As a serial bushcraft course attendee, Philip is no stranger to fabricating shelters or gutting animals, and there are an increasing number of people wanting to follow in his footsteps. So why does he think the British bushcraft business booming exactly?
A Heart-Faced Hunter
The pitch-black shape swoops silently above our heads. We only notice it when it momentarily obscures the constellations. Within seconds, Jay the instructor is belly-down in the grass, peering through his night-vision goggles. He motions for us to do the same.
There are nine of us left, down from 12 when the course began two days ago. It’s been an extreme 48 hours. The first dropped out from sickness, and two drove off early yesterday morning, complaining of being too cold in the night.
To be fair, it is January, and sleeping outdoors in a bushcraft shelter, literally woven from twigs, is a long way from luxury. But then again, this is supposed to be a ‘Winter Survival Weekend’. What exactly did they expect?
We’d been in the middle of a lesson about night-time orientation – basically, praying for a clear sky and then looking for the North Star – when our charismatic visitor arrived. ‘Barn owl’ whispers Jay with a boyish grin.
One by one, we all take a turn on the night-vision goggles. ‘Please be careful,’ he begs. ‘These goggles cost over two thousand pounds.’
When the goggles come to me I peer through eagerly, scanning the field until I spot it sitting on a fence post.
It’s my first-time using night-vision and quite frankly, I’m blown away. The amount of detail it picks up is astounding. The owl appears as a glowing red and gold silhouette, its distinctive heart-shape face turning this way and that. Suddenly, the owl spots movement somewhere in the grass. It drops like a feathered stone, swift and deadly.
The goggles are worth every penny.
So Why Is Survivalism Suddenly So Sexy?
This is not my first bushcraft course. In fact, like many in the UK, I think I’ve become a bit addicted to survivalism.
In the last few years – since lockdown lifted, I’ve been to four such courses, all with the excellent Woodland Ways: Bowcraft, Foraging, Advanced Shelters, and this one – the Winter Survival Weekend. Just a few of the many branches of the sprawling canopy that is the bushcraft and survivalism world.
I’m not sure what makes it so popular, but I have my suspicions. When I ask Jay later, he shrugs. “People are beginning to realise they need nature in order to be happy. I think COVID changed a lot of things. People no longer want to be chained to the 9-5. They want more adventure in their lives.”
A few others in the group nod at this, and we do a quick round explaining why we decided to come on the course. Mostly it’s the same story: the modern world is hard. Hard mentally and emotionally, and it can feel relentless. Like there’s no escape.
In contrast, survivalism is the ultimate escape. You don’t have to worry if you’ve paid the mortgage this month, or what global catastrophe is currently on the news. Instead, there’s a freedom in knowing your needs are stripped down to the absolute necessities. Shelter, water, fire, and food. Roughly in that order. Of course, no one articulates this in so many words, but listening between the lines, it’s easy to hear what people aren’t saying.
There’s also the old joke about the end of the world. Someone mentions it early on the first evening: with all the problems in the world and our constant awareness of them, it feels like the apocalypse is an everyday and omnipresent concern. People feel like they need to be prepared for the worst. Prepare to survive.
Jay laughs at this. He’s clearly not motivated by it, but maybe he’s not complaining either. It’s definitely had a bit of an influence on the booming bushcraft trade. Perhaps for some, the idea of the end of the world is good for business.
Frank Campfire Conversations
Masculinity is another topic that comes up again and again. Of the 12 in the original group, 10 of us were men. While there are some great courses specifically for women, Jay says this ratio is pretty standard.
‘It’s another aspect of the same problem. I.e.: The modern world. Men feel like they have fewer and fewer outlets to be physical, and – paradoxically, to be vulnerable. Somehow it’s easier to be honest in the outdoors.’
It’s true. There is a sense of openness among the group, most of whom are what you might call typical ‘blokes’ – more used to using their hands than expressing their innermost emotions. To be fair, it’s hard not to be honest with someone when you’ve just spent three hours gutting freshly caught fish in the freezing wind. And then cooking and eating the delicious flesh over an open fire. It brings you together in the most primal way.
Over the course of the weekend I got to know my companions through a discussion of pretty raw topics. Fatherhood, bereavement, the realities of war – we had two Iraq veterans in the group. It was intense, and frankly, really bloody nice.
Something about the wild world invites frank conversation.
It might be dangerous and uncomfortable and down-right cold most of the time, but at least the outdoors is honest. And honesty seems to be a currency in short supply these days. What with every screen telling a different story, and every billboard trying to sell you something – which you probably don’t need.
Nature has no interest in selling you anything. It has no agenda or ulterior motive. You can trust to be exactly what it is.
Surely that’s got to be worth a few chilly nights?