The Tom Brown School
(Page 3 of 8)
We have spent countless hours this week doing just that,
and a great deal more. In five days of almost nonstop
lectures and workshops—beginning at 8:00 each morning
and continuing into the night, sometimes past
midnight—we've covered an astonishing variety of
skills, each in depth: making fires, building shelters,
finding water, building traps and snares, skinning and
tanning, making natural cordage, cooking, arrow and bow
making, flint knapping, Eolithic rockwork, stalking,
foraging, hunting and—of course—tracking.
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"I pack this course with information, and then I pack it
further," Brown told us the first night. "Time is critical
here. I use every minute. When you're done on Sunday and
you look at how much we've gone over, your head will reel."
My head's been reeling since the second day. I've filled
two notebooks with lecture notes and I'm working on
another. My hands are scratched and calloused from
workshops: from carving traps, twisting plant fiber to make
cord, chipping rock into cutting tools.
After lunch, each student uses the time remaining before
the next class to practice skills or complete projects
started earlier. An options trader from Brooklyn pulls a
nearly completed bone arrowhead from his pocket and begins
scraping it across a piece of rock to give it a keen edge.
In the field beyond the cooking area, three
students—a real estate salesman, a machinist and a
physical therapist—set chunks of firewood on end in a
line as targets, move back 30 feet and practice throwing a
rabbit stick, an arm-length, wrist-thick piece of tree limb
that, when hurled correctly, is a deadly accurate survival
weapon for hunting small game.
Over by an outbuilding another student stands staring
straight ahead, arms outstretched to either side, wiggling
his fingers slightly. It's an exercise in stimulating
peripheral vision, an element, Brown says, essential to
increasing your awareness of the world. He has taught us to
widen our vision and avoid fixing our eyes in any one
direction for long—a technique he calls "splatter
vision." "Always be a tourist," he says. "Look at the room
you're in, the street you're on, the trail you're walking,
as if you were seeing it for the first time—no matter
how many times you've seen it before. Your mind always
seeks the familiar, but you miss so much. Vary your vision.
Refuse to let your eyes focus on the same things you always
look at. Force yourself to look in different places.
Wherever your vision goes, your senses go."
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