Pablo’s Woodlife: Wildlife, Tracking and Bushcraft

Firstly, thank you all for your kind comments about the injury. Honestly, I was overwhelmed.

To answer some questions in bulk - yes, that was a deer staring at me. Can’t you see it grinning? Yes, the demi-john is full of gin (summer fruits mix). Yes, my legs are scary - however they have beaten Kriss Akabusi (on one occasion!)

This is the last post about the injury except perhaps to update on progress every now and again. I’ll get back to the outdoors posts -from indoors (if you see what I mean) next time.

The treatment plan is to keep the foot in plaster for 2-weeks. It’s got to be elevated at all times and no pressure on the foot. The foot was angled downwards with toes pointing to the floor before the plaster was put on (that smarted) so it’s almost impossible to put the foot down anyway.

Every two weeks the foot will be lifted, re-positioned (looking forward to that) and re-plastered until on the sixth week it will be in its normal position. At this time or shortly after it should be able to bear weight and then the physiotherapy can be started.

I found a Mountain Bike forum which charted the same injury for two of its members and found some very useful information. The worst fear is a re-rupture, which actually happened to one of the members. Unfortunately, this is a pretty common occurrence. The message put across was not to rush things, take it easy and don’t start your activity too soon. It’s only after 9 months (!) that you can safely carry out intensive activity. I think wandering in the woods won’t count as intensive activity, but I’m still going to have to be extremely careful walking up hills on uneven ground, carrying weight and of course slipping and stumbling.

The Achilles tendon is the longest and strongest tendon in the body. It is prone to damage because of the stresses and strains put on it. I’m not surprised if my previous years of intensive track and field competition haven’t weakened it somewhat. Unfortunately, this is an injury which probably takes the longest time to heal.

So what have I been doing? As the swelling subsided, the pain got a bit worse, but it seems ok now. I don’t really like taking tablets but found that Paracetamol and Ibrobrufen taken together is a very effective pain-killer (as recommended by the hospital.)

I’ve started to exercise the rest of my body (no use letting the rest of it waste away) but no ’shrafting projects as yet except the odd bit of knife sharpening.  I’ve been looking at leather work stuff, but I’m not sure how to go about it. I’m going to have to seek advice from the leatherwork gurus on the forums.

Getting around is a pain but already I’ve adapted by thinking like you do in the outdoors. The key is to be organised. I’ve got a shoulder bag to put all the things I normally leave laying about the house (phone, book, pipe, lighter, sweets.) I also make a flask of tea in the morning (saves spilling cups when hopping about!) Mrs P didn’t allow me to set up a Trangia in the lounge. Lunchtime sandwiches are also stored in the shoulder bag.

I can see this is injury is going to be expensive. I’ve already bought knife on Ebay since being off. It’s just a comfort purchase to make me feel better - you know how it is

All the best,

Pablo.

It hadn’t been a great start to the excursion, but at least I had seen some activity in the woods. On the way out I had slipped trying to negotiate a ditch. It was like someone had whacked me with a plank of wood on my ankle.

My hand went to the mobile phone. Hang on. Let’s just assess what’s going on here. I could move my toes and slightly move my ankle. It can’t be broken. Perhaps a pulled muscle or at the worst damaged ligaments. It must be. I crawled out of the ditch and into the field. The exertion caused my breath to form a stream of white vapour from my mouth as the temperature dropped.

Well, if ever there was anyone more prepared for this, it was me. I had a sleeping bag, bivi bag, food, water (no I didn’t - I’d poured it away to walk out, stupid!) knife, firesteel, whistle, light-stick, kitchen sink and good clothing. I would survive.

OK. Before we call the cavalry, let’s try and stand up. I pushed myself up hopping on the good leg. And the other leg? I gingerly placed it on the deck. Yes, that hurt. A lot. A shooting pain went up the back of my leg. I would need a walking stick; but to cut one, I would have to go back into the woods. I don’t think so.

Some semblance of logic and rational thought returned. If this was a calf muscle injury, I wouldn’t be able to extend and flex the foot but I might be able to bear some weight with the foot angled out at 90 degrees. Well, that was less painful. I was kind of mobile. All I had to do now was walk, I mean limp, the half mile across the field, negotiate another ditch, follow a tarmac road for 200 yards and I would reach the car. No problems.

I had my first aid kit of course, but to strap up the leg would be a waste of time and effort. The high legged surplus army boots seemed to be doing a reasonable job of supporting the bottom of the leg.

I followed a deer trail at the edge of the field and bizarrely, I scolded myself for walking on the tracks, but I had no option other than a deeply rutted, muddy field. I counted my steps and kept the head torch firmly pinned to the area in front of me as I shuffled Quasimodo style toward the road.

I’ve been injured before and have had to persevere to get medical attention. A kind of survival instinct takes over and the adrenaline rushes to the parts of the body where it’s needed, which of course, is exactly what it’s designed to do. There’s a sense of euphoria and you actually feel good, which in turn provides you with some extra determination to drive you onwards to your goal despite the pain.

I had no option but to crawl on hands and knees to get across the   other ditch. I wasn’t going to risk further injury by another slip. The tarmac of the road was bliss! The smooth surface provided fewer jolts and I began to reflect on what happened.

What had I done wrong? I was walking slowly and carefully. I always preach slowing down in the woods and I follow my own advice. Ironically, about this time two weeks ago, I was walking through a wood, barefoot, blindfolded with one ear bunged up! I had a torch on. I had high-leg boots on and not my tracking boots, which probably saved me from a more serious injury. I would have had to negotiate the ditch wherever I exited the woods. It was very slippery underfoot. A momentary lapse of concentration? I had slipped and fallen. Well, that was about it. I should have stayed in the woods was the only chastisement I could administer to myself.

At last the car. I slung the kit in the back and started her up. Now this would be interesting. My injured left foot just couldn’t depress the clutch. Another series of shooting pains reminded me that actually, my left foot was useless. It was only a five minute journey home. Mrs P wasn’t there but the cavalry, in the form of my mate who lived close by, could still be called.

I’d got this far, so I wasn’t going to give up now. I used my right foot on the clutch and slowly got old Doris moving. You can change gear without the clutch at the right revs, but I decided to stay in first gear. It was only a mile and a half. Luckily, there’s very little traffic around our country lanes, and it wasn’t long before I landed outside the front door with a judder and a screech as a heavy right foot descended on the brake, stalling the car in the process.

Once inside the house, I quickly disrobed and took off my socks. Immediately I saw the problem. Right foot Achilles tendon - present and correct; left foot Achilles tendon - Absent Without Leave. It appeared I’d ruptured my Achilles heel. Nice one!

This was confirmed 3 hours later at the hospital, (thanks Paul, for waiting about for me) where, amongst other things, an appointment was made to attend the fracture clinic next week.

At least we made it back to the pub for last orders. Perhaps not such a disaster after all.

So, what am I going to do for the next six to eight weeks? Ever the optimist… I’ve got a few cunning plans!

Please send all flowers, get well soon cards, grapes, port wine and brandy to this address …

Thanks for the visit,

Pablo.

I knew it was going to be a bad day. I left work later than expected, but still in time to throw some kit into a rucksack and catch the last of the light in order to watch the deer.

I’d packed some overnight stuff in case I wanted to stay out but that wasn’t really the plan. Mrs P was away visiting her sister, but even so, I intended to return and have a pint or two at the local hostelry.

I put my glasses (spectacles) on the stairs to do up my boot laces, and promptly stood on them to do up the other boot.

I dived into my utility pack in my rucksack to extract the small bottle of Superglue. Hah! Be prepared! Since this happened to me in the woods on a previous occasion, I always carry a small bottle. Like a first aid kit, it may never be used, but it’s there in case there’s a major failure with essential kit.

I was now another 20 minutes behind schedule. Needless to say, in my hurry I forgot my medicine. I can live without it, but life is more comfortable with it. That made me decide I would definitely return home.

The woods were alive with action. A large fallow buck was chasing away two younger upstarts and the does were standing around looking confused. It was getting dark and I only managed to get a couple of photos. I tried to track the deer through the woods, but they had entered very closed-in woodland. I returned to my rucksack and started to pack up. It was now quite dark, but even so, I took time out to listen to the tawny owls shouting at each other above my head.

It was beer o’clock and time to go. I shouldered my pack and walked to the edge of the wood. As usual, I was walking slowly and had changed the head torch to white to lead the way. I spotted a gap at the edge of the wood leading out into the field. I had to negotiate a deep ditch, but I knew it was there. My leg went out and…

… suddenly I was on my back, staring at the  stars with a searing pain in my left calf muscle and ankle. My immediate thought was a broken ankle. I lay still and took some deep breaths but this wasn’t going to go away. What had happened? How bad was it? How was I going to get back? How many more questions fit in one post?

Read the next thrilling instalment. Part two soon.

Pablo.

It is indeed a golden autumn. These ten days are enough to make the reputation of any climate. A tradition of these days might be handed down to posterity. They deserve a notice in history, in the history of Concord. All kinds of crudities have a chance to get ripe this year. Was there ever such an autumn? And yet there was never such a panic and hard times in the commercial world. The merchants and banks are suspending and failing all the country over, but not the sand-banks, solid and warm, and streaked with blackberry vines.

You may run upon them as much as you please,—even as the crickets do, and find their account in it. They are the stockholders in these banks, and I hear them creaking their content. You may see them on change any warmer hour. In these banks, too, and such as these, are my funds deposited, a fund of health and enjoyment. Their (the crickets) prosperity and happiness and, I trust, mine do not depend on whether the New York banks suspend or no.

We do not rely on such a slender security as the thin paper of the Suffolk Bank. To put your trust in such a bank is to be swallowed up and undergo suffocation. Invest, I say, in these country banks. Let your capital be simplicity and contentment. Withered goldenrod (Solidago nemoralis) is no failure, like a broken bank, and yet in its most golden season, nobody counterfeits it. Nature needs no counterfeit detector.

I have no compassion for, nor sympathy with, this miserable state of things. Banks built of granite, after some Grecian or Roman style, with their porticoes and their safes of iron, are not so permanent, and cannot give me so good security for capital invested in them, as the heads of weathered hardhack in the meadow. I do not suspect the solvency of these. I know who is their president and cashier.

Sadly, I can’t take credit for any of the above and it wasn’t even written today. It was written on this day in 1857 by Henry David Thoreau.

Life goes on and very little changes; except the changes of the seasons.

Thanks to owners of The Blog of Henry David Thoreau.

Pablo.

P.S. The new DDhammock and Tarp video review will be up on Thursday - I promise!

I started to feel dizzy as the blood drained from my face.

This was even worse than decorating!

“He’s an old friend and for the last two years you’ve made excuses not to go,” said Mrs Pablo.

“Yes, but London! It’s all concrete and people. It’s…urban!”

“It will do you good to talk to humans.”

“Are you suggesting that my Bushcraft mates aren’t human?”

“That’s debatable!”

“what hammock shall I take?”

Mrs Pablo looked skyward. “We’re booked into a hotel.”

I had visions of Mick Dundee in “Crocodile Dundee” sleeping on the floor by his hotel bed.
 
“…and you can leave those axes behind as well! One thing that might please you is that it’s a BBQ. You know outdoors cooking and all that.”

“So you think I might be able to help skin something?”

Mrs Pablo unsurprisingly didn’t answer.

So there we have it. A weekend out of my precious and shortening life written off! Gone for ever without seeing anything remotely green or wood-like!

Never mind. I’ve always got the following weekend to look forward to where I will hopefully be doing a video review of the brand new DD hammock/bivi (yes, hammock and bivi combined) and their new 3×3 lightweight tarp.  That’s if I survive the smog!
See you next week.

Pablo.

Have you noticed that the wildlife is getting busier? There seems to be a lot more bird and mammal activity as the autumn starts to kick in.