Numpty!!

Brigid from Mausers and Muffins - home on the range found this one.

Beyond that WORDS FAIL ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Approaching Shoes

If your going to spend money, spend it on your shoes or your bed - if you're not in one you're in the other.

I've now put a few miles on a pair of what we call 'outdoors trainers' and the climbing crowd call approach shoes. I'm giving them a massive thumbs up 5.10 camp 4 are the best thing I've bought in ages, really comfy, really grippy, and even though they are shoes not ankle hugging boots they were very suppotive when we walked up Ingleborough a couple of weekends ago. I paid £72 the best I found online was $100.

All the best

SBW

Bruno the dog says Hi to Barkley and the other canine readers.

Due South

As my time here in the north draws to a close and I start to think about the next adventure I was delighted to see on this mornings news that the Scott Polar Research Institute has digitized its catalogue of photographs of Arctic and Antarctic exploration. Wow are we in for a treat!

The Scott Polar Research Institute in the University of Cambridge holds a world-class collection of photographic negatives illustrating polar exploration from the nineteenth century onwards. Freeze Frame is the result of a two-year digitisation project that brings together photographs from both Arctic and Antarctic expeditions. Here you can discover the polar regions through the eyes of those explorers and scientists who dared to go into the last great wildernesses on earth.
Detailed catalogue entries are provided for each image. All image captions are taken from original sources, where known. In digitising this resource the Scott Polar Research Institute has enabled Browsing through the collection by date, expedition or photographer, or searching the content directly.

It's all Here

Hope your as exited as I am

Your pal

The Bushwacker

A Shortish Walk In The Yorkshire Peaks

As the sky looked so majestic, and Saturday school was over for the day. TNM changed into his alter ego BONGO MAN and after: surgically removing Junior Geordie Monkey (TNM's son) from the computer, and rescuing Lennox the black lab puppy from the emasculating love of 'Grandma Yorkshire' (TNM's mum)  we finally set off for a bracing walk in the country. By the time we were actually got out of the door it was getting dark as so we changed destination and headed for Ribblehead. The night was foggy to say the least and as we drove away from Leeds and onto the moors we could only see three road markings ahead.

When we arrived we were delighted by our own powers of organization, we had allowed time for a small libation at the local hostelry - the splendid Station Inn.  

Readers with prolonged exposure to the 'corporate nightmare' public houses that have proliferated in the last twenty years may wish to either; Turn away now (bad thing jealousy) or Set off immediately ( good old-school pub t' station). Through visiting the bar a couple of times (as your representative and strictly in the interests of research) I was able to assemble a northern food parcel to send to the Bushwacker Jnr and The Littlest Bushwacker- Pork scratchings (a tooth cracking snakfood made of salt and pork rinds fried to a rock hard crunch and a bar of Romney's Kendal mint cake - a food synonymous with mountaineering, and fell walking. The packet even records its role in the first successful assent of Everest.
“'We sat on the snow and looked at the country far below us … we nibbled Kendal Mint Cake.' A member of the successful Everest expedition wrote – 'It was easily the most popular item on our high altitude ration – our only criticism was that we did not have enough of it.'"
We feasted on fine, fine pork pies that were kept stacked on the bar, made from gloucestershire old spot pork, sourced within five miles of the Station's kitchen.

As the night wore on we bedded down in the Bongo: northern monkeys and the dog on the fold down seats and your pal the bushwacker in the fold out crows nest. I went to sleep to the sound of a lad of fifteen whingeing indignantly  'but you still haven't made my bed' and TNM laughing heartlessly from the depths of his sleeping bag, a venue which I can vouch, once he has retired to, he is extremely unlikely to leave.

In the morning clouds rolled by lower than the hill tops, a burn tinkled as it disappeared into a pothole, the hills were rolling majestically, the camera spluttered an died.

Sunday morning had dawned bright and fresh, so after breakfasting on beans and eggs a la Bongo we set off up Ingleborough, second highest hill in the Yorkshire dales.

I don't know if you were reading back in the days of my long abandoned training regime, but yes 'Sofa- King-Whacked' just about summed up my journey to the summit. At least this time i wasn't mocked by the drinking pubic, it was the faux concern of JGM. 'are you going to die?' Fortunately he also kept up a running commentary on the state of Lennox's bowl movements  so at least the walk didn't pass without entertainment. 

As usual the 'great british countryside' is covered in crap (with only a small percentage laid by the dog) I fished a full size waste bag out of a stream and soon had it half filled with sweet wrappers, drink cans and other assorted food packaging. All left by people out for the day to enjoy the 'unspoiled' views. And they had the temerity to look at ME as though I'm mad. Go figure?

Your Pal

The Bushwacker

Bicentennial Bushwacker

Cor! Is it that time already?

It really does seem like only yesterday that I started this whole blogging malarky, and here we are at 200 posts.

Am i getting any closer to my moment with Mr Elk? Sort of but its taking a while isn't it.

Massive thanks to all of you who read this.

SBW

The Return Of The F1

My fallkniven F1 dropped onto the door mat a couple of days ago, back from its trip to its birth place in Sweden. Now that it's back I though I do a review after a year or more of use.

I bought the F1 as I'd seen them mentioned on numerous Bushcraft and knife forums and seen a few well thought of instructors using them. While the F1 isn't my idea of the perfect bushcraft knife - blades too thick for fine woodcarving- I do really rate the design. Alone in the woods this puppy would be a wellspring of confidence. For fire and shelter it's absolutely perfect, if you wanted to whittle a violin to play while your waiting to be rescued you may find something a little thinner more to your taste.

Regular readers will remember that I chipped the tip (1mm-1.5mm) a while back splitting a piece of Leylandii for a backyard fire. I wasnt that impressed, but in fairness to fallkniven I had already subjected the knife to some heavy use during which it had acquitted itself admirably. 

One of the key feature of a 'survival knife's is that it needs to be a 'pry bar with an edge' and buoyed with the confidence of other peoples user reports I took them at their word and treated it without mercy. After the testing I did in the first few days I had cause to take up all the carpet in the bottom part of the house; cut it into pieces small enough to sneak into the domestic rubbish collection, take up what seemed like miles of carpet tracking (the nail studded wooden strips that holds your carpet against the wall) and then pry up a few floor boards. No problem. Scratches? Yes loads, but it kept an edge and showed no signs of bending.

Then I set out to teach myself convex sharpening, using the mouse mat method, and although it pains me to tell you this - I suck at it. The idea is that you glue a range of different abrasives papers to the undersides of old mouse mats and by pulling the blade over the abrasive service you'll sharpen the edge, while maintaining the 'apple seed' shape of the blade. Many, many people have achieved spectacular results with this method. One day I may even join their ranks.

If you fancy a go yourself here's the top tip I SHOULD have followed.

The only pressure you need is the weight of the blade, ANY pressing down on the blade will round the edge not sharpen it. Opps!

I put the F1 in the post to Peter Hjortberger, owner of fallkniven, and this is what he emailed back to me.

......Your knife has arrived. What I find is a well used knife, very blunt edge and a loss of the tip of around 1.5 mm. Regular wear and tear is NOT covered by our warranty. Our offer is to regrind your blade into a good shape for free but charge you for the return cost......

I thought this was a fair assessment of the situation and gratefully coughed up for the postage.

Team Fallkniven have refinished the blade to a wicked edge, sharper than when it came out of the box, and put a shine on the blade that would let you signal to a rescue plane. The blade seems a little thinner than I remember it, but I didn't/don't have a micrometer handy.

The person who re worked the blade took a bit of metal off the ricasso (where the handle ends and where the shaping of the edge begins) I'm sure many Britishblades or knifeforums members would be livid, but as I keep having to explain to my nearest and dearest I'm not a knife collector, I'm an enthusiast. They're tools to me.  

So, having been thoroughly tested,  I can give what I expect to be my final assessment of the F1. 

• Worth the money? YES 

(I told a well known knife vendor what I paid for mine and the look on his face made me think they aint that cheap wholesale, but even during our current exchange-rate-meltdown they're still a lot of tool for the cash - if you are after one: I keep seeing bargains on british blades in the Portobello Rd forum)

• Holds an edge? YES (It'll withstand anything. Except incompetence)
  
• Strongly made? YES  (very, beating it this deep destroyed the Oak mallet I used)

• Fit for purpose? YES (they were designed as survival knives, not scalpels, not bushcraft knives. They also make excellent carpet removal tools)
  
• Would I buy another? What do you think? ;-)

Wait 'till you see the bayonet I got for my birthday!!

your pal

The Bushwacker

A Tale of Two Rounds

I've managed to include all three still life knife/gun blog conventions in this picture. 

Camo, Steel and Brass! 

Note to self - Get A Life

SBW

Metsakaamera Or Wild Pig TV

This one may prove fruitful for any other armchair nature watchers. It's a game camera in Estonia that's becoming a bit of an internet phenomenon 75,000 people A DAY have logged on!

See what's happening NOW

The main site is linked here and they have several other cameras featured. I would tell you more about it, but to be honest I've already neglected my homework quite long enough.

Enjoy

your pal 

The Bushwacker.

Adventure Writing: An Outsider Art

It's been a while since I wrote about the books that are the inspiration for this blog. There are a few that have given me a glimpse of how I'd like to be, shaping my thinking and aspirations. 

The thing that connects them all is that they chronicle the journey of outsiders. Some have the outsider label forced upon them, others are compelled to seek out new ways of being to escape a life they feel unsuited to.

Ishi was the ultimate outsider; having literally stepped out of the stone age into the Edwardian age. But his story wouldn't have been brought to life for me in the same way if it weren't for his friend and counterpoint Saxton Pope. A man who, when the chance presented itself was ready to make the journey in the opposite direction.   If I couldn't become more like Ishi; wild, free, and indistinguishable from the landscape. I'd happily settle for being like Saxton Pope. The old school gent afield, bypassing convention, passionately curious about the world beyond his understanding, while carrying the good bits of home with him. An outsider partially by choice, partially because it's his default setting to swim against the tide.

Another inspiration who fits that frame is Eric Newby. Not a hunter or fisherman, but a total card, and some spinner of yarns....

'A Short Walk In The Hindu Kush' is one of the greatest travel books ever written and how its written. Newby conjures up the droll gentleman adventurer better than anyone, with the notion of adventure as a pursuit anyone could take up as an alternative to say, playing bridge or stamp collecting.

Newby could never have been mistaken for an ordinary man, not even at a hundred yards. His youth was full of high adventure; leave private school, work aboard a four-masted ship, win boxing matches against other crew members, serve in the special boat service (the SAS without the shoot-and-tell autobiographies) taken prisoner in WWII, escapes, betrayed, recaptured, meets Wanda, after the war returning to Italy to see the people who had sheltered him and while he's there he marries the stunning Wanda.

Surely this would be enough to convince anyone that they had a certain something. Something, which should be listened to. Followed even. But somehow he found himself working in woman's fashion, a field he latter admitted that he was totally unsuited for and had been told he was unsuited to. Daily. For ten years.

During the lunch hour of one particularly trying day at the office [told to hilarious effect in chapter two] he was to send a telegram to his pal Hugh Carless that changed his already remarkable life forever.

CAN YOU TRAVEL NURISTAN JUNE?

He returned from lunch a changed man. Sending that telegram was powerful magik. Magik that was to evoke all that was best in him. Providence of course answered, in this case by return telegram.

OF COURSE, HUGH.

Within weeks he has jacked in his job, set about filling their small flat’s living room with the giant bewildering pile of specialist kit that such an endeavor needs. Rented the flat out, arranged for Wanda and the children to live with his mum and dad. Wanda must absolutely rock because she thinks this is all good and accompanies the boys on the first leg of the journey!

In order to get the visas they need Newby and Carless decide that a compelling reason to go to Nuristan would be - mountaineering. Knowing the sum total of not-a-lot about mountaineering they decide that a weekends ‘practice’ would be in order and spend the weekend in a hilly part of Wales seeking guidance from climbing obsessed waitresses and bearded men in rough-hewn sweaters. I could spend all night writing out hilarious scenes from the book, but I’m not going to spoil it for you.

Newby is prepared to go a long way to break out of the monotony of a life that is totally untrue to him. However much he understates it, he is the real deal himself - a true explorer. Finding hither to hidden parts of himself in unmapped parts of the world. 

One scene that resonates with me shows that just like the rest of us, however far you go to escape the disappointing mediocrity of the modern world, even when he’s stepped over the ragged edge and is trekking though an alien landscape amongst people whose lives and customs havent changed much since the time of their prophet, he bumps into a living legend whose been SO much further.

We came down into a junction in the Panjshir river. We'd been travelling all day, and all night, crossing a very wild pass. "Look," said Hugh, my companion, "it must be Thesiger."
Thesiger's horses lurched to a standstill on the execrable track. They were deep-loaded with great wooden presses, marked "British Museum", and black tin trunks.
The party consisted of two villainous-looking tribesmen dressed like royal mourners in long overcoats reaching to the ankles; a shivering Tajik cook, to whom some strange mutation had given bright red hair, unsuitably dressed for central Asia in crippling pointed brown shoes and natty socks supported by suspenders, but no trousers; the interpreter, a gloomy-looking middle-class Afghan in a coma of fatigue, wearing dark glasses, a double-breasted lounge suit and an American hat with stitching all over it; and Thesiger himself, a great, long-striding crag of a man, with an outcrop for a nose and bushy eyebrows, 45 years old and as hard as nails, in an old tweed jacket, a pair of thin grey cotton trousers, rope-soled Persian slippers and a woollen cap comforter.
"Turn round," he said, "you'll stay the night with us. We're going to kill some chickens."
We tried to explain that we had to get to Kabul but our men, who professed to understand no English but were reluctant to pass through the gorges at night, had already turned the horses and were making for the collection of miserable hovels that was the nearest village.
Soon we were sitting under some mulberry trees, surrounded by the entire population, with all Thesiger's belongings piled up behind us. "Can't speak a word of the language," he said cheerfully. "Know a lot of the Koran by heart but not a word of Persian. Still, it's not really necessary. Here, you," he shouted at the cook, who had only entered his service the day before and had never seen another Englishman. "Make some green tea and a lot of chicken and rice - three chickens." After two hours the chickens arrived; they were like elastic, only the rice and gravy were delicious. Famished, we wrestled with the bones in the darkness.
"England's going to pot," said Thesiger, as Hugh and I lay smoking the interpreter's king-size cigarettes, the first for a fortnight. "Look at this shirt, I've only had it three years, now it's splitting. Same with tailors; Gull and Croke made me a pair of whipcord trousers to go to the Atlas Mountains. Sixteen guineas - wore a hole in them in a fortnight. Bought half a dozen shotguns to give to my headmen, well-known make, 20 guineas apiece, absolute rubbish."
The ground was like iron with sharp rocks sticking up out of it. We started to blow up our air beds. "God, you must be a couple of pansies," said Thesiger.

The last word goes to the writer Evelyn Waugh who, mistaking our Newby for another Newby, agreed to write a preface for the first edition.

'Dear reader if you have any softness left for the idiosyncrasies of our rough island race, fall to and enjoy this characteristic artifact.'

Enjoy

SBW

Weekend Reading

Have a look at this fascinating article about how a community decides which innovations are likely to help and which are likely to hinder. Very cool and well written too.

Enjoy

SBW

I Want One - A Not So Occasional Series Pt6

The season approaches and a Suburban Bushwackers thoughts turn to; Trout, buying stuff he don't need, and milled aluminum for milled aluminum's sake.

Scholars have long known that fishing eventually turns men into philosophers. 

Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to buy decent tackle on a philosopher's salary. 

Patrick F. McManus

Sex on a stick (sticks in carbon, fiberglass or bamboo) from Halo Reels

Your pal

The Bushwacker

S'now Its time For Archery

Snow had closed my course down for two days. so we had an afternoon free. we put the time to good use. Archery! Posture,upper body strength, breathing, aim, release and the bow all need some work.

The Northern Monkey had scouted out some land and on the walk in we found a dumped black plastic air vent. Target!

TNM shot ever tighter groups, while I couldn't even manage a loose association.
Luckily a sudden fart of wind was sent by the coyote god, and one of my arrows smashed the target!

TNM retorted with a 'tree splitter'.But still NIL POINT!

Showing another great example of th sheer dumb luck that has sustained me so far, another field point juddered home. Here you see me explaining to The Northern Monkey the traditional 'salute' used to remind the french that our archery skills are superior to theirs.

The bow is way too big for me,[I cant remember my draw from my days at the archery class'].

It's much more TNM's size so I shan't morn leaving it with him. After all, he needs the practice!!

Keep Warm
SBW

For Bongo Man

Here's one for Bongo Man AKA The Northern Monkey

How cool is that dude? How cold must you be now? Brrr!

Keep warm fella, and say Hi to Sir Hiss
SBW

It's A Different World Up Here

New To The Blog Roll

The collective name for a flock of snipe is Wisp - a wonderfully evocative, melancholic name, ideally suited to the half a dozen or so birds I saw vanish on a cold, starkly beautiful day.

I've received an email from a new blogger, who writes the amateur naturalist blog, great prose and great photography, so i thought i'd invite you all to stop by  and take a look. The blog only started last month so i wouldn't usually mention it until it had a few more posts.However I found something beguiling in the writing style, is it just because its 5.30am ? You decide. 

SBW

Down Among The Variables.

I just got in from a dog walking session with NPM (northern plumbing mate) and noticed a new post from The Gear Junkie about the very puffer jacket brand I'd been raving about to NPM, Canada Goose.

As we walked around the park I was boiling in my puffer jacket- I had to vent three times and ended up taking the hood down and my hat off. On the way back to the house I my arms the were suddenly cold. They were soaked through and the cold had started to bite. I was reminded of a conversation I'd had with Tobermory...... 

To set the scene: your pal the bushwacker is seeking advise before facing 'difficult' clients

Tobermory [who you met here]: (kindly wise eyes a twinkle)

'You're ready, you think you can do it'

SBW: (looking across the yawning chasm between our levels of talent, wisdom and experience)

'I guess so'.

Tobermory: 'What are you doing to buy insurance?'

SBW: 'Reduce the variables, I don't want any surprises. Find consistent capabilities and build from there.'

Tobermory: 'even more useful if you know the operational range of those capabilities'

SBW: 'Ahh I getcha! Like a down jacket is the warmest thing in the world while your stood still, but as the warmth starts to make you sweat, moisture rises into the down which losses its thermal efficacy, and the rising heat makes the snow melt on the outside surface, wetting the down from the outside, further lowering the jackets TOG value ' 

Tobermory 'It's your metaphor. I have no idea what you're talking about but it looks as though it works for you'

SBW: 'its camping gear, for harsh conditions'

Tobermory: Yes I've experienced those, where room service isn't 24 hour, Brrrrr'

Keep warm guys

SBW

Come In Mrs BoB - Your Audience Awaits

Exiting news from the south island. Mrs BoB will be writing a guest post in which she'll interview her brother, Outdoorsman, Wildfowler, Pig Hunter, and Spear Fisherman. I've met the man in question, but before he started hunting. So I'm really looking forward to hearing all about how he got started, what the bars to entry are in NZ, how firearms licenses work there, what he's bagged. Of course it wouldn't be The Suburban Bushwacker if we didn't learn what gear he uses and what gear he would use if money were no object. I can't wait. 

If you're curious too, please leave comments telling Mrs BoB 

A: how much you want to hear what she has to say

B: To get on with it!

Hint Hint

SBW

Clebz - What They Think We Want To Hear?

Outdoor Life have collected together a few choice words about hunting and fishing - all uttered by attention seeking numbskulls.......

Let's start with Macca (Paul McCartney) a man who currently uses his media soapbox to vent his frustrations at his former friend, who had the temerity to die before scores could be settled.

Really, I'm not joking scroll down to controversy.

"Many years ago, I was fishing, and as I was reeling in the poor fish, I realized, 'I am killing him—all for the passing pleasure it brings me.' "And something inside me clicked. I realized as I watched him fight for breath, that his life was as important to him as mine is to me."

Can we believe him?

I would like to draw the courts attention to this interview in the The Sunday Times

He told “the guys, particularly John [Lennon], about this meeting and saying what a bad war this was”. Tariq Ali, [renowned lefty firebrand] who led antiwar demonstrations in London, said:
“This is news to me. We never heard of Paul’s views at the time. “It was John Lennon who was concerned about the war. He never mentioned McCartney and I never thought of asking him to join us.”

Milking cheap sentimentality has its place, song lyrics, being the ideal forum, and he was good at it. But lecturing others on how they should share his views, about the fluffy bunnies playing in the field is inviting mockery.

So Bushwacker, now that you've made your feelings about Mr McCartney known, why the picture of Lilly Allen?

I liked her dress (click the pic for a closer view of the pattern) and, well, what's not to like?

Your pal

Suburban  disgusted of tunbridge-wells BushWacker

Over Night Sensation

A while back I spent a month in the Languedoc region of southern France, and did we do some great eating. Here's the local specialty.

Cassoulet was originally cooked in the ovens of the village bakery with every family having an earthenware dish with their own symbol or crest on it, the first part was done at home and the dish dropped off at the bakery to be picked up on the way home from the fields the next day.

This should be enough for six of you

600g of dried Haricot beans

600g of pork shoulder diced (how a frenchman hunts a pig)

400g of Toulouse sausage

50g of pork rind 

6 confit duck legs (how a wild food hero confits his duck legs)

1 large onion chopped as fine as you have the patience for

1 large onion studded with cloves

1 head of garlic chopped even finer than the onion

1 generous bundle of herbs (AKA bouquet garni -The green part of a leek, some thyme, a couple of bay leaves and some celery tops - tied up with a piece of string)

2 hearty pinches of rock salt

1 spoon of crushed peppercorns (green if you've got them - black at a pinch)

A glass of wine

And as much duck fat as your conscience will allow.

Lets get into it:

Blanch the beans in boiling water, skimming of any foam, 20 minutes should do it.

Change the water, add the studded onion, and bouquet garni, bring it all to the boil and turn it right down to the lowest simmer you can set you hob to. You'll need to cook this part for about 1.5 hours.

Brown the pork in some duck fat, a few pieces at a time and set aside.

Brown the sausages and set them aside.

Brown the duck legs and set them aside too.

Brown the pork rind in some more duck fat, then add and sweat the chopped onion down to mush, adding the garlic when the onion is well under way so as not to burn it.

Put all the browned parts in an oven proof dish, cover with water and simmer until everything is cooked.

Assemble the whole lot in an oven proof dish, making sure there are a good layer of beans on the bottom to avoid sticking. Add the wine and top up with water. 

leave the whole lot to stand, traditionally over night, but I usually just wait until the oven is up to 180c. Cook for about 1.5-2 hours adding more water if you need to.

Serve with proper bread, a big red, and finish with a fat cigar.

bon appetite 

SBW

Only The Good Bit

Hanks comment about being 'Scots-Irish' set me thinking aloud (in the relevant accents) about our own heritage to Bushwacker Jnr.  We're Northern European Heinz 57, and more comically, a mix of Welsh hookers and Russian aristocrats, but that's a story for another day.

Bushwacker Jnr. 'Am I a bit Welsh too dad?'  

SBW (in silly Welsh accent) "Only the good bit, boyo, Only the good bit"

After years of only eating under duress Bushwacker jnr has finally started to show an interest in the sport of his forefathers, face stuffing. I'm an eater, BoBs an eater, our Dad's an eater. 

On the other other side of the river [ex] Mrs SBW's brothers are all eaters, and even the legendarily skinny Mrs SBW can put away huge amounts of grub.

Bushwacker jnr: "What do they eat in wales?"

SBW (still in a comedy welsh accent) "Leeks, Lamb, and that most perfect of foods The Welsh Cake. Bud."

Welsh cakes are very very easy to make, even easier than Bannock and Biscuit. You can make them in a skillet over your campfire, or in an un-greased frying pan at home, but my guess is that they were originally cooked on top of a  range, where they could cook on the residual heat left from other cooking or heating water.

The recipe has only five ingredients

2 parts flour

1 part fat

1 part sugar

some dried fruit (or as I explained it to bushwacker jnr 'anything other than Currants')

1 egg

Blend the dry parts together in a bowl with your fingers as though you were making a crumble, then stir in the egg with a spoon.

Form the whole lot into a sausage shape and slice it into discs. The little people liked shaping the cakes by hand , but you being as sophisticated as you are dear reader, could cut them out using the rim of a Champagne glass.

Cook low and slow in an un-greased pan until pale brown on both sides.

If they seem a little soft in the middle, just turn off the heat and come back in a while.

Great fun to do, and anything that sells the kids on the idea that they could cook for themselves is bound to be labour saving in the long run.

Enjoy

SBW