The creating of my new bedroll place me in thoughts of the jolly Swagman of old Australian ballad.
As a younger man I waltzed my Matilda all more than. I hitch hiked and back packed my billy into the wild at every single chance I had.
That created more than time into an interest in landscape photography and the load I was carrying steadily enhanced. Cameras, lenses and tripods have been not lightweight, particularly in the days just before digital imaging.
Thankfully, these days also corresponded to the availability of a automobile for having me to the trail head but the distance I tramped absolutely began to shorten.
I nonetheless sleep below canvas beneath the stars every single opportunity I get but the realities of life and perform now suggests the chance to do so are spread additional and additional apart.
I made use of to get out on living history camps quite frequently more than the sunnier seasons but sadly even these possibilities have now largely dried up.
Seeking back right now, brings me to the realisation that it has now been a great handful of years considering the fact that I actually waltzed my Matilda anyplace at all.
The final time I basically stepped out towards a distant horizon with all my kit was now seven years ago and even then it was packed on a sled and not in a backpack.
It would seem that with the inevitable passage of time, I have develop into that most ridiculed of beasts, an armchair bushcrafter…
Granted, my armchair is now really usually a folding one particular and my roof is nonetheless often created of taut canvas. I use ancient expertise and antiquated gear to handle my camp life and make, modify or mend my gear but the nature of my outside life now bears small resemblance to my greener days.
I am absolutely older and possibly a small far more eccentric but there is hardly ever a day that I do not take pleasure in a quiet moment or two organizing my subsequent outing. The distinction is that outing is now far more probably to be laden with gear reminiscent of a nineteenth century expedition.
Sometimes I wonder if I need to return to these worthy days of sleeping on a browse bed deep in the woods and as I lie on my comfy mattress searching at the lamp lit canvas above me, I realise that these days I would want to verify every single inch of my physique for ticks, my back would take a fortnight to forgive me and I would not be searching forward to a fine English breakfast created more than an open fire.
Yes, my outside life has certainly changed but do I regret it? . . . . . .. . .Not one particular small bit.
How have you adapted to the march of time?