9.21.2008
Stealth and evasion style.
Bear Poo
I think, anyways. I’m not entirely sure.
One of the downsides of being in TrackersNW is that I am now taking pictures of shit to show to my friends. I recently went backpacking at Goat Rocks and there was a lot of scat on the trail. Most of it was bear, but I think there are elk in the area.
Another downside to being in Trackers: too much to do. I really wanted to go on this backpacking trip, but I also wanted to work on my bow, practice starting a fire, and work on my website. So, I did what any reasonable human being would do in this situation–I carried my stave and two books with me into the woods.
For over 6 miles. I decided somewhere in there that this may not have been the smartest decision.The picture below is of me hiking, and that wood sticking up right behind my back is not a tree. No, it’s attached to my pack.
As luck would have it, we were greeted on our first night by a moonsoon. And, as we had camped out on the side of a mountain, climbing higher through the thick fog didn’t seem like a wise idea. So I donated my stave to the earth because I didn’t want to carry it any further. Ah, well. I returned from my trip bow-less, comforted only by my pictures of bear poo.
On Horny Goats and Slaughter
9.15.2008
There is a horny goat in our midst. No, I'm not making a veiled reference to another student. TrackersNW is one of the few educational institutions where you can say, "There is a horny goat in our midst," and literally mean that with us there is an actual goat not getting enough action.
And he won't shut up about it. I was kept up all one night, as he called out to the females. I wanted to say, "Dude, you're sounding desperate. Chicks don't dig that." But, as you probably guessed, horny goats (like horny humans) are very hard to reason with.
After a whole night of hearing his calls, I woke up the next morning grumpy and exhausted. If I had previously had any doubts about my willingness to slaughter an animal, they were now assuaged. I could kill one, and I had just the right goat picked out.
Unfortunately adult male goats are not so tasty. The meat tastes too much like pheromones, the goat equivalent of Axe body spray. The animal we had selected for slaughter was a yearling sheep. He was kind of cute. Watching him pace in his pen, I couldn't help wondering if he somehow knew. It seemed like it, as he resisted being caught, and it took four people to hold him down. Shaun stroked his head a few times to calm him. It was tender, and felt both strange and appropriate to show affection to this animal right before we killed it.
I had decided to witness this event because I wanted to know if hunting is something I can do, if I can take the life of another animal. And I wanted to be accountable for my food decisions--to pound into my head the reality that the meat I buy in the grocery store was once something living and breathing.
Despite my determination, I could not watch the first cut. It was too raw. Too grim and holy. I turned back to watch after that. Shaun held its head over a bucket to drain out the blood, and Krista stroked its flank. It twitched for a while and I wondered how long it would stay alive. All I could think was, we've severed its vocal chords, it can't even call out in pain. We were all quiet then, grave, waiting for it to stop moving.
Later, as we skinned the animal, I joined in. I saw blood on myself, spots of it on my thumb and forefinger. I understood then about the blood offerings different cultures do to the gods. That it is some attempt to honor the mystery of our lives being dependent on the death of another animal. That destruction and life are tangled in with one another. The blood on my fingers, the smell of burning fat, the half digested grass in the sheep's belly, all hinted at something larger and more terrifying than I know how to grasp.
We ate the meat, tanned the hide, used the bones to make tools. We did not let its body go to waste. Ultimately, watching this whole process was important to me, and I hope to participate more directly in the future. I want to be involved in the cycle of life and death. To approach my meals with a mixture of gratitude and solemnity. It's not that I like killing animals. It's not blood lust. For me, it's looking reality in the face by loving and thanking the animal that will feed me. It's surrendering to things unknown.
That is, unless we're talking about that damned goat, in which case, it definitely is blood lust.
Nature of the Village
9.14.2008
I just got back from spending one week with TrackersNW at a permaculture farm in Port Orford, Oregon. Details to follow.
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