For protein, I figured I'd search for
some grubs/worms/bugs. I haven’t been hungry enough to pursue
those options in the past. I started out with no food in my system on this trip - just a pot of coffee - in the hopes of enhancing that motivation. I also hoped to trap an animal or two using
primitive deadfalls and snares. I anticipated not getting meat until
the second day (if I was lucky).
I set two traps early on, only a couple
miles into my hike. I have only set up one or two snares in the past,
and never successfully snared an animal (though there was evidence on
one of these occasions that the bait had been taken and the snare
triggered, but the noose was poorly placed).
About 50 yards up the mountainside from
the snare, I found a nice heavy log – an old downed oak trunk about
3 meters long. I found some strong, dead, 1 inch maple stock and
carved the three figure 4 components.
When I tried to set the trap up, the log wanted to slide down the slight incline. I put a heavy rock behind it. Then, the log wobbled side to side and wouldn't balance. I planted two stakes on either side of the log, further down from the figure 4, and loosely tied the tops together.
Finally, I set the figure 4 and it held. I tested the sensitivity once and was satisfied, so I set it up one last time and left it alone.
 |
| Stakes to keep the log from wobbling |
 |
| The figure 4, with peanut butter on the tip of the bait stick |
Looking back at the snare, I saw that it had been set off. No, not
by an animal. By an inadequate stake piece.
I had cut it too short,
and made the notch lip edge too close to its end. The pressure of the
sapling ripped the edge clean off. I carved a more substantial stake
piece, and reset the snare.
I tested the sensitivity with a branch,
and again, it executed perfectly, ripping the branch out of my hand
and dangling it above.
I had spent too long on these traps. I'd set up only two over the course of about two hours. I needed to get a shelter in order, that being
priority #1 in any survival situation. I scolded myself for not following my
own survival priority rules. It was about noon – nothing to panic
about, but it does get dark around 430 this time of year.
Part of the purpose of this trip was to test my
bug-out box and pack – see what was missing and what might be unnecessary. My
bug-out pack, weighing just 15 pounds, contains an 8x10 foot tarp and
a military issue wool blanket (also an emergency foil blanket). So I
could relax a little - no need to build a primitive shelter from
scratch. Still, I would need to collect a lot of debris to stuff my
tarp shelter with.
We've had regular, heavy frosts for a couple of
weeks now. A wool blanket would be nowhere near adequate.
While searching for a good shelter location, I crossed the M-M
ridge at the summit house area.
En route, I found an unbelievable
amount of wintergreen and partridge berries.
For some strange reason,
partridge berries are not listed in many edible plants books (though
they are in the Peterson guide). I suppose it may be because they do
not have a lot of flavor. Just a dry, mildly sweet starchy texture.
But they are a precious survival resource from July through winter,
if you can find them under the snow. I found massive patches of ripe
berries, of which I could pick a handful within 30 seconds. Having
eaten nothing this day, I indulged in many handfuls of the berry. It
was so prevalent I passed up quite a few patches!
I probably ate between a pint and a quart of the berries that afternoon.
 |
| Sometimes you have to dig under the leaves to find partridge berries |
 |
| Less than 30 seconds of work |
Wintergreen berries are bigger, a little juicier, and more
flavorful. They are available at the same times as partridge
berries, and can also sometimes be found under the snow. If you
find wintergreen, you often find the partridge berries nearby. They both seem to like
shady evergreen-dominant forests.
But wintergreen is not as plentiful as
the partridge berry. I found one really impressive patch where I could gather 2 large handfuls. But for the most part, I found only 3 or 4 patches at most
in any given location, and the fruiting patches are rarer. There seem
to be many more plants without the berries. Though, it is nice to
chew the wintergreen leaves as well, even if they don't provide much
sustenance.
 |
| An unusually large bunch of wintergreen berries |
 |
| More commonly just 1 or 2, if any |
 |
| About a minute of work |
I was surprised to find that ALL of the acorns, hickory nuts and
beech nuts were gone! The only ones left I could find were rotten or
moldy inside. It appeared that the squirrels had gotten all of them,
without exception.
I stopped to dig amongst the freshly fallen leaves
many times in search of a single good acorn. Included in my bug-out
bag is a cookset, so I was looking forward to stewed acorns (you have
to boil the tannic acid out of them with several changes of water to
make them edible). No such luck. On my last outing, in September,
there were many good acorns and hickory nuts still on the ground,
though I couldn't enjoy the acorns as I had no cookset.
I guess there
is a short window of opportunity, and I missed it.
I was equally surprised to find no rock tripe (a type of lichen) on this trip. This is another food that requires cooking, and I usually find huge rock faces covered with the stuff. Maybe it's because I was hiking on the southeast side of this mountain range, or maybe they just don't grow in the general region I was hiking.
Because of this, and because I don't have a lot of faith in my
trapping skills, I decided I needed to shelter at a lower altitude,
somewhere near a swampy area which would provide valuable starch in
the form of cattail and/or lily pad roots.
I hiked down in a fairly
aimless fashion, stopping to gorge on partridge berries or harvest a
piece of white pine cambium periodically. I found several swampy
areas, but no cattails or other good edibles. I knew there was a
reservoir somewhere in this area, though I couldn't find it.
Another source of food I was hunting is insects.
I tore apart a
few rotted logs in search of grubs, worms or beetles. I dug the earth
in search of earth worms. I was again surprised by a lack of finding.
One exception was a rotted birch log full of ants with red
mid-sections, and a pile of ant eggs. Not very appetizing, but I've
been meaning to try ants anyway.
It was impossible to grab the ants
separately from the birch dirt, so I grabbed a gallon full of the
mixture of confused ants and rotten birch and stored it in a ziploc
bag (another luxury of the bug-out pack).
I intended to roast them in
my pan later, though I had no idea how to separate them from the
rotten wood.
 |
| Most rotted logs I dug up contained no insects |
 |
| But I hit the motherload of ants here |
I was being very indecisive about shelter location, and not
finding any starchy plants didn't help. I was really enjoying the
hike, with the dynamic cloudy-then-sunny skies. I was alternately
bush-whacking and following streams or unknown trails, without a care
in the world. I just didn't feel like stopping, and was overconfident
on account of my tarp.
I kept saying, “OK, I'll stop and make
shelter at 2, no matter what”. Then 3, then 4. At 330, I really did
stop.
I built a
hybrid tarp-debris shelter by securing my tarp over a fallen log and stuffing it with debris.
 |
| Seemed like a good shelter support |
 |
| A little too roomy, in retrospect |
 |
| Stuffed with debris and ready to be laced shut |
I then used the wool blanket to gather leaves and stuff the tarp
shelter. It took very little time, on account of the recent fall.
Gathering debris this time of year is incredibly fast and easy. The
debris is so fresh and fluffy, not like the year-old, moldy, mostly
rotted debris I'd used for my last shelter.
It was only 430. I
contemplated building more traps to set later. That would be a good
plan if I intended to spend another night out here. Build trap parts
all evening, then set them all up in the late morning. But, I knew I
was heading out the following morning, and I wanted food now.
I was
fairly certain that I was in the vicinity of a reservoir, so I
decided to go for a
night hike in search of cattail. I was worried about finding my way back. Since I was not on a
trail, it was hard enough navigating even in the daylight.
Losing my
way and all my gear along with it was not an option, so I took my
pack and wool blanket with me.
I scanned the barely moon-lit area in
the direction I wanted to hike for an obvious landmark. I found a
massive, black, dry-rotted oak leaning on another oak. I named it the
“icy black hand of death” (mnemonics help to remember landmarks)
and started toward it, counting my paces.
45 paces to the tree. From there, I could see an unmarked path
that went in the direction I wanted to go. 230 paces to a fork in the
trail. Turn left, go 70 paces to a brook. Refill the water bottle
(filter is part of the bug-out bag) and continue another 55 paces to
a dirt road. Repeat the sequence in my head and look back often. Turn
right, go 335 paces. The reservoir! I was so close!
I scoured most of the circumference of the reservoir for cattails,
but was surprised not to find a single one. No lily pads either.
So
much for getting some starch tonight.
I did find some plantain and
dandelion leaves to munch on. The half-moon and (I think) Venus
really lit up the lake. It was so gorgeous, I decided to bundle up
under the wool blanket at the base of an ancient white pine and
listen to the night. I sat there for an hour or so, listening to a
few owls hoot and some unidentifiable crashing in the brush at the
opposite shore. Then the cold became too much, and the moon
disappeared. The temperature dropped quite a bit just while I was
sitting there. I think it was just above freezing.
I packed the blanket up and headed back to camp. It was strikingly
easy to retrace my route, confidently expecting each trail
intersection and landmark by my pace (though my paces on the way home
were about 10% shorter on account of the increased darkness when the
moon hid behind clouds). It was as easy as day hiking, just
different.
 |
| The moon and Venus light up the reservoir |
Back at camp, I lit a fire, collected some hemlock (no, not poison
water hemock!) needles and brewed a pot of tea.
Any kind of tea goes
a long way psychologically, when you don't have food.
The thought of
trying to separate biting ants from rotten wood in the near darkness
did not appeal to me even in my hungry state. Save it for the
morning. At 8, I set up the wool blanket doorway again and retired
for the night.
 |
| Even without food, the fire is comforting |
The shelter was very roomy because of the large diameter of the
supporting log. It got cold FAST. The inside of the tarp
was wet with condensation, so I had to take care not to touch it lest I get even colder.
The cold was not anywhere near dangerous, just
enough to prevent falling asleep - until I wrapped myself in the foil emergency blanket from my bug-out pack.
I crawled out well before the first touch of dawn, at 430. I
finished up the previous night's tea and packed up camp.
I wanted fish. I shouldered the bug-out pack and hiked back to the
reservoir. On the way, I harvested a long, straight sapling. Once
there, still well before sunrise, I pulled out the fishing line spool
and hook from my pack. I attached about 4 feet of line to the end of
the pole, and secured a lead sinker and and hook to the end.
I
collected a handful of objects I thought a fish might confuse for
food and which attach nicely to a hook: some small, hard mushrooms
and a couple of rotted acorns.
I dug around in several areas for
worms or grubs, but again, no luck.
 |
| Not a single ripple to indicate fish activity |
I found a rocky ledge on the
shore with a steep underwater drop off, and dropped the line, slowly
and erratically waving it back and forth, up and down. I switched the
bait half a dozen times. Just before the first light of dawn, there
was a giant splash out in the water, just a little ways away. That
had to be a fish. I thought I
had a nibble several times, but except for that one splash, I saw no
other signs of fish activity. Not one ripple, except for when occasional sprinkles dropped from the heavens.
Once the sun was in the sky, I
gave up, packed up the gear and headed in toward the other side of
the mountains, where my squirrel traps waited.
On the way, I stopped for a snack.
Ants (at least these ones) taste like vinegar. Not a hint
of vinegar. Straight vinegar. This is very strange, and
slightly disturbing.
I made the physical motion of putting roasted
ants in my mouth several times before successfully putting aside my
inhibition. I was surprised by how repulsed I was. I didn't know if I
would be able to overcome it! At first, I opened up the ziploc and
simply allowed several ants to crawl out into the hot pan. But I ran
out of volunteers. So I pulled out the cohesive chunks of rotten wood
and picked them apart, brushing the sleepy ants into the pan. Then I
was left with a bag of rot dust and ants, with no good way to
separate them.
I shrugged and dumped the whole mixture into the pan,
roasting it until all the ants were cooked. Then it was a matter of
plucking out the hot vinegar-flavored crisps, blowing them off, and
crunching away.
There is a nanosecond between when you bite down and when the
ants' exoskeletons explode, spraying your taste buds with boiled,
vinegary ant insides. A great deal of anxiety occurs in this brief
moment, and a burst of hot vinegar does nothing to soothe the
anticipation. After my first bite, I violently spat out the
creatures, thinking I'd bitten into poison. I never quite got used to
it. I have to confess that I did not eat all of them. I'm not a huge
fan of vinegar, or of insects. The combination overwhelmed me after a
bit. This was a lot of work for probably few calories.
I'm not sure
I'd do ants again. Maybe on day 3 of no food. Maybe.
The hike back to my squirrel traps was much faster than the
meandering, berry-picking excursion of the previous afternoon. I was
surprised by how much energy I had in spite of no meal the previous
day. I guess those berries pack a lot of energy. That, and
fasting
doesn't affect me as much as it used to. I
really
hoped to see a squirrel in on of those traps though. A couple hours
later, I easily found my traps using a series of mnemonic land marks
(another “icy black hand of death” tree) and giant arrows
constructed of logs (I've committed the embarrassing error of losing
a trap in the past and was determined to avoid it this time).
It's
neat how much more you pay attention to the landscape when you have
to.
 |
| One of my giant arrows pointing toward the traps |
No squirrels in the traps.
Neither had been triggered.
Furthermore, the peanut butter was
totally undisturbed in both. No one had even
tried to get
the bait! Crushed, I reflected on how careless I'd been the previous
day. I've read that you need to de-scent yourself and your trap
components. Build the components somewhere else, spend some time near
a smoky fire, and quickly get in to the target trap area, set your
traps and get out. Your scent scares wild animals away. Not only did
I make no effort to de-scent, I spent 2 hours in the trapping area!
I don't have enough experience to know
for sure that this is the reason I failed.
Maybe there is something
about the nut season that makes the squirrels uninterested in the
bait – I have a pear tree in my yard which the squirrels rob only
in non-acorn years! They take every single pear from the tree before
it is ripe in a non-acorn year, but otherwise leave nearly all of
them for us to harvest. Maybe the squirrels were totally uninterested
in my peanut butter for that reason (this was an acorn year in that
area). Or maybe they didn't like its rancid smell. Or maybe I just
needed to set many more traps.
Maybe the chance of success for a
random trap is 10% - in that case, you'd want to make at least 10 to
achieve an expected value of 1 trapped animal.
But there is no reason
not
to take the precautions offered by other survivalists. I was just
being thoughtless. Anxious to get to a shelter area, I didn't manage
to set up any others before sunset. I thought about how if I'd been
out for 3 days instead of 2, I could spend all evening the first
night constructing trap parts. I could then spend all of day 2
setting those traps, and check them on day 3. On the other hand, I
could have a stock of trap parts built ahead of time, and set them up
during day 1 of a 2 day outing.
Questions for next time: spend time
building traps ahead of time, de-scent with a fire and avoiding
overly flavorful foods a few days before, set up more traps overall.
Instead of setting only baited traps, take the time to locate fresh
animal sign and pathways, and set unbaited trail snares on animal
pathways.
I'm at the start of a steep learning curve, which is always
frustrating. The key will be to stick with it over the next few
months, keep tinkering, keep trying.
Other lessons learned on this trip -
Shelter: do not build such a roomy shelter when it is cold. Instead
of using a massive log as the main support, use a slender but sturdy
pole, which will allow for tighter construction. Stuff the tarp with
more insulation, and have extra on the outside.
Actually make shelter priority #1. Once it's set up, you can explore or travel for food, but you can't relax until you get it up.
Fishing: I
need a better collection of lures and fake bait.
Bug-out box/bag:
need to get an extra water filter cartridge and figure out how to
know when the current one is shot. Need a better knife in the box.
Need fish hooks and a lure in the box. Need a compass in both/or just
the box. Add some basic, compact calorie source to the pack, like protein or chocolate bars.
