They put my face on the picture box. Autographs starting at $20.

A Maine TV station picked up the February edition of the DownEast Magazine article, "The Survivors" written about Jack Mountain Bushcraft School while I was attending the Summer/Fall Semester.  Lots of people ask me, 'Hey Rob, what'd ya do out in the woods for 9 weeks?'  And then I say, 'Holy mackerel!  I don't know where to begin!'  And then start telling them about my early childhood with the intention of coming full circle back to my experience at Jack Mountain but that simply never happens.

Jack Mountain Bushcraft News Report Video

Lastly, to my veteran friends - you should seriously look into attending this school.  You're essentially getting paid to go on what I would consider a working vacation.  I learned more at this school than at any other school.  And what's more is that it was fun and nothing like the learning that we're all accustomed to.

Made it to the Intermission

The last 2 weeks in the woods have been amazing!  Myself and 6 other gents, through Jack Mountain Bushcraft School leisurely lived - no - thrived for the whole time we were out there.  Where is there?  A remote lake in the Northern Maine Woods.  We loaded all of our gear we required onto toboggans, strapped on our snowshoes, and pulled and plodded our way through the snow and over the frozen Scopan Lake to remote locations.  It was laborious but I don't mean that in a bad way.  We roughed it easy!  The cotton tents combined with a wood-burning stove allowed us rest and relief from the frigid temperatures which ranged from -20F to 31F.  I must've ate about 4000 calories a day.  And how we feasted!  Our days would consist of  chopping wood, tracking animals, identifying trees, ice fishing, learning about the dangers of traveling over frozen lakes and rivers, making delicious meals which were the high point of the day for everyone and talking about our favorite boy bands. 

Now, we're stopped in Presque Isle for a quick bite to eat and then we travel to Minnesota via Canada!  A 25ish hour journey from Maine to Ely, MN.  Then we're snowshoeing from the most northeastern corner Minnesota through the Boundary Waters.  We're figuring it should take us about 3 or 4 weeks to make it approximately 130 miles. 

There's so much more I want to write about and pictures I want to post but it's time to hit the road!  All the Best!

DownEast Magazine's Story on Jack Mountain Bushcraft!

It was really cool talking to Brian the writer and interacting with Mark the photographer while they were putting the story together for this article.  It's a good article in the sense that Brian came up three separate times to observe the course and get a sense of the changes that took place among all us Vets.  I hope you enjoy it!

DownEast Magazine's Story on Jack Mountain Bushcraft!

Places I Have Sleepen: The Finest Cardboard Box in all of Key West

Late December 2008.  I had been camping out in the Everglades for about 2 weeks and thought it close enough to make a jump to Key West for a Saturday night.  Figured there’d be more going on there than the lake I was camping next to.  So, I packed up some vittles and rain gear then headed off.
It was a nice drive.  Ocean breezes.  Bridges which were miles long.  The only place I was interested in visiting was Captain Tony's.  Not only is this where Jimmy Buffet got his start, playing songs on stage for beers, but it’s also where Ernest Hemingway used to get some of his drinking done!
Unfortunately, the place was dead.  I mean D-E-D dead!  I had a couple more beers thinking that it was just too early in the night but I’m pretty sure there were more alligators in that lake back at my tent than there were people in this bar.  I walked out and determined to ride back in an hour or two after I had sobered up.

My good friend Edward

So, there I was standing on the street corner, people watching when this dude comes up to me.  Kinda raggedy-looking.  I saw he started to ask me for money but, then he stopped, looked me up and down with a puzzled look on his face – mind you, at this particular time I had been on the road for about 3 months and camping in the Everglades for nearly 2 weeks so needless to say I wasn’t looking or smelling my best perhaps.  Anyway, after looking at me with a confused look on his face he asks me, “Hey man.  Are you local?”  I smiled at him.  No man!  I’m traveling.
I told him about how I just got out of the military a couple months ago and was riding my motorcycle across America.  “How long?”  I don’t know.  Like a year or so.  “What are you up to now?”  Well, it’s dead here so I’m heading back to my campsite once I’m sober.  “What?  No.  This place is cool.  Let me show you around.  My name’s Edward.”
So Edward and I picked up a 6-pack and did a walking tour of Key West.  Did I get to see six-toed cats or the southernmost tip of the US?  Nope.  I got a very personalized tour of Key West.  The kind you can’t buy.  Well, actually, I’m sure that you can buy a tour from a homeless person but nobody’s thought of that yet.
First stop was the photo I’ve included.  The Key West Hysterical Preservation Society posted a marker making note of special places in history where nothing happened.  I loved it.  Next Edward showed me where him and his homeless buddies usually slept which was alongside a dock which was roped off that evening.  There was a cruise ship docking there the next day and I guess Key West didn’t want Edward and his drifter friends as the welcoming committee so they had to relocate.  He then took me to their secondary slumbering location.  It was just behind some old buildings.  Nothing to note of it except that they couldn’t stay there anymore either because recently kids were coming up while they were all asleep and throwing rocks in their faces.  What the hell?
So, it was about that time that we ran out of beers.  He took me back to the bars and we met up with a couple of his friends.  We stood outside of one bar which had a live band playing inside.  The music was loud enough and we were positioned right next to the large window to enjoy the music without paying the cover charge.  So, there on the sidewalk and in the street we danced.  The bartender noticed us and gave Edward a nod.  About 5 minutes later a table full of people got up and left.  The bartender only partially bussed the table.  Over he came to the window and set the half full beer bottles on the window sill.  Edward and his cohorts grabbed ‘em, divied them up amoungst themselves (I told Edward he could have my share) and they chugged those beers faster than you could take your sandals off.
Edward was retired from the Service  as well.  He bought a sailboat and was traveling up and down the coast on it.  I never got to see it unfortunately.  He was perfectly happy in the Keys though.  The weather was perfect for sleeping out.  The friends that he had were a real community of people, closer than any neighborhood I’ve ever lived in.  Looking out for each other and always sharing their latest score.  He said they had to be down there.  Every federal government law enforcement agency had a strong presence on Key West due to the fact that Cuba was only right over the horizon.  …  I think Edward may have been the first person I’ve spent any kind of time with who wasn’t actually homeless (as being homeLESS implies a lack of something which is desired).  Rather he was homefree.  It was a new concept which was soon to define the next few years of my life.  Although I didn't know it at the time.
Well, it was getting late.  I was tired from the long ride and I said to Edward, So, where can I find somewhere to sleep around here?  “I’m tired too.  Follow me.”  We walked down the side streets and it suddenly occurred to me, Edward, do we need some cardboard?  “Yeah, there’s some right up here.”  So, we each grabbed a broken down box.  I think mine was for industrial napkins or paper towels.  We ended up sleeping in an old dilapidated parking lot next to a beautiful old school which was set to be torn down to make way for progress.
I woke up a few hours later to my alarm.  The street where I parked the bike had to be cleared by 6 for the street cleaners.  I sluggishly walked back to my motorcycle.  I passed a tourist sleeping right on the main sidewalk using a step as a pillow.  There was another guy who I later figured out must’ve been pickpocketing him although I was too groggy to pick up on it at that moment.  I just said hi to the guy and smiled as I walked on by, completely oblivious to what was going on.  I only barely beat the street sweepers to the motorcycle and rode it back to the parking lot.  It was up a one way street but I couldn’t be bothered to find the legally-correct way back.  And it was early enough I figured I wouldn’t get caught.  Made it back to my little home-away-from-home and had myself another small nap before I awoke again.  I bid Edward adieu and thanked him for the awesome night.  then hopped on the bike and rode it back to my tent site in the swampy, alligator-infested Everglades.

Cardboard boxes provide both padding and serve as a blanket as you can see Edward demonstrating here.

About a year after I returned home I gave a speech about my travels in front of a couple hundred people and included the tale of this particular night.  Afterwards I was interviewed by a reporter from the Cincinnati Enquirer.  The next day, front page of the Business Section was a review of the many speeches that were given that evening.  Mine was one of the few included and it told of how I had "inspired" the reporter because I had "lived in a cardboard box in Key West."  I'm probably one of the very few people to be mentioned in newspapers simply  because I had spent a night in a cardboard box.  I remember people being all like, "Robbie!  I saw you in the newspaper!  Congratulations...?"  I think it's great!

The Best Sorts of Sports

      Now, I’ve always been into baseball.  In Japan, during the 7th inning stretch, everyone sings a song and then all at once let off these giant phallic-shaped balloons that whistle as they shoot into the air and then drop down on everyone.

      I went to Pete Rose’s 30th anniversary of beating Ty Cobb’s record down at All American Ballpark in my own hometown! And clapped so hard for so long that my hands literally went numb.  No, I wasn’t crying.  Don’t be absurd!
      And I remember in little league, I was up to bat but wasn’t paying attention and I had my head turned the other way, talking to someone. ‘Rob!  Look out!’  I turned my head just in time for the ball to hit me right in the teeth.  The last thing I remember is looking at my fingers covered in blood and then I collapsed at the plate.  No, I wasn’t crying.  Don’t be absurd!

      BUT.  It wasn’t until I was wintering down in Florida during my motorcycle journey that I learned something.  Had I known that there was such a thing as Figure 8 School Bus Racing, I think my life would’ve taken a much different route. (No pun intended.)

      There’s always been a special place in my heart for destruction.  And what is more destructive than school busses t-boning into each other!  Well, at least on a level which is possible for me to achieve anyway.
      Unfortunately, I didn’t get any pictures of the school busses crashing into each other.  I was too caught up in the moment and nearly dropped the camera when I would jump up in the excitement a child feels when they see something big and huge about to get totally f’ed up.

Interview With Farmer Mike

About a year ago I interviewed my farmer, Mr. Farmer Mike, to get a good idea about what a CSA was from his point of view.  CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture.  It's a simple concept where you have a personal relationship with your farmer.  He grows stuff and you eat it.  Yes, this is over-simplified but after all it is just an introductory paragraph.  Mike, like most farmers, tells you how it is with regards to CSA's and I really appreciate his candor.  So, turn it on, listen, and leave it in the background while you do your knitting and ironing.  Or whatever it is you kids do these days.

Farmer Mike Interview

England in One Photo

This has got to be my one of my most favorite photos I took while stationed in England.  I’ve studied it intensely and determined it has everything British in it that one would ever need!
Starting from top to bottom, first we have a cloudy sky, reminiscient of all the rainy days in jolly old England.  Piercing said sky, first we come to the Union Jack, the mighty flag of the United Kingdom.  Down a bit further and to the left, there’s St Stephen’s Tower a.k.a. Big Ben, a universally recognized symbol of Britain.  Right next to Big Ben, there’s CCTV, their highly controversial public surveillance program.  Why not put some cameras into the eyes of the lion, keeping guard over Admiral Nelson who died in the Battle of Trafalgar.  His dying words were, “Kiss me, Harvey.”  Harvey was his First Mate…in more than one way I reckon.
There’s all the architecture: buildings, lamp posts, chimneys (Maaaaaaaaaaary Poppins!).  Sitting by the lions we have a poor sod in his reflective safety gear on his 15 minute break.  Below are some business men and women trying to get some sightseeing before they head back to East Anglia, searching hopelessly for Big Ben.
And then there’s the immediate foreground.  Who knows what she’s pissed about but maybe she should she should be more concerned about the shopping bag suffocating her baby inside of that stroller.  Lastly, the dude is holding a cup o' tea.  Cancel the plane tickets everyone; you've seen it all!  Anyway, I truly enjoy this photo and hope that you do too.

Places I Have Sleepen: Half-Dome Shelter in the North Maine Woods

One of my more recent outdoor slumberings took place up in Maine back in late October 2013.  For part of the curriculum, students build different types of shelters and stay in them for 3 consecutive nights.  This particular short-term dwelling is called a half-dome shelter.  The foundation and bed are made of logs chopped to fit, and the frame is composed of saplings which are then intertwined and held together by tying their branches together or wrapping them around one another in order to hold onto the tarp (which is the only piece of the structure not sourced from the surrounding forest).  The finishing touches went into the “mattress” which I made out of green pine bough branches topped with wild grasses.  Comfy!
That particular night it got down below freezing and there was frost on the ground.  Even though I slept without a blanket over me (I used my sleeping bag as a pillow), I was just as warm as if I had.  The secret is to maintaining the fire throughout the night.  Cut yourself enough logs which you think will last through the night and then when you think you’ve finished, go and get double that amount.
Our instructor Tim likened maintaining a fire throughout the night as being similar to taking care of a newborn.  You’ve got to get up and feed it at all hours ensuring you don’t get a full night’s rest.  But after doing it for a few nights, you don’t even remember getting up to take care of it.  It’s something you can do in your sleep.
That first night was kind of rough.  I’d wake up cold and roll over to warm whatever part of my body wasn’t facing the fire.  But the half facing away would get colder faster than the half getting warm again.  When that happens you know it’s time to feed the fire.  The logs (if cut) are kept to about a 6-foot length minimum and fed into the fire parallel with the shelter you’ve built which ensures that you entire body is radiated by the heat.  The tarp keeps the wind off of you and reflects the heat back onto your body.
I think something which isn’t thought of much is the psychological aspect of sleeping without a blanket.  Even when I was on my motorcycle journey sleeping on the side of the road, I’d still get into my sleeping bag every night no matter what the temperature.  Not having a cover over your body while Zzz’ing is something we rarely ever do.  From the first night after our birth we’re swaddled in a blanket and continue this practice most every night of our lives.
I’ve always enjoyed sleeping outside but that night was one of the most comfortable by far.  Nothing to complain about except the few ember-burns in my beard.  That morning I made hash browns and eggs over the dwindling fire as the sun rose over the trees.  It was one of those rare empowering moments which caused me to stare at the shelter, reflecting on the night - how it’s something I’ve always wanted to do and I said to myself, ‘I just fucking did that!’

One Month Canoe Expedition!!

I'm going canoeing this Summer.  Over 250 miles through the very remote North Maine Woods!  It's gonna be hard and fun.  About 80 miles alone poleing upriver!  Check it out here!

Sneak Peak on DownEast Magazine

While I was up in Maine attending Jack Mountain Bushcraft School, a photographer and writer came up to do a piece on what was up.  Here's a link to the sneak peak!  It's supposed to be a good sized article.  http://www.downeast.com/jackmountain/

Why I am not an Environmentalist

Here's a piece I wrote for my environmental class a year ago.

Why I am not an Environmentalist

I do not believe I am an environmentalist although it is something I aspire to be someday.  I also think that most people who say that they are environmentalists are also not environmentalists even though they would like to think that they are.  I hope to point out the cognitive and actual differences between a real environmentalist and someone who truly believes themselves to be one.

First, defining an environmentalist:  An environmentalist is somewhat a recent phenomenon.  There have been naturalists around for a very long time but, environmentalism is something new.  I imagine an environmentalist is someone who lives their life giving thought to their every action in regards to its effect it will have on the landbase and the humans and non-humans that person shares that landbase with.  They are also someone who more closely defines themselves to the land they live on and owe their life to rather than an economic system in their actions, thoughts and lifestyle, ensuring that they give back more than they take.
An environmentalist probably doesn't consider themselves an environmentalist.  Some time ago I read a book about a tribe that didn't have a word for 'art'.  Of course they would do things that we consider art such as decorating a clay pot they made or using natural dyes to paint their body but they didn't have a word for the act of creating or adding decorations to themselves or their things.  It came to them naturally.  I think true environmentalism is the same for true environmentalists.  We don't call Native Americans (living tribally prior to 1492) environmentalists because that's the lifestyle that they lived.  The same way that produce in Africa isn't labeled as 'local' and 'organic' because that's exactly how things are.  To label them as such is redundant.

Now that I've defined what I believe an environmentalist is I can tell you why I don't believe myself to be an environmentalist.  My actions and lifestyle immediately give me away as not being an environmentalist.  I awaken to an alarm clock, use hot water provided by a hot water heater, light my home, refrigerate my food, type on this laptop - all this and more, all powered using coal from the Appalachian Mountains by a corporate entity that uses mountain top removal to extract coal from the living soil.
I drive my motorcycle to school sometimes which uses oil as fuel.  Oil that has been taken from the earth through many different methods, none of which gives back to the land that it takes from.
I eat food that also uses oil to transport from farm to grocery store (the average item in a grocery store has traveled over 2,000 miles [Dive!{2010}]).  Oil is also used in the form of pesticides and fertilizers so that plants growing in non-native soil and in unnatural soldier rows may be harvested with an industrial ease.  This industrial farming also causes topsoil erosion, destroys natural habitat as farmland continues to expand, pays workers slave-labor wages, and dumps so many chemicals into the lakes and rivers that in the Gulf of Mexico there is an area at the mouth of the Mississippi River called the dead zone where fish die of hypoxia due to high levels of nitrogen and phosphorous which is bigger than the state of Connecticut.

"The United States constitutes less than 5 percent of the world's population yet uses more than one-fourth of the world's resources and produces one-fourth of the world's pollution and waste.  If you compare the average U.S. citizen to the average citizen of India, you find that the American uses fifty times more steel, fifty-six times more energy, one hundred and seventy times more synthetic rubber, two hundred and fifty times more motor fuel, and three hundred times more plastic"  (Jensen 2006, 115).

Essentially, if you are an average American, you cannot be an environmentalist as well.  It is the same as saying that you are a vegetarian while having a mouthful of steak wrapped in bacon and topped with a turkey leg.
That being said, I am not saying that being an average American with the 'American Dream' is wrong.   Environmentally, biocentrically, and realistically it IS wrong to think that 300 million people (in the States alone) can collectively live the most wasteful and destructive lifestyle on the planet.

There are many reasons why people choose to identify themselves as environmentalists.  Primarily, it feels good.  When people are able to make consumer choices about buying 'organic' or 'local' they feel like they're really making a decision that is doing good.  This is largely due to the fact that we are in essence consumers more than anything else whether we define ourselves differently or not.  And having that 'consumer power' makes people think that that and a few other things (like recycling, bringing your own bags to Wal-Mart, and not running the water while brushing their teeth) is enough for them to do.  Being an American environmentalist is easy - all you have to do are a few token actions and you get the cool points that socially label you as a good guy or girl that is considerate and caring.  And as for electric cars and sustainable energy - the Great Saviors that will herald in a new cleaner era - all of these new gadgets require mining operations, transportation to move raw materials and end-products, and industry to turn the raw materials into molded plastics, complicated electronics, and shiny metal (and all the waste associated with these processes).  All on a massive, global scale.  All still using finite resources.  I was under the assumption that sustainable meant sustainable.  What a load of malarkey...

There are also some groups that choose to not associate themselves with environmentalism and I thank them for their honesty.  Environmentalism is a four-letter word that increases taxes, takes away freedoms, and inhibits industry.  I've mostly found it to be men and women that like living 'the good life' and the thought that they have to limit themselves in any way is an infringement on their freedom.  They buy land and things so that they can do anything they want with it rather than the idea that they are now a steward or responsible for that item or acreage. I've had very candid conversations with unashamed neighbors, family members, and friends who said that if the polar bears or crocodiles or habitat were going extinct or being destroyed then, it was their time and nothing could be done about it, the thought of slowing progress never even crossing their minds. 

And then there's someone like myself that doesn't fit into either of those two very generalized groupings.  I understand what environmentalism means to me.  I believe that ideologically I'm an environmentalist but that doesn't keep any trees from being cut down, now does it? It means living on a human scale versus an automotive or industrial scale.  It means giving more back to the land than I take away from it.  It means being responsible for my own land by restoring habitat.  It means growing my own food.  It means minimizing my participation in the destruction of the environment.  It means knowing that my miniscule actions will not and never will save the world.  But it means doing those actions anyway.

A Picture I Am Fond Of

I want to share this photo with you all (and hopefully many others to come) just because.  This was taken in Gotha, Fl while on my '08-'09 motorcycle adventure.  I was couchsurfing with my friend Matt and we drove out to visit Bob Ross's grave.  I Mecca'ed to a few of my hero's places of rest but this was the first and possibly the best.  Mom always used to make me watch either Bob Ross or professional bowling 'cause she wanted me to be either a painter or pro-bowler so I could take care of her in her old age.  Sorry Mom!

One of my earliest memories of school is getting called upon to answer a math question in the first grade.  We would have to read the question aloud first (which I now realize was done to help our reading skills - learning about reading during math?  Say whaaaa?)  "If Joe is bowling and knocks down 7 pins, how many pins are left standing?"  I was sweating bullets.  "I didn't answer the question Mrs. Powers..."  This was unheard of!  I always did my homework!  "Why didn't you answer the question, Robbie?"  "Well, Mrs. Powers, I've never been bowling."  You'd think that after watching hours of professional bowlers on daytime television in my pre-school years that I would've picked up on that...Anyway, Mom took me bowling that weekend after a phone call home from Mrs. Powers.

Winter in Upstate NY with Yukon 2014

This is what I've been up to in Utica these past few weeks.  Hope you guys like it as I've never edited video before.