Mesolithic taster

[edwin]

Was it a holiday or was I just fed up with the drudgery of the settlement. Even hauling the nets of our fish trap had become just work. When we began to get together after the Death it seemed an oasis in a world turned terrible and lonely. Perhaps I was simply fed up with people, even the tiny numbers still alive got on my wick. Boring, pompous and sometimes dangerous. How nice when disaster struck if we could have chosen our chums to survive.

So now I am on my own and have made most of what I have. Bow and the coracle, the pot and the net, the fishing line. Several animals have kindly contributed to my comfort and even the hull of my boat. Could have taken or found old time tents and tarps and sleeping bags but I am done for the moment with ghosts pre-death. Everything seems to carry that smell we all were immersed in that swamped the atmosphere of a dying world.

The tide is right and we move upriver on the flood, paddling to give steerage way. The trees sweep down to the water and it is beautiful with the promise of food and shelter. Supper tonight takes care of itself as the trolling line from the boat jerks and I haul aboard a large bass. Now, a confession of a cheat, I still need the help of pre-Death books to know what I am collecting, catching and eating. Just cannot remember what the plants I find will do, feed or kill. Must still be suffering from Survivor's worry about safety or why else do I still wear this tatty bouyancy aid. Still cannot bring myself to throw away those old friends of books that kept me alive during the hungry days following the Death and our fear of shops or anywhere that possibly still infectious corpses might have been. These and that amazing luck to have a broadheaded arrow in the bow when that red deer stooped to drink. Wasn't a sporting shot but it was a pot-boiling, geasy chin, gut-bashing feast that went on until that meat was high, but still tasty in a stew.

Ashore and haul the boat up into the tree-line. Lean it over to make part of a shelter and lay a deerskin on the ground swept clear of leaves. Half an hour with the bowdrill and we have fire. Water on to boil and some of those dried holly leaves along with other bits and I shall have a nice cup of tea that has real stimulating caffeine in it. OK I am addicted but the wild can supply what I want. Shame about bread, cheese and beer but maybe I can trade or work for those from a settlement.

Leaning back in comfort against a tree I wonder when if ever I want to join in with the others again. Humanity had an 100,000 year picnic in the woods after all and it took civilisation to make people an endangered species. Gosh! philosophising already and its only been a day. Thoreau would be proud of me. But, time to split the fish and cook it.

[edwin]

That was good if chilly. First night of my trip and it is going well. The Spring weather helps but if it rains I get wet and so what? Aches and pains but the common cold seems to have vanished with civilisation. My luck of course if I meet some strangers with the sniffles next week. Morning duty done and much relieved, how long Oh wonder before one's old joints will get used to squatting in the woods rather than in one of those shiny clean porcelain equipped bathrooms we took for granted. The empty wood though is nicer than that smelly latrine area of the settlement.

Now, what to do today? Look for some food of course. Might read a bit and if it seems safe will even tootle on my penny whistle, something the settlement is grateful for if I do not within earshot. String the bow and selct a blunt head, bird, squirrel or rabbit this time I think. Dim pheasant pecking around and that is supper sorted for tonight. Luck that it was so easy, glad I have some smoked bacon from the settlement to lard it a bit if I roast it but maybe I'll recognise some potherbs for a stewy thing.

Thanks to the books I have got a pile of dandelions, sorrel, cleavers and several other tasty plants for my pottage. This is what we are having for tea, roasted pheasant with stewed wild veg and my last bottle of blackberry wine I sneaked out with me.

Darkness coming on, that was filling and tasty and the fire is burnt down to its glowing coals. I love all this, I wonder what poor people do? But we are all poor now or incredibly rich having inherited the accumulated rust piles and falling houses of billions of people. Mustn't half be a queue for reincarnation now, all those souls and so few babies born. Or maybe they are still lining up for wings and harps to be fitted. No, they are all dead, gone and dust, fortunately no ghosts.

Now am I too lazy to take the simple precaution of moving away from my dinner site and fire or do I take a chance and kip here? Stay here I think but will just stretch some string round the clearing about thigh height. There, that's done and should inconvenience any intruder, now, load the pistol crossbow and put the safety ON, bayonet on left side where I can reach it, hatchet handy, sheath knife on belt on small of back that wakes me up if I turn over and snore. Fire banked and time for sleep, 'Night 'Night to me.

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[edwin]

[Having as bout of reheumatism at the moment my chances of surviving PA would approximate zero at times! But, back to future.]

I love early mornings when its sunny, bloody chilly though. Check the perimeter and wind up the string, listen, and ease the prod on the pistol crossbow. Now for the dangerous bit, washing. There, glad that's done and how warm it feels to get ones clothes on again. Shame they are getting grubbier than they were but Im a rufty-tufty woodsman now. What was that song? "I'm a timbercutter and its alright?" No that isn't it must think of it today, keep the brain cells grey as the story detective... um... Heracles Parrot would have said

Fishing, will move a bit upriver and set up a nightline. Got plenty of string, founds balls of pre PA,good stuff. Must cut the blackthorn hooks for it as well.

That's the line made, blackthorns looped onto the string and baited with mussels from the rocks, too small to eat but the make good bait. Only a dozen hooks, be a waste to catch more than I can eat and I don't want to smoke the surplus as yet. Now to lay it while the tide is low, anchored to the shore with a post driven in and lead it out. glad there is firm going under foot rather than deep mud, this gravel is sharp, wish I had a pair of wellies but traders want a fortune for them. That's it, stake the far end and walk back scattering seaweed on the hooks to keep off the birds from the bait, Seagull doesn't taste nice.

Camp back in the woods where I can see the first stake and wait for the tide to come in and out again, Its been doing that for millions of years somethings that always impresses me.

Fish for tea tomorrow and I think we will do a little stalking at dusk near that freshwater pool that had the deer slots.