- Joined
- Mar 13, 2020
- Messages
- 7,480
- Reaction score
- 20,986
- Location
- On the Border in Idaho looking at BC
while elk hunting I was stuck on top of a high mountain ridge in a cold almost freezing fog. temps went from 62 at noon to 30 by 3pm.
i was also doing a Daniel Boone impersonation of being a mite confused as to which way was out of there.
Theodore Roosevelt had hunted that ridge on his Idaho trip. he also he was a mite confused.
anyhow, that fog started to suck me dry of warmth. no sweat. birch bark, twigs and broken dead tree limbs and my ever present bic and i would be able to spend the night if i had to.
now a bic is mostly just flint and steel right? strike the round frizzen, the flint causes spark. the little valve thingy emits some flatulence. Home free! except that bic, brand new from wallyworld 2 days before, had no juice. no fart to ignite. sparkity spark.
i started to tremble from the chill that reached my core. trouble.
i dug deep into every pocket, crease, and crevice for a match with nothing to show but a sticky hand full of those cinnamon barrel thingies from the last decade.
but in my possible bag i found a round tin. with char cloth. peeled several birch bark feathers and struck the whole mess afire with that traitorous bic.
after a hour i stopped trembling and my cousin followed the smoke to find me.
i will never go deep again hunting, but if i could, there would be proven char cloth, flint and steel in my bag.
and a live bic.
i was also doing a Daniel Boone impersonation of being a mite confused as to which way was out of there.
Theodore Roosevelt had hunted that ridge on his Idaho trip. he also he was a mite confused.
anyhow, that fog started to suck me dry of warmth. no sweat. birch bark, twigs and broken dead tree limbs and my ever present bic and i would be able to spend the night if i had to.
now a bic is mostly just flint and steel right? strike the round frizzen, the flint causes spark. the little valve thingy emits some flatulence. Home free! except that bic, brand new from wallyworld 2 days before, had no juice. no fart to ignite. sparkity spark.
i started to tremble from the chill that reached my core. trouble.
i dug deep into every pocket, crease, and crevice for a match with nothing to show but a sticky hand full of those cinnamon barrel thingies from the last decade.
but in my possible bag i found a round tin. with char cloth. peeled several birch bark feathers and struck the whole mess afire with that traitorous bic.
after a hour i stopped trembling and my cousin followed the smoke to find me.
i will never go deep again hunting, but if i could, there would be proven char cloth, flint and steel in my bag.
and a live bic.