A camper should know for himself how to outfit, how to select and make a camp, how to wield an axe and make proper fires, how to cook, wash, mend, how to travel without losing his course, or what to do when he has lost it; how to trail, hunt, shoot, fish, dress game, manage boat or canoe, and how to extemporize such makeshifts as may be needed in wilderness faring. And he should know these things as he does the way to his mouth. Then is he truly a woodsman, sure to do promptly the right thing at the right time, whatever befalls. Such a man has an honest pride in his own resourcefulness, a sense of reserve force, a doughty self-reliance that is good to feel.
“The Book of Camping and Woodcraft”, by Horace Kephart
There will always be, in the still-hunters memory, the song of a little mountain brook, discovered in his wanderings; the heart-stopping clutch as a magnificent buck bounds from a windfall hideaway; the triumphant moment when, by wits and woodsmanship alone, he has tracked down his whitetail buck and sent forth the well-placed shot that has brought his trophy to bag.
Millican Dalton (1867-1947). At the age of 36, Dalton gave up his job as an insurance clerk in London and travelled to the Lake District to live in a cave on Castle Crag, where he slept on a bed of bracken. (He returned south to Buckinghamshire each winter to stay in a wooden shed.) In the summertime, he offered his services as a mountain guide, and survived on a minimal income that he found to be perfectly compatible with his vegetarian, teetotal lifestyle and socialist, pacifist beliefs. When not guiding on the fells, he passed his time climbing, practising woodsmanship, and building and using rafts. Dalton described himself as a Professor of Adventure, and carved these words onto the wall of his cave: