or some other light source. I'd hate to
run blindly into the dark and try to knock a mountain lion or bear, whether
a grizzly or a black, on the head with a stick. And also know the legalities
involved. You might get away with these tricks in a survival situation, but
on a weekend campout I doubt that your local fish and game commission
would turn their heads while you practice your survival skills. Do your
practicing on rats and rabbits (if legal in your state).
Set yourself up several lines. Each line might have as many as 50 sets, or
as few as 8 or 10. Each situation and locale will be different. Once the lines
are in place, it'll take only a glance to check each set, and only a minute or
two more to reset if necessary.
All the time that you're in the primitive situation, remember that you'll
also be gathering materials for cordage, fire making, bowstaves, arrow shafts,
workable stone, bones—anything to make life a little easier in the wilderness.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Turn over logs and rocks, and if you're quick enough you'll be able to
club surprised mice, rats, or lizards. Be cautious of snakes while doing this,
but don't be afraid to club or stone one should it be found. I know of no
snake that's not edible (be sure to check this out if unsure). Of course, with
rattlesnakes, copperheads, and water moccasins, leave the head alone—as
that's where the poison sacs are. The only other poisonous snake in North
America is the coral snake, found primarily in the Southeast. I would not eat
this snake till I learned more about it, as it's a highly venomous snake whose
venom affects the nervous system. Fortunately, you normally don't have to
worry about being bitten by one because of its small size and mouth.
Making sacks and baskets is covered in Chapter 8, though it really
doesn't take much know-how to put together some container in a wellstocked
woods, especially with a knowledge of cording (see Chapter 1).
A real simple weaving will make a tight-enough sack from almost any
cordage material. And limber shoots of willow, dogwood, and similar plants
will make a simple basket, requiring no special skills or knowledge.
Seeds and nuts will be some of your most valuable additions to your
diet. You may be wise to check which few aren't edible (such as poison ivy,
sumac, or oak), but most are OK. In fact, they're much better than OK. The
nutritional value of seeds and nuts is amazing. (Here I'm stepping somewhat
out of the realm of my knowledge and into edible plants, so double-check
what I say here.) Any grass seed should be welcome. Fruit seeds abound
in nature. If in the timber, look for nuts. Acorns can have a bitter tannic
removed by leaching several times in water. White oaks have the sweetest
acorns (I read that in several places). These all can be ground into a flour, or
added to soups and stews as is, and many can be eaten raw. These will be an
important addition to your diet.
I can't stress enough that you'll have to do your own
research on edible plants—not within the scope of this book.
Here's a tip given to me by a friend who had read it somewhere (take
it for what it's worth): Tear apart a packrat's house (only in an emergency,
as it is his house), maybe after having trapped it as well. The packrat will
have stored various seeds and tubers within. Also, its downy beds will make
great tinder for making your fire, and will come out dry under the wettest
Chapter 5: Makin9 Meat -2
Insects
With insects, more so than with the other critters mentioned up to this
point, you may have to really overcome prejudices. To go into any detail
as to the edibility of various insects would require a book of its own.
(Butterflies in My Stomach and Entertaining with Insects by Ronald L.
Taylor are two good sources; both are out of print but can be found in many
libraries.) I include here much useful information on the eating of many
common insects. For more details and information on nutritional values I
recommend the above books.
Grasshoppers, crickets, and termites, oh my!—all are edible.
Earthworms, yeah! Maggots, too. Most grubs. Just about any water insects.
Caterpillars, generally (but avoid the hairy ones, or any brightly colored
ones, or those with a disagreeable odor). In fact, the above rules of brightly
colored and strong, disagreeable odors should be pretty much followed
anywhere in nature. It's nature's way of warning off predators—including us!
Wings and legs should be removed from most, such as the grasshoppers
and crickets, since they're hard to digest. I would cook any insect that I had
my eye on eating. I've heard from some that this is unnecessary, but I still
have that slight fear of parasites. Drying and grinding them into a paste or
flour and eating them, or adding them to soups or stews, are other ways to
include this nutrition to your diet. (See Chapter 7 for various methods of
cooking in a primitive situation.) If you're worried about eating the contents
of these critters' intestines, just impound them somewhere for a few hours
and they'll empty themselves out. A favorite of many students, especially
kids, is grasshoppers, the legs pulled off, cooked on a hot rock, with a
texture similar to shrimp.
To help overcome your prejudice of eating insects, just remember that
they eat leaves and grasses—and do you know what chickens and hogs eat?
Meat Preservation
Once you've stocked up on provisions, you'll also need to know how to
preserve some of your excess for the days that you have nothing—either
for the long, late-winter nights or for a journey. The simplest and easiest
primitive method is simply to air dry it. Just about anything can be
preserved by drying, even watermelon (though you might not have much
left when done).
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
In this chapter, we're thinking mostly about meats. In other words,
jerky. What the aboriginal and early settlers used for trail foods and
emergency food stores was known as jerked meat. This was simply meat, cut
into thin strips (I've read that 1/4" or less thickness will keep the flies from
blowing, laying eggs, on it; experience has proved this out), laid over racks
and sun dried.
If the weather was wet, meat was dried slowly in the smoke of the fire
(which, by the way, was the only time that the early folks flavored their
jerky—from the smoke—and that wasn't intentional). After a day or two or
three, the meat had been dried (jerked) and was ready for storage, usually in
rawhide containers to protect it from moisture. If kept dry, it would literally
last forever. All the meat loses through this drying process is moisture. All
nutrition remains, but remember, it has no fats.
The jerky can be chewed as is (and chewed, and chewed, and chewed),
or it can be, and most often was, pounded and boiled and added to a stew,
into which you threw various roots, seeds, bugs, or whatever.
In a more stable situation, other than overnight stops during a journey,
the one step further, and a method of preservation a thousand times more
valuable, was to make the jerked meat into pemmican. This is done very
simply by pounding the dried meat, shredding it apart, and mixing it with
fats. This is the ultimate in trail food. On it alone, one can live.
The suet fats of animals are simmered. The pure fat will rise to the top.
Here you want to use the hard fat from animals such as deer, buffalo, or
beef. The resulting product is tallow (using pork, raccoon, bear, and similar
critters produces lard, which is too soft). The prepared jerky is mixed with
the tallow and you have the complete meal. This can be, and was, kept
in rawhide containers, with all edges sealed with tallow (to ensure that
moisture was kept from the meat). It too is forever preserved.
Just be cautious to have the tallow "not hot" when mixing with
meat. I like it just shy of setting up—still pourable. If set up too much, it
will be difficult to completely cover or coat all the meat. The addition of
dried berries and so on will add a better flavor to the greasy meat, as well
as carbohydrates.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
Chapter 6
Deer from Field to Freezer
Say you've shot your deer, or killed it with a bow and arrow or brought it
down with some other tool. What next!?
The quality of wild game (or even domesticated) meats begins right
here. The first thing that you have to do is to remove the insides. The longer
that these remain in the carcass, the more chance there is for spoilage. Once
a critter dies, it immediately begins to spoil. We have to stop this action if we
want the meat to taste anything like decent.
If an animal's properly shot in the first place (in head, neck, or chest
cavity), the removal of the insides is a fairly clean job. With a gut-shot
animal, the procedures shown still apply but the job won't be very pleasant.
Removal of the guts not only keeps any extra, adverse tastes from
entering the meat but, more important, it begins cooling the carcass, which
will slow down the decaying process, though only temporarily.
Cooling the carcass is my first action. I do this by immediately field-dressing
the game. Then, especially if the weather is warm, by removing the skin from the
animal. With deer this is vitally important, as their hollow hair acts as an
insulation that keeps heat from leaving the carcass. Virtually the only time
that I refrain from immediately removing the skin is when the temperature dips
well below freezing and I really don't want the carcass to freeze.
Some people "hang" their animal for periods ranging from a few days
for up to two weeks. We do this, too, if the weather permits. I feel that
hanging has nothing to do with the taste of the meat. What happens,
Chapter 6: Deer from field to freezer
Chapter 7
Primitive Wilderness
Cooking Methods
What's behind the resurgence of interest in primitive living? For Geri
and me, it's a freedom gained from reliance on others—freedom from
dependency. Every person living in this world, or even out of it (in the
space shuttle even now circling the globe and looking down on our
present somewhat-dire condition), is dependent on the Earth for his or her
existence. It don't matter who or where you are, the Earth supplies your
wants and needs (or doesn't, if you're among the unfortunate many).
Geri's thought—that everyone should be compelled to visit a
slaughterhouse at least once during their growing years—is a good one.
It's mind-boggling how many people think that everything just automatically
comes prepackaged.
Like it or not, we are a part of the Earth, not something separate from
it. Face it: We are animals. The only thing that differentiates us from other
animals is our ability to reason, for we are (supposedly) intelligent. If all
man-made things quit at one time, the Earth wouldn't be bothered with
the overpopulation of humans anymore. It seems that many are searching,
realizing the sad situation that we've gotten ourselves into and trying to do
at least a little bit about it. Just knowing the everyday skills explained in this
book can free you from your dependency.
Chapter 7: Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods
This chapter explores various methods of cooking up some of the things
that you've been shown how to catch, with no modern-day pots and pans.
We'll hit several different methods of cooking something up, but remember:
These are only some of the methods that will work. There are certainly many
that you can come up with yourself, with a little experience and a lot of
imagination plus a will to live.
COOK: "to prepare food for eating by heating."
Simple—yeah, really!
For most people today, you take away their pots, pans, electric skillets,
and microwaves, and there would be a problem. But, as with any of the
other primitive living skills, once you think about it (or have it shown to
you), cooking really is easy, even out in the wilds.
In the Coals
Most boys of the outdoors, at least in my day, didn't concern themselves
with a lot of extra "junk" to carry around. Traveling light was the thing. All
we needed was wieners, potatoes, and corn on the cob thrown directly into
the coals, plus some sticks to move them around and get them out when
ready (and also to scrape off some of the excess ashes). We also sometimes
carried a can of beans or stew, and almost always a small pan to heat water,
or to melt snow, for coffee or hot chocolate (remember, Dave?)
So. To throw your meal directly into the coals is the easiest way to cook
up something. A little bit of ashes won't hurt a body, but remember that
ashes make lye, and lye will eat you. So, for safety sake, a little ashes should
go a long way.
Jim Riggs of Oregon, with his students, simply singes the hair off deer
mice over flames and throws them directly into the coals till done "just
right"—they come out crispy, not too mushy on the inside. Nothing wasted
here. They eat the whole thing: a good way to pick up extra vitamins. We
mostly just skin, remove the stomach and intestines, then cook and eat
what's left. But beware of hantavirus!
Please see the cautions on hantavirus pulmonary syndrome
beginning on page 146.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Baking
Here we're talking not about cakes and pies, but just the same old stuff that
we've been cooking up till now By making an oven (of sorts), we're freed of
watching quite so carefully what's going on, so as not to burn supper.
About anytime that we build a cooking fire, at one end we build a small
oven of rocks, as flat as we can get them. On those occasions when flat
rocks aren't available, a careful choosing, banging, and placing of round
rocks will make a serviceable oven.
The fire is built. As it burns down, coals are raked into and around and
over the oven. Heat the rocks slowly so that any water that may be inside
the stone has a chance to leave...slowly. Heat too fast and the steam may
leave too fast, as in bang!
We usually build a longish fire (call it a pit fire), with active burning
at one end, coals in the middle, and oven at the other end. Our ovens
are normally only 3" to 4" high and deep by about 6" wide, larger only if
necessary. Smaller ovens are more efficient for small things, such as pieces of
meat, potatoes, tubers, veggies, birds, and dough for what amounts to bread.
We keep coals in front and on top (and sides too, if it works out, though
that's not necessary). In such an oven foods are done as quick as in the oven
at home.
Another easy oven is a dirt-bank type. Dig into the base of a dirt bank.
If it happens to be clay, fine. If not, line with flat rocks. Build your fire inside
and let heat. When it's ready, just scrape out and keep coals or fire at or near
the entrance.
Now, in conjunction with the first of these ovens, you have right at hand
a frying pan: your hot, flat rock that makes the top of the oven. You can fry
about anything here that you can at home (though maybe not over-easy eggs,
without lots of practice and luck!).
One other "oven type" way to cook is also a hole in the ground. Dig a
hole plenty large enough for what you intend to place in it. You'll want some
extra space (note the following photos). There are a lot of variations to this
"pit" cooking. You just pick and choose what works for you.
If the soil is claylike, fire it by building a hot fire within. If the soil is
sandy or crumbly, line it with flat stones.
Build a fire in the prepared hole. I prefer to leave the coals in the hole.
I put a handful of green sticks or twigs directly onto the coals, followed by
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
selective. Some will just crumble (sandstones), but others can and do
explode when heated (flints, cherts, obsidian). You will need to do the
checking if you can't tell the difference. And do be aware of the danger of
exploding rocks. But just a bit of knowledge and common sense will prevent
any mishaps, or at least most.
We assume no responsibility for any injury resulting from
exploding rocks.
We generally prefer "creek rocks," but those not actually found in
creeks. The hard, roundish granite-type stones seem to us to work about
the best. Just pick them from higher ground. Those that have been soaked
in water might have gotten moisture inside through tiny cracks; when
the rock is heated, the water can't get out slowly enough for the crack to
accommodate—and so, bang.
We've used soft limestone. It heats well but eventually breaks apart (as
do all rocks that I've used). Softer rocks also have the tendency to leave a
grit in the soup or stew, though that may help to keep your insides reamed
out. Pumice or lava rock is a good choice.
Heat the rocks. It's best to build a good, solid foundation of wood on
which to build your fire. Reason: All rocks eventually fall into the deepest
part of the fire, which may not be the hottest if it happens to be only the
ground. Layer wood and rocks. We generally use about a dozen rocks to
heat a gallon of water (more or less), as the temperature of the water from
a mountain stream is usually awfully cold. As the first rocks are taken from
under the water as they cool, place them in a section of "new" fire. When
you run out of rocks the first time through and you're not done cooking, the
first ones used will have heated again and be ready to go. The second section
of fire also helps to distinguish which rocks are which.
The pot: We've often used a fresh deerskin for our pot. Either set it into
a hole in the ground and stake it around, or tie it into a tripod of sticks.
Usually the hair's left on. We generally cook this way when demonstrating
brain tanning, and we use the freshly fleshed (say that 10 times fast!) skin,
hair side out of course. You don't need to flesh the skin, as the flesh and fats
will add to the meal. The skin will shrink considerably as it also cooks, so
take this into account or you'll have broth all over the place. We normally
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
leave lots of slack in the skin when cooking in a hole. Tied to a tripod, it'll
just shrink, so don't fill it as full. You'll hafta feel this out.
A larger animal's stomach can be, and has been, used also. Here you
have the added advantage of being able to eat the pot.
A depression large enough in a rock would be great, as long as it's
convenient for and to camp.
A solid piece of wood will work fine, though it will take some time to
hollow it out (it's easiest done with fire). In a semipermanent camp, this
would be no problem.
A clay pot is the cat's meow. This could also be just placed into the fire.
(See Chapter 9 for more details on primitive pottery.)
A tightly coiled basket will work as a pot. I've always thought that such
baskets needed to be lined with pitch, but have been shown otherwise by
those who know.
A hole dug in the ground (ground that wouldn't leak) would surely
work. So much the better if the ground happened to be clayish. Build a fire
in it first, and you've got a nonmovable pot.
Now, let's get cooking.
When we first started hot rock cooking, we just used forked sticks and
placed the hot rocks directly into the skin pot. By carefully removing the
rocks from the pot, we were able to get two or three meals out of one skin.
Finally, a hole would appear in the weakened skin, and our supper (the
broth, anyhow) literally went down the drain.
We now make a small basket or carrier to put the rocks into and then
place that in the pot. This is much easier on the pot. You can sometimes
place three or four rocks into the carrier. It's best to have the carrier in
the soup before putting the hot rocks in, as they have a tendency to burn
through the cordage holding it together, since the rocks are red hot, or near
to it.
The following photos show the tools we normally use, but remember,
forked sticks alone will do.
Chapter 7: Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods
Chapter 8
Primitive Wilderness
Containers
No hunters or gatherers are worth their salt without something to put their
gatherings in. As with most other aspects of primitive living, assembling a
suitable container is actually much easier than you might at first suspect,
what with all the cumulative knowledge that you've gained in reading about
other aspects of primitive living in the other chapters. The importance of
some suitable container can't be stressed enough—it really does make life
easier. Remember, you're going "naked into the wilderness," and you've got
no pockets.
I designed this chapter to show you a lot of photos with some
descriptive and explanatory words. I figure that the photos pretty well
speak for themselves. This material, however, is far from the final word on
containers. Instead, what you'll encounter here are several types that have
worked for Geri and me and that are primarily functional, with little or
no artwork. There are many, many ideas that will work as well but that we
haven't covered, due not only to lack of space but also to our own lack of
knowledge. We do show workable products, and—most importantly—we
explain the characteristics that you need to look for to get the job done in
your own region of the country.
Chapter 8: Primitive Wilderness Containers
Baskets
The first container that comes to mind to most folks would be a basket.
Here we'll show you three methods to obtain some sort of basket. While the
instructions in this chapter will be far from definitive answers to your every
question on basketry, they do offer three ways that work well to give you a
finished product. You don't need to stick to any one of these methods but
can mix and match, as you will and as the circumstances dictate. To all you
artists in basketry out there, please bear with us and remember that these
are functional.
Materials
As will be shown, many things in nature work well in basketry. You only
need to search out particular characteristics—mainly that a material is
pliable, or can be made to be. It helps if it'll remain a bit pliable after the
project has been completed so that it won't fall apart in use. The purpose of
the basket will help to dictate this. If it's to be used only for gathering nuts
(the ones growing on trees, not those living in them) or herbs, a lighter-duty
basket will suffice. If your goal is to gather heavy-duty rocks or whatever
(and remember, we cavemen do need our rocks!), then a brittle basket will
be wasted. The longer the material is, the less splicing will be necessary to
create a basket.
Stick baskets—as I refer to those made of, well, sticks—can and should
be made more pliable by soaking for several hours or days, depending on
the material. We mostly use dogwood and willow for these. You can use the
information in this chapter as a guide, but do search out your area to find
what it has to offer, and then maybe experiment or temporize. As you'll see,
many other materials can be and are used—cattails; any cordage; some
vines, barks, and grasses. As we approach these various materials herein,
we'll explain how to prepare them.
Warps, Wefts, and Woofs
These are what your baskets are composed of. Warps are the longitudinal
threads, sticks, or cords into which the wefts (also known as woofs) are
threaded. This is a simple definition, and in practice the actual basket is
sometimes not so simply accomplished.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 9
Primitive Pottery
This chapter certainly is not a definitive work on primitive pottery. What it
will do is give you some ideas and techniques for going out, digging up some
dirt (clay), and turning it into a usable container or vessel to make your
wilderness living or survival more bearable.
As always when trying new things, expect some failures. (Along our
journeys, we had a great many, but lived to tell about it!) This material
contains a lot of variables, though if you understand the principles and
follow the rules, success will follow—for many people, this will happen on
the very first try.
Quick Run-Through
Simply, you need to:
^ Find a source of clay.
& Dig it up.
# Wet it, if dry.
# Clean it.
Form it into a shape (a bowl, in our example here).
Hfc Let it dry.
At this stage, it can be used under limited and controlled circumstances.
It will be very brittle and will dissolve if wetted. Clay, when mixed with straw
and baked in the sun, can be and has been used over millennia to make
bricks (adobe). Bowls can be used for dry storage. But for most practical
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Often when we're in a hurry to make a bowl (I'm always in a hurry, it
seems!), we just mix water and clay, kneading and working it till it's "right,"
feeling the larger impurities and removing them with our fingers. This works
well especially with smaller, quickie bowls when you're rushed. But it's
believed that the longer the clay sits wet, the better it will be to work with.
For working, the moisture content must be just right. Too wet, and it'll
be too sticky and will slump, not holding its shape. Too dry, and it will crack
as you work it. If a little too wet, it can either be spread out to dry some
or just worked in your hands, allowing the sun and breeze to dry it. This
additional working is good for the clay, most notably for removing pockets
of air. If the clay is only a bit dry, what works well is to dip your hands in
water, shake off the excess, and then work the clay.
Not all clays will work in making containers, owing to their chemical
compounds.
A good, simple test is to roll a handful of clay pencil-thin and tie it
into a knot. If it doesn't break or crack, it's a good candidate. Plasticity is
the key here.
The amount of shrinkage during drying is also an important factor.
Too much can hurt. The addition of temper (see that section below) can
sometimes help.
One clay that we've worked with a lot was touted by all who touched
and worked with it as having a "great feel." Well, we've never yet gotten a
good firing out of it. This was a clay that had all the outward characteristics
of a good, usable clay—pliability, shrinkage, feel—but it just wouldn't hold
up to firing. It blew apart.
So, if you follow all instructions and still have firing problems, change clays.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
I'll list here what we've noted from others, and what we've also come up
with ourselves:
^ The temper (grog) is a stable.
^ The clay is not.
& A lot of rubble (stones and so forth) in the fresh-dug clay is not
a stable, so it needs to be removed.
^ During drying, and especially during firing, the clay will shrink and
expand to a certain degree. Here, a little goes a long way—too much
action and the pot cracks or breaks. The temper helps to keep the
vessel (clay) more stable during these periods.
4> Some clays don't require temper. Others might need up to a one-third
addition. As noted earlier, each clay has its own special properties.
^ Small pots require less temper than larger ones, or sometimes none.
Large pots tend to slump when building, but the addition of temper
helps to counteract this.
& The intended use of the finished product has some bearing.
Vessels that will be in and out of the fire (each time experiencing
expansion and contraction) will require more temper than those
used primarily for storage.
^ The addition of temper actually weakens the pot. More and coarser temper
should be added to cooking vessels, as it takes the heat shock better.
Geri thinks of temper as being the main ingredient and of clay as just
holding it together—kinda like working cement. Steve Watts opines that, on
a microscopic level, pottery begins to break down as soon as you start to use
it. Minuscule cracks develop every time that the pot is heated or cooled. He
strongly feels that the temper acts as a stopping point for these cracks, like
drilling a hole in a windshield at the end of a crack to stop its progress.
Now that we've got some idea of just what temper is and the purpose
thereof, what do we use as temper?
Sand and grit are usually readily available for temper purposes.
But beware of what makes up the sand in your area. Where we live there
must be some limestone in it, and our limestone isn't stable. Every time that
we've used it, the pots have blown in firing. By contrast, limestone in the
southeastern United States is different, and works.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Firing Method # 5
Over the years we've settled on one method that gives us 100 percent
success...most times. We came to this through trial and error, because the
clay that we've had the most success with here is touchy and fails when we
fire using other methods. It's pretty much the same as a method described
earlier, with a few changes. To make a fire in a ring, the easiest way we've
found is by first building a fire to preheat the ground and then, when it burns
down, raking the coals and small embers out into the size circle needed.
Building a circle fire is next to impossible. But making a circle fire as
described is easy! Once circled, place small, stable (unblowupable: my word)
stones or pieces of brick to put the pots on, place the pots on the stones (we
almost always place them top down to keep hot coals from failing inside and
adding too much heat too soon), and build up the ring of fire. Keep enough
distance from fire to nearest pots so that you don't heat too fast, with more
distance on the upwind side. Keep the fire alive and move it slowly toward
the pots, ensuring that the heating is gradual. More and bigger fire. Closer
and closer.
When a few inches from the fire's actually touching the pots (remember,
upwind will be a longer distance), build the fire high enough so that long
sticks can be placed on top of the fire to make a roof a few inches above
the pots. Things go fast at this point. What you're doing is almost making a
kiln with the fire. The cooler air from outside the ring will sweep the flames
and heat into the center and up. You must keep the actual flames from most
direct contact with the pots (for now), but much heat is applied.
Finally, you're putting a roof over it all, which will create more heat
from above. We've found that this method makes for a more-even heating of
the pots at a critical stage, allowing them to get a lot hotter before having the
flames totally consume them. It takes about 1 1/2 to 2 hours, on a perfect
day with no excess winds, and a whole lot of wood, resulting in a close to
100 percent success rate.
One disadvantage in placing the pots upside down is that, if there's
any moisture in the ground, the steam created will rise into the pots with
nowhere to go. This can cause cracks and possibly breakage.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Firing Method # 6
One more firing method, which we haven't found in common use in the
States, is the use of a primitive kiln (hardening oven). This gives you more
control in heating gradually. Simply, the kiln is dug into a hillside, with
a firing chamber below it. The heat and smoke from the fire is tunneled
through the kiln. The ancient Chinese used this extensively, often stairstepping
kilns up a hillside, heating from a single fire chamber. You must
ensure that the firing chamber is of sufficient size to heat the kiln to the
required temperature (1200° to 1600°F; the color will be from dark red at the
lower temperature through cherry red, bright cherry red, and orange at the
higher temperature). This temperature should be maintained for two to four
hours. The chimney escape should ideally be through the bottom of the kiln
(so as to retain as much heat as possible—heat rises, remember?) and then
up (see drawing on next page). The opening needs to be large enough to
allow sufficient draw for the fire to reach the high temperatures required.
I think that this shows you that firing pottery just ain't throwing pots
into the fire—though it's not all that difficult, either.
Last Words
Pots are made to use, so use 'em. The final test is to cook in them.
Try to remember the word "gradual." Cold water in a hot pot can be
disastrous. Same vice versa. Heat with coals or small flames.
When handling hot pots, use leather pot holders or wooden "tongs."
Cloth can burst into flames.
Avoid lifting a pot by its rim, as you just might break it off.
Advice from Maria-Louise Sidoroff, whose expertise in making and
using primitive pottery is known internationally: "A well constructed and
sound pot will get better with usage. Using ordinary precautions, the life
expectancy would be many, many years."
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Notes on Aboriginal Pottery
by Steve Watts (1989)
To me, the pottery trip is divided into three parts:
1/3 is making it (Good clay, well prepared, proper temper,
and good construction techniques)
1/3 is firing it (Proper prefiring, and a thorough high firing with
adequate cool-down time)
1/3 is using it (Proper care and use for storage, cooking, and so on)
After all, using pottery is the main purpose for making it. For a pot
to be functional, it must be well made. In other, obvious words—the
better a pot is constructed and fired, the better it will operate as a
cooking vessel.
On a microscopic level, pottery starts to break down as soon as you
start to use it. But a well-made pot will last through many cookings if
taken care of and treated properly.
Pots should be stored in a secure spot, properly supported, and
protected from running children, dogs, and the like.
An underfired pot (in whole or in part) will fall apart when first
used—literally dissolve. Many pots only made for display fall into this
underfired category.
Of course shock must be avoided—putting cold water into a hot
pot or vice versa.
Some folks suggest filling the pot with water prior to use and letting
it stand in the pot long enough to thoroughly saturate the walls before
using. Others have suggested preheating and oiling the pot to season it,
a la cast iron.
Both of the procedures are probably useful, but my experience is
that with a well-made pot one simply adds "room temperature" water
plus the food to be cooked to the unheated pot and sets it on the fire.
Stoke up the flames and cook away.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Chapter 10
Brain-Tan Buckskin
I first attempted brain tanning 1974. At that time I could locate few sources
pertaining to this subject. What I did come up with left a lot to be desired.
My results were unsuccessful, but enough small bits of the skin did work out
to give me hope and show me what could be accomplished if done properly.
(I had no idea at that time what real buckskin was even like. I had read only
vague references to Indian-tanned skins.) All of what I could find on this
subject was written by someone who had no hands-on experience but was
writing what had been observed or heard. That may not be a bad way to
describe a procedure, but it's hardly the way to write a "how-to."
With more and more interest shown in going back to basics since
then, and especially the blossoming interest in buckskinning, more has
been written about some of the natural and primitive ways and skills. I
sure haven't had the opportunity to read all that has been written on brain
tanning, and probably don't know the existence of even half of it. From what
I've read, however, combined with my personal recent experiences of trying
to learn more about it, I feel that I've done a lot better than the others.
Most of what I've read, if read by someone not at all familiar with the
procedure (and, to my way of thinking, "how-to" books and articles should
be addressed to those who don't know "how to"), leaves the reader with a
lot of questions unanswered. If read with no other purpose than the joy of
reading or to further one's knowledge somewhat, fine. But most such texts
don't work for the individual interested in taking a raw deerskin and turning
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
it into a fine piece of material, especially if that individual hardly knows
what a deer is.
This chapter was written to deliberately oversimplify, because brain
tanning just isn't as difficult as most accounts tend to make it appear.
But I don't belittle the amount of effort required, when I demonstrate
that a skin can be finished in as little as nine hours—given ideal working
conditions. Of course, many, many variables can and do affect the quality of
the finished product.
It's frustrating and time-consuming to have to search out numerous
sources to learn a new skill. I've tried to make this chapter as complete
and easy to follow as what I wanted and needed when I did my first skin.
I've had my drafts read by uninformed people, both male and female, and
tried to incorporate their suggestions for clarity. I want this chapter to
work. It was designed so that the interested and motivated person with no
foreknowledge at all in skins could take this chapter, a raw deerskin, and
very minimal materials and end up with a finished buckskin. I'm satisfied
that it will do that.
I strongly suggest that you read this chapter carefully. Study the
photographs, reread, learn what's happening to the skin and why. Go over
the various steps till you know what each is accomplishing. Some parts of
this may seem complicated on the first reading, but if you study it closely
you'll find that I've made things easier and faster for you, such as lacing into
the frame. You can lace it any damn way that you want (and for one skin
maybe you should). But I feel certain that when you find out how simply
and quickly you can make buckskin, you won't stop at a single skin.
I speak throughout of the average 10-square-foot deerskin, which is a
large skin. Actually, the deer we have in north central Kansas average larger
than that. Smaller skins, of course, will require less time and effort.
I have purposely not gone into the making of anything but buckskin,
so as to keep things as simple as possible. You'll find nothing here about
working larger hides or furs. The basic principles are the same, but there are
certain differences for each. As with anything worthwhile, it will take some
effort and sweat, but not nearly what most have been led to believe. There's
no secret here—only simple rules.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
take 10 to 12 strokes before you've successfully removed the epidermis from
your 1" inch wide strip. Pay attention.
Once the surfaces are prepared, the oils will be able to penetrate. We
need to coat every fiber with these oils, hence the repeated applications.
You can't overbrain. But, once oiled, if left unattended, the skin will shrink
and dry hard (the glue taking effect). If you move these lubricated fibers
on themselves while the skin dries, the oils will allow the fibers to stay
separated and they'll swell somewhat. The result: unbelievably soft, flannellike
leather.
But if this was to be wetted, the fibers would again shrink and dry hard
(the glue) unless worked. If instead we penetrate the entire, loosely woven
skin with smoke, the pitch from the smoke will waterproof the fibers. The
skin itself isn't waterproofed. Water will run through it. But the fibers will be
waterproofed, and the wetted skins will again dry soft since the water hasn't
been allowed to get to the individual fiber and allow the glue to take effect.
Once you understand this, you're in control.
(I became aware of the glue action mentioned above through Jim Rigg's
book Blue Mountain Buckskin—the importance of always learning.)
Now, a note pertaining to finishing the skin out. I describe herein
finishing it out by pulling over a rope, or also by hand. Many, many others
accomplish the same by a method described as "staking." This means, after
braining, lacing the skin back onto the frame and working the fibers by
applying force with a rounded stick.
I think of the skin, stretched on the frame after fleshing, as being
stretched 100 percent. When the skin has been cut from the frame and, after
braining, has been worked by hand, it will shrink about 20 percent. When
staked, the skin will stretch another 5 to 10 percent to its limits.
On the one hand, you end up with a larger skin. On the other, the skin,
though 25 to 30 percent smaller, is also that much thicker, and spongier, and
stretchier. To me it is alive yet.
One advantage to working the skin by hand: At any time it can be rolled
up, placed in a plastic bag, and frozen till such time as you want to get back
to it. Once you begin staking, though, you'll have to stake till you're done.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
& Simple Breakdown
Day l
STEP HOURS
6:30-8 a.m. Frame and flesh 1 1/2
12-12:30 p.m. Prepare flesh side 1/2
3^:3 0 p.m. Dehair 1 1/2
4:30-5 p.m. Prepare hair side 1/2
5-6:15 p.m. Prepare and apply brains 1 1/4
6:15-6:45 p.m. Stretch skin open and 1/2
wrap in towels/refrigerate
Day 2
8-11 a.m. Finish stretching 3
TOTAL HOURS 8 3/4
During the afternoon of Day 2 the skin could be smoked. This
simplified schedule is figuring ideal weather for drying.
Materials
A big advantage of tanning (dressing) your skins with brains is the minimum
of expenditure required for materials. Most materials, if not all, will be on
hand in the average home.
Knife—Useful for making lacing holes. A pocket or paring knife is all
that's necessary. The only requirements are a thin, sharp blade and a good
point.
Four 2x4s about 8' long, and nails. Cedar or pine poles lashed or nailed
securely, or both, will work fine. It must be a good, solid frame.
125-150' of 1/8" nylon cord in 25-30'. lengths, or whatever else you
come up with. Nylon is easy to work with, and long-lasting.
Sandpaper—#50 coarse grit works well for medium and larger skins.
Use a finer grit for smaller, thinner skins.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Skins
Acquiring deerskins really isn't that difficult. There are many sources from
which you may obtain them if you look and ask around. During deer season
I can acquire 15 to 20 from friends and acquaintances who have no use for
them. There are also a number of locker plants in the area that will sell me
as many as I want at the going rate—sometimes as little as $2, but normally
closer to $5. Contact with local law and game enforcement officers also
informs me of many road kills.
Wherever you get your skins, some words of caution. Most hunters
who skin their own, and all butchers whom I've run across, take great
pride in how fast they can remove the skin from the deer. The quicker and
the cleaner that the skin is removed does no favors for the tanner but only
leaves numerous holes and "scores" (cuts into the skins not deep enough
to be holes—yet).
When I skin a deer it takes me from 15 to 30 minutes to do the job,
depending on whether it's done in the field or from the front-end loader of
a tractor. When the skin is to be tanned I'm not a fast skinner; I am careful.
The knife is used sparingly, and I leave all stubborn bits of meat and fat
on the skin. They come off easily enough later, with no appreciable loss of
meat to the hunter. By being a bit more careful I don't end up with a skin
full of holes or, worse yet, the many, many scores that can take a good No. 1
skin and turn it into a piece of crap. Light scores on the thicker part of the
skin, such as the neck, are usually acceptable, but the normal score on the
average part of the skin will, 9 times out of 10, tear out while you're working
the skin in the final stretching process. Beware of scores!
To collect as many good skins as possible, I may offer to skin them out
for local hunters, who are usually pleased as punch to have me do this for
them, especially when it's as cold as it can get around here in December. As
an added bonus I'm almost always allowed to remove the loin sinew strips also.
As for getting skins from the butcher, well, you often have to take what
you can get. Just before deer season I always go around to the processors
with whom I've made arrangements and ask them to please use the knife
sparingly. This usually helps.
There are three common ways to keep the skins till you're ready to tan
them. The oldest way is to just leave them exposed to the air till they're dry.
This is also the most time-consuming later, as they must be soaked in fresh
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
water for what seems like forever to make them as soft and pliable as
when green.
Salting the skin for preservation is the second method, and probably
the most commonly used. The flesh side is coated liberally with salt and the
excess moisture allowed to drain off. It will keep this way for six to eight
months before needing to be resalted. Although it most assuredly works, I
don't use this method myself, as it requires a lot of time and water to wash
out the salt, all of which must be removed. Salt draws moisture. Unsmoked
brain tan dries stiff if moistened.
By far the easiest way to keep them is the third way: frozen. I freeze a
skin as soon after collecting it as I can, by rolling it (hair side out); tying it in
a tight, neat bundle; and placing it in an airtight plastic bag. I'm now tanning
skins that have been frozen this way for up to three years. I believe that they
could be kept forever this way and still be as green and fresh when thawed
as the day they were put up, though you need to keep air away from the
flesh side. By keeping the skin frozen I eliminate any need to wash or soak
the skin before tanning, which saves considerable time, energy, and water.
Only the bloodiest of skins will I even wash. The skin will dry quite a bit
faster and be ready to work sooner if the hair isn't moistened.
Framing and Fleshing
Now let's do something with that skin, wherever it came from.
If it was dried, then you'd best find a source of running water, such as
a stream, and weight the skin with rocks and leave it for a couple of days
or so. It will take a long time to get it back to the same state it was in when
taken from the deer. You do need to check it every so often to ensure that
the fresh water is getting to the entire skin. If you don't have access to a
creek or a stream, place it into a large container, such as a 25-gallon trash
can, and soak. The water must be changed regularly, after only several hours
the first few times, and probably at least every 10 to 12 hours from then on
till it's workable. On warmer days be sure that the water doesn't heat enough
to rot the skin. It needs to soak till as pliable and fresh as when removed
from the deer.
A salted skin is more easily prepared. It needs only repeated washings to
remove all the salt.
Frozen skins need only to be thawed.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
place a board under the skin, push the point of the knife against the skin
into the board with one hand, and pull the skin up with the other. I say to
use a thin blade, because you don't want the holes too large.
To keep the natural shape of the skin square within the frame as
you lace, I've found it convenient to tie each corner of the skin to the
corresponding corner of the frame with a 12" to 15" cord. Also, place the
skin just a little off center to the right (as you face it from the bottom). After
having done a few skins, you'll find no need to tie the corners in order to
square it within the frame, though doing so sure helps the beginner.
Picture the frame in an upright position with the neck at the top and the
flesh side facing you. You'll begin lacing at the neck at the upper left corner.
From that corner, go through the hole at the corner of the neck, out under
the 2x4, and in over it again to the skin. Now begin to take the cord through
three holes at a time as if you were sewing—the cord, as it passes through
the series of three holes, runs in and out in a straight line, not wrapped
around the edge. Then take the cord out under the frame and in over it, and
then do three more holes. The cord always comes from the skin out under
the frame and back over it to the skin. I normally go through three holes at
a lick, sometimes two and very seldom four, but only as long as the holes
are in a straight line. This is to save the inconvenience of having to replace
if one of the holes rips out. As the edge of the skin turns at legs and corners,
bring your cord around the frame and begin your series of holes again. At
the neck where the skin's the thickest, I'll go through only one hole if that's
the way the count ends up at the corner.
Don't pull the cord too tightly but just "snug it up" for now. When
you reach the end of one length of cord, tie it off and begin with another.
I normally leave two or three holes (one series) for the rope that I tied off
to go through as I take up the slack. As you round the second corner and
begin the bottom, you can begin to take up some of the slack—but not too
tight now or you'll lose the shape. (Never pull too tightly on the bottom, as
it will easily tear.) After you go around the third corner and into the home
stretch, you can really begin to tighten things up, even going back to the
bottom section and taking up the remainder of the slack there. By the time
you reach the neck, whence you began, the skin will be fairly taut and close
to being centered on the frame.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
With a large paintbrush or clean sponge, apply this solution to both
sides of the skin. You don't need to be too liberal with the brain solution
now. You just need to get the skin pliable enough to cut from the frame and
fold easily into the bucket. Fold the now-pliable skin into the bucket of
brain solution and work it with your hands for several minutes. With some
of the smallest, thinnest skins, that's all that's necessary. But I've never yet
let any skin get by with only one soaking in the brains. I've had too many
skins not receive a deep enough penetration of the brain, which won't be
discovered till I've spent several hours working the skin and suddenly wind
up with a stiff product—and then have to return to this stage. That's a lot of
extra work that can be easily prevented with very little effort now. There's
no special time limit that the skin has to be left soaking in the brain. Once
you've got complete penetration, you're ready to finish it out. The shortest
time for small skins would be about 15 to 20 minutes, with two soakings.
With some of the thicker, larger skins, it works well to apply several
coats of the brain before cutting from the frame. Each coat should be
allowed to dry, preferably in the sun, and then either scraped or sanded
before you apply the next coat.
Between soakings the skin must be wrung to remove as much moisture
as possible. As mentioned before, the skin will absorb water like a sponge.
Brain being a solid matter, and its oils being thicker than water, the liquefied
brain won't be absorbed into the skin as readily as plain water. With the
thinner areas, this is no problem, and one soaking is enough. The thicker
area, though, will require additional soakings. You must get all the water
out of the skin that you possibly can, so that when it's reimmersed into the
solution the water not only will bring more brain with it but also will draw
ever deeper what's already there.
The wringer from an old wringer washer works just fine for this. Run
the skin through this several times.
The traditional way of wringing out excess water, and the way that I did
all my skins till I found the wringer, is to drape the skin around a small tree
limb (or a lariat stretched tightly), overlapping it by about one third of itself,
and rolling and folding the skin onto and into itself, tucking in all loose
ends till it's tightly rolled together. The accompanying photos show this
better than I could hope to describe it. Place a solid stick (approximately
1" in diameter) through the opening and twist the skin till tight, pull, twist
some more, and then pull some more. The moisture will run and drip out
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
Finishing
At this point, if we were to throw the skin out on the ground or over a limb,
in a few hours it would shrink to a fraction of its size and become quite
hard. Our purpose now, therefore, is to prevent this from happening. There
are a number of methods of working the skin soft, but I'll cover only the one
I currently use, as I find it the easiest. With this method, at any point during
the drying process the skin can be rolled (as mentioned above) and placed in
the refrigerator or freezer.
The weather does, of course, affect how quickly the skin dries. My
personal preference is a slow drying day over a hot, windy one. A fast-drying
skin can be hell to keep up with.
What we have to do now is keep the fibers of the skin from doing what
they want naturally to do: shrink and pull together as they dry. For this we'll
pull and stretch the skin around the lariat all the time that it's drying. I've
read one account of a Navaho method of using hands and feet to do the
stretching, which I've done successfully on smaller skins in by the fire during
the winter. As I've said, various methods work. All methods have one thing
in common: to keep every fiber in the skin stretched and open to its fullest
while drying. Without the addition of the brain (oils), the rawhide would
still dry stiff, though not as stiff as if not stretched. The addition of the oils
allows the individual fibers to pull apart and actually swell and soften as
they dry, but we must keep each and every fiber stretched to its fullest and
moving over and past each other the entire time that the skin's drying. So
alternate pulling the skin widthwise and lengthwise. (The above action of
the brain isn't scientific fact, just my observations and the easiest way that I
know to describe what's taking place.)
Tie one end of the lariat to the base of a tree and the other to a limb
about 6' up and pull it tight. Now drape the skin around the rope and pull
it in all directions the entire time that it's drying. Begin at the neck and grab
a handful of skin and really lay into it. You don't need to worry about the
thicker parts of the skin tearing. Lean back and use your entire body weight.
Hand over hand, work your way all down the skin to the rump, then turn
it halfway and begin pulling the other direction (lengthwise), repeat...and
repeat...and repeat.
When pulling the thinner edge areas, such as the flanks, take two
handholds, one in about 6" to 8" where the skin's thicker, and pull like hell,
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
You should also put the remaining brain solution in the fridge before
it sits out in a warm room too long, as it will sour in a hurry. You can use it
on another skin or you may even have to use it yet again on this one if you
haven't gotten complete penetration. I've used the same solution, with the
addition of more brain and water, on as many as 10 skins—but that's just
being cheap. Fresh solution seems to work better.
At this point I think of the skin as being in one of three stages—wettest,
medium wet, and dry. In the wettest stage, the skin will spend more time
on the ground than on the rope. The midpoint of drying is the more critical
stage, and you'll spend more time stretching or rubbing. When you're pretty
sure that the skin is dry and you're just ascertaining that fact, you can spend
less time on the rope.
At about the time the thinner areas are drying out, concentrate your
efforts on the thicker neck, back, and ham areas.
This is also the stage that the term "blood, sweat, and tears" pertains to.
Unconditioned knuckles will blister and bleed. It helps to use bandages over
the first knuckle joint, or tight-fitting rubber gloves with fingertips cut off.
Time will toughen them.
Begin rubbing the skin around the rope while stretching as soon as it
dries enough to do so easily. This helps to crush and stretch the fibers, raises
the nap to a fluffier texture, and creates friction that helps speed the drying
process somewhat. Rub with vigor.
Don't quit till you're positive that the skin is dry. Any little bit of
moisture will detract from a No. 1 quality piece of buckskin. Remember
that as long as there's any moisture at all left in the skin, it will shrink and
stiffen as it dries. If you stayed with it, the average 10 sq. ft. skin would take
approximately 3 1/2 to 4 hours to finish out.
The finished buckskin will be creamy white in color and as soft and
fluffy as the best of flannel. But.. .if this fine piece of material were allowed
to get wet (and remember, it will seem to draw moisture, just as brain and
other things will draw flies), you'd find yourself back to where you were
four hours ago. If it's allowed to dry naturally, it will shrink and stiffen. So
though we've got a fine piece of buckskin, we're certainly not finished with
it. It makes no sense to devise clothing or bags if we can't actually use it.
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
Smoking
What we do now is smoke the skin. As with the oils of the brain, we need
to penetrate smoke into every fiber of the now-soft buckskin. I've heard of
various things this does to the skin, but I've never definitively learned how it
does it. I do know it works, however, and it's a necessary step to end up with
a useful piece of material that will dry soft (or will require only a minimum
of rubbing) after a good wetting.
The old way of smoking skins is to sew it into a cone from the neck to
the rump, leaving the rump open. Into a hole in the ground (roughly 6" in
diameter by 18" deep), place hot coals to a depth of 6" to 8" and cover with
punky wood. What's wanted is a smudge of dense, warm smoke. Stake the
open end of the skin over the smudge and tie the neck area to a low tree
limb or a tripod. Smoke can also be piped to the hanging skin a number
of feet away, making it easier to control the fire or smoke and eliminating
the possibility of scorching the skin. It's a good idea, also, to sew a piece of
material, such as denim or canvas, to the bottom of the skin as additional
security against scorching. Keep the skin open so that the warm, dense
smoke can penetrate overall. When you see the discoloration of the smoke
seeping through the thinner areas, invert the skin and smoke it from the
other direction.
This is certainly the quickest way to smoke one skin, or just a few
of them. Not including the sewing and setup time, the actual smoking
takes from 15 to 30 minutes per side, depending on how dark a shade is
desired. This method actually forces the smoke through the skin, whereas
in the tipi method (described next) the smoke is absorbed by exposure and
therefore takes considerably more time for complete penetration. I seldom
use this method, as it requires my constant attention and I normally have
a number of skins to smoke at one time. I've read, and been told, that the
smoke has to be warm to accomplish its mission. Cold smoke apparently
won't work. Myself, I've never tested the cold smoke theory.
I smoke 99 percent of my skins in a tipi. I've used a small shed before,
which is fine for pelts or individual skins but too small for any quantity of
skins. I know of some people who place their stove right in the lodge. This
is inconvenient, to my way of thinking, as they must burn the coals outside
and then transport them to the stove to avoid scorching the skins. It's also
much easier to tend the smudge in the smokefree out-of-doors. I place my
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
18' lodge next to a ledge, put the stove below, and pipe the smoke about 12'
to the center of the lodge. I also put a rain cap on the end of the pipe to
help disperse the rising smoke, which promotes more consistent coloring of
the skins.
Tie the skins to the uppermost part of the poles. I run a piece of heavy
thread through the edge of the skin with a needle and then tie it around the
poles loose enough to hang free so that all parts are exposed to the smoke.
They could also be tacked to the poles. Either very long legs or a stepladder
is necessary. With this method you can hang 8 to 12 skins, depending on the
size of both skins and lodge, and all will come out the same shade and color.
After closing the smoke flaps tight as if for a storm, with liner in place, put
a towel or two in the crotch formed by the poles to slow the escape of the
smoke as much as possible.
Before hanging the skins, build a large fire in the stove, using a
hardwood that will produce long-lasting coals. Oak is my favorite, though
charcoal will suffice. Remember to disconnect the pipe. By the time the
skins are hung and the lodge is closed tight, the coals should be about right.
Replace the pipe so as to heat it quickly to create a good draft, and then
almost immediately cover the coals with fine-shredded, punky wood. The
rottenest, most punky wood that you can find is the best. Don't confuse
soft, wet wood with rotten, punky. If wet when gathered, spread it out to
dry. The wood needs to be punky and unburnable to create the dense smoke
that's necessary.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
We don't need to add moisture by burning wet stuff. I've tried using
green wood, which burns even hotter than the dry oak. We don't want
straight heat, which could scorch the skins. A combination of punky
cottonwood and red cedar sawdust leaves my skins a light, bright, lively
tan. The same combination used in the first method of forcing the smoke
through, is much darker and not nearly so lively. The choice of woods will
dictate the final coloring.
I begin this project early in the morning on a day when no rain is
expected in the immediate future. Rain will always enter the lodge at the
apex and run down the poles, and you're taking a chance when you hang
a dozen unsmoked skins in a lodge. A sudden squall would create havoc.
By hanging them early in the morning of a clear day, I can begin the actual
smoking before 8 a.m. and by the time that I quit for the day at about 10
p.m., I feel secure that if it does rain during the night enough smoke has
penetrated the skins that a bit of moisture won't hurt. I would, though, have
the skins cut down and in the house at the first hint of a storm within the
first day and a half of smoking.
To keep a steady, heavy cloud rising from the stove, you'll have to
stir the coals every 20 minutes or so and keep adding more punk when
necessary. Every two to three hours you'll also need to rebuild the fire for
more coals. Note: Don't forget to disconnect the pipe when doing this!
I follow this process for three 12- to 14-hour days while working on
other skins only a few feet from the stove. Late in the afternoon of the third
day I remove the skins, soak them in cold well water, and hang them from
a clothesline. Most everything that I've read on the smoking of skins says to
place them in a sack overnight to allow the smoke and color to set. I don't
do this and have had no ill effects with my results. After the skins have
dried, I pull and rub each one by hand to ensure that the smoke has done its
job, and then let them air for a number of days.
That's it. You now have a fine piece of buckskin that's worth $10 or
more per square foot. Better than that, you have the satisfaction of having
taken a raw piece of material from nature (no kit here!) and, by your own
labors, have created a fine, beautiful, useful finished product—something
that you can point to and honestly proclaim with pride, "/ made this. "
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
"Hair-on" Supplement
Leaving the hair on when brain tanning requires the application of a few
different rules. The skin (pelt, hide, whatever) should not be soaked in the
brain solution as with buckskin, as this can result in hair slippage. Instead,
the brain should be painted on the former flesh side, allowed to dry, the
dried brain "film" scraped off, and then repeated till you're certain that
you have complete penetration. Remember that you're penetrating from
only one side. With the same thickness buckskin, that might require eight
applications (soakings and wringings), but here you'll have to do more than
twice that number. Thinner pelts (fox, cats) might get by with only one or
two applications (I would do four or five at least; remember that you can't
possibly overbrain). The thickest, toughest pelt that I've done is the beaver.
After successfully doing five extra-large, blanket-sized ones, I wouldn't
hesitate to apply the solution as many as 40 to 50 times. This means lots of
work, though the fine finished results have been well worth the effort. (I can
do a couple of buckskins in the time that it takes to do a large beaver.) The
beaver I skin "open" and stretch around on a willow hoop or some such. I
lace it, using needle and artificial sinew (waxed nylon) thread, stitches about
1" apart. Lace it with the holes pretty close to the edge and be especially
careful around the face. What we're trying to do is save all we can.
I prefer to work all other pelts "case" skinned. The dried pelt can be
kept on the stretcher for the brainings. When the legs are left on, I staple
them open to thin slats. I skin the paws as open as I can and soak them in
the brain (they should be "tanned," but I know nothing of that; I only do
things the natural way, though soaking in the oils of the brain can't hurt).
Ears should be skinned out to the very tip; I also soak these. All meats and
fats must be removed from these areas or they will eventually rot, if gotten
wet, and the hair will then slip. The final coat of brain can be applied,
applied, and applied once more. Saturate it as much as you can, then maybe
place a warm, damp towel (damp with brain solution is fine) on the flesh
side, place it in a plastic sack, and allow it to stand till it becomes as pliable
as when green. Don't overdo it, or it could begin to rot and cause hair
slippage. Then work it over the rope or by hand till it's dry and soft.
For deer with the hair on, I wouldn't even bother with brain tanning,
The hollow hairs of the deer break off if you even look hard at them. The
only practical use for a hair-on deer is as a wall hanging, and even then it
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
doesn't need to be soft. I have done one deer robe. No more! It was nice,
but you can't do anything with it but pick up hairs wherever you might visit,
eventually ending up with a piece of buckskin anyhow. It's just not worth
the extra work, and it is a huge amount of extra work. I've read where
Indians just threw the raw skin on the floor of the lodge, and when the hair
all fell out they had a softened piece of rawhide ready to brain into buckskin.
One that you wanted for a wall hanging could be saturated with pure neat'sfoot
oil (for better penetration), or brained and only worked semisoft.
Yet if you insist—and also for elk, buffalo, and other creatures—here are
some tips to kinda help you along.
Follow the preparation steps up through page 288. Now, I'm not talking
about skins or hides with the legs or faces left on. Then begin to paint the
brain solution on, scraping between coatings as with the pelts. Apply, apply,
and apply again—you can't do too much. You will have to judge as to how
many coatings each pelt will need. Finally, lay the frame out flat and apply
the brain till the skin's saturated. (You might even repeat this several times.)
When the pelt's as pliable as when green, don't cut it from the frame, as
there will be too much bulk for you to work over a rope. Instead, stand the
frame up and, beginning with a canoe paddle (or something similar), begin
to run a tool down the hide. You'll be stretching the hide and at the same
time squeegeeing the moisture out. You'll only be working the flesh side. The
epidermis will restrict the stretching process, and you'll work your butt off,
but keep at it. You must, till it's dry and soft. As the hide gets drier, graduate
to a smaller stick to stretch with (a rounded-down ax handle will work well).
Along about now you'll begin to wish that you hadn't begun this
project. You'll think it's a "buster," but it'll be worth it. Someone once
showed me an old photo of Native American women "playing" by bouncing
children up and down on a buffalo hide like a trampoline. "Playing,"
hell—they were stretching the hide soft! Whichever way you decide to do
this, it must be continued till it's completely finished. No half-hour breaks
here. For this project it would be best to have one or more helpers. If you've
properly prepared the surface and applied enough brain to achieve complete
penetration, and if you keep the proper stretching up till it's completely dry,
you'll end up with a fine robe indeed.
It's best to smoke the finished pelt or robe in a smokehouse or in the
tipi. If the legs and face are left on, it'll be impossible to sew into a bag.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Index
Aboriginal pottery, 271. See
also Pottery, primitive
Adzes as tools, 66
Animal parts as containers, 214-15,
217, 219-20, 238-42
Antlers as tools, 56, 57-59
Arrow construction, 105, 130-43
cane, 105
fletching, 138^ 2
materials, 130
process, 132^3
tools, 132
Arrowheads, 72-73
Atlatls (spear throwers), 172-75
Awls as tools, 60-61
Baking, 210-13
Bank lines, 167
Bark containers, 232-36
Basket weave, 225
Baskets, 222-31, 246
coiled, 229-36
materials, 222
process, 222-28
Birds, trapping, 165-66
Boiling, 213-20
Bones as tools, 56-57
Bow construction, 69-72, 105-29
backing with sinew, 121-29
finishing, 116-21
glossary of terms, 111
materials, 106-107
process, 107-15
tools, 106
Bow drills for firemaking, 2-17
making, 2-3
parts, 3-7
using, 7-17
Bows and arrows, 69-72, 100-44
bowstrings, 117-19, 129-30
constructing arrows, 105, 130^3
constructing bows, 69-72, 105-29
See also Arrow construction; Bow
construction
Bowstrings, 117-19, 129-30
Brain tanning, 273-311
braining, 292-94
finishing, 297-300
fleshing, 284-86
framing, 282-84
hair-on method, 305-307
holes, 295-96
materials, 278-80
overview, 275-78
skinning, 281-82
smoking, 301-304
surface preparation, 286-92
tools, 277, 278, 279-80
Broiling, 206-209
Buckskin tanning. See Brain tanning
Cane arrows, 105
Celt as tools, 61-65
Clams, 168
Clay in pottery making, 248-52
Coals, cooking in, 202-206
Coiled baskets, 229-36
Coiling in pottery making, 260-61
Containers, primitive, 221-45
animal parts, 214-15, 217, 219-20,
238-42
bark, 232-36
baskets, 222-31, 246
cordage, 236
stone, 237-38
wood, 73, 243^5
See also Pottery, primitive
Cooking methods, primitive, 201-20
baking, 210-13
boiling, 213-20
broiling, 206-209
using coals, 202-206
Cordage, 23-33, 236
making, 25-26
using animal material, 31-33
using plant material, 26-30
Deadfalls and trap lines, 151-69
Deer, 181-200
cutting up, 196-200
field dressing, 182-87
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
processing, 182-200
skinning, 188-90, 281-82
Deerskin pots and buckets, 214-15,
217, 219-20
Digging sticks as tools, 59-60
Drills for firemaking, 2-22, 68
Entrance of shelters, 80
Field dressing, 182-87
Firemaking, primitive, 1-34
bow drills, 2-17
cordage, 23-33
hand drills, 2, 17-22, 68
tips, 33-34
Firing methods in pottery making,
263-69
Fish, trapping, 167-69
Fletching in arrow construction,
138^12
Flintknapping, 36-53
rules, 41^2
safety concerns, 38, 51
techniques, 40, 42-52
Floor of shelters, 78
Food preparation, 201-20
tools, 73-74
Gathering, 170-72
Glue
in arrow construction, 142
in bow construction, 123-28
Hafting, 63-65
Hand drills for firemaking, 2, 17-22,
68
parts, 18
using, 19-22
Hantavirus, 146-50
Hot rock cooking, 213-19
Insects, 176
Jerky, 177-80
Kilns in pottery making, 269, 270
Lean-tos, 83-86
Mano and metate, 73
Meat
cutting, 196-200
hanging, 181-82
and hunting/trapping, 145-69
nutritional value, 151, 177
preservation, 176-80
See also Deer
Mortar and pestle, 74
Mud pack, cooking in, 204-205
Nets, 165-66,168
Nuts, gathering, 171
Packrats, 171-72
trapping, 163
Paddling in pottery making, 255
Paiute deadfall trigger system, 158-60
Parfletche, 239
Pemmican, 177, 179
Pottery, primitive, 247-72
aboriginal, 271
clay, 248-52
construction, 255-62
firing methods, 263-69
materials, 248-54
safety concerns, 255-56
temper, 252-54
Rabbit sticks, 170
Rocks. See Stones
Roof of shelters, 78-79
Sandstone as tool, 55
Seeds, gathering, 171
Shells as tools, 53-54
Shelters, primitive, 75-100
design, 78-80
generic construction, 92-100
lean-tos, 83-86
location, 77
materials, 80-81
safety concerns, 77
thatched wickiups, 86-91
wickiups, 81-82, 86-91
Index 313
Sinews
and bow staves, 121-29
sewing, 307-11
Skinning, 188-90, 281-82
Skins for brain tanning, 281-82
Smoke hole of shelters, 79
Snakes, 171
Snares and trap lines, 151-69
Spear-throwers, 172-75
Staves
curing, 107-108
heating and bending, 113-15
locating, 107
and sinew glueing, 121-29
stringing, 117-19
Sticks
as tools, 59-60
throwing, 170
Stones, 56
containers, 237-38
cooking, 213-19
as tools, 56, 61-65, 73-74
Tanning. See Brain tanning
Temper in pottery making, 252-54
Thatched wickiups, 86-91
Throwing sticks. See also Atlatls
Tools, primitive, 35-74
adzes, 66
antlers, 56, 57-59
awls, 60-61
blunt instruments, 55-56
bones, 56-57
bow and arrow construction, 106,
132
celt, 61-65
digging sticks, 59-60
flintknapping, 36-53
food preparation, 73-74
hafting, 63-65
shells, 53-54
sticks, 59-60
stones, 56, 61-65, 73-74
vises, 67
wood, 55
working with, 68-73
Trap lines and snares, 145, 151-69
Trapping
birds, 165-66
fish, 167-69
packrats, 163
See also Trap lines and snares
Trigger systems for traps, 152-63
Twining in basket making, 224
Vises as tools, 67
Walls of shelters, 78
Wickiups, 81-82, 86-91
Wood
containers, 73, 243-45
as tools, 55
See also specific wooden items
Wooden awls as tools, 60-61
ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Resources
Primitive living and survival is an abstract subject. Except for a very few
people (such as members of the military involved in evasion or escape), no
one will ever need these skills. The most primitive of cultures absorb modern
skills as quickly as they are exposed to them (use of steel, firearms, and so
on), and all cultures have been exposed. If we were to be teaching survival
skills in a modern, realistic manner to the general public, we would write
material to reflect this.
We are primitive by choice, and our materials (including this book)
teach you how to successfully live with nothing. If you are looking for "realworld"
information or trying to stay alive when the chips fall, you will want
to check out two books by Cody Lundin: 98.6 Degrees: The Art of Keeping
Your Ass Alive (Layton, Utah: Gibbs Smith, 2003) and When All Hell
Breaks Loose: Stuff You Need to Survive When Disaster Strikes (Gibbs
Smith, 2007).
You also may visit the authors' website, www.prairiewolf.net, where you
can order their books:
Primitive Wilderness Skills, Applied and Advanced
"How-to" Build This Log Cabin for $3,000
Instructional DVDs and videotapes are also available, showing the
principles and techniques covered in this book. Subjects include primitive
fire and cordage, bow and arrow, deer from field to freezer, brain-tan
buckskin, breaking rock and making arrowheads, constructing shelters,
and creating bows.
GUIDE TD
S U RVIVI N G
WITH NDTHING
BUT YOUR BARE
HANDS AND
WHAT YD U FIND
IN THE WDDDS
JOHN MCPHERSON AND CERI MCPHERSON
Ejk "During my first years of learning survival I took
a course in survival and primitive earth skills
taught by John and Geri McPherson. I was excited
by their unbelievable passion and their intrinsic
understanding of survival. Their teachings took me
from understanding basic skills to a full-blown love for
the ancient technologies that humans developed to
survive. John and Geri are the real deal. They don't just
teach this stuff, they live it. I loved the experience with them
so much I came back a second time a few years later. Now that
I have traveled the world as Survivorman — experiencing and
filming survival in every ecosystem there is—I can sit back and
watch my shows and see John and Geri's teachings peek
through in every situation. I have been able to understand
survival because of John and Geri, and ^iffl
can highly recommend this book."
— Les Stroud, AK A Survivorman
Packed with in-depih instruction and photos, L'ltinidte (initie to Wilderness
living teaches you the skills needed to survive and live in the wild using only
those things found in the woods. Learn ho w to:
#
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Ignite a lire wit h a two-stick hand drill
Erect temporary and semipermanent shelters
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# Chip scones and bones into primitive tools // m-rn DV OTcn 11
^
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[rap animals and hum with a bow and arrow
Fire pots, weave baskets and tan buckskin
U 01 Li Dl 01 Li JJ PHOTOS JJ
# Prepare .nul cook wild foods ^
$15*95
I >IMMIMII. J by
Ulysses
l'nl>li-li. i. iSMMp VI'CM
Press
Ultimate Guide to
Wilderness Living
Also by John and Geri McPherson
Primitive Wilderness Skills, Applied & Advanced
"How-to" Build This Log Cabin for $3,000
Ultimate Guide to
Wilderness Living
by John and Geri McPherson
Foreword by Cody Lundin
Wlysses Press
Dedicated to those who give of their time and all too often their health
and lives to ensure that we, and those like us, are able to pursue our
dreams in freedom—the men and women of the U.S. Military. More
specifically we single out the men that I, John, served with in the 173rd
Airborne Brigade (Sep) in the Republic of South Vietnam (A Company,
1/503rd Airborne Infantry) and the men of the Special Operations
Community who accomplish so much for so little.
Copyright © 2008 John McPherson and Geri McPherson. All rights reserved. No part
of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor
be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is
published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Published in the United States by
Ulysses Press
P.O. Box 3440
Berkeley, CA 94703
www. ulyssespress .com
ISBN10: 1-56975-650-3
ISBN13: 978-1-56975-650-8
Library of Congress Control Number 2007907767
Printed in Canada by Transcontinental Printing
10 987654321
Acquisitions: Nick Denton-Brown
Copy Editor: Mark Woodworth
Editorial/Production: Claire Chun, Lauren Harrison, Judith Metzener,
Abigail Reser, Steven Zah Schwartz
Design/Production: whatidesign @ whatweb.com
Cover Design: Double R Design
Cover Photographs: John McPherson
Index: Sayre Van Young
Distributed by Publishers Group West
PLEASE NOTE
This book has been written and published strictly for informational purposes, and in no
way should be used as a substitute for actual instruction with qualified professionals.
The authors and publisher are providing you with information in this work so that you
can have the knowledge and can choose, at your own risk, to act on that knowledge.
The authors and publisher also urge all readers to be aware of their health status, to
consult local fish and game laws, and to consult health care and outdoor professionals
before engaging in any potentially hazardous activity. Any use of the information in
this book is made on the reader's good judgment. The author and publisher assume no
liability for personal injury, property damage, consequential damage or loss, however
caused, from using the information in this book.
Chapters
Foreword vii
Introduction ix
1 Primitive Fire and Cordage 1
2 Primitive Tools—Making and Using Them 35
3 Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters 75
4 Makin'Meat-1 101
5 Makin'Meat-2 145
6 Deer from Field to Freezer 181
7 Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods 201
8 Primitive Wilderness Containers 221
9 Primitive Pottery 247
10 Brain-Tan Buckskin 273
Resources 312
About the Authors 316
Foreword
It was 1989 and I was a punk kid attending a major primitive living skills
conference. Toting a smelly deer hide, I walked up to him and asked his
opinion about softening the skin based upon advice I'd just been given by
another instructor. It was my first brain-tanned deer hide and I wanted it
to be perfect. After listening to me ramble on, he looked at me quizzically,
cocked his head, and said, "Son, we don't really care how it looks'—we
want it to work"
This was my first encounter with John McPherson, and his words of
simplicity and practicality have rung through my head ever since.
Years later, the world's interest in relearning indigenous living and
survival skills has grown by leaps and bounds. Whether it's a new magazine
article, book, or TV show, more and more people are exploring the art of
primitive living skills and self-reliance. Yet, as in any other "craze," many
who have dubious credibility in what they preach are eager to feed upon
the body of this growing interest. Legions of media producers and editors
who have zero experience in survival skills give their two cents' worth about
what it means to "survive in the bush." Many of these productions not only
are ridiculous in their format, but are filled with errors that, if taken literally
by a starry-eyed and naive public, may very well cause their demise.
Little by little, the simple, commonsense survival skills that kept every
race alive upon the planet were being sensationalized in order to sell one
more book or gain one more viewer. Commonsense reality had turned 180
degrees into a shameless bureaucracy of company-sponsored deception that
honored how a survival skill "looked" rather than whether it "worked."
In similar fashion, on the educational front line, well-intentioned
Foreword vii
professors lectured students about how indigenous peoples lived, even
though the vast majority of these professors had never even camped in the
wilderness—let alone created fire with sticks, a canteen from a gourd, or a
sleeping mat made from cattail.
Over time, the repetition of survival assumptions, half-truths, or outright
lies became an all-too-trusting public's "truth" about outdoor survival and
primitive living skills. The majority of the public didn't care (and still don't).
A plethora of survival books, as well, have been written by authors who are
not survival instructors; and, judging by their works, they haven't bothered
to try out the supposed lifesaving skills they regurgitate upon the page. Even
more common are survival skills practitioners who, while proficient in many
physical skills, don't psychologically live what they teach. This "walk-thetalk"
concept goes much deeper than simply doing a hand drill every other
morning while living in the city. It is an all-encompassing life attitude that
affects every decision one makes in their quest to do more with less. All
indigenous living skills revolved around people becoming more self-reliant
within their environment. The quest for the all-important calorie ruled the
day, and there was no time or consciousness for complicated, flashy skills
that didn't put meat in the pot. In essence, truly living a self-reliant life
(whether the lifestyle incorporates literal "stone-age" skills or not) demands
a lifestyle commitment on all levels that few can stomach.
I can count on one hand the number of survival instructors I know
whose passion for survival skills includes living a self-reliant lifestyle. On
this hand are John and Geri McPherson. They practice what they preach—
psychologically and physically—and have done so for a very long time. The
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living is a pioneer in the field of no-bullshit
primitive living skills and is loaded with practical, time-tested tips, tricks,
and photos that manifest only from many years of "doing it." True to John's
advice given to me nearly two decades ago, this book is written in a style
and spirit that embodies primitive living skills that really work.
Cody Lundin
Cody Lundin is founder and director of the Aboriginal Living Skills School
and author of the best-selling books 98.6 Degrees: The Art of Keeping Your
Ass Alive! and When All Hell Breaks Loose: Stuff You Need to Survive
When Disaster Strikes.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Introduction
This is not written as a survival book—it's a compilation of most of the basic
skills that original peoples around the world used in their daily pursuit of
life, known as "primitive living skills." Knowledge of such skills will allow
you to live in the wilderness with nothing except for whatever nature at
hand has to offer. In essence, the skills presented here are the ultimate in
self-sufficiency. Being capable of heading into the wilderness with absolutely
nothing and making a life there, not simply surviving, is the very definition
of survival knowledge. So, I guess this is in some manner a survival book.
Today, everything around us—all goods manufactured by humans,
whether it's the concrete we drive on, the vehicles we're driving, many foods
that we're eating and the utensils that we eat them with, the computer I'm
writing this on, even the paper that you're reading it on and the ink it's
printed with—everything comes from the Earth! In our case we ("we" being
mankind today) have modified parts of the Earth to create other things,
manmade things. Precious few of the components of everyday "things"
around us (Ford pickups, space shuttles, bread wrappers, clothing, and
so on) contain elements from the Earth that are unmodified. Everything
that we're familiar with has come from the Earth but has been modified
and tinkered with by so many hands that it's impossible for us to see any
semblance with the Earth itself. Ask most anyone to gather materials from
the Earth and make the simplest of necessities, then watch 'em squirm.
Primitive man, by contrast, took everything that he used in his daily living
directly from the materials that nature provided.
Introduction
Not only will this book show you how primitive peoples accomplished
this, but here you'll learn, step by step, how you too can accomplish that.
The purpose of this book is not to entertain; there's more than enough
media out there to do that. Rather, it was written to teach you, the reader,
how to actually do the skills addressed.
Several things set this book apart from other in-depth ones on the
market:
& We, Geri and I, have done the skills we write about. We've done them
a lot. So we write only what we've personally experienced. And it
does work! If you want to know how to do it, read about it here—and
you will know.
^ Each chapter was first written as a complete book of its own. It was
written on one or two particular subjects or skills for the purpose of
teaching another person—you—how to do it. Often a publisher will
dictate a list of subjects for an author to write on (whether or not the
author is familiar with it), and you the reader end up with a lot of
theories and wild ideas instead of facts. Here we decided what you
need to know.
& These skills don't follow any one culture or peoples. The idea is for
you to be able to understand what makes a skill work, which will
enable you to travel anyplace on the planet where resources are
available and for you to use that skill effectively. The rules that we
developed for ourselves are to be able to take from nature only, using
nothing modified by mankind.
& This book covers primitive wilderness living skills only. You'll
find nothing that is superfluous. Information on edible and
medicinal plants, camouflage, tracking, spirituality, and art must
be found elsewhere.
There's no big secret to mastering any of this. It's all just basic physics.
Once it's learned, you'll say, "Well, hell yes—why didn't / think of that!"
Some of it (no, much of it) is time-consuming, especially in this day of
instant everything. But I'm finding that many, many people are pretty sick
and tired of all the hustle. This consumer-oriented industrialized society that
we belong to has made most of its inhabitants dependent on others for even
the simplest of needs. These skills, once learned, because of their simplicity,
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
will be with you from now on till forever—and that's a mighty long time,
folks. They need not be applied or practiced every day to stay fresh in your
mind. And the comfort that comes from just knowing them will give you the
freedom to know that you'll be self-sufficient to the extreme.
You gotta walk before you run, though. Understand where you're
headed, and be aware that that path can—and likely will—change as you
proceed. Pick one or two of the skills in this book that interest you the •
most, then try to gain an understanding of how and why they work. The
learning and practice of most primitive skills can be done in your backyard,
garage, basement, or even living room (depending on the tolerance of your
wife or husband or partner). You can become proficient in them without
ever venturing beyond these bounds. And if you should find yourself in a
primitive situation, either by choice or by chance, though you'll find that
the application isn't as easy as when done in your own backyard, you'll also
find that through repeated practice you've developed the understanding and
"feel" of the basic functions, the muscle memory as well as the confidence
that you "know" how to apply the various methods. You'll own that special
feeling of freedom that comes from knowing that you need depend on no
other man, woman, or beast.
Learn the wilderness under controlled conditions. Use a tent, modern
sleeping gear, backpacks, and fire making. Hike and camp in familiar
surroundings where getting lost or in trouble isn't a part of the equation. Get
out there in all the elements—not just when the sun shines. Learn what it's
like to protect yourself in the rain and snow, especially when you're wet and
cold. Add primitive things a bit at a time. Remember, though, that it would
be rare to impossible for you to be placed in the outdoors with absolutely
nothing, unless you do it voluntarily. Certain of the skills we detail in this
book are necessary for survival: fire, cordage, traps, tools, shelter, and
containers. These six skills are the basis for any living or survival situation.
Everything else will grow from these.
We've read, within the past coupla years, of a group that spent some
time in the wilds of northwest Montana. They had "primitive" down to a T.
All their clothing, bedclothes, and gear were primitive, whether brain tan
or otherwise. Primitive bows. Primitive pots. Plenty of primitive containers.
Primitive fire-making sets. They had primitive under control. But, when they
placed themselves "out there" in the wilderness, it appears to me that they
found they lacked much of a grasp of the wilderness part. Although they
Introduction
commented that mice or other rodents were around and in their campsite,
they never did catch any for food. In 18 days, the only food harvested by
the group was reported to be one fingerling fish. When it rained they moved
from their shelter to the protection of boughs of trees in their attempt to
stay dry and comfortable. Oops? Maybe, but the experience will have
enlightened them to this fact—a part of the learning curve. I'd bet that, next
time, they encounter fewer problems.
As you read this book, you'll notice some references in the form of a
thank-you scattered here and there, but no list of references. This is because,
for the most part, we have learned the skills we present through a lot of
fieldwork and trial and error. We, meaning all of us human beings, are the
result of everything that we've encountered before. For sure, Geri and I have
read or heard somewhere that to make fire by friction we need, for example,
two pieces of wood to rub together. Yet it was through our own personal
efforts and labor that we've learned the little steps involved to make that effort
result in a fire on a somewhat regular basis. No one to credit here except us.
We learned early on that, in our day (the 1950s through the 1970s),
there was no easy way for us to master skills like this. Most books on the
subject only glossed over the information that we were looking for—there
was absolutely nothing available that we could find to teach us "How
To." True, there were a coupla books that tried to cover many of the skills
described here, but we soon discovered that their authors had a lot of talk
but little walk behind them. Some depended on the knowledge of others
(the perpetuation of myths) and since they, the authors and editors, knew
nothing about this, they had no idea that what they were passing along
was for the most part garbage. It might make for good reading but failed
miserably as field manuals. The reason that I early on depended on the use
of a great many photographs to illustrate techniques was to reinforce to you,
my readers, that we've actually done these skills, in the manner that we're
presenting them to you. They do work! (Other authors can draw anything.)
The primitive lifestyle isn't for everyone—in fact, it's for very few. But the
knowledge of the skills needed to live this lifestyle is within reach of anyone.
Enjoy your experience, wherever your path may lead.
John and Geri McPherson
Randolph, Kansas
January 2008
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 1
Primitive Fire and Cordage
The learning of the necessary "skills" to live directly with nature, eliminating
the need of intermediaries, isn't really all that difficult. You learn a little
about this aspect...a bit about that one...and then another. Pretty soon you
find that most of them overlap and the further you get along in your natural
education, the easier it is to learn.
Many years ago when I first got serious about putting all this together
(my first step was to get rid of the TV, and then electricity), I felt that if I
were to learn a few of the basic primitive "survival" skills, I'd really become
quite the woodsman. I soon found that the more that I learned, the more
I still had to learn. I read (and I urge anyone interested in learning to also
read) everything that I could lay my hands on that deals with living with
nature. There's a lot written on all aspects of it—some poor, some superb,
but most lying somewhere in the middle.
Before you can decide what's workable, you'll have to get out and
work with it. Reading only goes so far. When you actually begin to put into
practice what you're reading, then it becomes obvious just who knows what
he or she is writing about.
No special talent is needed here—only the ability to follow a bunch of
natural rules (physics). Any of the primitive skills, today as well as yesterday,
can be carried to the extreme and become an art. I'm far from being expert
in woodsmanship. I have, though, taught myself what I need to know to go
"naked into the wilderness" and not only survive but before long be living
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
fairly comfortably (unless, of course, I froze to death first). I refer to my
teachings as primitive "living" skills, not "survival" skills, though they can
be used in that concept. I have taught myself to be proficient in these
skills—not to be an artist.
Since 1987 I've made thousands of fires with the bow and drill and
with the hand-drill methods. So I'm proficient enough in this to teach it
to others. The same holds true with the making of cordage. The more you
learn, the more you realize what there is to learn—but the easier it becomes
to learn it.
Bow Drill and Hand Drill
The basic principle of making fire with either a bow or a hand drill is really
very simple. The amount of practice needed to develop that special touch
which enables you to regularly succeed in this is another thing entirely.
To say "make fire" with the bow or hand drill is really a misnomer.
Actually, what's accomplished is that the wooden drill spinning on another
piece of wood creates friction, which creates dust, and eventually things
get hot enough that a spark is created. The compressed pile of dust that has
been formed becomes like the hot tip of a cigarette that's placed into a pile
of tinder and coaxed into a flame.
Simple? Yeh, really it is. I've had students "make fire" within minutes of
being exposed to this procedure, and understand just what they were doing.
I'll first show you how to make fire (bow drill first, and hand drill a
little later). I'll quickly describe the necessary components and the steps to
follow. Then we'll get down to brass tacks and go through it again, dwelling
a bit more on how to assemble the parts and to put it all together. When you
finish with this, you'll be able to make fire.
We have five components: (1) the bow, a limber stick about 30" long; (2)
the drill and (3) the fireboard, both of which are softwoods; (4) a cup, called
a "bearing block," in which the upper end of the drill is placed to keep it
from drilling through the palm of your hand; and finally (5) the bowstring,
which will be covered in greater detail later in this book.
Simplified Directions for Making a Bow Drill
We take a knife and cut a notch and a slight depression into the fireboard,
twist the drill into the string of the bow, place one end of the drill into the
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Since there's a definite satisfaction in taking your first ever-spark created
with the bow drill and blowing it into flame, let's have you gather up and
prepare some tinder at this time. Let's make up a batch. I really like the dry
inner bark of cedar (cottonwood is good, also), plus some dry, fine grasses.
Roll these around in your hands till it's fine as a cotton ball. You won't need
much; a small handful will be plenty. Form a hole in it like a bird's nest.
Place this on a piece of bark or cardboard (so that when it bursts into flame
you won't barbecue your hand).
Using Your Bow Drill
With the information contained thus far, you're ready to "make fire." We'll
run you through it once now. The information presented below is certainly
useful (or I wouldn't have gone to the trouble to write it), but it deals mostly
with gathering the materials under primitive conditions.
BOW—Archers, string your bow! Almost any cordage will work, but
it should be strong and not too thin, as it will tend to break easily with
the first-timer. Also, the heavier cordage (not rope) seems to get more of a
grip on the drill. Here I'd suggest using a "rawhide" (not genuine rawhide)
boot lace, which is about ideal. I twist mine tight, which seems to grab the
drill that much better. In short order, you'll begin to feel precisely the right
amount of tension. The string will stretch considerably with use, especially
at first, and adjustments will have to be made as you go along. The bow
is not strung tight; considerable slack is left. When the drill is placed in
the bow, the slack is taken up (note top photo on page 9). Remember, the
tension must be just so; too tight is worse than only a little slack, but there
isn't much room for variables here.
DRILL—Now let's take our selected piece for the drill. I like to point
the upper end a bit (the end that goes into the bearing block). When
breaking in a new hole in the fireboard (as in this case), I find it easier to
operate if I carve the working end into a slight "tit" (study photos on page 9).
Doing this gives it a tendency to take a bit longer to mate the drill to the
hole, but also assists in keeping the drill from kicking out of the fireboard
while the depression enlarges to fit the drill. By the time the two mate, the
hole and the drill fit better.
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
Many times it seems that no matter what you do, a spark simply won't
come into being. The chances of this happening seem to rise proportionately
with the size of the crowd that you're demonstrating this to. But when—not
if—y°u do get that spark, whether it's the first or the hundredth, cherish
and glow with it. It's something that I never take for granted. Like calling
coyotes, there are so many things that can go wrong, yet each time it works I
feel a real sense of accomplishment.
Some Observations on Using the Bow Drill
For the last few passes of the bow, some folks advise that you apply slightly
less pressure on the drill, to kick out the spark that may be under it. I usually
don't find this necessary, but if unsure of the spark I sometimes do it.
If I seem to have difficulty getting a sure spark, I often make several
furious passes with the bow at the last. I don't like to do this, though,
because it has the tendency to wind me. Then I lose control of the operation
at this point and the drill kicks out, knocking away the dust pile.
Usually you can tell that the spark has formed, because you'll see a wisp
of smoke rising from the dust, separate from the smoke created by the drill.
On occasion, the entire pile of dust will suddenly glow—a good sign!
A single hole in the fireboard is capable of many sparks. Before using it
again, it helps to slightly roughen the tip of the drill and the hole.
After several uses, especially with too tight a string, the drill will become
too "round," causing the string to slip. This is usually easily corrected by
carefully shaving it till it's once again unround.
Ear wax, or oil from your hair or the side of your nose, will help to
eliminate friction in the bearing block. Always remember that you're
eliminating friction at the bearing block, and creating it at the fireboard.
Avoid placing the wrong end of the drill into the fireboard, as that little
bit of oil can really foul things up.
Under damp conditions, find and use the driest woods available, and
get into the driest location that you can to work. If the wood's only damp, it
can still work, but it will take a lot longer. The spinning drill eventually will
dry things enough to work, though you'll have a lot of strikes against you.
Under primitive conditions, the hardest components to gather will
be the string (covered later) and the bearing block. Sometimes you'll find
a ready-made block in a stone with precisely the right depression, but
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Using Your Hand Drill
To put this in action, get into a comfortable position. My left foot again
holds the fireboard, but your position may not be the same. For me, it's
slightly different. I need to place the foot out a bit further and drop my
knee out of the way somewhat, so that I can get a good full run of my
hands down the length of the drill. I use the side of my heel to hold the
board. Your hands must come down straight. You must keep the drill
perpendicular. By placing my foot and knee slightly different than for the
bow drill, I'm able to start my hands "rubbing" at the highest comfortable
point (in my case, 24") and to keep them going to a point about 6" above the
fireboard. Once you reach the lowest point, raise your hands again to the
top one at a time, so that you can keep constant downward pressure on
the drill. If any air is allowed to reach under the drill, it cools everything off.
Once both hands are up, repeat the procedure. Eventually the smoke, dust,
and spark will appear—though not all that easily.
This procedure will wear you out, I assure you. A completely new set of
muscles is at work here. After you've done this for 45 seconds or so, you'll
feel as if you've run the Boston Marathon, yet using your arms instead of
your legs. It's strenuous and it takes a lot of practice to get this operation
down smoothly, which it must be to be successful. I suggest that you do a
lot of practicing before you even think "fire." This is a bit more complicated
than chewing tobacco while walking. Here you must also juggle. It does take
practice, not only to get everything running smoothly, but also to get yourself
into some semblance of physical well-being. This does sap your energies.
(Anyhow, it does mine.) It also creates blisters on the palm of your hands,
which eventually will turn to calluses if worked at long enough. It took me
well over a month of daily workouts to develop a good set of calluses, which
a four-week vacation of "city living" took away.
Some Observations on Using the Hand Drill
When you first attempt making fire with a hand drill, I suggest going
slow. Get the movements down to where everything runs smoothly and
automatically. Your hands clasp the drill at the top, you rub the drill
between your palms (keeping constant downward pressure), you keep the
drill perpendicular at all times, when your hands reach the bottom you grasp
the drill with the left hand's thumb and forefinger, you raise the right hand to
Chapter 1: Primitive fire and Cordage
Making Cordage
I'll attempt to describe this simple craft by words—something not so simply
done. I'll also use photos of my own, since I'm more adept at taking them
than at arranging words.
Let's begin. Take several strands of thread; any kind or size will work.
Let's just make them 3' long for this demonstration. Lay them out on
a flat surface and use a magic marker (or anything similar) and dye the
strands black or dark for one third of their length (that's 1', folks). You
don't have to dye them; the color is added simply to make the process
more understandable on this trial run. Pick this bunch of strands up at the
point where the dye begins. Now, you have hanging from your fingers two
lengths of strands, one being 2' long and white, the other 1' long and black.
Correct? You right-handers hold them between the thumb and forefinger
of your left hand. Let's say that the shorter black strands are now the ones
uppermost in your grip. Begin with these (my reference to these individual
strands will now be references to either the black or the white—still with
me?). Now, take these black strands and twist them tightly clockwise
(that's to your right) for 1/2" or so. Twist the now-twisted black strands
counterclockwise, over the yet-untwisted whites; hold them securely. Now,
twist the whites clockwise and twist that over the blacks counterclockwise.
You'll find yourself always working the top bundle as they switch places.
That's it—the entire secret. Just keep doing this till you're within a few
inches of the end of a strand, and splice in more, to continue for as long as
you like. (See photos on page 27.) Keep the splices at different intervals on
the two sections, to keep the whole stronger. Constant splicing of few fibers
makes for a stronger whole. The twisting clockwise of the individual strands
and twisting them counterclockwise into one strand is the way to do it. The
contrary twisting holds the whole damn thing together. It's a very simple
concept—till one tries to put it into words.
With this knowledge, your life in the wilds takes on a new dimension. You
don't have to think for very long before the possible applications start forming
in your mind. From threads to ropes, the list of uses for cordage is endless.
Cordage materials need to be strong enough for the task at hand, but
also must be pliable. Although dry grass would certainly be strong enough
for the bow or drill (as well as numerous other uses), its brittleness makes it
unusable. It would break immediately just tying a knot.
Chapter 1: Primitive Fire and Cordage
We'll begin with what you're likely to have with you when thrown into a
survival situation: a neckerchief or scarf, or something similar. Tear this into
strips approximately 1" wide (a normal neckerchief is about 18" square).
Pick up the first strip as with the fibers (in thirds) and begin the twisting
action as described above. When reaching the end of one strip, I tear the
last 2" into thirds (also with the new spliced-in strand) to help interlock the
splice, and on I go. When I reached 3 1/2' with the kerchief I was working,
I quit with 5 strips left over. (See bottom photo opposite.) The advantage
to being able to use this technique is that in a survival situation you might
have access to a T-shirt, or some bandages from a first aid kit. The list of
possibilities goes on.
If you're lucky enough to get lost with a furry critter, so much the better.
I worked with the underfur of a dog and found that I had an unlimited
supply on hand. It wasn't all that difficult to get the hang of working with
it, either, though different than the longer fibers I'm more accustomed to.
In a few hours, I ended up with a good solid rope about 3 1/2' long. When
making fire with the fur, though, I found that it stretched easily and slipped
badly on the drill, till I wetted it—then it worked like a charm. You might
also come across the carcass of a furbearer (coon, coyote, and the like)
where enough leftover fur might be lying around. (See photos on page 28.)
Something that most people will have with them is a supply of hair. If
things got tight, you could cut your own. This works well. I ended up with a
good strong rope in little time (not my own—donated by Margie's Country
Image). The hair that I worked with was about 6" to 8" long, though a bit
shorter would also work. Again, it's easier to work with if wetted first.
Plants for Cordage
The list of fibrous plants that can be used for cordage is long. I won't cover
them all, as I don't know them all. I've never worked with dogbane (also
called Indian hemp), which I've heard is about the best plant around.
Stinging nettle, velvetleaf, and hemp (marijuana) are three similar,
widely distributed, and common plants (weeds?). All make a good, strong
cordage easily capable of withstanding the stress of the bow and drill. Using
dried plants, I take a rounded rock and lightly pound them to break the
stalk, and then tear this into strips (roughly thirds). I then begin at the top of
the plant, "break" the inner material, and then "strip" the outer layer loose.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 2
Primitive Tools—
Making and Using Them
For the most part, in this book we will be using modern tools to show
you how to maintain life in a survival or wilderness situation. But, you
might ask, "What's the purpose of learning a complete series of primitive
wilderness living skills if I have to resort to modern technology to
accomplish them?"
Great question. We feel that the best way is to learn the skills
themselves, then learn how to do them the hard way, this time using
primitive tools and implements.
Hard way? As you'll see in this chapter, "hard" is the wrong term.
"Different" is a better word. Different and more time-consuming. But in
adapting primitive to our modern lifestyles, aren't we trying to get away a
little from the time-consuming, overly complicated, highly mechanized, and
artificially powered tasks of ordinary life?
Of course, you can read up on any of these subjects in a variety of
reference books, and watch all kinds of demonstrations that you may find
on the Internet. But if you don't just jump right in there and apply yourself,
nothing's gonna happen.
Learning to make and use primitive tools in a day-to-day situation
really isn't hard. Still, we feel that if you're trying to learn to master tool
making while at the same time changing your accepted approach to using
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
such tools, you'll be spending a lot of extra time and encountering much
frustration. Therefore, we teach the skills first, and then we teach how to
accomplish them with primitive tools. As you'll see, eventually it all
naturally ties together.
But what do we mean by "tools"? Our hands are tools, aren't they?
I suppose that, for our definition, here we'll be making tools for our hands
to use to do the projects that we'll be covering. That will pretty much
encompass any project that you're likely to happen upon in a primitive
situation. There are three important points about tools:
& Tools need to be made from materials that can be found in nature:
stone, shell, bone, antler, horn, wood, and so forth.
^ Just what do we need these tools to do? Gouge or poke, chop, pound,
bash, split, and (most important) cut. Put yourself in a primitive
situation without a cutting implement of some sort, and you won't do
very well.
# Methods of manufacture include flintknap, peck, grind, and burn.
Now I'll try to break this down into some semblance of order.
First and most importantly, you need some type of cutting tool—a
pocket knife, so to speak. Think about all the projects that you do, or would
like to do, or might have to do, in your daily regime in the wilds, and what
tool will be the most important? A cutting tool. Let's begin with that.
Basic Flintknapping
Now, don't look at some of the photos in this chapter of fine blades and put
the book down, thinking "I can never do this." You may be right, maybe you
can't. But the tool that you're going to need to cut and chop your way into
or out of the woods is indeed within your grasp. Read on.
A lot has been taught, and some little written, about flintknapping,
which is the art of systematically turning stone, particularly flint, into
functional tools. ("Knap" simply means to break with a quick blow.) Some
of what we've seen in print is good, a little of what we've read is very good,
but most is just trash. Almost nothing generally available to the student of
primitive wilderness skills attends to the very basics, the most important
aspect of knapping: that is, the obtaining of the spall or flake either to be
used as is for the tool or to be turned into a tool. This first basic function
of spalling, called making the flake, is the most important part of knapping.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
One quality that all these rocks possess is that they're homogeneous (of
the same composition throughout). Simply put, they're all one, there's no
grain to them (unlike the grain in wood), and energy will travel equally in
any direction that it's directed.
Techniques of Working Flint
You can predictably remove flakes from a stone in three generally accepted
ways. All three have similar, but different, rules:
Mfr Direct percussion, where you hit the parent rock directly with
another rock, an antler, or a wood billet (a short, stout piece of wood).
# Indirect percussion, where you place a blunt pointed tool (such as an
antler tine) at the point of removal of flake from the parent rock, then
strike this with a billet.
# Pressure flaking, when you place the antler (or wood tool) against the
parent piece and remove a flake by applying pressure.
Here we'll work primarily with the basic direct percussion method, just
touching on pressure flaking as a means of resharpening. Pressure flaking
can also come in handy in platform preparation.
With direct percussion what we're doing is striking one rock with
another (wood, antler, and bone are some other tools that can be used).
Now, for our purposes, almost any rock will suffice as a hammerstone, even
the same as the core, but this isn't recommended. The better case is to use a
sand-type stone, but not some crumbly old piece. It should grip the platform
(defined below) for just a microsecond to allow the energy to be released
smoothly and yet be strong enough to take the abuse. The hammerstone
deforms as the core bites into it. The harder the flint, the harder should be
the hammerstone.
To remove large flakes from a large nodule, you'll need a large
hammerstone. I prefer to work with a fist-sized and smaller hammerstone
for my general work, as this fits comfortably in my hand and seems easier
for me. The smaller the hammerstone, the more force necessary for flake
removal; and the more force exerted, the less the accuracy. And accuracy is
important. You'll discover that if the rock is properly struck, the flake will
separate easily.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Rules
To make finely flaked, long, thin blades, you first must learn many, many
rules and have (usually) years of experience. In order for you to make the
stone tool necessary to perform the functions outlined earlier, you need
to know only two rules. With them, you can be turning out tools (flakes)
almost immediately. This has been argued by one of the country's foremost
knappers, but I have proved him wrong many times. In fact, after one session
I conducted of 45 minutes or so, 3 of the 15 students present were doing just
that—and they were on average 11 years old! The rest didn't seem to care.
Two rules. Pay attention, now. Your practice will be your finished tool.
Two rules (I repeat myself purposely), one more important than the other:
(1) the cone (angle), and (2) the platform. The cone is the more important.
The cone determines how rock will break when struck. Flint breaks
conchoidally. The instant that a force strikes the surface of the flint, the
energy is transmitted into a cone radiating at about 120°. The break in the
stone pretty much follows this cone. The significance of the cone is that
it determines at what angle and where you must strike a blow in order to
remove a particular chunk of stone.
The platform is the
surface that the blow is
Direction of blow delivered to. It must have
a particular shape, or the
If
blow will be ineffective.
The platform can't be
crumbly or fragile. If it is,
the stone will crumble when
Direction of energy transfer
struck, rather than fracture
cleanly. The platform is the
edge of the stone forming an angle of less than 90°. The importance of the
platform is that it determines whether or not a blow will produce a flake
at all. You can beat all day on an obtuse angle (more than 90°) and not
produce a predictable flake, or you can strike a weak platform and ruin it.
Note various platforms in the following text and photos.
You can know only the concept of the cone and produce tools, or you
can know only the platform and not produce any. Know and be proficient
with both, and you'll be a beginning flintknapper. You'll be able to remove
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Support
We've established that when you strike a rock, the energy is transmitted
conchoidally—into a cone. Still, there are some variances. If you were to
strike a blade from an end of a long, slender piece, shock waves from the
blow travel through the rock haphazardly. If the rock weren't supported
properly, these haphazard shock waves may snap the piece in two at the
unsupported end. So be aware of this for some of your basic work.
(Note photos.)
Three common ways to support a
piece. Above: First, here the hand's
doing the supporting, though this
particular piece is almost too long
for free hand support. The far end
is held against the palm while the
fingers hold the worked end.
Right, top: Second, lay the piece
on your thigh (in this case without
a pad, as would be the case in
the field). Most knappers use a
thick leather pad. In this photo the
worked end alone is resting on the
thigh while the other end is simply
"supported"by the knapper's
other hand. The entire piece could
be resting on the thigh.
Right, bottom: Third, in this case,
the worked end is free while the
other end's supported by being
pushed tightly into the thigh.
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Recommended
Once you have the understanding of the concepts placed forth here, you
might want to advance even further. The only complete book that I'm aware
of that's worth its salt is The Art of Flintknapping by D. C. Waldorf. Its
only drawback (that I know of) is that it doesn't begin with the basics—a
good reason for my own book! The first time or two that I went through
it, I was ready to trash it. I simply wasn't able to comprehend what it was
that the author was saying. It was too advanced. But, once I got some basic
understanding under my belt, I took in more and more of its principles. I
still read it occasionally and each time pick up more. Get it.
Another primer on this subject is Flintknapping—The Art of Making
Stone Tools, by Paul Hellweg. Online sources can help you find used copies
of many useful books on the topic.
Whew!
I'm sure glad that's over with! Not that the subject of flintknapping is so
difficult, as you've no doubt seen. What's difficult is finding the right words
and putting them with the right photos to make it all gel.
Let's proceed now to discuss other materials we can use for tools when
caught in a survival or wilderness situation.
Trying to figure some sequence for what follows has been about as timeconsuming
as doing it. You'll find that much of what I'm laying out from
here on to the end of this chapter ties back to the basic principles of stone
working (knapping). You'll also discover that working with one resource
requires, on occasion, working with another. It's that old circle of primitive
technology that kept so many of our ancient ancestors alive and kicking
(thanks, Great-great-great...grandpa!).
What I've done now is kinda laid out the photos that Geri and I have
created for this chapter. I'll write around them, since they speak much better
than any words or drawings of mine could. Since we've been concentrating
on sharp edges, let's continue along those lines.
Shell
Whether thick ones or thin ones, shells can be used in many ways as tools.
Heavier ones can actually take quite a bit of abuse as choppers or scrapers,
though probably the most common use would be as a cutter of some sort.
Chapter 2: Primitive Tools — Making and Using Them
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 3
Primitive,
Semipermanent Shelters
Some of my fondest memories are of sitting in a shelter tucked under pine
trees or in a forest of oaks and other hardwoods, with the wind howling, a
freezing rain or snow outside, and inside a blazing fire and a warm drink.
We've seen and heard much on shelters from other experts with outdoor
backgrounds. When people learned that we were working on a book on
shelters, almost to a person they urged us to include the basic shelter: the
debris type. This is little more than a glorified pile of leaves, grass, and sticks
that you can crawl into, much like a sleeping bag, to get out of the cold and
wet. It insulates you from whatever you want to be insulated from. It does it
well. But in this chapter we'll do little more than touch on it.
When Geri and I were kids, it was only natural to build a shelter of this
type, as it didn't take much imagination or skill. Yet I can think of three
instances of where this shelter comes in handy: a true survival situation
when you won't have time to complete a better shelter, including making
a fire; in a situation where the instructor doesn't want to take the time and
effort to show the student better housing; and finally, where the instructor
doesn't know anything more.
A debris shelter has lots of problems. If weather is bad (reason for the
shelter), you're locked into your bed till it changes. If you venture out, you'll
end up wet—something you don't want when you're trying to stay warm.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
So in a true survival situation, you're pretty well stuck looking at leaves
and grasses at nose length and lying around waiting to get found (you're
also insulated from sound and well-camouflaged). If, like the vast majority
of modern woodspeople, you've placed yourself into this woods situation,
when you finally get bored, you get up and go home.
I've been accused, most of my life, of being somewhat crazy for
spending so much time outdoors in rain and snow. But when I venture into
the elements, I try to be comfortable. I've spent the vast majority of my life
"camping out" during the winter months, both as I was growing up in the
mountainous southern tier of New York State and also for the last 40-plus
years in Kansas. Winters get cold. Some of my friends may have thought
that when I ventured out I kinda curled up in a convenient snowbank and
had beavers offer me their waterproof coats. Well, I love winters and cold
weather, but I hate being cold and miserable. A good shelter makes for good
comfortable living out of doors.
If you find yourself without bedding, the debris shelter is your bedding.
But don't make it your house, too. Build something to live in while you're
up and about and can tend a fire. Use the litter for a sleeping bag.
Once you understand fairly well the basics of a shelter—what it's
supposed to do, what its limitations are—then it'll be pretty simple to adapt
the resources you have at hand and make a comfortable camp.
A special thanks to our friend Bill Lansdown of Alva, Oklahoma, who
spent nine days with us while we constructed the shelters illustrated here.
His strong back and ready wit were a tremendous help.
What a Shelter Keeps Out (and In)
A shelter is simply a barrier between you and whatever is out there. Wind,
sun, heat, cold, rain, snow, bears...bears? No bears here. Let's stick to the
weather—the elements.
From the above list, what we'll concern ourselves with here is
protection from cold and wet. If you can get those under control, making
barriers from the other elements (excepting maybe high winds) will be a
piece of cake.
We need to keep the water out, and we also want to be able to have a
fire in, or convenient to, the house—preferably inside. We'll be using strictly
natural materials.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Floor
For all our shelters, the existing ground will be the floor. It may be padded
with leaves, grass, dirt (if on rock), or some other material to your liking.
We don't look upon the floor, as in modern structures, as something to
keep litter free. Dirt comprises most all our house floors. Softer materials
under bedding does make for better sleeping for your aching body, though.
Primitives both today and yesterday often poured blood on the floor that
then hardened and became rubbery, like linoleum. If required, or desirous,
to build in a wet area such as a swamp, you can lay a network of poles over
a framework to raise you up.
Walls
For protection from the sun alone, walls might not be needed. For
protection from just about anything else, walls are a necessity. As we'll
see shortly, the walls are often integrated into the roof with the frame.
Sometimes, however, the walls will be separate. In many cases, the walls
will also support the roof. Sometimes a single-thickness wall will do the
trick, but more often than not, for the purposes intended here for protection
from water and cold, a double-thickness wall is what we want. Wind and
sun aren't all that hard to keep at bay. The interior temperature can be
raised considerably with minimal protection. But water has a way of getting
through almost anything eventually. So, if we can get our house waterproof,
we've got it made.
We'll illustrate here how to incorporate and use rocks in one circumstance.
What we find almost as simple to construct and highly effective, when using
most materials, is a double row of sticks placed in the ground and filled with
litter. This makes for a completely airtight, waterproof wall.
Roof
To us, the roof is one of the most critical segments in a shelter. It will usually
be the one most responsible for keeping out the water, so here's where we'll
give what seems to be the most attention. A roof is what makes a shelter.
For our criteria, the roof needs to repel water. Not a really simple task,
but also not that difficult if you're aware of some basic rules.
Rule #1: Water runs down. Seems obvious, yes, but it's surprising how
many forget this when building a shelter. Most rains are accompanied by
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
wind that pushes the water in from the side. Once water hits the roof, the
water will cease its sideways motion and begin to fall downward. What we
need to do is slow this fall till it gets beyond the inside of our house.
With a flat roof, once the water hits, it has nowhere to go but into
the house. Flat roofs don't work primitively unless we have a large rock
outcropping or something similar. Mostly, forget about flat.
Now, the steeper the pitch of the roof, the faster that water will run
down it, giving it less time to soak through the materials and come inside.
The thicker the roof covering, the more time it takes the water to
penetrate it. The finer the material used in the covering, the longer it takes for
the water to get through. Thus, coarser materials call for thicker coverings.
Long grasses make for good coverings. Water has a natural tendency
to follow the stems and leaves of the grasses. Every time the water hits an
obstruction, it will divert from its sideways following of the grass, and will
fall to the one below it. So we need the material to be thick enough that, by
the time it works its way around all the grasses and falls out the other side, it
will be beyond our living space.
Place the grass upside down on the shelter. As water follows the stems
and leaves, it will then naturally follow downward. If the grass is placed on
the way that it grows, whenever water reaches the junction of leaf and stem,
it will drip.
Smoke Hole
Since one major requirement here is the ability to use fire with (and within)
our house, we'll need some method to allow the smoke to leave.
Smoke will naturally seep out of the roof of all these primitive
shelters. We just can't get them completely airtight with the materials we
have at hand, though leaving some other opening (if kept small) doesn't
hurt. You'll see four methods in the pages to follow.
Keep the roof space high.
Rule #2: Smoke rises. If the interior ceiling is high, on days when the
smoke seems to linger, it will be above your heads. In the shelters here
illustrated using interior fires, in all cases when we've had fires, we've been
able to stand comfortably, as the smoke was sufficiently ventilated. Smokier
fires require more ventilation, so burn small-diameter, dry wood.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
Try any of these materials:
NfrSod ^ Stone
l^Dirt & Grass
# Wood ^ Leaves and litter
# Bark Lashing material
It is unbelievable, the amount of materials necessary to construct a good
weatherproof shelter. The larger the size, the more material that's needed.
If the house is for long-term use, make it large enough for however
many people and their supplies. The four shelters illustrated here are
designed for three to four people. Smaller shelters are easier to heat. For
interior fires, roofs must still be high.
Availability of materials should be real high on the site-selection list. It
can be tedious and time-consuming to haul materials from any distance at all.
Is there a sequence in building? Well, probably most times. I suppose it
might help to gather materials before you begin any construction, but then
again many times we'll just begin with the actual building and use whatever
we come across by way of materials.
Very seldom do we approach building with any actual plan in mind.
We just want to end with the best shelter possible under the circumstances.
Some might think that for an overnight shelter any old thing will do, but
what if you get a goose-drowner rain?
The importance of the roof is stressed throughout this chapter. The
foundation or the framework, or both, need as much attention, as they'll
hold it all together.
Do the best you can with what you've got to work with. There's not much
sense in spending a few hours in putting up a roof if it doesn't repel anything.
The Wickiup
Warm and comfortable, the wickiup is probably one of the quickest and
easiest shelters to construct. Using any number of materials, it can be put up
in as little as an hour or so if materials are at hand. It can be built to repel
most water, and a controlled fire is possible inside.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
The Lean-To
The second shelter that we illustrate here is also something of a quickie.
This is the shelter that I pretty much grew up with in the Appalachians of
southern New York State some 30 to 40 years back.
Now, in my estimation, the basic lean-to that most people are familiar
with falls far short of qualifying as a real "house"-type shelter. By its nature,
lean-to's are exposed in one or more directions to the mercy of the wind and
any wind-driven elements.
But when you're on the trail and using it as a one-nighter, this drawback
isn't quite as noticeable as it will then be (or should be) when built with its back
to the wind, or, if fitted with sides, possibly quartering the wind somewhat.
The wind is a fickle thing. Generally it doesn't blow exactly straight
from any one direction but constantly shifts directions a bit. This fact alone
makes sides on your lean-to a must (remember that walls needn't shed water
so much as wind). If you expect to call this shelter home for any period of
time, a coupla variations will help considerably to add to your comfort.
You'll note in the accompanying illustrations and photos that we've
indeed added substantial walls or sides to the lean-to. Also, we've extended
these to swing to the front right and left, to help block the wind. In addition
to this you'll be quick to note that we have constructed a wall of sorts to the
front of all this by several feet so that the wind is thereby blocked from all
directions. This leaves us with approximately a 2' corridor left and right to
enter by, and the fire is placed right in the middle of what little remains of
the open area directly in front of the shelter. In actuality, what we've done is
construct a chimney for our fire.
In Kansas, we generally build our shelters with the back to the West, as
that's the direction the prevailing wind comes from. In summer, though, we
face slightly north of West, and in winter we try to face somewhat south of
West as the seasonal winds shift accordingly. The day we built this lean-to,
the wind was from the Northeast (preceding a storm). The benefit of the
eastern wall was visible with the first fire, as the smoke was blown not into
the shelter but up and over it.
The basic framework of lean-to's varies slightly. Here we constructed,
though among trees, an entirely freestanding lean-to. There are a multitude
of ways of putting it together.
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
More—actually, much more—time and effort will be spent in the initial
gathering and preparation of materials. Here we'll be thatching, meaning
tying bundles of grasses into place. This will require the use of more grass,
as the bundles are compressed when they are tied in place. So, though this
requires more time and energy to gather sufficient quantities, the resulting
house will require less upkeep over time. The bundles will be as thick as you
want (here a good 2") with three layers covering the whole as they're tied
overlapping from the bottom up, as in shingling.
Some type of lashing material also needs to be considered. In the
example shown on the following pages, we used basswood bark, which is
simple and easy to both find and strip. (Many other materials are available.
See pages 26-33.)
This style of house, in some form or fashion, has been used in most
areas around the world where the necessary materials exist (just not, as far
as I know, in the Arctic). In fact it's a common-style house in use still today
in some of the remaining primitive cultures.
While this may seem to be a difficult project at first, as in many
"difficult" projects the real "difficulty" lies in getting out and doing it. In
actuality, once the materials were all in one place, the putting together took
only about six hours' time, with three of us working.
So, let's do it.
Although we have good photos of the building process, maybe you'll get
a better understanding of the all-important framework if we line draw some
of it also.
Step #J; Gather some green poles,
somewhat longer than the intended
shelter's height (here we used
cedar). Stick the thicker end into
the ground (several inches at least)
in some semblance of a circle or
oval or rectangle (no real rules
here—your choice). Bend them over
and where the opposing tops of
pairs meet, lash them securely (they
overlap by several feet).
Chapter 3: Primitive, Semipermanent Shelters
Step #2: At whatever spacing you
desire (we used approximately 18"),
lash horizontal poles into place.
These not only add stability to the
frame but are what we'll be lashing
our thatching to. The bent door
frame we just kinda stuck in (it need
not be). We find that this limits the
size of the opening, thereby cutting
down drafts.
Step #3: Cover the entire frame
completely with thatch. A good way
to save on a lot of long thatching
grass (and also create a completely
airtight lower wall section) is to
set shorter poles all around the
framework about 6" out, also placing
poles in between the existing
uprights. (They can be spaced
as close as you like. In fact, the
closer together they are, the easier
building you'll have, being able to
use shorter and shorter materials.)
The in-between area will be filled
with litter. You can build the entire
shelter in this manner, though the
roof wouldn't shed water as well as
the longer grasses do.
Note the "pointy" top. This isn't
necessary, but we find that it sheds
water better. It's nothing more than
three cedar limbs lashed together
to two cedar "hoops." This uses the
natural bend of the limb, and this all
is lashed to the existing frame.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Generic Shelter
We've now covered three different basic shelters—two of them quickie,
or "survival," types. In the construction of them we've seen three varying
frames and roof types, plus a simple way to build walls or sides.
When we build shelters, we usually have only a very basic concept in mind,
certainly no blueprints. Terrain and materials are the two main guidelines.
With this next house we'll approach the job at hand with a single
concept in mind: to use the rock face of one of our ravines to form at least
one side of our house (or better yet, two sides).
One benefit of this approach is the fact that, obviously, part of your
construction is already done, so you'll spend less time gathering building
materials. Another is the fact that they're also placed below ground level so
that you're additionally sheltered. Also, by placing your fire against the rock
face, you'll store up heat by day to help warm you through the night when
you don't want a fire burning (just like some houses these days use passive
solar heating principles to warm tiles and walls).
One thing to remember with this trick, however, is that many ravines are
the result of water runoff, and all of them are places where water will run.
You certainly won't want to build in the middle of a possible river that the
next rain will create. The secret here is to walk the edges of possible sites and
look for places where water won't flow. If the ravines were made due to water
running, they're still not excluded. Water won't run over all sides at every
spot. In fact, it will usually be a problem only at a few key points. You usually
won't have much trouble locating the dry streambeds to avoid. Flattened
grass is one sign, worn down to the bedrock is another. You don't want to
take shelter in your house during a rain, only to have it wash you away.
So let's take a walk through what we did here.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 4
Makin' Meat -1
I have found that many people who know of and talk, write, or teach some
survival and wilderness skills will take their students through to a finished
primitive product or skill from today backward, using today's technology to
a primitive end. I was guilty of that myself in the first of my books—using
nylon cords, steel blades, and so on. I've found that the reason that I am so
rounded in my outdoor education (like others of my ilk) is that we taught
ourselves these skills from nothing forward—how to go "naked into the
wilderness" and manage to live.
The Primitive Bow and Arrow
One example: the primitive arrow. To go from nothing, forward, you first need
some insight as to the type of wood to use—a knowledge, however simple,
of working with stone tools to peel and smooth the shaft; of making fire so
that the shaft can be heated and straightened; of working with cordage so as
to apply the fletching and point. A step up from the most primitive of arrows
requires the skills to work flint or bone to make a more serviceable point,
then to apply them well. It also requires the knowledge of boiling down hide
scrapings and other animal parts to make glue without the advantage of a pot.
That's a lot of different skills needed for a single puny (but magnificent) arrow.
In this chapter I don't delve into sinew (it's covered in Chapter 10).
The current chapter was, in its original concept, going to be just one chapter
that covers some of the various methods of subsisting in the wilderness,
Chapter 4: Makin' Neat -1
beginning with the bow and arrow, but, well, I plain ran outta room. By
the time I had finished the instructions on the primitive bow and arrow,
I found that I had filled the allocated pages for one chapter. Therefore I
wrote another one, Chapter 5, which goes into the use of snares, deadfalls,
marine life, insects, and the like, so that one can subsist in the wilds.
I don't pretend to have enough knowledge of edible plants to even
mention them. It's a skill that in itself requires years, if not a lifetime, of
learning. Certainly, I have learned a little along these lines in the acquiring
of other knowledge, but I can spend six weeks or less with an individual
and teach him or her how to live well in the out-of-doors, including how
to obtain sufficient sustenance to live. In that period of time I wouldn't
even have my foot in the door when it comes to edible plants. To me, this
knowledge would be nice to know—someday.
Now, the methods that I describe here are mine. They work for me.
What I describe as cardinal rules, not to be ventured from, are broken all
the time by a bowmaker friend of mine, whose bows work great. So what I
describe isn't the only way—but they do work for me! And what I describe
as happening to the wood at various stages may not be the reality for you.
But if you approach the project thinking the way that I describe it, your
finished product will be workable, and that's what counts.
We'll be using hand tools here—not the primitive tools that will be
required in a strictly primitive situation, but modern "white man tools." The
use of stone and bone for tools is covered in Chapter 2.
I'll also be throwing in ideas and tips that I've picked from various
sources. What I put forth does work—though, as I stress, it's not the
only way. In fact, throughout the entire book, I'll be showing you how to
accomplish the task at hand, but will also keep the door open so that you
may use your own ideas to come up with other, and quite possibly better,
ways to accomplish the same end.
Anatomy of a Bow
Simply put, a bow is a stick with a string tied at each end that will propel
an arrow. To understand how to successfully make this stick bend, time and
again, to its full potential, we need a quick lesson in physics. So, pay close
attention; this is important.
• Any piece of wood of equal dimensions from end to end will bend at the
middle when force is applied. With a bow, the midsection moves in one direction,
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
the two tips in the opposite direction. To counteract this, we remove wood from
the limbs of our bow—more from nearer the tips than from closer to the grip.
• When removing wood while shaping and tillering a bow, one equation
is of importance. If half the wood is removed in the width of the bow, the
strength is halved. If one eighth of the wood is removed in the thickness of
the bow, the strength is decreased by close to one half! What this shows is
that the bow will be more effective if it's narrower and thicker, especially at
the tips. (This is explained shortly.)
• The outside of the bend (back of the bow) will be trying to tear apart
(tension). The inside (belly) will be compressing.
• Most woods are stronger under tension than under compression.
The fibers of most woods will fail first under compression. This is followed
almost immediately by the tearing apart of the back, leaving you with the
false impression that the back failed first.
• Tillering, meaning equal bending of the limbs, is critical. If a portion of the
limb isn't bending, somewhere else is bending too much—and failure can result.
• Somewhere toward the center (between back and belly) of this piece
of wood is a neutral plane where no forces are in effect (at least, that we
need be aware of here). From this neutral plane outward in each direction,
all, or 100 percent, of the forces of tension and compression are being
exerted. Simple, yes. But...the closer to the neutral plane, the less force
exerted. So, how this affects us is that the nearer the outside (either side),
the furthest from the neutral plane, is where most of the percentage of
tension and compression is occurring. So, a higher percentage of tension
and compression is taking place in a smaller percentage of the wood. Fifty
percent of these forces are happening in the outer 10 percent of the wood.
What that tells us is that a flat outer surface will make a stronger bow
because this higher percentage of forces is spread over a wider surface. The
backs of bows, we don't have that much control over; we need only follow
the growth ring of the tree. The smaller the tree or limb, the rounder the
outer surface, and the more tension exerted in a smaller area. But the belly
we do have control over. That, we can make flat. And since the majority of
woods fail first under compression, this works to our advantage.
• Mass of the wood—the actual bow itself—slows down the working
action or response and so directly affects the performance of the arrow.
This is most noticeable toward the tips of the bow. So, the less mass (wood/
weight) for a particular weight bow, the better the performance.
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
• Each piece of wood has its ideal width-to-thickness ratio. Generally
speaking, the harder the wood, the narrower this is. The narrower that you
can make your bow, the more effective it will be because it will contain its
least mass. Less mass means faster performance. But...
• What we're after in our chosen piece of wood is the ratio whereby the
bow can be bent to its fullest extent (at a point somewhere around half its
length), and to have this wood not fail under either tension or compression
(all woods will fail if pulled too far). Let's assume our wood is stronger
under tension and that we have an unviolated back. All we need concern
ourselves with now is compression. All woods will fail under compression,
to some extent. Our ideal bow will fail only slightly noticeably. Assuming
that we're working with a straight bow, this is the stage we want our bow
to be in at this point in time. Each wood will be different, just as each
round from the same tree will also differ somewhat. There's no set formula.
A hardwood, such as Osage orange, will reach this stage, being thicker and
narrower than a comparable piece of, say, hickory (another hardwood).
• If a straight bow is made to this perfection, with the same length and
weight (let's say 48" and 55 lb, and with the specific gravity, (weight) being
about equal, the narrower, thicker bow will shoot farther and faster because
it will contain less mass (2:1 compared to 8:1).
This knowledge hasn't just appeared to me in dreams but has come
from many sources, some even the aforementioned books. But the largest
contributors to making my mind think "bows" have been Jeff Schmidt, a
professor of physics whose workings with the Asian composite bow have
enlightened me as to the physics involved, and Tim Baker, who has done
the most extensive research and testing of the primitive bow of anyone I
know. To both these fine folks, my thanks for their completely unselfish
sharing of information.
50% stress
50% stress
\ tension /
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
lemonwood, and mulberry are some of the others. But what was available is
what was used in days gone by.
Generally the softer, more brittle woods (yew, cedar) were made into
wide, flat bows and the harder and denser woods (Osage, white oak) made
into narrow, thick bows.
Finding the Stave
The perfect stave would be straight, knot free, and resilient; would spring
back to its original shape when unstrung, not staying bent (following the
string); and would be snappy, kinda like spring steel. A lot to ask for in one
piece of wood.
I cut most all my staves green, in the dead of winter when the sap's
down (excess moisture takes longer to cure and leads to more checking and
cracking). Occasionally I find a dead limb or tree that's ready to work in one
of the hard or dense woods, though not often.
I want the stave as straight as possible, though they can be heated and
straightened to a great extent later on.
I watch for knots. Best if there are none, but I've made several good
bows by working around them, which will be explained later.
I take limbs or trunks of any size 2 1/2" or thicker. You could get by
with smaller, but I like the extra freedom of material to work with. With the
smaller size, I only try to get one good stave from the round, as it's not all
that easy to split the smaller staves exactly in half. By carefully splitting the
larger pieces I can get several staves from them.
Curing
I've read and heard of as many ways to cure out a stave as I've heard of
making bows. Some folks bury them in their gardens, from six months to six
years. Some cover the ends, or the entire log, with wax, allowing the log to
cure slowly and minimize warpage and cracking...and on and on. I've also
heard that it's best not to use kiln-dried wood.
Now, here's some of my own thinking. Green wood won't work, as its
green, wet cells are especially weak under compression and fail immediately
when bent, and also it's too slow in response to cast an arrow. The drier the
wood, the faster (snappier). Too dry makes the wood too brittle, leading to
breakage. So we need something in between.
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
Final Working
When all the heating, straightening, and bending is done, now's the time to
get down to the nitty-gritty of finishing your project.
With rasp in hand, approach the bow cautiously. You're going to
carefully remove wood to the final size—very slowly, so as not to overdo it.
Remember, it can't be put back.
Usually, but not always, the grip will need no further work. If, however,
it was left oversized, for the purpose of straightening or whatever, start there.
Work it down till you have what you want. Don't just jump in and start filing
away, though, but look it over from all sides and remove wood so that things
stay uniform.
Final shaping and bending (tillering) should be done cautiously, slowly,
bit by bit. I work one limb at a time, rasping or scraping gently with a steel
blade held at an angle of 90° (plus or minus) to the belly of the limb. I sweep
the entire length, from grip to tip. The thickness of the limb should be
getting thinner, the farther out toward the tip you go. This is a must!
Also, I've found that some students read or hear me say that the belly
needs to be flat the entire length of the limb—and rightly so. But don't
misinterpret this to mean that you can ignore the shape of the bow's back.
If the back sways south, so goes the belly. The final limb may appear like a
rough road, but it must match the back in thickness.
Bend the bow to test it, by placing the tip on the ground and applying
backward pressure at the grip. Watch the bending. You don't want to see any
one area bending. If you do, it means that excess stress is being placed there,
so you must remove material from areas above, below, or both to even out
the bend. Most every time it'll be visually apparent that areas are thicker or
thinner, simply by looking from the side. Running your hand down the limb,
thumb on the belly and fingers on the back, will often feel thicker or thinner
areas. Take your time.
All material is to be removed from the belly. Leave the back (one growth
ring) alone! Do the other limb till it looks and feels the same. Many times,
that's all I need to do to now string the bow.
The last few paragraphs won't take but a minute to read, but, in the
doing, expect to spend the better part of a day to do things right.
Remember that, when finishing, you're going to remove any scorched
areas (except from the back; if you have scorched here, it'd be best to
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Read through this section thoroughly, and understand it completely
before proceeding. This step is kinda complicated to describe, even with the
help of photos, yet the actual process of sinewing is really much easier than
describing it. When you understand precisely what you're doing, why you're
doing it, with what you're doing it, and how to do it, the actual "doing" will
be a piece of cake. Remember, also, that here we're working in the kitchen.
It's really not all that much more difficult to do in the wilds, just much more
time-consuming.
Sinew is tendon. It's available from all animals, including us. It can be
taken from the legs or, preferably, from either side of the backbone. The
sinew from the legs works, but is shorter by far than the loin sinew, and for
this reason I don't use it, though I do keep some on hand. The much longer
strips, one lying on either side of the backbone, are a lot more pleasant to
work with and are easily enough removed from the carcass of any large
animal. (See the "Sewing with Sinew" section in Chapter 10.)
Leg sinew must be pounded thoroughly and then separated into
threads. The loin sinew, if cleaned properly, has only to be roughened
between the fingers first (we're talking about 2 or 3 minutes' work here) and
then separated into threads. I try to keep the threads all about a good 1/8"
thick. I've found that three average loin strips of deer sinew will allow me to
apply two coats to the bow and have enough left over for the bowstring. The
entire process of preparing the threads takes little more than an hour.
To prepare the bow, it must be washed thoroughly. All grease and oils
must be removed for the glue and sinew to adhere, and that includes the oils
from your hands. Some wash their bows with lye. I did on two bows, though
I didn't like working with the caustic stuff and went back to my method of
a good scrubbing. A toothbrush works well, with Ivory dish soap and lots of
hot, hot, hot water, then rinsed very thoroughly. Also wash the belly of the
bow for a couple of inches down from both tips. The bow can be sinewed
either damp or dry; I've found no difference. Now, don't touch the back of
the bow with your hands again till you're applying the glue.
Also, the nap of the wood on the back of the bow must be raised so that
the glue has something to adhere to. This can be accomplished with either a
file or a hacksaw blade, working gently so as to barely raise the nap. Don't
go so deep that you cut through the growth ring. This can be done either
before or after the washing.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
more quickly (nothing smells quite as bad as rotting protein!), which is the
reason for the flat sheet in lieu of a bowl. Leave it in sheets, or pulverize it
for storage and when ready to use it add water and heat.
Hide glue can also be bought. Making it can be a real pain, and timeconsuming
(being hypocritical now, ain't I?), so I tend to buy most of what
I use. It's available either granulated, as I just described, or in liquid form.
I made several bows years ago using this liquid stuff. It worked, but took
forever to cure out and always seemed tacky. I read in D. C. Waldorf's book
The Art of Making Primitive Bows and Arrows that this was due to an
additive and that it could be counteracted by adding vinegar. I tried that
once but still didn't like working with it. It's not easy to find the granulated
glue at times, though. You might try art supply stores and especially places
that work with stained glass. A pound of glue will make three, four, or even
more bows, with plenty of leftovers for arrows and other crafty things.
Now that we've got all the components together—sinew threads, hide
glue, and the prepared bow—let's get going. I'll explain my setup and you
can devise whatever will work best for you.
I work with two dishpans. One pan holds the bow for easy workability,
back side up. In it I put about 1 1/2" to 2" of cold water to soak the sinew
threads. Begin by soaking about one third (one loin strip) of your threads
(assuming that you've used three deer loin sinews), or whatever. I like to
soak them for several minutes. They become elastic when soaked and shrink
as they dry, thereby adding their strength to the bow. Hot water will cook
them, warm water will cause them to curl.
While these soak, add several cups of boiling water to a handful or so
of the hide glue crystals in the second, smaller pan. This is variable, and you
don't want it too watery but also not too thick, just like a thin syrup. After a
lot of stirring, the glue will eventually dissolve in the boiling-hot water. You
can speed this by first soaking in cool water.
The working temperature of the glue should be about 115° to 120°F,
barely warm to the touch. The glue will set up fast at roughly 85° to 90°F.
I find working at a room temperature of roughly 85°F about right. I prefer
it to set up kinda quick. The hotter the room, the slower the setup time.
Therefore, you might find it easier working during the cold of winter when
the room temperature is easier to control than on a 75° to 80°F day.
Place the pan holding the now-liquid glue into a third, somewhat larger
pan containing hot water, such as a double boiler, to keep it at a good
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
On one hickory bow that I made several years ago, I got to tillering and
really overdid it. What began as a 55 lb. bow, because of overtillering first
one limb and then the other, ended up as a 35 pounder. Instead of taking
an ax to it as I was sorely tempted to do, I let it sit for several weeks while I
calmed down. Then I simply resinewed it—a lot—and ended up with a fineshooting
55 lb. bow. So much for the power of sinew!
OK. The bow has been sinewed, cured, and tillered. Now take a knife
or some sandpaper and go over all unsinewed parts of the belly and sides to
remove any remnant of glue (just to make it pretty). Also, replace any ties
that you removed while tillering.
But now something has to be done to protect the bow. Not only the
wood (of which I spoke earlier), but also the sinew and the hide glue.
Remember, this is all water soluble. If we were to lay the bow in a tub of
water, before too long the glue would dissolve and the threads would all fall
off. No good, that!
It's best to figure that, on rainy days, the bow will stay at home. When it
rained, the Indians went home. And that's just about the truth. The bow was
no good in wet weather. Even if it wasn't sinew backed, the strings, which
were made mostly of sinew or rawhide, would be worthless.
The most common method of protecting the sinewed bow in days of old
was to coat it liberally with grease, with some brains maybe thrown in for
good measure. The smell? Well, I don't do mine that way.
I have coated some with a spar varnish, which didn't seem to hurt the
sinew at all, but I just didn't like the brand-new shiny look of a factory-made
bow on my completely hand-made primitive piece. I now coat all my bows
liberally with a paste wax. This coats both the wood and the sinew, and lets
me control the finish.
I've read in one source of intestines being used to cover the bow for
protection. In two sources I've seen discussions of skins of serpents (notably
rattlesnakes) being used for the same thing.
I have looked hard at old bows all my life, whenever I've come close to
them. They fascinate me. Since I began making them, I've looked even more
diligently, often taking notes and photographs. In the last coupla years I've
examined well over 100 original bows. This includes the bows on display at
the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C.; the Museum of the Plains
Indians in Cody, Wyoming; and museums and National Historic Sites too
numerous to mention. Of all the bows I've seen, probably about half of them
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
were sinew backed, and not one of them had either intestine or snakeskin
covering. And that figure does not include the Smithsonian report of 1893
by Otis Mason on bows, arrows, and quivers; of the 43 bows illustrated,
most were sinew backed, but not one was covered.
These coverings do work. They're just not museum quality. I personally
like the neat lines of the sinew backing, and I don't like to cover what is, to
me, a part of the beauty and labor of my hand-made bow.
String
It's about time now, I guess, to make a string for the bow.
The best natural material to use here, which is what the Indians thought
also, is sinew or rawhide. Most vegetable fibers aren't strong enough for this
task, though some will work for lighter-weight bows.
I was once informed by two different people that one of the better
bowstrings could be made from the neck skin of a large turtle. I was told
that, unlike sinew or rawhide, this won't stretch when wet. Find a turtle,
"case skin" (like pulling a sock inside out) its neck, and cut the cord spirally
(like a barber pole), then stretch it and allow it to dry. This now is all that I
can tell you about it, as I've never seen one nor tried it myself—yet.
Deer rawhide makes for a good, strong, long-lasting string. Cut it in
a strip about 1/4" wide from a circle of good solid rawhide. Begin cutting
around the outside of this circle and continue till you get to the center. A
surprisingly small piece will give a lot of lace. Then soak the cut lacing till
it's pliable, double it and twist it tightly, and stretch it out to let it dry. For
heavier bows I'll prepare the lace the same, but then I will "cord" it, making
for an even stronger string. Again, do this while it's wet and stretch it to dry.
Remember, the finished string will only be as strong as the weakest spot
therein, so avoid thin spots and "scores."
Sinew was probably the favorite bowstring of old. Not only was it
strong, but also, because of its slightly elastic characteristic, sinew gave an
additional snap to the arrow as it was released. So use the leftover threads
from backing your bow, or prepare them specifically for this. It's important
to keep the threads as close to the same size as possible. One end of the
thread will be thicker than the other, so alternate as you splice in, to keep
the finished product even. I begin cording with two threads, staggered so
that the ends don't meet. You don't want the splices to adjoin, as this will
Chapter 4: Makin' Meat -1
weaken the whole. Threads should also be soaked to make the cording
process easier.
Double this "two-ply" and begin cording. Kink the thread, not evenly in
half, between the thumb and forefinger of the left hand (for right-handers),
twist the individual two-ply strands tightly in one direction, and then
twist this in the other direction over the other individual two-ply strand.
(This sounds confusing as all hell, but read it slowly and carefully, and you
should be able to follow it.) Thus your two-ply will become a four-ply cord.
(Cording is covered extensively in Chapter 1.) Splice in threads as you
proceed. Many small splices make for a stronger string.
Arrow
Up to this point, you might have done everything perfectly, but, if the arrow
isn't made properly, it won't fly true. Then you might as well sharpen the end
of the bow and use it as a spear. Yes, everything said so far is important, but
if anything is to be considered all-important here, it would be the arrow. If it
won't fly consistently to where you want it, it's worthless. Therefore, much
care should be spent in the manufacture thereof.
Here again I'll stress that this is the way that I make my arrows. Not
only do they work, but they're museum-quality, Plains Indians arrows. I take
a few extra steps here that aren't necessary for you to end up with goodquality
shooters, and I'll tell you which ones you can skip over and still
end up with a suitable product. I'll also stick in, wherever suitable, other
methods of ending up with the same. / spend from 10 to 12 hours making
each arrow.
The materials that can be used for the shaft are many. The main
requirements are that it be strong enough to sustain the force of the bow
shooting it, and that it be straight. Any 3/8" to 5/8" limb, bush, or shoot is
a possible candidate. Something as flimsy as cattail stems can even be used.
In the southern parts of this country, reeds have been used extensively. As
with any other project, the Indians of old used what was available to them.
Although I have quite a variety of materials to choose from here in Kansas
(willow, chokecherry, ash cedar, and more, some of which I could cut
into lengths and then split arrow shafts from them), I favor working with
dogwood. It's abundant and makes up into real nice arrows. These I also cut
in the dead of winter while the sap's down.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
This next step, sanding, will do wonders for your cricked shaft. Using
two pieces of sandstone about 5" to 6" long with a groove cut for the shaft—
or with a 2" x 2" block of wood the same length, cut in half lengthwise, and
with the grooves cut for the shaft, and using sandpaper—place the shaft
in the groove and run it several times through this. Almost magically, the
"cricked" stick will take on the appearance of a lathe-turned dowel. The
length of the shaft-smoother cuts the high spots of knots and other bad
spots, leaving the lower parts untouched. After you repeat this several times,
brushing the stone or paper in between to keep it clean, you'll find that the
shaft has been wonderfully transformed.
Now return to the fire and grease or heat, and straighten again. You
should end up with a fine-looking shaft.
Many of the "old" arrows had grooves cut from the base of the feathers
to the point, sometimes two but more commonly three. These were just
slight cuts made lengthwise along the shaft with knife, stone, or bone.
Sometimes they were straight, sometimes wavy, sometimes with zigzags or
any combination thereof. The true purpose of these cuts has been lost. Some
refer to them as blood grooves, others as lightning grooves. Whatever, if you
want them, now's the time to put them in.
Cutting the groove to fit the arrowhead can require a number of
approaches. In some situations, you may just want to sharpen and fire
harden the tip. (I always think of fire hardening as removing only whatever
moisture remains in the wood.) Or you may want to splice in a blunt tip,
which is easily enough done, to make an arrow that's deadly on small game.
But for large game, we'll want a more appropriate "cutting" point. Bone
or stone may be used (the preparation thereof is covered in Chapter 2), in
which case, especially for the stone point, some custom sawing or fitting will
be in order. I use either a hacksaw or, just as often, a serrated piece of flint,
to saw into the tip of the shaft. This, in conjunction with a sharp knife, can
snug an awkward piece in little time.
Most commonly, though, because of modern game laws, metal points
will be used. About any sheet metal will make a serviceable point—including
scrap metal, part of an old fender, or, as I commonly use, a barrel hoop.
A hacksaw and a file will give you a point of your choosing.
The resulting metal points can usually be mounted snugly within a saw cut.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 5
Makin' Meat-2
The early mountain men of the American West proudly used the phrase
"makin' meat" to note that they had obtained sustenance, mostly by having
shot some game animal. "This child shore had starvin' times for nigh on ten
days afore he made meat," written in a journal, could be interpreted to mean
that the diarist had spent 10 days with no nourishment and then had shot
something, trapped something, knocked a bird silly with a rock, or even
found a half-eaten or rotted carcass left by some wolves.
Obtaining Sustenance in Nature
Deadfalls, Snare, Fish Trap, Atlatl, and More
This chapter delves into various methods of subsisting in the wilderness.
Chapter 4 covers how to make a bow and arrow from nature. (Actually, the
bow and arrow is quite a ways up the ladder when it comes to primitive
gathering.)
After a warning. I'll begin this chapter with a trapline, the first thing that
an experienced woodsperson would pursue if or when placed in a primitive
situation. On our line you'll note that most of the sets will be for small
critters such as mice, rats, rabbits, and birds. This is because it's an initial
primitive situation; that is, what you'd be depending on for life, if you found
yourself in the wilds with no lunch. Small things will keep you going. Large
critters will be a bonus. We'll also set a coupla fish-type traps.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
HANTAVIRUS
Pulmonary Syndrome
When it comes to any study of primitive living skills, trapping
is a necessary subject. We firmly believe that trapping was, and is,
responsible for the majority of sustenance in any sort of survival or
primitive living effort.
Plants can be gathered in everyday movements with minimal
effort, in many cases, but also with a minimal return of essential
nutrients and calories (as noted in several other places in this book).
Time spent hunting, in our opinion, is time better spent on other living
projects, using the hunting tools for opportunistic moments.
Traps will catch and hold just about any form of animal life,
from fish to insects to deer-sized game, but by far the major source of
sustenance will come from small, rodent-sized animals. Consuming all
or most parts of these quarry will supply most or all of the nutrients and
calories necessary for the human body not only to survive but to thrive.
Since 1993, however, there have been 465 confirmed instances
in the United States of a viral disease, hantavirus pulmonary
syndrome (HPS), which has a very high mortality rate. The host for
this virus? Rodents.
The first reports came from the Four Corners area of the
Southwest. Several persons on the Navajo Indian Reservation died
suddenly. It seems that many of the infected people had been collecting
pifion nuts (seeds), which had been conveniently stored for them in
caches by rodents, most notably deer mice. There had been a hearty
crop of the pinon nut, which led to a heavier than normal population
of deer mice, caused, some theorize, by unseasonably heavy rains.
Whatever, the deer mouse was pinpointed as the source.
Since then, there have been cases of HPS reported in 30
states: all of the West, parts of the Southeast into Florida, up into
the Northeast into New York and Rhode Island, and even into
Canada. Three fourths of the cases have been from rural areas.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Hey folks, that's like saying that the entire country has it.
Various hantaviruses are known throughout the world (the name
comes from a river in Korea), and there are several distinct viruses (or
species). Those (un)lucky enough to contract it in Europe have only a 1
percent chance of dying, while in Asia this is upped to 15 percent. The
strains in the Americas are much more lethal. When first reported, the
mortality was a whopping 70 percent, but has since dropped to about
35 percent, probably because of better communication and awareness
among medical personnel. The higher fatality rate comes from the fact
that in the American strain (HPS), the lungs rapidly fill with fluid.
The range of the primary carrier, the deer mouse, covers most all
of the U.S. And tests on them have shown the virus to exist throughout
most of its range. Other carriers are the cotton rat (Florida), rice rat
(Southeast), white-footed mouse (Northeast), the so-called pinon
mouse, and the western chipmunk. A carrier of the not-so-dangerous
Seoul virus (distributed worldwide) is the Norway rat. The infected
rodents exhibit no visible symptoms. The list, both of viruses and of
carriers, has expanded since 1993. Human cases of HPS have been
positively identified in the U.S. as early as 1978 and inferred back to
1959.
In all cases to date, victims were infected by coming into contact
with the feces, urine, or saliva of infected rodents. Since the virus is in
the body fluids, it can be assumed that it is throughout the body. Most
cases reportedly were a result of breathing the dust of disturbed feces,
saliva, or urine of infected rodents.
If your hands come in contact with
anything that's contaminated and then
reach your mouth or nose, there's a
chance of infection.
The survival time in the environment is unknown. Periods of up to
two days on a dried surface are suggested. You can also get the virus by
being bitten by an infected rodent. So far there's no evidence that it can
be transmitted from person to person or from insects (such as fleas).
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
The virus is easily killed with most general-purpose household
disinfectants (bleach, alcohol). In other words, if you got a lot of nests
or feces in your woodpile, shed, or outhouse, it would be best to spray
it down with a disinfectant prior to cleaning it up. A 1 percent (1:100)
dilution of household bleach is suggested for wiping down potentially
contaminated surfaces. A more concentrated dilution of 10 percent
is suggested for heavily contaminated areas such as nest sites. A fresh
solution should be mixed daily.
Just how concerned should you be? Well, of deer mice tested in
three counties of western Kansas in 1993, 9 percent were infected. We
live in north central Kansas, so that's getting pretty close to home.
You don't have to stick your head in a
bucket of mouse scat and take a deep breath
to become infected. One sniff is all it takes.
Something as mundane as moving the woodpile, with the
accompanying mice and packrat nests, becomes hazardous. A little
mathematics: Using 9 percent as the baseline, if there's one mouse nest
in the pile, there's a 9 percent chance that it's infected. Two nests, 18
percent. If among all the wood we move around here there are nine
nests, there's a 100 percent chance that we'll come into contact with
HPS. If infected, there's a 50 percent chance of dying from it. That
doesn't sound like good odds to me.
For clean-up of rodent contaminated areas, the Centers for Disease
Control and Prevention (CDC) recommends the complete wetting
down of the area with a disinfectant, wearing of an approved respirator
(in enclosed spaces with heavy, active rodent infestations), wearing of
rubber gloves, washing of the rubber gloves with a disinfectant when
finished, followed by the washing of your hands and burying or burning
of any suspected materials. Whew!
Symptoms are flu-like: fever; muscle aches; abdominal, joint, and
lower back pain; headaches; cough; nausea; vomiting; and diarrhea. If
any of these symptoms are exhibited, in a period up to six weeks after
possible exposure, seek help immediately!
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Since there's no known curative drug,
prompt medical attention is a MUST to
increase the chances of survival.
How does this affect us primitives? Let me tell you that Geri and I
don't mess with mice and packrats very much anymore. Recommended
precautions for campers and hikers, besides the obvious steps of
avoiding contact with nests or burrows, include not sleeping directly on
the ground—though, for us, that's as natural as making cordage. Mice
pee everywhere they go, leaving a scent trail, so sleeping on the ground
increases the risks of your breathing this.
This is serious business. One touch or
sniff and you're in trouble.
And yet...trapping, like friction firemaking, ranks right up there at
the top of the primitive's priority list. Can we discontinue this practice?
Should we?
We still teach and write about the importance of traps, and also
how, in a real survival or primitive situation, we may have to depend
on some rodents. We have to. Primitive living and survival demand this
knowledge. In a survival situation, the risks must be weighed. True,
the human body can go several weeks without any food at all. But we
stress staying away from the mice and other listed carriers if, and when,
possible. Each individual has to make his or her own decisions.
Knowledge, awareness, caution, and weighing of the facts of the
personal risks by each individual are in order.
The list of concerns grows constantly. What was considered safe
yesterday just might not be today, or tomorrow.
Suspect all rodents. Put off limits those that are, for sure, hosts of
this deadly virus. Packrats, and wood rats, are not on the list—yet. So
what do you do if you catch one? Or a squirrel? A muskrat? Weigh the
facts and the situation.
Heat kills. HPS is a fragile virus. If all portions of the rodent are
subjected to a high-enough temperature, the disease is killed. The safest
way that we've come up with to handle this would be to, first, not
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2 149
handle with the hands. Shove a stick in its mouth or butt, and be careful
of any blood or other fluids. Singe the hair off, scrape with another stick
(burn the sticks, trying not to inhale the smoke), and place the critter
directly in the coals. Or boil it. Or roast in a makeshift oven. Fry it on a
flat hot rock. Whatever you do, don't handle the animal until it's been
well cooked, meaning until the meat isn't pink and even then-some.
It should reach 140°F (better yet, 160°) for at least 20 minutes. (This
message comes to us direct from the CDC.)
Carrying the suspect animal in a basket will require the burning of
the basket. The danger lies not so much in the cooking and eating as
in the earlier handling. A rock or log falling on an animal is enough to
literally squeeze the pee outta him, and breathing the fumes can infect
you. Use caution!
The above was written by me in 1996 and updated for this book. I
wish to acknowledge Michael H. Bradshaw and Liz Boyle, Extension
Specialists at Kansas State University, and Lori Miller and Kristi Busico,
of the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta, for their help in obtaining
information contained in this chapter. When I first contacted them,
they were kinda at a loss for answers pertaining to HPS and the eating
of mice. It just wasn't one of the areas that they study. The information
presented here was gathered with their help.
A fact sheet (MF-1117) can be obtained from the Cooperative
Extension Service, Kansas State University, Manhattan, KS 66531.
Information can also be obtained by calling the CDC in Atlanta at 800532-
9929 or writing the Department of Health and Human Services,
Public Health Service, CDC, Atlanta, GA 30333.
Some or all of the trap types that I will show are illegal in many states
(possibly most). Check your local regulations. Also, one of the trigger
mechanisms I'll discuss can easily be set to hurt, maim, or even kill large
game, including the human species.
What I'll show is how you can subsist in a truly primitive or survival
situation. I'll explain how and where to place some of the sets so as to
possibly catch some of the larger species of game, from which (besides just
nourishment) you could derive furs, skins, sinew, and bones (dealt with in
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
other chapters). Some of the traps, if left set around your home or grounds,
could be detrimental to the well-being of your neighbors' cats, dogs, or
children. Use caution!
One big thing here is to think small. Mice, packrats, minnows,
crawdads, insects—all will sustain life. If you were to approach your
primitive situation thinking only of larger game, you might starve.
Something else to think about: You could eat only the meat of wild
game for weeks on end, and starve anyway! Wild game isn't marbled with
fat, unlike our usual diet of domesticated meat. Creatures in the wild are
running around for their very lives, and don't build up large stores of fat.
You may have to break prejudices of eating habits that you have. In
a primitive situation, especially if it's a case of survival, you may have no
choice what goes through your mouth. Basically, the hair and skin and
intestines will go out, the rest will go in, except larger bones (you'll roast or
boil the larger bones and remove the succulent marrow). Cooking methods
are given in Chapter 7.
A story that I read somewhere: During the last century a ship was ice
locked in the Arctic and the crew taken in by the natives. Come spring, all
but one (or two) were dead and the authorities at first thought that the Inuits
had murdered them, till it came to light that the white man ate only the red
meat, whereas the natives ate almost the entire animal. Stomach contents
and the marrow of the bone didn't appeal to the whites, so they fastidiously
starved to death with full stomachs. Something else for you to be thinking
about before taking to the wilds.
Various plants can make up much of the diet, but I can't go into that as
my knowledge on this is extremely limited. There are many guides on the
market to fill your appetite for edible plants.
Once there's enough meat on hand in your camp, I'll show you the old,
natural way of preserving it. Do remember, though, that if you get bad meat,
bad tallow, or bad berries, I assume no responsibility for...bad bellies.
The Trap Line
One thing that just about all outdoorsmen, woodsmen, and survivalists
will agree on is the fact that the trap line is the most expedient method of
keeping a supply of meat on hand with a minimum of effort.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
If, for some reason, you're on the move, a couple (or several) traps
might be set out each night. But if you're in a good area that supplies all
your needs (food source, water, and shelter) and decide to spend some time
in one location, then there you'd set out one or more "lines." By line, I mean
a certain number of traps set in any given location—up a certain creek, or
along a certain ridge, or south of camp or north of camp, and so on.
I'll only mention a few tips that apply to trapping. It's a profession in
itself, and there are numerous books on the market to teach you the art
of trapping any particular type of critter that you decide to specialize in.
The same with hunting techniques. I can't begin to impart to you all the
knowledge necessary to become one with nature—that's up to you. Instead,
I'll give you the tools and information necessary to begin. It's up to you
to apply them, but you'll have to be aware that you can't catch it if it ain't
there—so look for fresh signs and then trap or hunt accordingly.
Also, here, with the deadfall and snare, I'll show you one trigger
system (actually, now three of them). There are several that are shown, and
shown, and shown in survival-type and outdoors books. I've tried a few of
them. None works to the satisfaction that I desire, and most are, I believe,
only perpetuated myths. They look good on paper and sometimes seem to
work—and so are included in any or all books dealing with this subject.
I thought for a long time about how I could get a 80 to 100 lb. rock to
fall where I wanted it to and when it was supposed to, nearly 100 percent
of the time. And yet have it be simple enough to set that the entire time,
from making the trigger to the finished set, took only a few minutes. I spent
one year showing the trigger system that I came up with to any and all
outdoorsmen that I came across. No one has yet been able to say that they
knew of it, and all agreed that it does work.
So pay attention to the accompanying photos and what I say, then
go out to your backyard and make it work. My first set, from the initial
inspiration to completed working deadfall with a 123 lb. rock, took right at
20 minutes. Your first should take no more time than this.
To make this work, you'll need about 12" to 15" of cordage (see Chapter
1 for details).
You'll see from the photos that the trigger needs to be shaved down
somewhat at one end, to hold it in the knot of cordage on the other piece of
the trigger.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
I've always believed in the power of photographs, but with these traps
we've had some questions posed as to their construction, so we're now
including line drawings of three of them to help clarify.
The only change you'll note is with the construction of the Paiute
deadfall. This trigger I've always touted as the easiest and fastest to make,
but the hardest and most time-consuming to set, so we seldom, if ever, used
it. But exasperation finally got me to experimenting. Two changes, and our
trapping world turned over! Now this trap is what we use for our bread and
butter. It's fast and easy not only to construct but now also to set. With basic
instructions, we've had 10- and 12-year-olds setting them in mere minutes.
And it has been proven in the field.
The modified Paiute deadfall trigger, two major changes, both in the upright
stick. 1 ) Use ofa natural T" to support the horizontal piece and 2) pushing the
upright into the ground to stabilize it... this being the most critical change. Just
insure that the upright isfar enough out to prevent the weightfromfalling onto
it or even brushing against it which will slow it down. For most efficiency, keep
the two woodpieces at approx. 90° angle -which will keep the string at
approx. 45°.
159
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
This trap is slick but much time is required in making it - a hard wood is
more effective because the four contact points will round easily if made
from softer woods ... and once rounded, it becomes a real trick to set.
direction of force (cord) from spring stick.
ground level
- cordage
Drawing of trigger.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
time and again. Their trails will be visible to the naked eye in the grass and
leaves. These will make good places to set snares, or just off the trails for
baited deadfalls and snares.
If the "right" pool of water is available, you can put out a stout snare.
Most all critters that you're trapping will eat your snare material (if you're
using natural fiber cordage), and actually do include it in their daily diet.
You need to kill them, or in this case preoccupy them with staying afloat, so
that they won't consider turning around and biting your cordage in two. Just
give them a chance to drown.
This is one good reason to use deadfalls in lieu of snares whenever
possible. Even if you were to catch a rabbit by the hind foot and it wasn't
able to reach the cordage (which is unlikely), the ruckus that it would
make would attract a coyote or fox, and your dinner would be gone come
morning. So, a good lesson here: deadfall whenever possible.
Here's an idea for catching big meat with a snare (of course, you can see
just how you could easily construct a deadfall of almost any size, using the
first trigger system illustrated). If you've ever spent time around a campfire
in the woods, you've surely heard noises just outside of the circle of light, or
maybe even seen eyes reflected in the light, or spotted fresh tracks around
(and sometimes inside) the perimeter the next morning—signs of coyotes,
raccoons, deer, or large cats. A snare on the ground with a trip cord hooked
to the trigger or a baited snare set just might get you a larger critter tied up
long enough for you to grab your club or spear and apply a fatal wound.
But use caution! Have a torch ready, or some other light source. I'd hate to
run blindly into the dark and try to knock a mountain lion or bear, whether
a grizzly or a black, on the head with a stick. And also know the legalities
involved. You might get away with these tricks in a survival situation, but
on a weekend campout I doubt that your local fish and game commission
would turn their heads while you practice your survival skills. Do your
practicing on rats and rabbits (if legal in your state).
Set yourself up several lines. Each line might have as many as 50 sets, or
as few as 8 or 10. Each situation and locale will be different. Once the lines
are in place, it'll take only a glance to check each set, and only a minute or
two more to reset if necessary.
All the time that you're in the primitive situation, remember that you'll
also be gathering materials for cordage, fire making, bowstaves, arrow shafts,
workable stone, bones—anything to make life a little easier in the wilderness.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Turn over logs and rocks, and if you're quick enough you'll be able to
club surprised mice, rats, or lizards. Be cautious of snakes while doing this,
but don't be afraid to club or stone one should it be found. I know of no
snake that's not edible (be sure to check this out if unsure). Of course, with
rattlesnakes, copperheads, and water moccasins, leave the head alone—as
that's where the poison sacs are. The only other poisonous snake in North
America is the coral snake, found primarily in the Southeast. I would not eat
this snake till I learned more about it, as it's a highly venomous snake whose
venom affects the nervous system. Fortunately, you normally don't have to
worry about being bitten by one because of its small size and mouth.
Making sacks and baskets is covered in Chapter 8, though it really
doesn't take much know-how to put together some container in a wellstocked
woods, especially with a knowledge of cording (see Chapter 1).
A real simple weaving will make a tight-enough sack from almost any
cordage material. And limber shoots of willow, dogwood, and similar plants
will make a simple basket, requiring no special skills or knowledge.
Seeds and nuts will be some of your most valuable additions to your
diet. You may be wise to check which few aren't edible (such as poison ivy,
sumac, or oak), but most are OK. In fact, they're much better than OK. The
nutritional value of seeds and nuts is amazing. (Here I'm stepping somewhat
out of the realm of my knowledge and into edible plants, so double-check
what I say here.) Any grass seed should be welcome. Fruit seeds abound
in nature. If in the timber, look for nuts. Acorns can have a bitter tannic
removed by leaching several times in water. White oaks have the sweetest
acorns (I read that in several places). These all can be ground into a flour, or
added to soups and stews as is, and many can be eaten raw. These will be an
important addition to your diet.
I can't stress enough that you'll have to do your own
research on edible plants—not within the scope of this book.
Here's a tip given to me by a friend who had read it somewhere (take
it for what it's worth): Tear apart a packrat's house (only in an emergency,
as it is his house), maybe after having trapped it as well. The packrat will
have stored various seeds and tubers within. Also, its downy beds will make
great tinder for making your fire, and will come out dry under the wettest
Chapter 5: Makin9 Meat -2
Insects
With insects, more so than with the other critters mentioned up to this
point, you may have to really overcome prejudices. To go into any detail
as to the edibility of various insects would require a book of its own.
(Butterflies in My Stomach and Entertaining with Insects by Ronald L.
Taylor are two good sources; both are out of print but can be found in many
libraries.) I include here much useful information on the eating of many
common insects. For more details and information on nutritional values I
recommend the above books.
Grasshoppers, crickets, and termites, oh my!—all are edible.
Earthworms, yeah! Maggots, too. Most grubs. Just about any water insects.
Caterpillars, generally (but avoid the hairy ones, or any brightly colored
ones, or those with a disagreeable odor). In fact, the above rules of brightly
colored and strong, disagreeable odors should be pretty much followed
anywhere in nature. It's nature's way of warning off predators—including us!
Wings and legs should be removed from most, such as the grasshoppers
and crickets, since they're hard to digest. I would cook any insect that I had
my eye on eating. I've heard from some that this is unnecessary, but I still
have that slight fear of parasites. Drying and grinding them into a paste or
flour and eating them, or adding them to soups or stews, are other ways to
include this nutrition to your diet. (See Chapter 7 for various methods of
cooking in a primitive situation.) If you're worried about eating the contents
of these critters' intestines, just impound them somewhere for a few hours
and they'll empty themselves out. A favorite of many students, especially
kids, is grasshoppers, the legs pulled off, cooked on a hot rock, with a
texture similar to shrimp.
To help overcome your prejudice of eating insects, just remember that
they eat leaves and grasses—and do you know what chickens and hogs eat?
Meat Preservation
Once you've stocked up on provisions, you'll also need to know how to
preserve some of your excess for the days that you have nothing—either
for the long, late-winter nights or for a journey. The simplest and easiest
primitive method is simply to air dry it. Just about anything can be
preserved by drying, even watermelon (though you might not have much
left when done).
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
In this chapter, we're thinking mostly about meats. In other words,
jerky. What the aboriginal and early settlers used for trail foods and
emergency food stores was known as jerked meat. This was simply meat, cut
into thin strips (I've read that 1/4" or less thickness will keep the flies from
blowing, laying eggs, on it; experience has proved this out), laid over racks
and sun dried.
If the weather was wet, meat was dried slowly in the smoke of the fire
(which, by the way, was the only time that the early folks flavored their
jerky—from the smoke—and that wasn't intentional). After a day or two or
three, the meat had been dried (jerked) and was ready for storage, usually in
rawhide containers to protect it from moisture. If kept dry, it would literally
last forever. All the meat loses through this drying process is moisture. All
nutrition remains, but remember, it has no fats.
The jerky can be chewed as is (and chewed, and chewed, and chewed),
or it can be, and most often was, pounded and boiled and added to a stew,
into which you threw various roots, seeds, bugs, or whatever.
In a more stable situation, other than overnight stops during a journey,
the one step further, and a method of preservation a thousand times more
valuable, was to make the jerked meat into pemmican. This is done very
simply by pounding the dried meat, shredding it apart, and mixing it with
fats. This is the ultimate in trail food. On it alone, one can live.
The suet fats of animals are simmered. The pure fat will rise to the top.
Here you want to use the hard fat from animals such as deer, buffalo, or
beef. The resulting product is tallow (using pork, raccoon, bear, and similar
critters produces lard, which is too soft). The prepared jerky is mixed with
the tallow and you have the complete meal. This can be, and was, kept
in rawhide containers, with all edges sealed with tallow (to ensure that
moisture was kept from the meat). It too is forever preserved.
Just be cautious to have the tallow "not hot" when mixing with
meat. I like it just shy of setting up—still pourable. If set up too much, it
will be difficult to completely cover or coat all the meat. The addition of
dried berries and so on will add a better flavor to the greasy meat, as well
as carbohydrates.
Chapter 5: Makin' Meat -2
Chapter 6
Deer from Field to Freezer
Say you've shot your deer, or killed it with a bow and arrow or brought it
down with some other tool. What next!?
The quality of wild game (or even domesticated) meats begins right
here. The first thing that you have to do is to remove the insides. The longer
that these remain in the carcass, the more chance there is for spoilage. Once
a critter dies, it immediately begins to spoil. We have to stop this action if we
want the meat to taste anything like decent.
If an animal's properly shot in the first place (in head, neck, or chest
cavity), the removal of the insides is a fairly clean job. With a gut-shot
animal, the procedures shown still apply but the job won't be very pleasant.
Removal of the guts not only keeps any extra, adverse tastes from
entering the meat but, more important, it begins cooling the carcass, which
will slow down the decaying process, though only temporarily.
Cooling the carcass is my first action. I do this by immediately field-dressing
the game. Then, especially if the weather is warm, by removing the skin from the
animal. With deer this is vitally important, as their hollow hair acts as an
insulation that keeps heat from leaving the carcass. Virtually the only time
that I refrain from immediately removing the skin is when the temperature dips
well below freezing and I really don't want the carcass to freeze.
Some people "hang" their animal for periods ranging from a few days
for up to two weeks. We do this, too, if the weather permits. I feel that
hanging has nothing to do with the taste of the meat. What happens,
Chapter 6: Deer from field to freezer
Chapter 7
Primitive Wilderness
Cooking Methods
What's behind the resurgence of interest in primitive living? For Geri
and me, it's a freedom gained from reliance on others—freedom from
dependency. Every person living in this world, or even out of it (in the
space shuttle even now circling the globe and looking down on our
present somewhat-dire condition), is dependent on the Earth for his or her
existence. It don't matter who or where you are, the Earth supplies your
wants and needs (or doesn't, if you're among the unfortunate many).
Geri's thought—that everyone should be compelled to visit a
slaughterhouse at least once during their growing years—is a good one.
It's mind-boggling how many people think that everything just automatically
comes prepackaged.
Like it or not, we are a part of the Earth, not something separate from
it. Face it: We are animals. The only thing that differentiates us from other
animals is our ability to reason, for we are (supposedly) intelligent. If all
man-made things quit at one time, the Earth wouldn't be bothered with
the overpopulation of humans anymore. It seems that many are searching,
realizing the sad situation that we've gotten ourselves into and trying to do
at least a little bit about it. Just knowing the everyday skills explained in this
book can free you from your dependency.
Chapter 7: Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods
This chapter explores various methods of cooking up some of the things
that you've been shown how to catch, with no modern-day pots and pans.
We'll hit several different methods of cooking something up, but remember:
These are only some of the methods that will work. There are certainly many
that you can come up with yourself, with a little experience and a lot of
imagination plus a will to live.
COOK: "to prepare food for eating by heating."
Simple—yeah, really!
For most people today, you take away their pots, pans, electric skillets,
and microwaves, and there would be a problem. But, as with any of the
other primitive living skills, once you think about it (or have it shown to
you), cooking really is easy, even out in the wilds.
In the Coals
Most boys of the outdoors, at least in my day, didn't concern themselves
with a lot of extra "junk" to carry around. Traveling light was the thing. All
we needed was wieners, potatoes, and corn on the cob thrown directly into
the coals, plus some sticks to move them around and get them out when
ready (and also to scrape off some of the excess ashes). We also sometimes
carried a can of beans or stew, and almost always a small pan to heat water,
or to melt snow, for coffee or hot chocolate (remember, Dave?)
So. To throw your meal directly into the coals is the easiest way to cook
up something. A little bit of ashes won't hurt a body, but remember that
ashes make lye, and lye will eat you. So, for safety sake, a little ashes should
go a long way.
Jim Riggs of Oregon, with his students, simply singes the hair off deer
mice over flames and throws them directly into the coals till done "just
right"—they come out crispy, not too mushy on the inside. Nothing wasted
here. They eat the whole thing: a good way to pick up extra vitamins. We
mostly just skin, remove the stomach and intestines, then cook and eat
what's left. But beware of hantavirus!
Please see the cautions on hantavirus pulmonary syndrome
beginning on page 146.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Baking
Here we're talking not about cakes and pies, but just the same old stuff that
we've been cooking up till now By making an oven (of sorts), we're freed of
watching quite so carefully what's going on, so as not to burn supper.
About anytime that we build a cooking fire, at one end we build a small
oven of rocks, as flat as we can get them. On those occasions when flat
rocks aren't available, a careful choosing, banging, and placing of round
rocks will make a serviceable oven.
The fire is built. As it burns down, coals are raked into and around and
over the oven. Heat the rocks slowly so that any water that may be inside
the stone has a chance to leave...slowly. Heat too fast and the steam may
leave too fast, as in bang!
We usually build a longish fire (call it a pit fire), with active burning
at one end, coals in the middle, and oven at the other end. Our ovens
are normally only 3" to 4" high and deep by about 6" wide, larger only if
necessary. Smaller ovens are more efficient for small things, such as pieces of
meat, potatoes, tubers, veggies, birds, and dough for what amounts to bread.
We keep coals in front and on top (and sides too, if it works out, though
that's not necessary). In such an oven foods are done as quick as in the oven
at home.
Another easy oven is a dirt-bank type. Dig into the base of a dirt bank.
If it happens to be clay, fine. If not, line with flat rocks. Build your fire inside
and let heat. When it's ready, just scrape out and keep coals or fire at or near
the entrance.
Now, in conjunction with the first of these ovens, you have right at hand
a frying pan: your hot, flat rock that makes the top of the oven. You can fry
about anything here that you can at home (though maybe not over-easy eggs,
without lots of practice and luck!).
One other "oven type" way to cook is also a hole in the ground. Dig a
hole plenty large enough for what you intend to place in it. You'll want some
extra space (note the following photos). There are a lot of variations to this
"pit" cooking. You just pick and choose what works for you.
If the soil is claylike, fire it by building a hot fire within. If the soil is
sandy or crumbly, line it with flat stones.
Build a fire in the prepared hole. I prefer to leave the coals in the hole.
I put a handful of green sticks or twigs directly onto the coals, followed by
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
selective. Some will just crumble (sandstones), but others can and do
explode when heated (flints, cherts, obsidian). You will need to do the
checking if you can't tell the difference. And do be aware of the danger of
exploding rocks. But just a bit of knowledge and common sense will prevent
any mishaps, or at least most.
We assume no responsibility for any injury resulting from
exploding rocks.
We generally prefer "creek rocks," but those not actually found in
creeks. The hard, roundish granite-type stones seem to us to work about
the best. Just pick them from higher ground. Those that have been soaked
in water might have gotten moisture inside through tiny cracks; when
the rock is heated, the water can't get out slowly enough for the crack to
accommodate—and so, bang.
We've used soft limestone. It heats well but eventually breaks apart (as
do all rocks that I've used). Softer rocks also have the tendency to leave a
grit in the soup or stew, though that may help to keep your insides reamed
out. Pumice or lava rock is a good choice.
Heat the rocks. It's best to build a good, solid foundation of wood on
which to build your fire. Reason: All rocks eventually fall into the deepest
part of the fire, which may not be the hottest if it happens to be only the
ground. Layer wood and rocks. We generally use about a dozen rocks to
heat a gallon of water (more or less), as the temperature of the water from
a mountain stream is usually awfully cold. As the first rocks are taken from
under the water as they cool, place them in a section of "new" fire. When
you run out of rocks the first time through and you're not done cooking, the
first ones used will have heated again and be ready to go. The second section
of fire also helps to distinguish which rocks are which.
The pot: We've often used a fresh deerskin for our pot. Either set it into
a hole in the ground and stake it around, or tie it into a tripod of sticks.
Usually the hair's left on. We generally cook this way when demonstrating
brain tanning, and we use the freshly fleshed (say that 10 times fast!) skin,
hair side out of course. You don't need to flesh the skin, as the flesh and fats
will add to the meal. The skin will shrink considerably as it also cooks, so
take this into account or you'll have broth all over the place. We normally
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
leave lots of slack in the skin when cooking in a hole. Tied to a tripod, it'll
just shrink, so don't fill it as full. You'll hafta feel this out.
A larger animal's stomach can be, and has been, used also. Here you
have the added advantage of being able to eat the pot.
A depression large enough in a rock would be great, as long as it's
convenient for and to camp.
A solid piece of wood will work fine, though it will take some time to
hollow it out (it's easiest done with fire). In a semipermanent camp, this
would be no problem.
A clay pot is the cat's meow. This could also be just placed into the fire.
(See Chapter 9 for more details on primitive pottery.)
A tightly coiled basket will work as a pot. I've always thought that such
baskets needed to be lined with pitch, but have been shown otherwise by
those who know.
A hole dug in the ground (ground that wouldn't leak) would surely
work. So much the better if the ground happened to be clayish. Build a fire
in it first, and you've got a nonmovable pot.
Now, let's get cooking.
When we first started hot rock cooking, we just used forked sticks and
placed the hot rocks directly into the skin pot. By carefully removing the
rocks from the pot, we were able to get two or three meals out of one skin.
Finally, a hole would appear in the weakened skin, and our supper (the
broth, anyhow) literally went down the drain.
We now make a small basket or carrier to put the rocks into and then
place that in the pot. This is much easier on the pot. You can sometimes
place three or four rocks into the carrier. It's best to have the carrier in
the soup before putting the hot rocks in, as they have a tendency to burn
through the cordage holding it together, since the rocks are red hot, or near
to it.
The following photos show the tools we normally use, but remember,
forked sticks alone will do.
Chapter 7: Primitive Wilderness Cooking Methods
Chapter 8
Primitive Wilderness
Containers
No hunters or gatherers are worth their salt without something to put their
gatherings in. As with most other aspects of primitive living, assembling a
suitable container is actually much easier than you might at first suspect,
what with all the cumulative knowledge that you've gained in reading about
other aspects of primitive living in the other chapters. The importance of
some suitable container can't be stressed enough—it really does make life
easier. Remember, you're going "naked into the wilderness," and you've got
no pockets.
I designed this chapter to show you a lot of photos with some
descriptive and explanatory words. I figure that the photos pretty well
speak for themselves. This material, however, is far from the final word on
containers. Instead, what you'll encounter here are several types that have
worked for Geri and me and that are primarily functional, with little or
no artwork. There are many, many ideas that will work as well but that we
haven't covered, due not only to lack of space but also to our own lack of
knowledge. We do show workable products, and—most importantly—we
explain the characteristics that you need to look for to get the job done in
your own region of the country.
Chapter 8: Primitive Wilderness Containers
Baskets
The first container that comes to mind to most folks would be a basket.
Here we'll show you three methods to obtain some sort of basket. While the
instructions in this chapter will be far from definitive answers to your every
question on basketry, they do offer three ways that work well to give you a
finished product. You don't need to stick to any one of these methods but
can mix and match, as you will and as the circumstances dictate. To all you
artists in basketry out there, please bear with us and remember that these
are functional.
Materials
As will be shown, many things in nature work well in basketry. You only
need to search out particular characteristics—mainly that a material is
pliable, or can be made to be. It helps if it'll remain a bit pliable after the
project has been completed so that it won't fall apart in use. The purpose of
the basket will help to dictate this. If it's to be used only for gathering nuts
(the ones growing on trees, not those living in them) or herbs, a lighter-duty
basket will suffice. If your goal is to gather heavy-duty rocks or whatever
(and remember, we cavemen do need our rocks!), then a brittle basket will
be wasted. The longer the material is, the less splicing will be necessary to
create a basket.
Stick baskets—as I refer to those made of, well, sticks—can and should
be made more pliable by soaking for several hours or days, depending on
the material. We mostly use dogwood and willow for these. You can use the
information in this chapter as a guide, but do search out your area to find
what it has to offer, and then maybe experiment or temporize. As you'll see,
many other materials can be and are used—cattails; any cordage; some
vines, barks, and grasses. As we approach these various materials herein,
we'll explain how to prepare them.
Warps, Wefts, and Woofs
These are what your baskets are composed of. Warps are the longitudinal
threads, sticks, or cords into which the wefts (also known as woofs) are
threaded. This is a simple definition, and in practice the actual basket is
sometimes not so simply accomplished.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Chapter 9
Primitive Pottery
This chapter certainly is not a definitive work on primitive pottery. What it
will do is give you some ideas and techniques for going out, digging up some
dirt (clay), and turning it into a usable container or vessel to make your
wilderness living or survival more bearable.
As always when trying new things, expect some failures. (Along our
journeys, we had a great many, but lived to tell about it!) This material
contains a lot of variables, though if you understand the principles and
follow the rules, success will follow—for many people, this will happen on
the very first try.
Quick Run-Through
Simply, you need to:
^ Find a source of clay.
& Dig it up.
# Wet it, if dry.
# Clean it.
Form it into a shape (a bowl, in our example here).
Hfc Let it dry.
At this stage, it can be used under limited and controlled circumstances.
It will be very brittle and will dissolve if wetted. Clay, when mixed with straw
and baked in the sun, can be and has been used over millennia to make
bricks (adobe). Bowls can be used for dry storage. But for most practical
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Often when we're in a hurry to make a bowl (I'm always in a hurry, it
seems!), we just mix water and clay, kneading and working it till it's "right,"
feeling the larger impurities and removing them with our fingers. This works
well especially with smaller, quickie bowls when you're rushed. But it's
believed that the longer the clay sits wet, the better it will be to work with.
For working, the moisture content must be just right. Too wet, and it'll
be too sticky and will slump, not holding its shape. Too dry, and it will crack
as you work it. If a little too wet, it can either be spread out to dry some
or just worked in your hands, allowing the sun and breeze to dry it. This
additional working is good for the clay, most notably for removing pockets
of air. If the clay is only a bit dry, what works well is to dip your hands in
water, shake off the excess, and then work the clay.
Not all clays will work in making containers, owing to their chemical
compounds.
A good, simple test is to roll a handful of clay pencil-thin and tie it
into a knot. If it doesn't break or crack, it's a good candidate. Plasticity is
the key here.
The amount of shrinkage during drying is also an important factor.
Too much can hurt. The addition of temper (see that section below) can
sometimes help.
One clay that we've worked with a lot was touted by all who touched
and worked with it as having a "great feel." Well, we've never yet gotten a
good firing out of it. This was a clay that had all the outward characteristics
of a good, usable clay—pliability, shrinkage, feel—but it just wouldn't hold
up to firing. It blew apart.
So, if you follow all instructions and still have firing problems, change clays.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
I'll list here what we've noted from others, and what we've also come up
with ourselves:
^ The temper (grog) is a stable.
^ The clay is not.
& A lot of rubble (stones and so forth) in the fresh-dug clay is not
a stable, so it needs to be removed.
^ During drying, and especially during firing, the clay will shrink and
expand to a certain degree. Here, a little goes a long way—too much
action and the pot cracks or breaks. The temper helps to keep the
vessel (clay) more stable during these periods.
4> Some clays don't require temper. Others might need up to a one-third
addition. As noted earlier, each clay has its own special properties.
^ Small pots require less temper than larger ones, or sometimes none.
Large pots tend to slump when building, but the addition of temper
helps to counteract this.
& The intended use of the finished product has some bearing.
Vessels that will be in and out of the fire (each time experiencing
expansion and contraction) will require more temper than those
used primarily for storage.
^ The addition of temper actually weakens the pot. More and coarser temper
should be added to cooking vessels, as it takes the heat shock better.
Geri thinks of temper as being the main ingredient and of clay as just
holding it together—kinda like working cement. Steve Watts opines that, on
a microscopic level, pottery begins to break down as soon as you start to use
it. Minuscule cracks develop every time that the pot is heated or cooled. He
strongly feels that the temper acts as a stopping point for these cracks, like
drilling a hole in a windshield at the end of a crack to stop its progress.
Now that we've got some idea of just what temper is and the purpose
thereof, what do we use as temper?
Sand and grit are usually readily available for temper purposes.
But beware of what makes up the sand in your area. Where we live there
must be some limestone in it, and our limestone isn't stable. Every time that
we've used it, the pots have blown in firing. By contrast, limestone in the
southeastern United States is different, and works.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Firing Method # 5
Over the years we've settled on one method that gives us 100 percent
success...most times. We came to this through trial and error, because the
clay that we've had the most success with here is touchy and fails when we
fire using other methods. It's pretty much the same as a method described
earlier, with a few changes. To make a fire in a ring, the easiest way we've
found is by first building a fire to preheat the ground and then, when it burns
down, raking the coals and small embers out into the size circle needed.
Building a circle fire is next to impossible. But making a circle fire as
described is easy! Once circled, place small, stable (unblowupable: my word)
stones or pieces of brick to put the pots on, place the pots on the stones (we
almost always place them top down to keep hot coals from failing inside and
adding too much heat too soon), and build up the ring of fire. Keep enough
distance from fire to nearest pots so that you don't heat too fast, with more
distance on the upwind side. Keep the fire alive and move it slowly toward
the pots, ensuring that the heating is gradual. More and bigger fire. Closer
and closer.
When a few inches from the fire's actually touching the pots (remember,
upwind will be a longer distance), build the fire high enough so that long
sticks can be placed on top of the fire to make a roof a few inches above
the pots. Things go fast at this point. What you're doing is almost making a
kiln with the fire. The cooler air from outside the ring will sweep the flames
and heat into the center and up. You must keep the actual flames from most
direct contact with the pots (for now), but much heat is applied.
Finally, you're putting a roof over it all, which will create more heat
from above. We've found that this method makes for a more-even heating of
the pots at a critical stage, allowing them to get a lot hotter before having the
flames totally consume them. It takes about 1 1/2 to 2 hours, on a perfect
day with no excess winds, and a whole lot of wood, resulting in a close to
100 percent success rate.
One disadvantage in placing the pots upside down is that, if there's
any moisture in the ground, the steam created will rise into the pots with
nowhere to go. This can cause cracks and possibly breakage.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Firing Method # 6
One more firing method, which we haven't found in common use in the
States, is the use of a primitive kiln (hardening oven). This gives you more
control in heating gradually. Simply, the kiln is dug into a hillside, with
a firing chamber below it. The heat and smoke from the fire is tunneled
through the kiln. The ancient Chinese used this extensively, often stairstepping
kilns up a hillside, heating from a single fire chamber. You must
ensure that the firing chamber is of sufficient size to heat the kiln to the
required temperature (1200° to 1600°F; the color will be from dark red at the
lower temperature through cherry red, bright cherry red, and orange at the
higher temperature). This temperature should be maintained for two to four
hours. The chimney escape should ideally be through the bottom of the kiln
(so as to retain as much heat as possible—heat rises, remember?) and then
up (see drawing on next page). The opening needs to be large enough to
allow sufficient draw for the fire to reach the high temperatures required.
I think that this shows you that firing pottery just ain't throwing pots
into the fire—though it's not all that difficult, either.
Last Words
Pots are made to use, so use 'em. The final test is to cook in them.
Try to remember the word "gradual." Cold water in a hot pot can be
disastrous. Same vice versa. Heat with coals or small flames.
When handling hot pots, use leather pot holders or wooden "tongs."
Cloth can burst into flames.
Avoid lifting a pot by its rim, as you just might break it off.
Advice from Maria-Louise Sidoroff, whose expertise in making and
using primitive pottery is known internationally: "A well constructed and
sound pot will get better with usage. Using ordinary precautions, the life
expectancy would be many, many years."
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Notes on Aboriginal Pottery
by Steve Watts (1989)
To me, the pottery trip is divided into three parts:
1/3 is making it (Good clay, well prepared, proper temper,
and good construction techniques)
1/3 is firing it (Proper prefiring, and a thorough high firing with
adequate cool-down time)
1/3 is using it (Proper care and use for storage, cooking, and so on)
After all, using pottery is the main purpose for making it. For a pot
to be functional, it must be well made. In other, obvious words—the
better a pot is constructed and fired, the better it will operate as a
cooking vessel.
On a microscopic level, pottery starts to break down as soon as you
start to use it. But a well-made pot will last through many cookings if
taken care of and treated properly.
Pots should be stored in a secure spot, properly supported, and
protected from running children, dogs, and the like.
An underfired pot (in whole or in part) will fall apart when first
used—literally dissolve. Many pots only made for display fall into this
underfired category.
Of course shock must be avoided—putting cold water into a hot
pot or vice versa.
Some folks suggest filling the pot with water prior to use and letting
it stand in the pot long enough to thoroughly saturate the walls before
using. Others have suggested preheating and oiling the pot to season it,
a la cast iron.
Both of the procedures are probably useful, but my experience is
that with a well-made pot one simply adds "room temperature" water
plus the food to be cooked to the unheated pot and sets it on the fire.
Stoke up the flames and cook away.
Chapter 9: Primitive Pottery
Chapter 10
Brain-Tan Buckskin
I first attempted brain tanning 1974. At that time I could locate few sources
pertaining to this subject. What I did come up with left a lot to be desired.
My results were unsuccessful, but enough small bits of the skin did work out
to give me hope and show me what could be accomplished if done properly.
(I had no idea at that time what real buckskin was even like. I had read only
vague references to Indian-tanned skins.) All of what I could find on this
subject was written by someone who had no hands-on experience but was
writing what had been observed or heard. That may not be a bad way to
describe a procedure, but it's hardly the way to write a "how-to."
With more and more interest shown in going back to basics since
then, and especially the blossoming interest in buckskinning, more has
been written about some of the natural and primitive ways and skills. I
sure haven't had the opportunity to read all that has been written on brain
tanning, and probably don't know the existence of even half of it. From what
I've read, however, combined with my personal recent experiences of trying
to learn more about it, I feel that I've done a lot better than the others.
Most of what I've read, if read by someone not at all familiar with the
procedure (and, to my way of thinking, "how-to" books and articles should
be addressed to those who don't know "how to"), leaves the reader with a
lot of questions unanswered. If read with no other purpose than the joy of
reading or to further one's knowledge somewhat, fine. But most such texts
don't work for the individual interested in taking a raw deerskin and turning
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
it into a fine piece of material, especially if that individual hardly knows
what a deer is.
This chapter was written to deliberately oversimplify, because brain
tanning just isn't as difficult as most accounts tend to make it appear.
But I don't belittle the amount of effort required, when I demonstrate
that a skin can be finished in as little as nine hours—given ideal working
conditions. Of course, many, many variables can and do affect the quality of
the finished product.
It's frustrating and time-consuming to have to search out numerous
sources to learn a new skill. I've tried to make this chapter as complete
and easy to follow as what I wanted and needed when I did my first skin.
I've had my drafts read by uninformed people, both male and female, and
tried to incorporate their suggestions for clarity. I want this chapter to
work. It was designed so that the interested and motivated person with no
foreknowledge at all in skins could take this chapter, a raw deerskin, and
very minimal materials and end up with a finished buckskin. I'm satisfied
that it will do that.
I strongly suggest that you read this chapter carefully. Study the
photographs, reread, learn what's happening to the skin and why. Go over
the various steps till you know what each is accomplishing. Some parts of
this may seem complicated on the first reading, but if you study it closely
you'll find that I've made things easier and faster for you, such as lacing into
the frame. You can lace it any damn way that you want (and for one skin
maybe you should). But I feel certain that when you find out how simply
and quickly you can make buckskin, you won't stop at a single skin.
I speak throughout of the average 10-square-foot deerskin, which is a
large skin. Actually, the deer we have in north central Kansas average larger
than that. Smaller skins, of course, will require less time and effort.
I have purposely not gone into the making of anything but buckskin,
so as to keep things as simple as possible. You'll find nothing here about
working larger hides or furs. The basic principles are the same, but there are
certain differences for each. As with anything worthwhile, it will take some
effort and sweat, but not nearly what most have been led to believe. There's
no secret here—only simple rules.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
take 10 to 12 strokes before you've successfully removed the epidermis from
your 1" inch wide strip. Pay attention.
Once the surfaces are prepared, the oils will be able to penetrate. We
need to coat every fiber with these oils, hence the repeated applications.
You can't overbrain. But, once oiled, if left unattended, the skin will shrink
and dry hard (the glue taking effect). If you move these lubricated fibers
on themselves while the skin dries, the oils will allow the fibers to stay
separated and they'll swell somewhat. The result: unbelievably soft, flannellike
leather.
But if this was to be wetted, the fibers would again shrink and dry hard
(the glue) unless worked. If instead we penetrate the entire, loosely woven
skin with smoke, the pitch from the smoke will waterproof the fibers. The
skin itself isn't waterproofed. Water will run through it. But the fibers will be
waterproofed, and the wetted skins will again dry soft since the water hasn't
been allowed to get to the individual fiber and allow the glue to take effect.
Once you understand this, you're in control.
(I became aware of the glue action mentioned above through Jim Rigg's
book Blue Mountain Buckskin—the importance of always learning.)
Now, a note pertaining to finishing the skin out. I describe herein
finishing it out by pulling over a rope, or also by hand. Many, many others
accomplish the same by a method described as "staking." This means, after
braining, lacing the skin back onto the frame and working the fibers by
applying force with a rounded stick.
I think of the skin, stretched on the frame after fleshing, as being
stretched 100 percent. When the skin has been cut from the frame and, after
braining, has been worked by hand, it will shrink about 20 percent. When
staked, the skin will stretch another 5 to 10 percent to its limits.
On the one hand, you end up with a larger skin. On the other, the skin,
though 25 to 30 percent smaller, is also that much thicker, and spongier, and
stretchier. To me it is alive yet.
One advantage to working the skin by hand: At any time it can be rolled
up, placed in a plastic bag, and frozen till such time as you want to get back
to it. Once you begin staking, though, you'll have to stake till you're done.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
& Simple Breakdown
Day l
STEP HOURS
6:30-8 a.m. Frame and flesh 1 1/2
12-12:30 p.m. Prepare flesh side 1/2
3^:3 0 p.m. Dehair 1 1/2
4:30-5 p.m. Prepare hair side 1/2
5-6:15 p.m. Prepare and apply brains 1 1/4
6:15-6:45 p.m. Stretch skin open and 1/2
wrap in towels/refrigerate
Day 2
8-11 a.m. Finish stretching 3
TOTAL HOURS 8 3/4
During the afternoon of Day 2 the skin could be smoked. This
simplified schedule is figuring ideal weather for drying.
Materials
A big advantage of tanning (dressing) your skins with brains is the minimum
of expenditure required for materials. Most materials, if not all, will be on
hand in the average home.
Knife—Useful for making lacing holes. A pocket or paring knife is all
that's necessary. The only requirements are a thin, sharp blade and a good
point.
Four 2x4s about 8' long, and nails. Cedar or pine poles lashed or nailed
securely, or both, will work fine. It must be a good, solid frame.
125-150' of 1/8" nylon cord in 25-30'. lengths, or whatever else you
come up with. Nylon is easy to work with, and long-lasting.
Sandpaper—#50 coarse grit works well for medium and larger skins.
Use a finer grit for smaller, thinner skins.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Skins
Acquiring deerskins really isn't that difficult. There are many sources from
which you may obtain them if you look and ask around. During deer season
I can acquire 15 to 20 from friends and acquaintances who have no use for
them. There are also a number of locker plants in the area that will sell me
as many as I want at the going rate—sometimes as little as $2, but normally
closer to $5. Contact with local law and game enforcement officers also
informs me of many road kills.
Wherever you get your skins, some words of caution. Most hunters
who skin their own, and all butchers whom I've run across, take great
pride in how fast they can remove the skin from the deer. The quicker and
the cleaner that the skin is removed does no favors for the tanner but only
leaves numerous holes and "scores" (cuts into the skins not deep enough
to be holes—yet).
When I skin a deer it takes me from 15 to 30 minutes to do the job,
depending on whether it's done in the field or from the front-end loader of
a tractor. When the skin is to be tanned I'm not a fast skinner; I am careful.
The knife is used sparingly, and I leave all stubborn bits of meat and fat
on the skin. They come off easily enough later, with no appreciable loss of
meat to the hunter. By being a bit more careful I don't end up with a skin
full of holes or, worse yet, the many, many scores that can take a good No. 1
skin and turn it into a piece of crap. Light scores on the thicker part of the
skin, such as the neck, are usually acceptable, but the normal score on the
average part of the skin will, 9 times out of 10, tear out while you're working
the skin in the final stretching process. Beware of scores!
To collect as many good skins as possible, I may offer to skin them out
for local hunters, who are usually pleased as punch to have me do this for
them, especially when it's as cold as it can get around here in December. As
an added bonus I'm almost always allowed to remove the loin sinew strips also.
As for getting skins from the butcher, well, you often have to take what
you can get. Just before deer season I always go around to the processors
with whom I've made arrangements and ask them to please use the knife
sparingly. This usually helps.
There are three common ways to keep the skins till you're ready to tan
them. The oldest way is to just leave them exposed to the air till they're dry.
This is also the most time-consuming later, as they must be soaked in fresh
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
water for what seems like forever to make them as soft and pliable as
when green.
Salting the skin for preservation is the second method, and probably
the most commonly used. The flesh side is coated liberally with salt and the
excess moisture allowed to drain off. It will keep this way for six to eight
months before needing to be resalted. Although it most assuredly works, I
don't use this method myself, as it requires a lot of time and water to wash
out the salt, all of which must be removed. Salt draws moisture. Unsmoked
brain tan dries stiff if moistened.
By far the easiest way to keep them is the third way: frozen. I freeze a
skin as soon after collecting it as I can, by rolling it (hair side out); tying it in
a tight, neat bundle; and placing it in an airtight plastic bag. I'm now tanning
skins that have been frozen this way for up to three years. I believe that they
could be kept forever this way and still be as green and fresh when thawed
as the day they were put up, though you need to keep air away from the
flesh side. By keeping the skin frozen I eliminate any need to wash or soak
the skin before tanning, which saves considerable time, energy, and water.
Only the bloodiest of skins will I even wash. The skin will dry quite a bit
faster and be ready to work sooner if the hair isn't moistened.
Framing and Fleshing
Now let's do something with that skin, wherever it came from.
If it was dried, then you'd best find a source of running water, such as
a stream, and weight the skin with rocks and leave it for a couple of days
or so. It will take a long time to get it back to the same state it was in when
taken from the deer. You do need to check it every so often to ensure that
the fresh water is getting to the entire skin. If you don't have access to a
creek or a stream, place it into a large container, such as a 25-gallon trash
can, and soak. The water must be changed regularly, after only several hours
the first few times, and probably at least every 10 to 12 hours from then on
till it's workable. On warmer days be sure that the water doesn't heat enough
to rot the skin. It needs to soak till as pliable and fresh as when removed
from the deer.
A salted skin is more easily prepared. It needs only repeated washings to
remove all the salt.
Frozen skins need only to be thawed.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
place a board under the skin, push the point of the knife against the skin
into the board with one hand, and pull the skin up with the other. I say to
use a thin blade, because you don't want the holes too large.
To keep the natural shape of the skin square within the frame as
you lace, I've found it convenient to tie each corner of the skin to the
corresponding corner of the frame with a 12" to 15" cord. Also, place the
skin just a little off center to the right (as you face it from the bottom). After
having done a few skins, you'll find no need to tie the corners in order to
square it within the frame, though doing so sure helps the beginner.
Picture the frame in an upright position with the neck at the top and the
flesh side facing you. You'll begin lacing at the neck at the upper left corner.
From that corner, go through the hole at the corner of the neck, out under
the 2x4, and in over it again to the skin. Now begin to take the cord through
three holes at a time as if you were sewing—the cord, as it passes through
the series of three holes, runs in and out in a straight line, not wrapped
around the edge. Then take the cord out under the frame and in over it, and
then do three more holes. The cord always comes from the skin out under
the frame and back over it to the skin. I normally go through three holes at
a lick, sometimes two and very seldom four, but only as long as the holes
are in a straight line. This is to save the inconvenience of having to replace
if one of the holes rips out. As the edge of the skin turns at legs and corners,
bring your cord around the frame and begin your series of holes again. At
the neck where the skin's the thickest, I'll go through only one hole if that's
the way the count ends up at the corner.
Don't pull the cord too tightly but just "snug it up" for now. When
you reach the end of one length of cord, tie it off and begin with another.
I normally leave two or three holes (one series) for the rope that I tied off
to go through as I take up the slack. As you round the second corner and
begin the bottom, you can begin to take up some of the slack—but not too
tight now or you'll lose the shape. (Never pull too tightly on the bottom, as
it will easily tear.) After you go around the third corner and into the home
stretch, you can really begin to tighten things up, even going back to the
bottom section and taking up the remainder of the slack there. By the time
you reach the neck, whence you began, the skin will be fairly taut and close
to being centered on the frame.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
With a large paintbrush or clean sponge, apply this solution to both
sides of the skin. You don't need to be too liberal with the brain solution
now. You just need to get the skin pliable enough to cut from the frame and
fold easily into the bucket. Fold the now-pliable skin into the bucket of
brain solution and work it with your hands for several minutes. With some
of the smallest, thinnest skins, that's all that's necessary. But I've never yet
let any skin get by with only one soaking in the brains. I've had too many
skins not receive a deep enough penetration of the brain, which won't be
discovered till I've spent several hours working the skin and suddenly wind
up with a stiff product—and then have to return to this stage. That's a lot of
extra work that can be easily prevented with very little effort now. There's
no special time limit that the skin has to be left soaking in the brain. Once
you've got complete penetration, you're ready to finish it out. The shortest
time for small skins would be about 15 to 20 minutes, with two soakings.
With some of the thicker, larger skins, it works well to apply several
coats of the brain before cutting from the frame. Each coat should be
allowed to dry, preferably in the sun, and then either scraped or sanded
before you apply the next coat.
Between soakings the skin must be wrung to remove as much moisture
as possible. As mentioned before, the skin will absorb water like a sponge.
Brain being a solid matter, and its oils being thicker than water, the liquefied
brain won't be absorbed into the skin as readily as plain water. With the
thinner areas, this is no problem, and one soaking is enough. The thicker
area, though, will require additional soakings. You must get all the water
out of the skin that you possibly can, so that when it's reimmersed into the
solution the water not only will bring more brain with it but also will draw
ever deeper what's already there.
The wringer from an old wringer washer works just fine for this. Run
the skin through this several times.
The traditional way of wringing out excess water, and the way that I did
all my skins till I found the wringer, is to drape the skin around a small tree
limb (or a lariat stretched tightly), overlapping it by about one third of itself,
and rolling and folding the skin onto and into itself, tucking in all loose
ends till it's tightly rolled together. The accompanying photos show this
better than I could hope to describe it. Place a solid stick (approximately
1" in diameter) through the opening and twist the skin till tight, pull, twist
some more, and then pull some more. The moisture will run and drip out
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
Finishing
At this point, if we were to throw the skin out on the ground or over a limb,
in a few hours it would shrink to a fraction of its size and become quite
hard. Our purpose now, therefore, is to prevent this from happening. There
are a number of methods of working the skin soft, but I'll cover only the one
I currently use, as I find it the easiest. With this method, at any point during
the drying process the skin can be rolled (as mentioned above) and placed in
the refrigerator or freezer.
The weather does, of course, affect how quickly the skin dries. My
personal preference is a slow drying day over a hot, windy one. A fast-drying
skin can be hell to keep up with.
What we have to do now is keep the fibers of the skin from doing what
they want naturally to do: shrink and pull together as they dry. For this we'll
pull and stretch the skin around the lariat all the time that it's drying. I've
read one account of a Navaho method of using hands and feet to do the
stretching, which I've done successfully on smaller skins in by the fire during
the winter. As I've said, various methods work. All methods have one thing
in common: to keep every fiber in the skin stretched and open to its fullest
while drying. Without the addition of the brain (oils), the rawhide would
still dry stiff, though not as stiff as if not stretched. The addition of the oils
allows the individual fibers to pull apart and actually swell and soften as
they dry, but we must keep each and every fiber stretched to its fullest and
moving over and past each other the entire time that the skin's drying. So
alternate pulling the skin widthwise and lengthwise. (The above action of
the brain isn't scientific fact, just my observations and the easiest way that I
know to describe what's taking place.)
Tie one end of the lariat to the base of a tree and the other to a limb
about 6' up and pull it tight. Now drape the skin around the rope and pull
it in all directions the entire time that it's drying. Begin at the neck and grab
a handful of skin and really lay into it. You don't need to worry about the
thicker parts of the skin tearing. Lean back and use your entire body weight.
Hand over hand, work your way all down the skin to the rump, then turn
it halfway and begin pulling the other direction (lengthwise), repeat...and
repeat...and repeat.
When pulling the thinner edge areas, such as the flanks, take two
handholds, one in about 6" to 8" where the skin's thicker, and pull like hell,
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
You should also put the remaining brain solution in the fridge before
it sits out in a warm room too long, as it will sour in a hurry. You can use it
on another skin or you may even have to use it yet again on this one if you
haven't gotten complete penetration. I've used the same solution, with the
addition of more brain and water, on as many as 10 skins—but that's just
being cheap. Fresh solution seems to work better.
At this point I think of the skin as being in one of three stages—wettest,
medium wet, and dry. In the wettest stage, the skin will spend more time
on the ground than on the rope. The midpoint of drying is the more critical
stage, and you'll spend more time stretching or rubbing. When you're pretty
sure that the skin is dry and you're just ascertaining that fact, you can spend
less time on the rope.
At about the time the thinner areas are drying out, concentrate your
efforts on the thicker neck, back, and ham areas.
This is also the stage that the term "blood, sweat, and tears" pertains to.
Unconditioned knuckles will blister and bleed. It helps to use bandages over
the first knuckle joint, or tight-fitting rubber gloves with fingertips cut off.
Time will toughen them.
Begin rubbing the skin around the rope while stretching as soon as it
dries enough to do so easily. This helps to crush and stretch the fibers, raises
the nap to a fluffier texture, and creates friction that helps speed the drying
process somewhat. Rub with vigor.
Don't quit till you're positive that the skin is dry. Any little bit of
moisture will detract from a No. 1 quality piece of buckskin. Remember
that as long as there's any moisture at all left in the skin, it will shrink and
stiffen as it dries. If you stayed with it, the average 10 sq. ft. skin would take
approximately 3 1/2 to 4 hours to finish out.
The finished buckskin will be creamy white in color and as soft and
fluffy as the best of flannel. But.. .if this fine piece of material were allowed
to get wet (and remember, it will seem to draw moisture, just as brain and
other things will draw flies), you'd find yourself back to where you were
four hours ago. If it's allowed to dry naturally, it will shrink and stiffen. So
though we've got a fine piece of buckskin, we're certainly not finished with
it. It makes no sense to devise clothing or bags if we can't actually use it.
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
Smoking
What we do now is smoke the skin. As with the oils of the brain, we need
to penetrate smoke into every fiber of the now-soft buckskin. I've heard of
various things this does to the skin, but I've never definitively learned how it
does it. I do know it works, however, and it's a necessary step to end up with
a useful piece of material that will dry soft (or will require only a minimum
of rubbing) after a good wetting.
The old way of smoking skins is to sew it into a cone from the neck to
the rump, leaving the rump open. Into a hole in the ground (roughly 6" in
diameter by 18" deep), place hot coals to a depth of 6" to 8" and cover with
punky wood. What's wanted is a smudge of dense, warm smoke. Stake the
open end of the skin over the smudge and tie the neck area to a low tree
limb or a tripod. Smoke can also be piped to the hanging skin a number
of feet away, making it easier to control the fire or smoke and eliminating
the possibility of scorching the skin. It's a good idea, also, to sew a piece of
material, such as denim or canvas, to the bottom of the skin as additional
security against scorching. Keep the skin open so that the warm, dense
smoke can penetrate overall. When you see the discoloration of the smoke
seeping through the thinner areas, invert the skin and smoke it from the
other direction.
This is certainly the quickest way to smoke one skin, or just a few
of them. Not including the sewing and setup time, the actual smoking
takes from 15 to 30 minutes per side, depending on how dark a shade is
desired. This method actually forces the smoke through the skin, whereas
in the tipi method (described next) the smoke is absorbed by exposure and
therefore takes considerably more time for complete penetration. I seldom
use this method, as it requires my constant attention and I normally have
a number of skins to smoke at one time. I've read, and been told, that the
smoke has to be warm to accomplish its mission. Cold smoke apparently
won't work. Myself, I've never tested the cold smoke theory.
I smoke 99 percent of my skins in a tipi. I've used a small shed before,
which is fine for pelts or individual skins but too small for any quantity of
skins. I know of some people who place their stove right in the lodge. This
is inconvenient, to my way of thinking, as they must burn the coals outside
and then transport them to the stove to avoid scorching the skins. It's also
much easier to tend the smudge in the smokefree out-of-doors. I place my
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
18' lodge next to a ledge, put the stove below, and pipe the smoke about 12'
to the center of the lodge. I also put a rain cap on the end of the pipe to
help disperse the rising smoke, which promotes more consistent coloring of
the skins.
Tie the skins to the uppermost part of the poles. I run a piece of heavy
thread through the edge of the skin with a needle and then tie it around the
poles loose enough to hang free so that all parts are exposed to the smoke.
They could also be tacked to the poles. Either very long legs or a stepladder
is necessary. With this method you can hang 8 to 12 skins, depending on the
size of both skins and lodge, and all will come out the same shade and color.
After closing the smoke flaps tight as if for a storm, with liner in place, put
a towel or two in the crotch formed by the poles to slow the escape of the
smoke as much as possible.
Before hanging the skins, build a large fire in the stove, using a
hardwood that will produce long-lasting coals. Oak is my favorite, though
charcoal will suffice. Remember to disconnect the pipe. By the time the
skins are hung and the lodge is closed tight, the coals should be about right.
Replace the pipe so as to heat it quickly to create a good draft, and then
almost immediately cover the coals with fine-shredded, punky wood. The
rottenest, most punky wood that you can find is the best. Don't confuse
soft, wet wood with rotten, punky. If wet when gathered, spread it out to
dry. The wood needs to be punky and unburnable to create the dense smoke
that's necessary.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
We don't need to add moisture by burning wet stuff. I've tried using
green wood, which burns even hotter than the dry oak. We don't want
straight heat, which could scorch the skins. A combination of punky
cottonwood and red cedar sawdust leaves my skins a light, bright, lively
tan. The same combination used in the first method of forcing the smoke
through, is much darker and not nearly so lively. The choice of woods will
dictate the final coloring.
I begin this project early in the morning on a day when no rain is
expected in the immediate future. Rain will always enter the lodge at the
apex and run down the poles, and you're taking a chance when you hang
a dozen unsmoked skins in a lodge. A sudden squall would create havoc.
By hanging them early in the morning of a clear day, I can begin the actual
smoking before 8 a.m. and by the time that I quit for the day at about 10
p.m., I feel secure that if it does rain during the night enough smoke has
penetrated the skins that a bit of moisture won't hurt. I would, though, have
the skins cut down and in the house at the first hint of a storm within the
first day and a half of smoking.
To keep a steady, heavy cloud rising from the stove, you'll have to
stir the coals every 20 minutes or so and keep adding more punk when
necessary. Every two to three hours you'll also need to rebuild the fire for
more coals. Note: Don't forget to disconnect the pipe when doing this!
I follow this process for three 12- to 14-hour days while working on
other skins only a few feet from the stove. Late in the afternoon of the third
day I remove the skins, soak them in cold well water, and hang them from
a clothesline. Most everything that I've read on the smoking of skins says to
place them in a sack overnight to allow the smoke and color to set. I don't
do this and have had no ill effects with my results. After the skins have
dried, I pull and rub each one by hand to ensure that the smoke has done its
job, and then let them air for a number of days.
That's it. You now have a fine piece of buckskin that's worth $10 or
more per square foot. Better than that, you have the satisfaction of having
taken a raw piece of material from nature (no kit here!) and, by your own
labors, have created a fine, beautiful, useful finished product—something
that you can point to and honestly proclaim with pride, "/ made this. "
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
"Hair-on" Supplement
Leaving the hair on when brain tanning requires the application of a few
different rules. The skin (pelt, hide, whatever) should not be soaked in the
brain solution as with buckskin, as this can result in hair slippage. Instead,
the brain should be painted on the former flesh side, allowed to dry, the
dried brain "film" scraped off, and then repeated till you're certain that
you have complete penetration. Remember that you're penetrating from
only one side. With the same thickness buckskin, that might require eight
applications (soakings and wringings), but here you'll have to do more than
twice that number. Thinner pelts (fox, cats) might get by with only one or
two applications (I would do four or five at least; remember that you can't
possibly overbrain). The thickest, toughest pelt that I've done is the beaver.
After successfully doing five extra-large, blanket-sized ones, I wouldn't
hesitate to apply the solution as many as 40 to 50 times. This means lots of
work, though the fine finished results have been well worth the effort. (I can
do a couple of buckskins in the time that it takes to do a large beaver.) The
beaver I skin "open" and stretch around on a willow hoop or some such. I
lace it, using needle and artificial sinew (waxed nylon) thread, stitches about
1" apart. Lace it with the holes pretty close to the edge and be especially
careful around the face. What we're trying to do is save all we can.
I prefer to work all other pelts "case" skinned. The dried pelt can be
kept on the stretcher for the brainings. When the legs are left on, I staple
them open to thin slats. I skin the paws as open as I can and soak them in
the brain (they should be "tanned," but I know nothing of that; I only do
things the natural way, though soaking in the oils of the brain can't hurt).
Ears should be skinned out to the very tip; I also soak these. All meats and
fats must be removed from these areas or they will eventually rot, if gotten
wet, and the hair will then slip. The final coat of brain can be applied,
applied, and applied once more. Saturate it as much as you can, then maybe
place a warm, damp towel (damp with brain solution is fine) on the flesh
side, place it in a plastic sack, and allow it to stand till it becomes as pliable
as when green. Don't overdo it, or it could begin to rot and cause hair
slippage. Then work it over the rope or by hand till it's dry and soft.
For deer with the hair on, I wouldn't even bother with brain tanning,
The hollow hairs of the deer break off if you even look hard at them. The
only practical use for a hair-on deer is as a wall hanging, and even then it
Chapter 10: Brain-Tan Buckskin
doesn't need to be soft. I have done one deer robe. No more! It was nice,
but you can't do anything with it but pick up hairs wherever you might visit,
eventually ending up with a piece of buckskin anyhow. It's just not worth
the extra work, and it is a huge amount of extra work. I've read where
Indians just threw the raw skin on the floor of the lodge, and when the hair
all fell out they had a softened piece of rawhide ready to brain into buckskin.
One that you wanted for a wall hanging could be saturated with pure neat'sfoot
oil (for better penetration), or brained and only worked semisoft.
Yet if you insist—and also for elk, buffalo, and other creatures—here are
some tips to kinda help you along.
Follow the preparation steps up through page 288. Now, I'm not talking
about skins or hides with the legs or faces left on. Then begin to paint the
brain solution on, scraping between coatings as with the pelts. Apply, apply,
and apply again—you can't do too much. You will have to judge as to how
many coatings each pelt will need. Finally, lay the frame out flat and apply
the brain till the skin's saturated. (You might even repeat this several times.)
When the pelt's as pliable as when green, don't cut it from the frame, as
there will be too much bulk for you to work over a rope. Instead, stand the
frame up and, beginning with a canoe paddle (or something similar), begin
to run a tool down the hide. You'll be stretching the hide and at the same
time squeegeeing the moisture out. You'll only be working the flesh side. The
epidermis will restrict the stretching process, and you'll work your butt off,
but keep at it. You must, till it's dry and soft. As the hide gets drier, graduate
to a smaller stick to stretch with (a rounded-down ax handle will work well).
Along about now you'll begin to wish that you hadn't begun this
project. You'll think it's a "buster," but it'll be worth it. Someone once
showed me an old photo of Native American women "playing" by bouncing
children up and down on a buffalo hide like a trampoline. "Playing,"
hell—they were stretching the hide soft! Whichever way you decide to do
this, it must be continued till it's completely finished. No half-hour breaks
here. For this project it would be best to have one or more helpers. If you've
properly prepared the surface and applied enough brain to achieve complete
penetration, and if you keep the proper stretching up till it's completely dry,
you'll end up with a fine robe indeed.
It's best to smoke the finished pelt or robe in a smokehouse or in the
tipi. If the legs and face are left on, it'll be impossible to sew into a bag.
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Index
Aboriginal pottery, 271. See
also Pottery, primitive
Adzes as tools, 66
Animal parts as containers, 214-15,
217, 219-20, 238-42
Antlers as tools, 56, 57-59
Arrow construction, 105, 130-43
cane, 105
fletching, 138^ 2
materials, 130
process, 132^3
tools, 132
Arrowheads, 72-73
Atlatls (spear throwers), 172-75
Awls as tools, 60-61
Baking, 210-13
Bank lines, 167
Bark containers, 232-36
Basket weave, 225
Baskets, 222-31, 246
coiled, 229-36
materials, 222
process, 222-28
Birds, trapping, 165-66
Boiling, 213-20
Bones as tools, 56-57
Bow construction, 69-72, 105-29
backing with sinew, 121-29
finishing, 116-21
glossary of terms, 111
materials, 106-107
process, 107-15
tools, 106
Bow drills for firemaking, 2-17
making, 2-3
parts, 3-7
using, 7-17
Bows and arrows, 69-72, 100-44
bowstrings, 117-19, 129-30
constructing arrows, 105, 130^3
constructing bows, 69-72, 105-29
See also Arrow construction; Bow
construction
Bowstrings, 117-19, 129-30
Brain tanning, 273-311
braining, 292-94
finishing, 297-300
fleshing, 284-86
framing, 282-84
hair-on method, 305-307
holes, 295-96
materials, 278-80
overview, 275-78
skinning, 281-82
smoking, 301-304
surface preparation, 286-92
tools, 277, 278, 279-80
Broiling, 206-209
Buckskin tanning. See Brain tanning
Cane arrows, 105
Celt as tools, 61-65
Clams, 168
Clay in pottery making, 248-52
Coals, cooking in, 202-206
Coiled baskets, 229-36
Coiling in pottery making, 260-61
Containers, primitive, 221-45
animal parts, 214-15, 217, 219-20,
238-42
bark, 232-36
baskets, 222-31, 246
cordage, 236
stone, 237-38
wood, 73, 243^5
See also Pottery, primitive
Cooking methods, primitive, 201-20
baking, 210-13
boiling, 213-20
broiling, 206-209
using coals, 202-206
Cordage, 23-33, 236
making, 25-26
using animal material, 31-33
using plant material, 26-30
Deadfalls and trap lines, 151-69
Deer, 181-200
cutting up, 196-200
field dressing, 182-87
Ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
processing, 182-200
skinning, 188-90, 281-82
Deerskin pots and buckets, 214-15,
217, 219-20
Digging sticks as tools, 59-60
Drills for firemaking, 2-22, 68
Entrance of shelters, 80
Field dressing, 182-87
Firemaking, primitive, 1-34
bow drills, 2-17
cordage, 23-33
hand drills, 2, 17-22, 68
tips, 33-34
Firing methods in pottery making,
263-69
Fish, trapping, 167-69
Fletching in arrow construction,
138^12
Flintknapping, 36-53
rules, 41^2
safety concerns, 38, 51
techniques, 40, 42-52
Floor of shelters, 78
Food preparation, 201-20
tools, 73-74
Gathering, 170-72
Glue
in arrow construction, 142
in bow construction, 123-28
Hafting, 63-65
Hand drills for firemaking, 2, 17-22,
68
parts, 18
using, 19-22
Hantavirus, 146-50
Hot rock cooking, 213-19
Insects, 176
Jerky, 177-80
Kilns in pottery making, 269, 270
Lean-tos, 83-86
Mano and metate, 73
Meat
cutting, 196-200
hanging, 181-82
and hunting/trapping, 145-69
nutritional value, 151, 177
preservation, 176-80
See also Deer
Mortar and pestle, 74
Mud pack, cooking in, 204-205
Nets, 165-66,168
Nuts, gathering, 171
Packrats, 171-72
trapping, 163
Paddling in pottery making, 255
Paiute deadfall trigger system, 158-60
Parfletche, 239
Pemmican, 177, 179
Pottery, primitive, 247-72
aboriginal, 271
clay, 248-52
construction, 255-62
firing methods, 263-69
materials, 248-54
safety concerns, 255-56
temper, 252-54
Rabbit sticks, 170
Rocks. See Stones
Roof of shelters, 78-79
Sandstone as tool, 55
Seeds, gathering, 171
Shells as tools, 53-54
Shelters, primitive, 75-100
design, 78-80
generic construction, 92-100
lean-tos, 83-86
location, 77
materials, 80-81
safety concerns, 77
thatched wickiups, 86-91
wickiups, 81-82, 86-91
Index 313
Sinews
and bow staves, 121-29
sewing, 307-11
Skinning, 188-90, 281-82
Skins for brain tanning, 281-82
Smoke hole of shelters, 79
Snakes, 171
Snares and trap lines, 151-69
Spear-throwers, 172-75
Staves
curing, 107-108
heating and bending, 113-15
locating, 107
and sinew glueing, 121-29
stringing, 117-19
Sticks
as tools, 59-60
throwing, 170
Stones, 56
containers, 237-38
cooking, 213-19
as tools, 56, 61-65, 73-74
Tanning. See Brain tanning
Temper in pottery making, 252-54
Thatched wickiups, 86-91
Throwing sticks. See also Atlatls
Tools, primitive, 35-74
adzes, 66
antlers, 56, 57-59
awls, 60-61
blunt instruments, 55-56
bones, 56-57
bow and arrow construction, 106,
132
celt, 61-65
digging sticks, 59-60
flintknapping, 36-53
food preparation, 73-74
hafting, 63-65
shells, 53-54
sticks, 59-60
stones, 56, 61-65, 73-74
vises, 67
wood, 55
working with, 68-73
Trap lines and snares, 145, 151-69
Trapping
birds, 165-66
fish, 167-69
packrats, 163
See also Trap lines and snares
Trigger systems for traps, 152-63
Twining in basket making, 224
Vises as tools, 67
Walls of shelters, 78
Wickiups, 81-82, 86-91
Wood
containers, 73, 243-45
as tools, 55
See also specific wooden items
Wooden awls as tools, 60-61
ultimate Guide to Wilderness Living
Resources
Primitive living and survival is an abstract subject. Except for a very few
people (such as members of the military involved in evasion or escape), no
one will ever need these skills. The most primitive of cultures absorb modern
skills as quickly as they are exposed to them (use of steel, firearms, and so
on), and all cultures have been exposed. If we were to be teaching survival
skills in a modern, realistic manner to the general public, we would write
material to reflect this.
We are primitive by choice, and our materials (including this book)
teach you how to successfully live with nothing. If you are looking for "realworld"
information or trying to stay alive when the chips fall, you will want
to check out two books by Cody Lundin: 98.6 Degrees: The Art of Keeping
Your Ass Alive (Layton, Utah: Gibbs Smith, 2003) and When All Hell
Breaks Loose: Stuff You Need to Survive When Disaster Strikes (Gibbs
Smith, 2007).
You also may visit the authors' website, www.prairiewolf.net, where you
can order their books:
Primitive Wilderness Skills, Applied and Advanced
"How-to" Build This Log Cabin for $3,000
Instructional DVDs and videotapes are also available, showing the
principles and techniques covered in this book. Subjects include primitive
fire and cordage, bow and arrow, deer from field to freezer, brain-tan
buckskin, breaking rock and making arrowheads, constructing shelters,
and creating bows.
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