As I stood with my dog, Cleveland and my good friend Steve in downtown Tampa at six in the evening on Oct. 21, I had an epiphany. Maybe more of a realization, or what drunks call a ‘moment of clarity.’ I realized “fast.” Just one word, a simple word. One syllable. Fast. When spoken, it sounds like its meaning, flying of the tongue quickly. Standing on the corner of Kennedy and Florida, I realized that people live fast. Looking at the traffic lined up on Kennedy impatiently creeping forward, watching the brake lights flashing on and off with every impatient inch-up, the little voice that has been whispering to my soul for months finally became audible.
“I need to get the hell out of here,” I said to Steve. “People are so caught up in themselves, no one cares about finding joy in the simple things anymore. Society has perverted humanity. I need to get away from all of this.”
Steve looked at me silently for a moment, followed my gaze up Kennedy Boulevard. “I know what you mean, everything moves so quickly nowadays,” Steve said as he looked back at me. “People have forgotten what life is about; now its ‘text this person and email that one and oh, wait I forgot to check my Facebook!”
Steve’s last comment caused a laugh to burst from my mouth; a long hard, laugh. After my laughter faded to chuckles, I looked at him as seriously as I could. “I really don’t want to live like that. I have to get away, somewhere, anywhere. Soon.”
Back in my apartment, I scurried around, grabbing up everything I thought I was going to need. I had decided to take a weekend trip to Jay B. Starkey Wilderness Preserve. But instead of the normal camping experience, I was going to camp primitively. I wanted to go back to my nomadic roots, foraging and hunting for my food. I was craving to live in the moment, if only for a weekend.
In preparation for the trip, Steve and I took a drive to Wal-Mart. I left the mega mart with a Daisy model Powerline 35 bb/pellet gun, pellets, a magnesium fire brick and a hatchet.
I researched edible plants growing in central Florida, and brought a field guide for plants. Along with foraging, I looked up a field guide on how to skin and fry a squirrel. I was really going to get down to the nitty-gritty, and live like we used to. Already, I was getting excited.
Steve and I returned back to my apartment to finish packing my things. My list was small: two blankets, an extra pair of pants, two t-shirts, two pairs of socks, one long sleeve shirt, a fleece cap and two dew rags completed the clothing list. For gear I gathered up my purchased items and added in a couple of knives, a head lamp, a multi-tool and a pot for boiling water. I also brought a Camelbak three-liter bladder filled with water and a gallon of spring water, a field dressing and a compass. A tent completed my list.
The next day, Steve brought me to the nature preserve, pulling up to the front kiosk.
“Hey there, do you guys have any sites available?” I asked the park employee, an elderly man looking at me through thick glasses.
“Yes, we do. How many nights?”
“Two nights. I will be leaving Sunday. Do you have an primitive sites available?” I asked although I was sure he did, I had called four times over the last two hours to ensure that they did.
“Yes, site two. You have to walk in though, no vehicles are allowed back there. It’s the farthest site, here,” the man pointed a wrinkled finger at a map of the park, showing me my site.
“I’ll take it,” I said, writing out a check for $10 to the man.
Steve drove me as far as he could, only another quarter-mile up the road. We stopped and I hopped down out of the tall Humvee.
“Thanks for the ride bro, I’m going to take off, daylight is short.”
“No problem man, let me get a picture of you real quick. You know, the before,” Steve laughed as I pull out my camera and handed it to him. “Smile pretty now.”
The camera flashed, and my journey began. It was nearly six miles to my camp site, and the sun was already beginning to dip low in the sky. A little way up the trail, I stepped to the side to pull my map out. Dropping my heavy field pack, the gallon of water slammed into the dirt, splitting along the seam. Water streamed out, the bottle had split almost halfway down.
“Nooo!” I yelled, trying to move it off of my gear so it wouldn’t soak everything. “S**t, s**t, s**t!” Water seeped out of the flimsy container, and the Zephyrhills logo peeled off. Now my gear was wet, and I had to carry a half-gallon of water instead of packing it. Picking up the bottle, I continued down the trail.
The trip took much longer than I anticipated. The map had said the site was only four miles away, but it took me nearly two hours. The map I received from the front kiosk was not accurate, and I was delayed three times during my trip. I thought I had passed my site twice. The third stop was an attempt to photograph a whitetail deer. It had jumped out 30 meters in front of me on the path, and travelled with me for a while, never letting me get close enough to photograph it. The deer was beautiful, strong-muscled legs flexing as it bounded up the trail ahead of me. I followed in awe. After several minutes, it turned and jumped into the palm brush, and I lost sight of it.
Just as I was about to give up and call the park help desk, I found my camp site, nestled in a large grove of low-growing palm trees. The sun was low, and I immediately went about gathering brush and tinder so I could start a fire. Placing the tinder in a pile, I scraped the magnesium into a pile on top of it, and turned the brick. Striking it hard with my knife, I tried to angle sparks to the tinder. Sparks flew as I hit the brick over and over. One set of sparks struck the tinder, and it starting burning slowly.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, blowing the smoldering tinder. It flickered, sputtered and went out. “Oh no,” I whispered to the forest. “Everything is too wet, I am screwed.”
Abandoning my fire aspirations, I decided to set up camp as quickly as possible. It was almost fully dark now, and was getting colder by the minute. I donned my headlamp, and went to work setting up my tent. I made short work of the tent, threw all my gear in and jumped in. I was freezing, and the weather showed no sign of warming.
That first night was really difficult. I woke up several times, and had to rewrap myself in my two skimpy blankets. I did not bring nearly enough bedding, and my body suffered as a result. I thought that first night would never end, and when the sun came up the next morning, I stayed huddled in my tent for another hour, just warming myself.
Once I was warmed, I started about my business. First thing I had to do was start and maintain a fire. I strapped my small Camelbak backpack on and set out into the woods, looking for areas in direct sunlight. I gathered up as much dry wood and tinder as I could carry, and returned to camp. After forming a tepee of firewood I crouched next to it.
“Come on now, please start,” I begged the dead limbs and tinder. Lowering the flint brick, I struck it with my knife. Again. Again. Several more times. Nothing. Growing angry I struck it again, this time sparks jumped, and the tinder started smoking. I grabbed dry brush and heaved it onto the tiny flames, and the fire grew. It stayed lit. I was ecstatic, and jumped up and down whooping my joy to no one and everyone at once. With the fire lit, I was on to my next task- food.
I grabbed my Daisy rifle and headed off into the woods. Walking through a dense mangrove swamp, I stared into the tree limbs, looking for that oh-so familiar bushy tail. After 45 minutes of searching, I saw two squirrels chasing each other through the trees. I aimed my rifle and fired, a puff of smoke came up from just below the front squirrel. The shot was no good.
“How did I miss?” I said as I reloaded, pumping the air rifle as fast as I could. The squirrels had already ran to another tree, and an hour-long chase ensued. I fired three more shots, missing each one, and left the swamp empty handed. The fish trap I had constructed from a 20 oz. Pepsi bottle was empty as well, much to my disappointment. Instead of squirrel and fish, I settled for Gallberries and pine needles. By nightfall, I was ready for bed, and for the trip to be over.
The final day, I woke early and packed everything up. My stomach was growling, and all I was thinking about was the raging hunger in my stomach. I set off on the walk back to the entrance, where Steve was going to meet me. By the end of the walk, blisters stabbed at both heels and several toes on my feet; Steve’s truck never looked so comfortable.
Back in downtown, traffic swirled around me. I looked up towards the tops of the buildings, lost in my own thoughts.
While my trip into the wild was definitely hard, I am planning to do it again. I want to live off the wild, and I do have an intense love for nature. And although I was completely relieved to come out of the wilderness, I feel that with better planning and preparation, living primitively would be a lot of fun. A large part of me wants to escape again, back into the wilderness. I want to enjoy the silence, the quiet harmony that only nature can bring. Out in the middle of nowhere, I could truly find joy in the simplest of things. As John Lubbock said, “ … to lie sometimes on the grass under the trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky is by no means a waste of time.”
David Adams can be reached at dadams@spartans.ut.edu.