Chapter 1: In the beginning

Hi! Welcome to my campsite. Pull up a rock, here under the tarp. How long have I been doing this? Oh, about seven years now. You really want to hear about all that? I don't mind. All in all it's been fun.

Let's see ... It was early in 2008 when I decided that I wasn't getting any younger. I wanted to see some of the U.S. That I hadn't seen before: the south coast. I didn't have much in the way of cash, but started socking away whatever I could. I didn't waste a dime. I sold my old re-enacting camping gear as it was too heavy to go on this trip and I was clearing out.

I dug out my old copy of "The Complete walker", by Colin Fletcher, now deceased these past few years. I browsed through that tome, bemused at his thoroughness, and his propensity towards a harangue or two. Unlike him I wasn't prepared to carry my world on my shoulders. I decided to go with a one wheeled burro: a plastic-bodied wheelbarrow with a big inflated wheel. I started an exercise regimen: push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups; all that bother. Advil became my friend.

I spent some time that spring breaking in a couple pair of army boots and collecting the odd-and-end that slowly filled in the picture forming in my mind. I settled on a closed-cell foam mattress as it couldn't spring a leak and leave my butt on the ground. Ebay came up with an unused M-65 olive green field jacket--the kind your and my grand-daddy wore in Vietnam. It gave me a kick to sew on my old sergeant's stripes and the black-horse insignia. I bought an army poncho with liner as well. Tried and true, tried and true.

Some guy in Tennessee was making a waterproof single-layer tent that crested at about 6"2". It had no floor and was light as hell. It cost about a hundred and twelve bucks. I'd sleep wrapped in an army O.D. Wool blanket and a small tarp. Nylon tarps are waterproof, tough, lightweight and easy to clean. When the ground was saturated I'd angle back the wheelbarrow and sleep in it. I might need to clear a campsite or break up a bit of firewood. Gerber makes a sharp-as-hell series of hand axes. Their latest offering is called: Sport Axe II. I was becoming one of Campmor's better customers. A local harware store came up with a little rake that was made for under shrubs and hedges. I cut off the handle and threaded on a fitting that would clamp to a stick.

I had a couple 'fishing' shirts that cleaned up nicely. I bought two pair of loose, fast-drying 'Bermuda' shorts, six pair of padded socks, a couple pairs of undershorts and a baseball cap. For cooler weather I stashed a pair of black Microfleece pants, a watch cap and a decent pair of gloves that I already owned into the clothes bag. In went a towel, too. You can always use a handkerchief. I threw in three big ones ... they were about a square yard each. I never did like providing lunch for sand fleas so I bought a pair of knee-length gaiters and a couple of big bottles of jungle juice. I bought four hundred feet of black parachute cord, fifty feet of which I doubled and twisted into a push-thru clothesline. I set aside a couple of three-inch nails for the purpose of supporting it.

To hold everything I bought a big four-foot long black canvas duffle bag and had a big no-fail brass zipper put into it. Those little nylon jobs take one look at me and laugh. I don't laugh with 'em, damn-it.

Each time I looked at that big pile of crap I walked u to it, grabbed the handles and gave it a walk around. I would nod to myself and say "Yep, first week is going to be a bitch."

I still had to add food and a kitchen and I didn't want to carry fuel if I didn't have to. I knew a guy that ran a car repair shop. He would weld up about anything for a few bucks. I had him put together an aluminum cylinder, 6" in diameter and 6" high, with a fully-welded bottom, all made out of 1/4" thick aluminum plate. He punched a few holes in it for ventilation and cut out a hole in the side for adding fuel. Another guy anodized the whole shebang. It looked pretty cool when it was done. I drilled four holes just under the top rim and ran some 1/4" steel rod to hold up a pot. It seems like a lot of work for a little camp stove, doesn't it?

I went through so many camp stoves and spent so much money on them that I gave up. I'd tried everything from a coffee can to propane stove to a Svea 123 to an MSR Shaker-Jet. The Esbit stove was the last thing I'd tried. It was beautiful, made of Anodized aluminum but damn-it, it was too small. All you could burn in it was their stupid fuel tabs. I figured that my ugly Esbit's big brother could burn Esbit tabs, charcoal, found wood or wax fire-starters, if I had to. I had a nice nesting set of anodized pots that would work well with my contraption. I sewed up a little canvas bag to keep it in. I knew that it would collect soot like good suit collects cat hair.

Hmm. Knife, fork, spoon, spatula, cup, whisk, bowl; all were taken care of from my old kit. I wanted a five-pound bag of rice, a couple bags of noodles, a dozen 5-ounce cans of chicken, a half-dozen boxes of mac-and-cheese (cut into half-box portions and put in baggies), a squeeze-bottle of cooking oil, a big baggie of Bisquick and some of the rarer, more expensive foods from a camping store: dehydrated pea soup, vegetables, fruits and Ghee. (long life butter) The boy scouts have learned that a small can of evaporated milk added to good quality powdered milk tastes very close to fresh from the cooler at the grocery store. I don't mind stealing ideas from other people, if it works. A pound or so of corn meal and a big bag of raisins gave me an oatmeal replacement for breakfasts. It cooks nicely into funky pancakes too. I had a little 'squirrel cooker' from my reenacting days. It was a long iron fork with a pole stand. I had a three-inch crossbar brazed to the thing five inches back from the pointy end. This would hold meat spread out to cook. That gave me a pretty flexible kitchen.

Lehman's had a little olive oil lamp that I favored made out of a little bitty mason jar with a screw cap, about the size of a cup. I'd try it out until I left to see if it was dangerous to transport. I bought a bottle of olive oil, a squeeze bottle of dish soap and a dish tub. My water supply consisted of a quart canteen and two one-gallon bottles of water (made from Arizona Iced Tea jugs--very tough plastic). The weight of all that water was a heart-breaker but I knew better than to neglect it. A roll of paper towels in a waterproof bag served as a toilet paper supply. A couple packs of wet-naps went along for those times that one's belly decides to turn itself inside-out. With that in mind I packed a little plastic trowel to dig cat-holes. An M3 medic kit and a roll of garbage bags topped off the mess. Oh, I added a few things to the medical kit; like a bottle of Advil, some cimetidine anti-acid pills and a couple packs of Benadryl tablets--nothing prescription. I threw in a twelve-pack of Durexes out of sheer optimism.

A compass, a set of maps and a forehead-mounted lamp took care of navigation. I decided to cover the whole thing with my sleeping tarp and a spider-web bungee, such as you often see on the back of a pickup truck. I made sure to buy a length of chain and a padlock to make sure my gear didn't grow legs and walk away. I own a small Indigilo (push the button and it glows) digital alarm clock with a temperature sensor. It runs off of one AA-cell for nearly a year. I kept a quart Gatorade jug as a pee jug so I didn't have to roll out of a warm berth during crummy weather to empty my bladder. (It's a guy thing. Forgetaboutit.) I socked away a couple of nice, thick paperbacks to read during down times. Many, many preparations for small trips all merged into one great and grand trip manifest. Everything came together as if it had eyes. Bloody brilliant.

I was puzzled to figure out how to mount the wheelbarrow behind me and walk with a staff, towing rather than pushing. I settled on a belt with a coupler on each hip connecting to a short length of PVC pipe on either side which slid over the handles. A couple of hooks secured it all through a pair of holes drilled just under the rim of the barrow. It followed well and didn't whack me in the ankles. I replaced the tent pole with a slim yet sturdy ash pole 6"2" long. I would the bottom inch with steel wire and put a crutch tip on it to keep the wood from splitting or wearing down.