Franke Schein

Tuesday, December 27, 2011

Sanctuary Among The Trees: Part 2

The rain hasn’t stopped for several hours. A cold wind whips down through the trees, sending droplets of water streaming into my face. At least most of the mosquitos have given me a little break. Like a dog shaking dry its fur, I shake the water from my boonie hat; the tiny flow of cold water stops rolling down the back of my neck.

For most of the afternoon I have trudged through the slippery foliage against the driving rain. The incessant rain continued unabated throughout my trek, making the going even more difficult than before. Underneath my feet the saturated ground gives way to a quagmire of mud which threatens to slip my ankle at every turn. Already the extra burden of watching every foot-fall has taken its toll—my legs muscles scream for a rest.

I stop and look around me; casting a quick glance at my wristwatch I see that time has once again slipped by. It’s near evening, and already the coming darkness quickly interfuses with the foreboding dark of the forest. Across to my right I see a small trail; a tiny sliver of brown amidst the green surrounding it. A few quick steps and I understand what I am seeing; an age old game trail that has been used by bear and moose alike to work their way down out of these mountains. This is evidenced by the many fresh bear tracks, some only hours old. Others indeterminable.

To my left a steep hillside rises higher into these eternal mountains; to my right a terraced drop-off leading down to a stream. I am halfway between the high and low ground—halfway between the light remaining overhead, and the night that is hungrily approaching.

With no time left to find a suitable camp, I spot a tangle of trees. Branches run amok among their heights; my eyes following along a thick branch jutting out from among the rest. The height is a mere twenty feet from the ground, but it’s girth will allow me to remain safely out of reach in this bear trodden area. It seems to be my only choice. Already my sore muscles congratulate me, as already my feet are carrying me towards my sleeping area.

Dropping may rucksack, and securing my rifle and gear to it; I attach a fifty foot length of cammie rope to it; the other end tied to by belt loop. The rough bark of this aged tree scrapes against my fingers as I begin my ascent into its awaiting clutches. Using every branch as a hand and foot hold, I find myself climbing higher within its lofty view until I can climb no more.

The wind whispers through my hair as I look around me taking in the magnificent view below. To some men, this view would would cost them a million dollars—to me it is but a few moments of strenuous climbing.

My rucksack is tied against the tall tree trunk. Crammed between two outwardly pointing limbs, I have secured myself a perch. I will not be able to lay down, but having positioned my rucksack just so—I am able to sit on it and lean back without fear of falling. Later I will tie myself to this tree to keep me safe up here; but for now I am content to be off the well travelled bear trail. Safely tucked up here where the wind will carry my scent away.

Laying on my back with my legs dangling over the edge of the limbs, I truly feel alive out here among the wilds that so few have experienced. It’s not often that humanity veers from it’s modernized path to find itself a guest among nature. As I lay here gazing across the lush expanse of the forest below, and feeling the pitter-patter of rain drops against my poncho; I am reminded that our humanity is fragile as a jetliner passes quietly overhead. Its blinking lights a testament to humankinds inventions—a reminder that technology is weak when compared against nature. There is no noise as the jet fades from view, only the sound of the rain against my clothing. and the sound of my chewing the Wheat Bread rations that I have brought with me.

Tonight's meal will be cold. Military crackers smeared with peanut butter and jelly; washed down with lukewarm instant hot chocolate. A scrumptious feast among the swaying branches; a delicacy nourishing the body and mind. Twenty feet below the rain cascades from the base of this old tree, its wave of water spreading outwards to be hungrily drank by the thirsty forest floor.

Already the night has once again crept up on me. My eyes have adjusted to the almost dark. The rains make for a darker night, but the darkness hides me from the savage below; the cold wind sending my smell higher among the tall trees; denying the bears my presence.

My poncho is worn like a cape to protect me from the driving rain. Here and there I have to adjust my position to keep out small wet stains. The toes of my boots are soaked, but so far my feet remain dry. With my head peeking out from under the rubberized hood, and safely tucked away inside of my rain suit; I will probably stay relatively dry up here. I’d rather be soaking wet, than be bloody dead down there.

Most of these game trails have existed for centuries before man came to this place. The trail is dotted with scat from different animals; fresh prints mingle with old prints. Wolf, Moose, Bears, and small rodents use this trail. It is not a safe place for my kind to remain long. Even remaining in close proximity requires careful planning. This place is not for the uninitiated who wildly tromp through its confines demanding all around to bend to their will. Many have learned the difficulties of this; many have learned it the hard way. One cannot bargain with nature or its wild beast; one cannot hope to force their will upon either. Many travellers to this wild country have vanished, to never be heard from again—Ever!

As I slip off to sleep, my mind wanders across the far reaches of time. I remember the reason that I came here; the nexus of all that has sent me to this place. I imagine a world gone sour; the suffering of humanity, the pain of reliance upon technologies that are apt to fail. I feel a loss inside of my very heart when contemplating these things. My mind’s eye plays vivid movies of these things—and I vow to myself that I will not allow these things to corrupt me. I remember the jetliner cruising across my vision earlier. I can almost see the passengers sipping drinks, and staring thousands of feet below into the darkness that keeps me safe. I wonder if these people understand the unnaturalness of their flight. That should nature unleash its fury; their delightful journey may suddenly come to an abrupt end. It’s not my nature to dwell upon these events; I dare not challenge the universe. But deep inside of all that I am, of all that I have come to be—I understand the meaning to my purpose, and I understand the urgency that has been imparted to me. My only regret is that many people exists with their unseeing eyes. They are blind to their environment. They have become deaf to the sounds of mother earth’s discontent—and perhaps in our lifetimes she will remind us even more that we, like our animals cousins, are simply as fragile as seeds sowed upon the winds.

******

Daylight finds me once again working the kinks out of my sore back, It’s been a very long night up in the safety of those trees. Earlier as daylight made its appearance, I spotted a grizzly bear with her three cubs plodding along the trail below my perch. The little ones looked happy romping along behind momma—and she, like so many other animals in this forest, intent on feeding her small family.

The rain had stopped somewhere in the early dark hours of the morning. I was oblivious, tucked inside of my makeshift poncho tent. Occasionally a gust of wind would ruffled the edges of the poncho, but soon the tiredness sent me spiraling back down into my sleep.

Now, as my feet once again feel the firmness of the ground; I hurry away from this area, my belly growling for food. With my left foot placed in front of my right, I leave the sanctuary of the trees and head further uphill to assuage my wet and tired muscles.

Less than an hour later I see the perfect spot. Overlooking a large stream I set about to dry my gear, and get some hot food inside of me.

Wisps of steam rise from the canteen cup of boiling water. A bag of freeze dried scrambled eggs and peppers will provide the sustenance that is needed to make the last few miles into the Safe Area. Several cups of coffee will also help to shake the coldness from my bones. While waiting for the water to boil, I strip down my weapons and carefully clean and oil each component.

The sunlight against my face warms me somewhat; but more importantly—it tells me that todays journey might be a little easier. All around me the scent of raw nature floods my senses. The smell of damp grass, the way that the earth smells; intermingling with the smell of pine trees. It’s quickly becoming a paradise, a place that I could forever remain. But my destination calls out to me. I have reason to continue my trek through the myriad of spectacular countryside ahead of me.

With one final look backwards, my feet begin their journey forward into the trees. My eyes scan the skies overhead, noting the potion of the sun; and just as quick, my eyes begin their systematic search of the undergrowth as I am carried along this odyssey deep within the jungle called Alaska.

Along the way I encounter many animals; the small chipmunks, rabbits, ptarmigans, and grouse. These creatures make their home here among the trees; and they pay little attention to me as I work my way through the tangled undergrowth. The ground is littered with Moose tracks. Fresh droppings tell me that meat will not be a problem here. The problem is when Man enters these woods to slaughter these magnificent animals for sport, or to acquire a trophy. It trespasses upon all that I hold sacred. I have arrived here from a long line of hunters dating back to the beginning of time itself. My bow and arrow feel as natural to me as cell-phones feel to others. It is a way to feed those that are hungry, it is a means to provide hide shelters from the cold rains—it is not a sport to relish and cherish; as taking the life of an animal needlessly upsets the balance of nature’s energy. There will be an accounting for this in another life.

***

A few hours later I arrive at my Safe Area. Hidden from view along a series of ridges, the area that I have chosen is the perfect spot. I look around to reacquaint myself; and am surprised to see that I am not the only one calling this place home. A pair of Swan have made it their own, and I watch from the tree line as they nurture each other in their own magnificent way. These two have mated for life. Each becoming part of the other; these heavenly creatures will spend their lives in perfect harmony with nature, and in perfect harmony with each other.

I walk around the edges of the pond to see what animals are drinking from it. The many trails leading down to its banks tells me that game is plentiful. I will not go hungry in this place. Nature will provide me with what I require, as long as I do not abuse the privilege.

***

Unearthing my cache from deep within its hidden lair, I am astonished to learn that everything that I have stashed two years ago has remained safe. Contained in several buckets are essential supplies that will carry me through rough times. Food, clothing, tools, and other gear that has been laboriously hauled up here by snow-machine. My buried supplies are one of many such “caches” that have become an integral part of my survival planning. I have no false-illusions that living off the land during the winter months is possible. Animals head further towards the coastal areas when the deep snows cover the land; edible plants remain under five feet of snow. Life in the Alaska bush in the winter is severe.

I spend the next hour setting up a series of snares; hoping to catch a wild rabbit or two. I have plenty of food with me, but it’s always good to supplement my rations with fresh meat.

With my camp all prepared for the coming darkness, I find myself inexorably drawn to the comfort of a moss covered spot. Arranging some branches to hide my form, I slip down onto the warm earth and find contentment in the sounds of nature. All around me the quiet noises of the forest lulls me down into a satisfying sleep.

I have chosen this place as a refuge in case things back in The World goes south. Here among the craggy peaks of the mountains, I find myself drawn backwards in time to an age where a Man, such as I have arisen from, made his solitary way throughout his existence. I am sure, insomuch as is possible—that he and I share many of the same thoughts when so confronted with the beauty and bounty of nature. Deep within me I sometimes feel his presence urging me onwards, guiding me through the tangle of these woods, and sometimes through the tangles of life among humanity as well. The ancestral bond remains unbroken out here. It grows and nourishes the spirit of him, and those that came after him; flooding my sense of identification with this place, this time—and thus all that it means to me.

I have named this place—Home…

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E-Mail: frankeschein@hotmail.com

Monday, December 26, 2011

Sanctuary Among The Trees: (Part 1)

It’s 2pm Thursday afternoon; as my ride pulls away, I wave a final goodbye to civilization. The next few days will be spent living out of my Bug Out Bag—testing my own survival skills.

Quickly I creep into the thick brush and squat down. Listening and watching to see if my infiltration has gone unnoticed. I’m surrounded by thick brush, tall trees, and downed-timber from the recent ice storms last season. The air is slightly nippy, but the sun peeking out from behind the clouds brings a little light into the otherwise gloomy Alaska boreal forest.

My Lensatic Compass gives me the bearing that I will be taking. It’s nearly fifteen miles to my Safe Area; a little spot on top of a remote hill surrounded by a large boggy marsh. It’s one of the intermediate areas that I have set-up as a cache point. I hope to reach it as soon as possible.

The leaves squish underneath the soles of my hunting boots as I stalk through the maze of Alaska jungle. It’s quiet out here; other than the sounds of mosquitos, and the occasional sounds that nature makes, for all intents it feels like I have stepped back into time itself.

A Rugger .338-Winchester Magnum rifle is held close to my chest. It’s my grizzly bear rifle. The powerful cartridge kills moose and bears with impunity; That’s what they are designed for, that why I carry it. A shoulder holster carries my defensive handgun; a Taurus “Raging Bull” .454-Casull Magnum. The powerful handgun serves as my last ditch protection, and a back-up hunting weapon. But it doesn’t belay the fact that some bears like to wait in ambush, and then pounce out of the brush at speed equal to a horse. Many hunters and hikers have been savaged in this way—with little or no warning. I don’t intend to become a victim if at all possible.

My steps are quite but sure. Each step brings another fifty yards into view. Each brush is scrutinized, each downed log is searched with my eyes, each step through the maze of lumber carries me deeper into the dark gloom that has slowly surrounded me like a fog. My eyes take in every nook and cranny that could harbor a predator. Making my way silently through the million year old forest—my friend and my adversary.

I am at home here. The lush green wraps itself around me like a warm coat. The air flowing into my nose is filled with clean air, the scent of old dirt, and the aromatic spice of nature’s returning from its winter sleep. The varied hues of colors dazzle my eyes—overhead the shrill cries of a Raven remind me that I am a trespasser in his home. But I smile and send my mental signals of friendship up to him, asking him to keep watch over me—but he is already out of sight—a mere dark speck against blue skies.

My nose picks up the slightest scent of wood smoke. It’s faint, and far off. But that means other people are out here with me. I check the wind; it’s coming from my left. The upper leaves in the trees confirm this. I cannot allow anyone to see me out here. They must be made oblivious to my presence. Dropping to my left knee I listen for sounds; closing my eyes-willing my senses to reach out beyond the horizon. Using my mind to comb the area—tuned for the slightest disturbance in the energy field. After a few minutes; satisfied that I am alone, I resume my solitary trek deeper into the forest. I alter my compass heading three degrees towards the right, and count each step using my pace-count beads.

My feet carry me through twisting ravines, steep hills, and have me scrambling across countless downed trees, I notice the ground underneath is getting a little firmer. I have made it out of the valley; somewhere ahead of me rises the snow-capped mountains—my destination.

Throughout the afternoon the shadows creep along beside me. The air grows thinner, and I feel a change in the air. Night is coming soon. My eyes take in the sun’s position, the quietness creeping through the forest. There is a slight perceptible change around me—a primitive, almost ancestral-nocturnal fear reaching forward from the dawn of my ancestors time; reminding me that night brings death. It is time to find shelter, and appease my gnawing hunger.

A small hillside beckons me to rest; a cozy patch of sunlight illuminating a small comfortable circle of light. A downed log replete with soft moss--It cries out to me, demanding that I take rest upon it; but light and clearing is death in these woods. I choose the dark foreboding scrub-filled bog; a place better suited for defense—a place that hides my unnatural form and actions.

I kneel and listen; analyzing each sound, processing every movement of leaves and twigs; tasting the air as it flows part me. Sensing beyond my eyes for a tell-tale disturbance, an unnatural color or line; for the smell of something foreign. But all that returns to me is quite—I am alone out here, at least for now.

Moving quietly and slowly, I shed my rucksack and pull it behind me as I crawl deeper into the thorn filled thickets. My cheeks are ripped by the thorns, and somewhere on my right knee I feel a stab of pain, but I cannot stop until I am firmly inside this protective wall of punishment. The ground gives way to peat-moss; until at last I am crawling through knee deep water; my destination a dry clump of tall grass, a tiny island of dryness large enough to fit my form. This will be my home for the night. This will be where I can sleep without fear of a slow-creeping ambush.

My folding stove balances precariously on the lid of my mess kit. The boiling water being fed by the blue flames of my home-made fuel-tinder. A freeze dried food packs awaits the hot water, as does a tea bag. I am famished, and ready to sustain myself—to feed the fire that drives me further into this unreal place that I have called home.

While the water boils, I crawl forward and replace the thickets and brush that I have moved while crawling in here. There cannot be any sign of my passing or occupation of this place. A small black length of twine is tied near the entrance and woven back to my area so that I can be warned of an adversaries approach. A stick near my head will fall—thus alerting me to unwanted entry. I am surrounded by prickly thorns that thrive in muddy marsh water; and overhead the gently bowing branches of many birch trees lean down towards me—creating a living green cave.

My home for the night is small and uncomfortable; a mere three feet wide by six feet long protrusion of land; it is the only dry spot in sight. It will have to do—it will serve me well when darkness once again shimmers among the heavenly stars that will be my only company.

There will be no camp fire tonight; no lights to betray my presence. The stillness will not be broken by my voice, or caused by my action. I will remain quiet, a ghost among the gently swaying trees; I will fade into my respite, become part of the vegetation that so hides my presence.

My belly full, and legs stretched out ahead of me, I revel in the stillness around me that is mine. Laying back against my left elbow I sip at the Camille tea, swirling the dark liquid around inside of the canteen cup; allowing my eyes to travel across the quickly darkening skies overhead. It’s vast expanse making me feel small and inconsequential, a singular speck of humanity against the dark forest stretching infinitely around me. I ponder at the eyes of my own ancestral lineage that have witnessed these same sights, perhaps thought these same thoughts, and felt the the smallness that is felt among the towering pines and endless skies. A contentment sweeps over me, the peace that only can be realized in moments such as this. The connection across time eternal to First Man and First Woman—the pulls of generations yet unbroken.

With my gear re-packed, I make ready to get some sleep. Everything must be ready to go at a moments notice. There can be nothing laying around, nothing that will require me to stop and scoop it up. I must rest; yet I must maintain my defense as well. This requires that I not allow the shameful sloppiness of humanity into my camp. A poncho and poncho liner serve as my bedding. There will be no warm and comfortable sleeping bag tonight. The wetness all around me precludes it.

I strip off my outer-wear, and don the warm fleece pants and sweater that will substitute for my sleeping bag. My gloves and cap, also of fleece, complete the sleeping gear. Slipping back into my waterproof outer-wear, I roll into the luxurious warmth of my poncho; my head resting against the rucksack. With my rifle laid underneath the poncho; my last conscious thought is of the claustrophobic feeling that the mosquito head-net gives me—but soon the pleasure of slowly spiraling into the void of sleep…

It is night, something has awakened me. I dare not breath, hearing my heart pounding inside of my chest. I have to relieve myself, but movement might spell trouble. The comforting outline of my bear rifle is felt along my left leg under the poncho. My mind conjured images of a slathering grizzly bear trashing its way through the cold dark water—our eyes meeting each other in the surreal darkness around me. I quickly push the thought deep back into the corners of my thoughts, and reach out with my hearing and senses to see what has roused me from sleep.

My breathing sounds abnormally loud, and I will my lungs to slow down some. My eyes slowly scanning through the tangle of undergrowth, sensing movement, seeing nothing, hearing nothing but the wind rustling the leaves in top of the trees. Somewhere in the far distance I hear the faint howl of a lonely wolf. I hold my breath for a moment, listening for a return call; but only silence greets me.

Scooting over a little towards my left, I rill over onto my side, and relieve myself into the sloping ground leading into the dark waters. Standing up would make noise, attract attention; whatever awakened me might still be close—I cannot move right now.

It seems like a lifetime before the urgency of danger leaves me. With it, the taste in the air changes as well. My heightened sense detected something out there. Something that alarmed my inner being, something that awoke me to the dark night’s fear. It is a feeling that I have counted on in the past—a feeling that I can trust.

Still unsure, I lay my head back down determined that I may hear it again. but soon the swirling drops me back into the bliss of sleep…

******

Its been a long night; daylight has finally returned. Many times I was awakened by something moving around outside of my little fort. It was only during the last few hours that my mind and body finally rested; dropping me near exhausted into a deep satisfying sleep, the kind that rejuvenates the tiredness of body and mind.

The diffused sunlight peeks out from behind the trees; I gaze up into the skies and watch the low hanging clouds moving slowly by; it feels like rain today. Putting away my sleeping gear I reach into the rucksack and pull out the small thermos bottle. Hot water boiled after last nights dinner make the task of breakfast easier. Oatmeal, coffee, and some vitamin-c drink, help to get the day started without much fuss.

Using my map and compass I am able to triangulate my position against the nearest mountains. I’ve travelled about halfway to my destination. Today’s travel will take me through the low-lying foot hills, and across many streams that I will have to ford. It’s the most difficult part of the journey. The high-snow capped mountains in the distance fills me with a sense of awe, and at the same time reminds me that man has struggled against them for millennia. Many have perished amidst those ragged peaks. A broken ankle, a sliced artery; the mountain has its own way of getting even with those beating themselves against it. The mountain’s ominous warning proclaimed by the thick fog drifting to and fro near the top. A cold barrier, a sign reminding me that nature is in control—I am but an unfamiliar inside of these tangled trees.

My gear once again rests comfortably on my shoulders. The food and coffee invigorating me; giving me the energy that will be required. The swarms of mosquitos rush toward my exposed face; quickly retreating from the scent of the repellant that has been liberally applied. These pesky-insects congregate around my head like a dark cloud, seeking to drain blood from my already battered and bruised body. The tiny aches and pains of my journey a reminder that out here, the human body is soft. This is evidenced by the throbbing in my right knee. Yesterday a small thorn punctured into the flesh, forcing me to strip down and cut it out with my multi-tool. It was a painful and slow process, but in the end the tiny sliver of wood coated with toxic resin was removed. Antibiotic from my first aid kit helped to quell the infection that would have surely resulted had I allowed the wound to fester.

Two hours later I drop my rucksack and squat carefully beside a small stream. The crystal clear water pumping through my water filter will insure that I m hydrated. Crossing over these life-giving streams without refilling my canteens is suicide. It’s then that I hear a splashing noise further upstream. Slowly I withdraw into the thick bushes, my rifle quickly filling my hands. With my back against a tree, I search the banks of the streams with my eyes for the source of the noise. It could be anything, a salmon jumping, a rock moving, a scampering rodent—but I hear the splashing sound again, this time a little closer.

It’s the unmistakable sound of paws padding through the waters shallows. It’s then that I catch a glimmer of movement; a patch of brown fur, the realization that I am seeing a large grizzly bear—and it isn’t aware of me. This is a dangerous situation. To surprise the grizzly is certain to cause it to charge, to stand up and let myself be seen, is sure to surprise this carnivore.

With a soft click I release the safety on my rifle; edging further backwards around the tree, I mentally will my body to fade into the green. Praying that my camouflage will help to hide my outline. I don’t stare at the bear; fearful of sending out a signal that his inner-senses will pick-up; I keep my eyes on the ground in front of him. My eyes watching the ground as his slow gait brings him closer to me. Close enough that I can hear his breathing, seeing as his small eyes flick back and forth—close enough that we are separated by only a distance of five yards.

The bear slows; his nose sampling the air; the nose seven times more sensitive than the best hunting dog. He has caught a whiff of me. I watch the muscles ripple along his chest as he assesses the area that I am hiding in. He starts to come towards me, my heart sounding like a bass-drum; my breathing excited. I edge further into the bushes; my rifle slowly coming-up into the firing position. I can smell the musky aroma emanating for this powerful king of the forest. I can smell my own fear as well. I steel myself for what is sure to come…

Suddenly; I hear a shrill cry of a Raven; overhead the black shadow circles twice, his screams matched by the quick dives towards the ground—and just as quick, the Raven is gone out of sight.The bear stops, swinging his massive head back towards the water; he plods along on his original route. I’ll never know if I was spotted, if this North American carnivore allowed me to remain; but I am thankful that the two of us didn’t have to encounter each other in violence. It’s time to be on my way again.

Hours later I find myself resting against an over-turned tree trunk; munching down a power bar and dried pineapple fruit. My tired muscles complain as I shift position, and I feel the trickle of water creeping down the side of my neck, travelling onto my chest. Even the best-made rain suits cannot prevent the cold rain from penetrating into my body’s warmth.

The rain began soon after the encounter with the grizzly bear. It began with a slight drizzle; culminating with a frenzied down pour sending sheets of driving rain through the trees. The forest around me becomes darker, the leaves dripping water; the wind arcing the rain sideways across my vision. I hope the rains would let up a little, but I know better. These rain storm blow in all the time with little warning. They can last for days on end, and then just as suddenly as they appeared, they withdraw and allow the Sun to regain a foothold—having nourished the foliage with its life-saving sustenance.