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Thread: Mind Over Materialism: Mindset & Tactics Over Gear

  1. #1

    Mind Over Materialism: Mindset & Tactics Over Gear

    I went on a short rugged grouse hunt with my father, today. Really just an armed walk. But the experience, as father-son time does, nudged my perspective.

    He carried his old Stevens single-shot 12 gauge. It was old when his father gave it to him and used when the previous owner bought it, for that matter. No one knows if it has a 2 3/4 inch chamber or shorter. No one has ever cared. The trigger guard is not original but a near-enough replacement for a guy handy with tools. The original was destroyed when the firing of a Brenneke disassembled the entire gun into major components. As tape was already used to keep the forend on, the whole thing has been wrapped in the same camo tape for decades. The bead is a bent and mostly straightened fiber optic from Wally World. The original went missing and this was a replacement I bought him. That ship of Theseus should just be scrapped or buried in back of a safe. But it works. It's potted more game than any other gun in the family's posession. It has killed every non-human species to walk, slither, or fly in our state. It is a prominent feature in my memories.

    It may look like it was obsolete long before it was ever junk but continues to do the work in the hands of a competent and confident man.

    We trudged up the mountainside through the snow, rain, and mud. No packs, no large frame sidearms (mine was a pocketed plastic .22 snub with chewed-up stocks), no phones, no GPS. Just ourselves and what possibles fit in our orange vests.

    Along we went, more interested in bonding than getting into thick cover and kicking up a bird, until he decided we'd reached a likely spot for dinner. My oldest was home with a cold so I was instructed to make the fire after days of rain and snow before that. So I looped out into the woods for squaw wood, birch bark, and limbs dry in the center. Back to our spot to baton into the limbs and add to the tinder he'd prepared. A raised eyebrow when a Bic came from my pocket rather than matches (a sin for which I was only granted dispensation as it had an O-ring preventing the valve getting squeezed open to waste butane and decades of single-match fires lit on-demand in worse conditions). Out came the ever-present pack of hotdogs that I swear have mever so much as printed in his clothes. And we roasted mild sausages over a small fire in the gentle rain while talking some more. No matter how the years go by, he can still be counted on to test my fieldcraft at any given moment. It's as inevitable as death and taxes.

    We passed groups of people at the master trailhead. Some in the latest technical gear, some totally unprepared, none covered the ground we did. All saw a fat old man and his scruffy companion. That fat old man was mentored by a hardboiled veteran of 1970s N.Y.P.D. That fat old man more than once handed off a patrol rifle or shotgun to walk into an armed stand-off and talk a known subject out in safety back when sand was respected and hairbrained schemes could occasionally be gotten away with in that line of work. Has repeatedly euthanized running rabid fox and coyote with a bead-sighted 590 at long shotgun ranges on night shifts. Done solo wilderness S.A.R. He has grit, a hard-won practical education, and well tuned discretion. I'm honored to carry his name. Not even getting into the many other mentors I've had the privilege to be around in my life.

    Getting home, I dug out the first and only survival manual he ever gave me. Well, another copy as the first was long ago worn to shreds. Clear introduction, short basics list, on to planning then proper dressing with historical regional context, on to a clear and concise orienteering section to prevent getting lost and enable self-extraction, then to fire, and so-on. It's structured in a very well planned order of skills. Brightly colored, fits in a pocket, and constantly talks about mindset plus practice. I was made to read it cover-to-cover with later discussion and testing verbally, in the yard, and in the field.

    It has me thinking about a lot of other people I know. The one who borrows a rifle at the last minute every deer season after having sold the latest "perfect" and heavily researched bit of modernity. The local cop I wouldn't want responding if my kids needed so much as a spider squashed. The kid at work who researched a 43X and carry load to death with not so much as minute-of-B27 capability until I compiled educational material and structured drill packet for him. The many who've argued with me that batoning is a silly, useless parlor trick and an axe is used to properly process firewood; you know, the ones who never pack a hatchet. The countless hikers I've reoriented, guided, planned routes for when met in a bind, etc.

    It's said that the more one knows, the less they have to carry. A couple duffers put in miles when more ostensibly equipped folks bailed early. One a man I'd want by my side if life ever faced me with true adversity. No matter what piece of gear he happened to have handy. A man who never told me what was up when I swung by his house with a greeting from someone I'd met and had recognized my surname. To this day, all I know is that my father left such an impression that, twenty years later, his son was given a firm hand on the shoulder, most genuine of smiles, and told, "you tell you father I said hello, asked how he was doing, and am happy to hear he's busily retired. I went through a dark time and he was always fair with me. He didn't have to be and I gave him little reason." All dad responded with was, "there was a good kid in there, he just needed a chance."

    But very few people ever talk about the things that matter. Fewer put in the work and practice. Fewer still willing to at least try and perform on-demand. A rarity the one that will stand and deliver to the best of their ability when it matters.

    The most detailed mental plan I ever made to get stabbed and have a subsequent truly effed up tangle, a friend did the best impersonation of a cover officer I've ever seen. Didn't care that he only had his paw wrapped around a pocketed 380 ACP for which there is still never a reload. Care enough to still call him friend because loyalty kept him on my side in a tight spot when the door of the Stop 'N Rob was next to his shoulder. He could have peaced out but instead planted his feet, watched over me, and made ready to visit unhesitating violence if the junkies did more than show me a closeup of their knives. I brought a bottle of XO cognac, which I bought when my youngest was born, to his house to share a tipple after that N.Y.P.D. cop bailed on her partner in a completely different but eerily similar spot. He asked why, I just played the video and he knew.

    Not sure what I'm getting at with this. Probably doesn't warrant a thread. Maybe something about this being a performance board for one of the many skill-based pursuits that is usually only discussed in terms of gear. Living in a time when things are real, relationships strained, and character tested. Anyone can talk shop. But I spent my day with a man who has spent the effort building and maintaining such skill that you can count on him to perform with an old single-barrel and box of foster slugs. Any time, any weather, when the chips are down.

    Still don't know why I opened a tab for this. Maybe to appreciate our mentors? To discuss specific moments when someone enganged in a moment of skillset before and over gear selection that should be remembered? Note some lowly piece of kit and the tale of tasks it has accomplished in the hands of someone capable? Or just typing to periodically make sure I'm not distracted by gear and keep doing the work.

    Or maybe Dad ribbed me for walking too far and taking a few minutes too long to gather the wood and tinder. I got tested and points for improvement from someone I deeply respect, today. Perhaps I just want to make sure my monkey brain understands that's worth more than any amount of idle gear talk. Now to call Mom, someone somehow more stubborn and fiercly outcome-driven than even my father. Say hello and see what comes of whatever we have for a conversation.

  2. #2
    banana republican blues's Avatar
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    Because I couldn't like it twice...
    There's nothing civil about this war.

    Read: Harrison Bergeron

  3. #3
    Most of us will truly never know the meaning of "sand" and what it means to have it.

  4. #4
    Member snow white's Avatar
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    Thank you for that. Makes me think of my father, he was a logger and an extremely honorable and capable man. I spent my childhood with him in the woods until he passed away when I was ten years old. I strive to be half as tough or as kind as he was during my life. And to be as good of a father to my daughter as he was to me.
    Come, mother, come! For terror is thy name, death is in thy breath, and every shaking step destroys a world for e'er. Thou 'time', the all-destroyer! Come, O mother, come!

  5. #5
    Site Supporter Totem Polar's Avatar
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    Great essay, thanks for taking the time to share it.
    ”But in the end all of these ideas just manufacture new criminals when the problem isn't a lack of criminals.” -JRB

  6. #6
    Member SoCalDep's Avatar
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    Lots of good in that post.

    Man I miss my dad.

  7. #7
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    My paternal grandfather built his fucking house from parts in Villa Park, IL.

    I wish I could be half as skilled or tough as him. Or half as kind.

    When my parents got the house I grew up in, it was very clearly not all it was cracked up to be...with a fucked up everything.

    When my mother's parents disowned her for marrying my father, my Dad's father came right over and bent over backwards to repair everything he could. The house lasted until we moved out.

    I miss that man dearly.

    Sent from my moto g(6) using Tapatalk

  8. #8
    Thanks for sharing that. It deserves more than just a 'like.'
    -All views expressed are those of the author and do not reflect those of the author's employer-

  9. #9
    I did talk to Mom and she'd received crushing news that day. Toward the end of the call, she said that she would survive this and I didn't even think of a response. "Of course you will, you've been through far worse without blinking" came out of my mouth on its own. Not some soothing platitude but just a reflexive statement of my opinion.

    She survived targeted physical childhood abuse. Walked past a fire Chief, straight into a fully involved structure fire to check for the residents whose car was parked but were not accounted for. Pulled teen sisters put of a home where their mother pimped them for drug money between bouts of abandoning them on benders to the point they killed a neighbor's horse to eat something. Simultaneously headed a ski patrol and ski school. Parked herself between a home invader and the hallway to her childrens' rooms with a .45 pointed at his chest. Called me to help her carry her best friend in the world out of her house as her husband cried and EMS stood around with "weak backs." Adopted her nephews when her sister fell into an ultimately suicidal manic spiral and still considers them her own children. Took in my best friend until he could be placed with other family when his abusive junkie mother finally lost custody. Fought for and spearheaded a youth program to keep at-risk kids out of the legal system. Swam into a frozen mountain pond to retreive a body and attempt CPR. Drove a psych patient home in a blizzard, far out of her district, on duty, just because it was the right thing to do. Alone made the round of welfare checks, under the guise of coffee visits, to every lonely elderly person in a two town radius on a rotating daily schedule. Walked into a threatened suocide by gun, sat across the kitchen counter, and talked to the guy until back-up flew in to secure the gun. Revived several people on the winter roadside doing solo CPR. Bought court suits for poor people she had arrested because everyone deserves a fair hearing and you don't get one dressed like trailer trash. Dragged me to medical calls for extra muscle and left that detail out of the reports. Put me on traffic detail when coming across accidents and she knelt over the biker with broken back.

    Unofficially put me in that program for troubled kids. "I could say they need a role model but you need to know real people and grow up right. That said, you're responsible for the conduct of the group you're in. I do not expect problems, clear?" Greatest gift she ever gave me.

    Left her beat and grabbed another patrolman from a different agency to post at the nearest school and make room-by-room checks on every classroom to up the spirits of shellshocked students and employees. "If anyone has questions or wants to talk, just send for me. It won't happen, here." The date? April twentieth, 1999. Her Chief grumbled about it the next day. "Yo hell with your coverage. On-call earned their pay. If you want people who will sit in their hands, fill my slot with one when I resign." She never got another promotion, to the surprise of no one.

    My father soothed my crying sister, one night. "She's with those other kids, again. Not here with me." One of those other kids was covered in scars from the night his father drunkenly threw him into a bonfire. We learned from mom that some things are bigger than family. She knew we were safe and loved but couldn't abandon kids who needed support. It was a hard lesson and we've learned to be thankful for it.

    She knew her mother well enough and still loved her so let my grandparents see us whenever any party asked. My grandparents raised me as much as my shiftwork parents. Mom knew we wouldn't get hit and that it would be a good relationship as her issues were built in a wholly different context. She was right and her children are in her debt for the blessing. Looked past her own horrible experience to judge a person holistically and make judgements from there. She was the only one of her siblings to visit her mother daily in the home. Take her out to meals. On backcountry drives like my grandfather had. Brought my wife and kids along to get to know the flawed but ultimately good family matriarch.

    When my wife was disinherited for marrying me and refusing divorce from the low class man, my mother immediately came by. "Here's the deal, you're MY daughter, have been since he introduced you." And then left to personally blow up at the in-laws.

    She still talks to a cousin's ex-wife and invites her to everything. Borrows a quote from her own mother when my cousin looks uneasy about it, "you divorced her, we didn't."

    She's made of bedstone. Will bear the weight of any righteous cause and never ask so much as a favor in return. Will sidestep all attempts at a thank you with reflexive self-deprecating humility. And has spent her life doing what her heart and mind said was right. Hard work, sacrifice, policy, technicalities of statute, and social norms be damned.

    A professional setback? Hardly a bump in the road. I know her, and few people can ever say they truly know another person. Mom deserves better but she'll be fine. She's the granddaughter of poor immigrants and daughter of a quiet lumberman. She's of sound stock and has never once failed to show it.

    She's prudish and always professional. But knew the only way to truly learn was to be immersed straight into the fray. So continues to drop her son into groups of junkies, victims, abusers, psycho hippie friends, patients, emergencies, and chaos. I've been spoiled for mentors but at the end of the day, it falls on my mother She allowed it, supervised me to be sure I internalized the correct lessons, and enabled it all. As my youngest sat mangked in the back of an ambulance, Mom got there first. Got police on scene before me to secure the animal and avoid a shooting, and told EMS that bleeding was well controlled, scene was secure, the father was running back, and to ask him questions then left me alone in the ambulance because she knew I would keep the crew on task. I scolded the Intermediate for asking me the patient questions and made my kid do it all herself through the blood and pain. "She is alert and oriented, these questions are an assessment for her. Do your job and do not ever take another shortcut with my kids." The Paramedic was another old mentor of mine. She smiled and backed me up. The Intermediate later started to ask me if I wanted transport but shut her mouth, turned her head, and asked the kid. "I want to hug Grammie and Grampa then Daddy will drive me to the doctor. He always does."

    Talking to my wife later, "so that's why you're good at hospital trips and could never tell me how?"

    "I was always expected to do it myself after sitting through every CPR/First Aid and backcountry trauma class she was involved with. You learn by doing."

  10. #10
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    Which survival book? Thank you for sharing. It’s nice to know there are still people not afraid to get their hands dirty

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