Jonathan Thompson

by Dorita Peer Kozak
The sturdy young man who enters the library looks slightly discomfited. He sports a beard such as would grow a week out in the bush. Otherwise, his features look First Nations. Mi’gmaw, he tells me. From the east coast. His other tribe is Pilipino, even further east.

From the Atlantic seacoast to the Temagami lakeshore, the land has helped him heal from a misguided youth. He calls himself, not an expert, but a student of wilderness lore. His inspiration sprang from his blood and from a book about a vision quest to unite the tribes by preserving the ancient skills. He wants to become a conservation officer. There are
courses at George Brown, at Loyalist. For now, he continues largely selftaught, exploring patches of unspoiled King Township, for which he works.

He skips away to return with his survivor kit. It is hardly bigger than a shaving kit. I am almost disappointed to see a couple of ordinary green garbage bags emerge first. Emergency raincoats, he explains. Or dew catchers. Next is a thong sling made from deer hide he tanned himself. His hands act out his labours, scraping, kneading, stretching. Smoking waterproofs it. Give it a sniff, he says. It smells clean and animal. It is not
just for small game. I am skeptical. Powerful as David’s, he answers. A well-aimed stone can bring down just about anything, even a Goliath.

Proudly, he shows me his handmade knives. I am impressed. One is heavy in its sheath of polished antler, the blade short, very sharp. A second for filleting fish. A third, called a wakanigan, like a farrier’s crook knife, for woodworking. A fishing kit has factory-made hooks, lines and floats. All of these can be made from natural materials found in the bush.
Ingenuity is your best friend, he assures. And keeping busy if you get lost. A whistle can send penetrating SOS’s long distances. I see lots of ropes of various gauges. A world without string is chaos, he warns. Rope can hold a makeshift house together. But, clothing is primary shelter. Be prepared. Cotton is “dead man clothing”. No insulation, and a wick for
water. Wool is best. And leather. Even grass, woven into a mat, can shed water. A simple but high-tech water purifying straw, and you can bend like a deer to sip straight out of the lake. There is snare wire for hunting or suspending a pot over fire. A multi-tool, fishing pliers, a portable handsaw. And what else but duct tape!

His most precious object comes from his Philippine tribe and Ebay. The fire piston is made of polymer and operates using pressure to create combustion. There is also a flint starter. From volatile magnesium scrapings, one spark and you have ignition. There are no matches.

In the King wilderness where I live, Jonathan stoops protectively over his creation – a small puff of smoke. He carefully drops the tiny ember into a nest of cattail fluff and cedar wool, a soft breath or two, and it hatches into a flame. On a fire bow made of cedar, maple, string and resin, his sawing was lightening fast and focused. In less than five minutes, we had life-saving fire. Even more remarkably, his fire piston makes an ember in the time it takes to stuff it with crumbly ochre birch fungus and give it a hard push.

He says he could survive indefinitely on food hunted and gathered. The laws allow an imperiled person to hunt out of season but also the trees are surprising sources of nutrition. Pines give pollen flour in the spring and nuts in the summer. The needles make wholesome tea. Both pine and birch cambium are edible, and grass and twigs. Poor man’s spaghetti, Jonathan laughs. Cattail corms are delicious, like cucumber.
Acorns, palatable if boiled.

We stalk the old bridle paths the deer have adopted. A foot snaps a twig, and two flashes of whitetail bound away east and west. We kneel to study the fresh tracks and discuss the sex and size of the deer. He shows how a stick can measure the stride of a targeted quarry. When we find milkweed, he shows how easily its fibres could be twisted into rope with
bare hands. A world without string is chaos. From hawthorns, we make fishing hooks. By the creek, we find jewel weed, an antidote for poison ivy. There is much more to know. In the gloaming, we talk about weaving a bed from cedar boughs and stuffing our coats with grasses. Remember the Sacred Four? Shelter, water, fire, food. He has taught me well. We
talk about the future. Of clean water. Of how we only borrow the land. It really belongs to the children.

The stones from his sling go whirring off into the darkness. What can slay a modern Goliath? The lights of my warm house glow tantalizingly in the distance. Under the sky, Jonathan is a man in his element.

What’s That Bloomin’ Thing?
Snowflakes

by Lorne Macrae
Items needed:
• Digital camera – 10 mega-pixels or higher
• Dark, non-reflective paper or cloth
• Scissors
• Salvaged flat sections of any clear rigid plastic from a
pre-packaged or blister pack gift
• A spray can of art lacquer used by artists as a sealer on their paintings (UV-resistant, clear acrylic coating such as Krylon)
Initial preparation before catching a snowflake:
1. Set the can of lacquer spray outside in a dry place to chill when the temperature is below freezing, along with a piece of the rigid plastic.
2. When both are at freezing temperature, shake the cold can of lacquer well. Use the spray outdoors, as it is flammable. Cover the cold plastic with a fine spray of lacquer on the top side, and leave to dry outdoors. Then store lacquer and prepared plastic indoors until needed.