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.

The site was down for 24 hours on Sunday. As an apology - an extra post taken from Thoreau’s “blog” on this day 149 years ago.

The Springometer

Thoreau’s Journal: 25-Feb-1859

“Measure your health by your sympathy with morning and spring. If there is no response in you to the awakening of nature,—if the prospect of an early morning walk does not banish sleep, if the warble of the first bluebird does not thrill you,— know that the morning and the spring of your life are past. Thus may you feel your pulse.”                           

I think I now qualify as a pretty experienced hammock user. Imagine my surprise, nay shock, when last Friday, just after climbing into the hammock, I promptly fell out of it. (You’re not laughing are you? No, I thought not.) A momentary (and I stress momentary) moment of disequilibrium.

Now, I have a couple of theories as to why this might have happened. And these are as follows:

a) The hammock was narrower than the one I usually use resulting weight being unequally distributed to one side.

b) The sleeping bag was a different type, having a centre-zip. The movement caused by trying to orientate the hammock and climb into it resulted in a loss of balance.

c) A wild animal or fellow bushcrafter deliberately rocked my hammock in such a way that the hammock tilted over.

d) Too much ‘shrafting juice (definition: alcoholic substance of the Bushcrafter) caused a temporary sensory impairment of the balance organs.

a) and b) are possible. It’s a valid theory but compensatory movements by the experienced tree-dweller should overcome the motion of instability.

c) is unlikely. This is not standard behaviour for animals in the UK and although this crowd seemed a little more mischievous than folk at other meets, I don’t think any one would dare interfere with a bushcrafter’s temporary place of abode. And “No”, that’s not a challenge for next time folks.

I’ve come to the conclusion that d) is the most likely and probably cause.

‘Shrafting juice is a little more potent than normal alcoholic products due to the additives which make them …well … bushcrafty. By adding copious amounts of picked fruit, extra sugar and perhaps other dubious contents to the already high alcoholic content and leaving it to ferment for a few months, the ‘shrafting juice becomes a potentially lethal concoction. Other factors which exacerbate the situation are mixing the different liquids in the same drinking vessels (kuksa’s, drinking horns etc); darkness (so you can’t see what you’re drinking) and the culture of “refusal might offend.”

So be warned. ‘Shrafting juice leads to sensory impairment of the balance organs resulting in the failure to maintain a stable horizontal position and state of equilibrium in the hammock.

Pablo.

Site tweaking in progess. Shouldn’t take long.

Thursday’s post is below.