vardlokkur: the prologue

This is a story about the last days of the great human culture. 

I am writing this story from the perspective of 71 thousand years later. The story is based on the findings in anthropology, geology, genetics of human migrations, bone and other artifacts.

The described culture had its roots in the events much earlier when 125 thousands years ago the temperatures were about 4 degrees warmer than today, and the droughts in central Africa pushed humans in search of the new lands. 

In the following 20 thousands years humans colonized much of the Eurasia. They became successful despite the fact that they were competing with other hominids and great mammals.

Eventually they developed a great oral culture with poetry, history and medicine, they mostly spoke the similar languages and they had deep understanding of their environment. They colonized Europe all the way from Ural Mountains to Scandinavia and British Isles. 

When 105 thousand years ago the climate started to cool down to about 3 degrees less than today, and the glaciers returned to the Northern Europe, the human population was already established and thriving.

At the time of the story, 71 thousand years ago, there were well over 150 thousand humans spread across Africa, Europe and Southern Asia.

This is when the disaster came and wiped out humanity. 

The explosion of Indonesian volcano Toba was not unusual in the history of the Earth; in fact gigantic caldera explosions happens at least every 100 thousand years (1). 

Yet, the 750 cubic miles of ash thrown into the atmosphere by Toba was a thousand times stronger than any other volcanic explosion in the modern times, including the 1982 eruption of Mt. St. Helen. In comparison tiny explosion of Philippine's  Krakatoa in 536 AD darkened  the sun for eighteen months, and the explosion of Mount Tambor in 1816  caused the "Year without a summer" resulting the widespread famine and related diseases which wiped out 200,000 people, or one-third of Europe.

The explosion of Toba in Sumatra was absolutely devastating, the ashes suspended in the stratosphere caused a six-year volcanic winter with the crop failures, and caused the already cold temperatures to plummet another several degrees. The whole world fell in one of the deepest ice ages. About 90 percent of the humanity starved to death, the remaining 15,000 or so, were too small of the gene pool to rebound and for all practical purposes disappeared for the next 60 thousand years.

ad1) The Yellowstone caldera is 30 x 50 miles wide and it is considered to be active, its pending explosion will have similar effects on humanity as the described explosion of Toba. Or, rather, it will be magnified by the magnitude of density of the modern human population. 

vardlokkur: the prologue

This story is about the last days of the great human culture. I am writing this from the perspective of 71 thousand years later, hence, I will use the terminology understood by my readers. 

That culture had its roots in the events much earlier, when 125 thousands years ago the temperatures were about 4 degrees warmer than today, and the droughts in central Africa pushed humans in search of the new lands. 

In the following 20 thousands years humans colonized much of the Eurasia, they were competing with other hominids and great mammals, but they became successful never-the-less. Eventually they developed a great oral culture, arts, poetry, they lived of the land and they mostly spoke the similar languages. They colonized Europe all the way from Ural Mountains to Scandinavia and British Isles. 

When 105 thousand years ago the climate started to cool down to about 3 degrees less than today, and the glaciers returned to the Northern Europe, the human population was already established and thriving.

At the time of the story, 71 thousand years ago, there were well over 150 thousand humans spread across Africa, Europe and Southern Asia.

That is when the disaster came and wiped out humanity. 

The explosion of Indonesian volcano Toba was not unusual in the history of the Earth, in fact gigantic caldera explosions happens at least every 100 thousand years. 

Yet, the 750 cubic miles of ash thrown into the atmosphere by Toba was a thousand times stronger any volcanic explosion in the modern times, including the 1982 eruption of Mt. St. Helen. In comparison tiny explosion of Philippine's  Krakatoa in 536 AD darkened  the sun for eighteen months, and the explosion of Mount Tambor in 1816  caused the "Year without a summer" resulting the widespread famine and related diseases which wiped out 200,000 people, or one-third of Europe.

The explosion of Toba in Sumatra was absolutely devastating, the ashes suspended in the stratosphere caused a six-year volcanic winter, with the crop failures and caused the already cold temperatures to plummet another several degrees. The whole world fell in one of the deepest ice ages. About 90 percent of the humanity starved to death, the remaining 15 thousand or so, were too small of the gene pool to rebound and for all practical purposes disappeared for the next 60 thousand years.

ch005: welcome scouts

All of the men were asked to move and set up in the area a few miles from the main camp which was to be called the "Court House Bay". The bay  was indeed right on the water and there was an old fort there with the old sun-dry clay brick court, and few other buildings. The buildings were used by the warfare engineers, constantly building, testing and repairing their contraptions used in fortification sieges. Other than the few hundred paces of the clearing the bay area was surrounded by the forrest lying so low to the water that much of it was an impassable mash. Only one road led to the camp.  

The next morning before the sun rise, one of the veteran warriors stepped among the sleeping men around dying fire pits. He lightly pushed one of them with the sole of his shoe. When the young guys stirred and some already lifted their heads, the veteran said in the low quiet voice:

"Hash, not a word! Get up, get your gear, we are going for a walk"

They walked a few miles into a moonlit, quiet forrest, nobody said anything, they followed the warrior who moved silently with premeditation of a lynx going to his favorite hunting ground.

They turned many times somehow avoiding the deep water marsh, they could see that there was no path to where they went, the warrior however always found the way and was able to easily pass thru the dense undergrowth without breaking any branches.  Soon they knew they were somewhere where no human walked in many, many years. They were in a primordial forrest.

After a while of walking they got to a clearing. The eastern side of the sky started to lighten and the stars were not visible anymore. They stopped. After a few moments of silence and waiting they noticed that the warrior is looking at the trees the right, his face relaxed and grinning. From the trees as if a ghostly shadow, a shape slowly moved towards them, at fifteen paces they recognized the Catalonian.

"Good morning, ladies, you were chosen because all of you are hunters and trackers, but from the looks of your surprised faces I gather you had no clue I was waiting here" he stopped. The silence, or even embarrassment on youth's faces was the answer, somehow they knew they were no longer suppose to answer loudly in unison "No, Sir".

Catalonian smiled, gave a quick quiet whistle and waved his hand as if inviting somebody to join the party. Slowly, one-by-one the shapes emerged from all around, the trees, the tall grasses, some raised from mere few feet away. The faces of the young highlanders was a picture of utter bewilderment.

"Welcome scouts," said the Catalonian - "you will learn to hide and track, too, I promise you... now... sit down and eat your breakfast, I've got much to tell you." he sounded almost like a good father.

As the ghosts converged on the highlanders, highlanders started to recognize the faces of the warriors from yesterday.

One of the ghosts handled a mitt to one of the highlanders, "Here you dropped it on the way", the face of the youth burned with shame as he took the item and stuffed it into a pocket.

"The first rule" said Catalonian "is that you will NOT talk about what you learn here. It is our advantage that people are not aware of what we are capable of.. you open your mouth and somebody dies."

"Unlike our flashy army crowd, we are silent, we go deep into the enemy territory, we find out what they are doing, most of the time unnoticed. That's why they call us scouts."

"Sometimes, " he continued, "when needed, we dispose of certain enemy target, sometimes we retrieve certain items, or people, from enemy camps. We operate at night, during the day we lay low, waiting and watching. Clear so far?"

The low hum acknowledged the Catalonian, the heads held tall showed the new-born pride.

"Here are our weapons" , he said, as he grabbed his 5 foot walking stick and pooled it apart into two pieces. The bright, narrow foot-and-a-half steel blade caught the first rays of the sun, in one movement he sliced thru the finger-thick tree shoot and shielded the blade back into a single stick. The blade was obviously razor sharp. Vardlokkur, as most of other highlanders never had steel blades, they used flints.

Catalonian took his bow and handled it to one of the highlanders, "Here, shoot at that tree over there" The kid took the bow, pulled out one of is own arrows, nocked it into a bow string, lifted the bow, stretching it about 2 inches and seemingly hit the wall, the bow did not move.

"You try," Catalonian said, pointing at young Vardlokkur, the youngster jumped up eager, took the bow with the same arrow and gave it a jerk, the bow did not bulge. All others could see his jaw drop in disbelief. He simply did not have the strength to pull the bow. The Catalonia took the bow and effortlessly shot the arrow at the tree.

"Don't worry, you'll get there too.. take practice.. go fetch your arrow" Catalonian said to the highlander, at the same time he sat down and opened the sack he was carrying, from it he pulled various items, first of them being a jar of what looked like a red jam. 

One of the warriors brought a hare, the animal was kicking furiously when lifted by the fold of the back skin and ears, but then quieting when placed on the ground in front of the Catalonian. The eyes of the hare betrayed fear and the willingness to run at the first chance.

The Catalonian pulled one of his own arrows, dipped the tip in the jam, grabed a fold of the hare's skin and made a small puncture wound, barely a few drops of blood came out of the narrow slit, nothing more than the scratch the hare could get from hopping thru the wild rose bushes while running away from a fox. He released the hare and gave it a small slap in the rear. The hare jumped high and took off like crazy, the first couple of jumps were long, but then suddenly he stumbled and fell, by the time its body stopped moving the hare was already dead.

Catalonian got up and spoke, "You will use your bows like hunters, you will use the plants around you to make strong poisons fro your arrows, you will learn to use your stick and still blades as necessary. Now, let's start the training.."

The sun was already high up and shining brightly.

ch004: military service

The war bow Vardlokkur was carrying was one of the few material things that reminded him of the military service, already over a decade ago. That bow, and certain traits were only the surface, inside the service left much deeper marks.

Vardlokkur, like all young men of his country had to serve for four years. Just as it was the custom, he reported to local garrison on his eighteen birthday. That day he, and few other young men, were interviewed by the old war-worn officer that was visiting all the posts in the mountains. They were asked about tracking, bow hunting
and living off the mountains, which was a good sign because serving in the neighboring mountains was the best thing that could happen to a highlander like Vardlokkur. Many other young men were fighting the never-ending wars on the great steppes together with the great armies of many people and nationalities. Much to his surprise, the next day he was ordered to join a small unit and march North, but not to the great
steppes, but farther to the sea, he was to join the great army training grounds.

The march was long and strenuous, over 1200 miles, and what he did not know it was the first part of the training. On the way up, they were to hunt for food, make fire and shelter and avoid contact with the
locals. All of this under the ever-watching eye of the seasoned warriors that lead them, the warriors just watched, did not help. After about 20 days, of which most was spent crossing the mountains in the South they reached the sea side. It was a first time Vardlokkur had seen so much water. This was also the first time he had seen so many soldiers, there were at least thirty thousand of them, training and preparing constantly.

Vardlokkur has joined the regular training that consisted of a lot of physical training, long marches and runs, formation fighting, fortification building and fortification machinery maintenance, all of that large scale army stuff. After few weeks of that he became quite accustomed to it and frankly a little dismayed. Army was not what he dreamt of, the large numbers of lowly skilled men, trained to hold their spears in certain way to prevent cavalry to pass, train to hit with their spears in attack, and shooting their bows at angle to blanket the enemy with arrows some 200 paces away. It was boring.

About the same time the old war-warn officer returned form the tour of the mountain posts . All suddenly, most of the young highlanders were called in and there were about 150 of them all together from different
parts of the mountains, yet all belonging to more-or-less same nation.

The old warrior stood in front of them. They noticed that he was short, much shorter than any of them, he was also of dark in complexion, like one of the people from the far South-East, Catalonia some said, far, even beyond the mountain ranges Vardlokkur came from. He spoke in a calm, yet attention riveting voice:

"So, boys, how was the vacation so far?"

The gentle wave went thru the crowd, it was no vacation at all, they all trained and had hardly any time to sleep. Nobody said anything, the Catalonian was not a person to contradict, without having your head ripped off by one of the old mean looking warriors that stood behind him.

"Well, so how are your field archery skills, any good?"

"Outstanding, sir" - the youth answered in unison as taught.

"And do you like your new shiny red uniforms?" - ask the Catalonian

"Yes, sir" they screamed, just then noticing that the old warriors clothing were somewhat drab, indistinguishable.

"Well, boys, from today on, I will be your commanding officer and these are your new teachers.." - he said pointing at the warriors in the back without turning around - ".. we go way back, .. way back.. now, ladies, do me a favor and FORGET all of what you have learned in this great shiny army, the training starts tomorrow before
daybreak.

employee self-evaluation day

Today, I reviewed employee self-evaluations, including my own. The
salaries, bonuses and promotions are based on these evaluations.
A lot of people are humble, undervalue themselves and don't come up
with a solid reasons to support the higher evaluations.

I think it is important to remind oneself that the self-evaluation is
not God's final judgement day, and going to it with a head down and
hoping to get what one deserves makes no sense..
It is business, a fish market. Think of 400 people trying to sell more-
or-less the same stinking fish. The one that will feed their kids
tonight is the one who screams the loudest, the most creatively and
who wraps the stinking fish the nicest.

killing the frogs

Today, I needed a break from the constant work and went to the 25 yard indoor archery range. 

It is a really good exercise to shoot couple of hundred arrows, you can actually break a sweat and feel muscles hurting afterwards, especially when you shoot 60# (pound) bow.

I shoot at the paper target, but soon I discovered it is so much more fun to kill the frog.

I could not find a noticeable difference between my 31 inch and 28.5 inch arrows. I think the real feather arrows shoot a little more accurate than plastic vanes, but minimally. 

Also, the bow shoot very straight and I used the almost same aiming mark as I do in my 8 yard basement range. The arrows penetrated about 6 inch @ 25 yards into the foam target, when at home they go in 13 inches @ 8 yard into the same type of material.

Also, I made progress with my strength being able to shoot for quite a long time, however my draw length still stinks and it is too short.

making fire with stones

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdIBkJ_YBsk

Flintknapping the Type IV Danish Dagger by D.C. Waldorf

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMDDcIdgsEA

The Cutting Edge

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jZGYuH0lKDU

IP

Sign by Dealighted - Coupons and Deals

Sign by Dealighted - Coupons and Deals

Fire Piston

http://www.primitiveways.com/fire_piston.html

Making of traditional Korean horn bow

Palm Sunday, Rabka Poland

This is a traditional highlander custom and costume.

Maja and Konrad (Poland, Cracow costume, Krakowiacy)

My mother (leaning)

Uki and Kinga

Uki and Kinga

Uki and Kinga

my mother

Uki

Young Marine

My childhood pictures

My mother and I on the right (more snow collected). At that time I was
attending the figure skating classes.

ch003: Vardlokkur's name

Vardlokkur has not always been called by this name, he went by as Uki Grzeszkov among his own people.

His father's family name was called the warlocks (oath-beakers), or Grzeshkov(1) in the mountain dialect. Vardlokkur did not know the reason for such a bad name, it had been the dark mystery lost in the northern roots of his father's family. His father moved south to live with the mountain people, but his steel-gray eyes betrayed his northern origins. His strong body, and high-strung demeanor demanded respect. Nobody ever asked any questions.

His mother's ancestors has been known for hundreds of years simply as archers, or Ukasik(2) since the bows were called "uki" in the mountain dialect. They were indeed the archers, flintnappers, fletchers and the bowyers as far as the memory goes, their memories went far. His people had a habit of memorizing the ancestry history and details about them far into the ancient times, but that is another story.

Vardlokkur got his nickname when he once stayed with the people of the north who lived where the great glacier sheets run into the great lakes. These people were warriors and highly valued Vardlokkur's bowyer skills. His name came for the translation of word warlock, which was closely related to their own language varð-lokkur. It was also because Vardlokkur's knowledge of medicinal plants, deep understanding of animals and human habits and the various poisons he could make for his arrow tips. In the eyes of the norther warriors Vardlokkur was a hunter-shaman, the spirit caller.

Once, while with the Northern warriors, Vardlokkur took part in one of the conflicts against the neighboring tribe. His powerful bow shaped like a snake and covered with the rattler's skin combined with his ability to shoot poisoned and accurate arrows every fifth count assured that he called many spirits that day, but again that is a story for another time.


Authors footer notes:
1) The root of name grzeszkov (pronounced gsheshkov):
"grzesz" - means to sin
"kov" - short for "covent", and ancient word convent, the gathering, the agreement, the oath among a group of people
The reason for the name was forgotten, but suggest that one of the ancestors broke the rules and was expelled from the community.

2) The root of name Ukasik (originally written Łukasik, pronounced wookasik) was from the word łuk, or bow, plural łuki (pronounced wooki)

ch002: the dream and the hunt

Vardlokkur awoke long before the dawn with the strong feeling of loss and longing. He has been traveling alone since last spring, visiting people living far to the south. He has spent last summer on the shores of the great lake. 

That girl visited him in the dreams again. Her face, full lips, long dark hair, beautiful hips and long legs still danced in his mind. The smooth, longing music of the nomadic tribes of the south played a lonely note in his head, her hips shook rhythmically to the drum beat, her beautiful hands spread to the sides followed the soft tone. She was not of his people, but then again, there were so many strange people from different nations down south, not like here, up in the northern mountains. Here, lived his people, but he still missed her.

The beautiful shapes of his dreams have fled quickly as if scared of this cold night in this far, far away place. Suddenly, he felt emptiness piercing his soul. There was no point sleeping anymore, he needed to clear his head. 

He got out of the shelter and could still see the stars above the tree tops, he recognized familiar constellations, for him they were old friends, compass, calendar and the time piece. It was early, but it was a good time to think about a hunt. Normally, he hunted the rabbits and and prairie hens with snares, he did not need to take any bigger animals, normally he wouldn't, but since he traveled mostly in dense forest for last few weeks, he did not see any rabbits, nor fowl. He got a few squirrels, but they had hardly any meat on them in spring. This time he had to get deer and early morning was the best time for it. He back-tracked to the edge small clearing he spotted the last night and waited with the clear view of the path, downwind. The bow he carried was a war bow, used more for the defense than hunting. A smaller man, or woman could hook the bowstring on the tree branch and hang on it while holding to the bow handle and not being able stretch it to the full draw. He would use the bow on bears, wolves, bob cats in these forests, or the lions and tigers of the south, he did not like to take big animals unnecessarily. Yes, he had to use it against humans, too, but he had no regrets about these he had slain. The fifty paces of clearing was nothing for the bow, he knew that the arrow would pass clearly thru the deer chest on both sides smashing the bones on the way, he could do the same at two hundred paces. He waited, knowing the deer would eventually come to the clearing.

The music of a stringed instrument of a far away came back to his mind, it filled the forest around, the shy light was emerging to the east.

There was a hardly hearable movement across the clearing, a small heard of deer entered carefully. He spotted the smaller doe at the end. Silently, he made a short prayer and let the heavy arrow fly, the bowstring hitting home was almost totally silent due to the bow profile and the feathers intertwined into the bowstring. The arrow that came thru the doe and splashed some bark of the old tree behind. The herd run across the clearing and toward Vardlokkur, never aware of his presence. The doe never knew what hit it, it was dead in few seconds, still on the edge of the clearing, few steps from where it stood.

ch001: shelter

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The afternoon sun was already low, sparkling golden and yellow rays among the tops of ancient firs and spurce trees. It was time to set up the shelter, the night would be chilly at this elevation in middle of the spring. Finding a suitable location did not pose any problem, previous year's storms fell so many trees that natural shelters were abound. Vardlokkur stepped off the deer path he was following into the dense forest in the direction of the wind, he walked carefully so not to leave any signs behind, it was a habit that might have saved him from trouble many times. After a couple hundred of paces he found a perfect spot; an overturned fir with a wall of roots pointing several feet into the air. At the base of the roots was yellowish clay and a pool of clear water, the water was clean enough to wash, but not to drink. He would inspect the clay-plastered roots in the morning for flints.

He went around the tree and found exactly what he wanted. The fallen tree trunk created a roof at least five feet wide and about the same high above the ground, what used to be the dry needle-covered base of the tree now created a cozy wall. That wall would protect him from the wind and the eyes of anybody traveling on the path, he could start a small fire knowing that the flame was well hidden by the wall and the smoke would carry with the wind away from the path.

While doing a habitual sweep of the area nearby, he gathered some branches and smaller firewood sticks. The long branches would provide additional wall support when pushed into the soil and leaned against trunk above, tying where needed with the thin and flexible spruce roots which run in all directions on the ground. He chopped a few low hanging branches of a twenty year old fir to create an outer covering of the shelter, he hung the branches with the needles pointing down intertwining the branches to strengthen his construction. He liked to work with fir, the flat branches provided the best protection from the elements, they were natural shingles of the forest, also the needles were not sharp as these of spruce. He moved quickly with efficiency that came only with hundreds of times he did the same thing since his childhood. The sun was almost setting when he finished his shelter preparation, he had nothing else to do, but to make fire and relax. Quickly, he pushed the dry needles into a comfortable bed about half a foot tall.

Making fire would be as easy, Vardlokkur did not rush. He's cleared the ground for the fire pit from the needles and anything else that could catch on the fire at night, he stacked the bigger branches into a small pyramid, the smaller twigs went inside leaving space for his starter tinder. From his backpack he pulled a waxed, water-tight leather pouch. Almost religiously, he spread the content on top of the pouch, being careful not to place anything on the damp soil. There was a flint, a small, semi-spherical piece of metallic meteor, a small grass bird nest, some dry moss, pieces of black "cramp balls" fungi. He had a habit of picking up these items during his hikes and always having an ample supply. He pulled a some grass and made a little tinder nest on top of his palm, he put it aside. He took a pinch of dry moss and placed it on the slice of fungi. A quick inspection of the flint with the thumb revealed a the best, sharpest edge, he struck it against the flat, metallic side of the meteor, the sparks were hardly visible. After no more than five well placed strikes the delicate ember started to glow and a tiny vein of the smoke snaked upwards. Carefully he grabbed the moss between two pieces of fungi and blew gently, the smoke intensified, fungi edge became red hot, he dropped the embers into the grass nest and blew more, the grass caught on fire. He placed the grass fire ball inside the wood pyramid and made sure the fungi he used to start the fire with is fully extinguished and stowed away together with all other fire starters.

He did not have to cook tonight, he still had some bread and meat left from last night. He ate slowly enjoying the warmth of the fire, he placed his backpack under his head, the hunting bow and quiver of arrows within the easy reach, he covered himself and while listening to the quiet and familiar forest he drifted away into the peaceful dreams.

wood types

http://www.frontgate.com/text/content/moreinfo/wood_types.html

Bowstring holder

I have also made this leather holder as the store stuff is of a poor
quality.

72 inch maple self bow

I just made a maple self bow, not sure what is the draw weight (I
don't have the fish scale), but on purpose I made it much lighter than
my 60# Kudu recurve.

It took me several hours, but I was able to shoot several dozen of
arrows and it is still in one piece.
I would preferably make the bow shorter than 72 inch, but in order to
keep a nice clearance of about 4 inches at the handle, the bow would
have to bend much more which I did not want to risk with poor maple I
had. I braided the bow string with six 15# strands of artificial
sinew, next one I will do with 9 strings.

In few days if the bow holds up, I will varnish it and make a nice
leather handle.

Liliann and Ji practicing piano

story

I've moved the story to a separate blog Vardlokkur

home sweet home

I found these pictures at:

http://mojegory.com.pl

This is the view from my home-town mountain range Gorce looking
straight south at Tatry mountains some 40 to 60 miles away.

Country Tracks Episode 10 - Building a woodland shelter

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTBJJsgUsG8

Country Tracks Episode 8 - Ray cooks up a feast

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6TvE5jv4KPo

Country Tracks Episode 6 - How to make woodman's tea

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a5a34lTVAWs

Country Tracks Episode 5 - Coke can fishing and more

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=11PvnO26kuQ

Ray Mears Country Tracks - Fire By Friction

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sn9GmxWvABk

African Safari bowstring making

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7di1CgSr9Q

Norah Jones - Those Sweet Words

What did you say? 
I know I saw you singing 
But my ears won't stop ringing 
Long enough to hear 
Those sweet words 
What did you say? 

End of the day 
The hour hand has spun 
But before the night is done 
I just have to hear 
Those sweet words 
Spoken like a melody 

All your love 
Is a lost balloon 
Rising up through the afternoon 
'Til it could fit on the head of a pin 
Come on in 
Did you have a hard time sleeping? 
Cuz the heavy moon was keeping 
Me awake, and all I know is 
I'm just glad to 
See you again 

See my love 
Like a lost balloon 
Rising up 
Through the afternoon, and 
Then you appeared 

What did you say? 
I know what you were singing 
But my ears won't stop ringing 
Long enough to hear 
Those sweet words 
And your simple melody 

I just have to hear 
Those sweet words 
Spoken like a melody 

I just want to hear 
Those sweet words

Cold, cold heart Norah Jones

What can I do, with that cold, cold heart?!?

I've tried so hard my dear to show
That you're my every dream 
Yet you're afraid each thing I do
Is just some evil scheme 

A memory from your lonesome past 
Keeps us so far apart
Why can't I free your doubtful mind
And melt your cold cold heart 

Another love before my time 
Made your heart sad an' blue 
And so my heart is paying now
For things I didn't do 

In anger unkind words are said
That make the teardrops start 
Why can't I free your doubtful mind
And melt your cold cold heart

Another love before my time
(there was a time when I believed)
Made your heart sad an' blue 
(that you belonged to me)
But now I know your heart is shackled
To a memory 

The more I learn to care for you 
The more we drift apart 
Why can't I free your doubtful mind 
And melt your cold cold heart 

I've got to see you again Norah Jones

Who can say it better? Whisper to my ear..

Line on your face don't bother me 
Down in my chair when you dance over me 
I can't help myself 
I've got to see you again 

Late in the night when I'm all alone 
And I look at the clock and I know you're not home 
I can't help myself 

I've got to see you again 
I could almost go there 
Just to watch you be seen 
I could almost go there 
Just to live in a dream 

But no I won't go for any of those reasons 
To not touch your skin is not why I sing 
I can't help myself 
I've got to see you again 

I could almost go there.... 

No I won't go to share you with them 
But oh even though I know where you've been 
I can't help myself 
I've got to see you again 

Nice grouping with no sights 60# recurve bow

Asian Carp Invasion Part I

Check out this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yS7zkTnQVaM

Wild Extremes: Aerial Bowfishing (Clip)

Check out this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZmzxyexiB1s

Binding A Medieval Arrow

Check out this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GHZ_lf-CVI

The English Warbow

Check out this video on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vQ_dX3sFrFM

snow flakes slowly drift outside the window

There are some days in your life that "it" just hits you, and when it
does, it hits you hard.

It hits is into your stomach and you can feel it as a spike driven
into your chest, your throat swelling up, the pressure under the
hinges of your jaw bones, trying to swallow is hard. Your sinuses make
you bring your hands to your eyes and press around the base of your
nose. You don't know what to do, you feel like jumping of a tall
bridge, or fall asleep forever.

The million important things that you were doing seize suddenly to
have any importance, people around you seem like hyenas, ready to rip
you apart at the first sign of weakness. Yesterday, you were on top of
the game, today you are nobody, left, dumped and forgotten at best, a
dust to be shaken off, a worthless garbage, betrayed and sacrificed.

The snow flakes slowly drift outside the window, calmly and quietly.
It is only your mind that feels the utter loss, you feel apathetic and
week. There is absolutely nobody that can help.

You know one day you will recover and be on top of the game again, at
least you hope that might happen, but today feels so far away.

Look ma, no sights!

The problem of shooting intuitively with no sights is that you shoot "almost" the same every time. Today, I wrapped a small piece of dental floss on my bowstring, it helps a little, but it is still not the same
as see-thru sights. Once again the dillema of modern technology vs traditional art (read "lots of practice").

Liliann

My family is very traditional Polish "babushka" and the new generation is adopting appropriately - not!

lonely night

Tonight, is one of these quiet-house evenings, when I really need a
friend, but I cannot really go out, there is nowhere I can go for
number of reasons. It is kind of lonely night.

In my mind I still live in the times and places when people are just
hanging-out in each other places, it is a normal and common thing to
do, in fact you have to have a good excuse not to get together. There
may be many bad things about living in a small town, but living close
to your friends and seeing them, is priceless. I don't have it now,
here in this large suburbs of a large city.

The usual suburb options are the bookstore, cafe, gym, in summer days
the beach, the park forest preserve, but it is late night.
I am not one of the people who are just bored: I love to write, there
are two highly addictive audio books by Scott Sigler waiting for me,
there are Netflix movies and a pile of magazines and books overdue for
reading. Finally, there is plenty of interesting and challenging work
I could do.

No, I definitely am not bored, but I miss that friendly feeling of
someone special around.

Rhonabwy » iPhone, Java, and Flash

http://www.rhonabwy.com/wp/2007/01/19/iphone-java-and-flash/#comment-57829

With the iPhone SDK out there and free, there will be at least one Java VM created in no time, specifically in July 2008. I am sure that at least IBM is today working on it. Same thing for the Flash/Flex 3.
As Java developer I’d prefer it to Objective-C, but I have to give Apple the credit that their strategy with the late release of SDK was brilliant. Time to overcome the dislikes and turn to Objective-C because nothing will touch Cocoa Touch, not Java, not JavaScript (GWT), and not even Flash/Flex 3. Not for the long while.

also another post here

Scott Sigler: "Nocturnal", "The Rookie", and much more...

Yes, yes my sick-minded trill junkies, I am posting the link to Scott Sigler's awesome audiobook podcasts you can download for FREE to your iPhones.

 

Be warned, you will do nothing else, but listen, till you drop!
Have your fix, now!

Resources

• https://scottsigler.com/
• http://scottsigler.podshow.com/

New Era begins - and it is bigger than PC - iPhone SDK is out!

View the video (must see for developers & entrepreneurs):
http://events.apple.com.edgesuite.net/rtp20e92/event/index.html?internal=fj2l3s9dm

geek: GWT & Spring

Today, while working on the problem I found I my own post from a year
ago about the same problem I am trying to solve:

http://groups.google.com/group/Google-Web-Toolkit/browse_thread/thread/40d2de34a06a17c9/3872814bc0197b16

Now, I am not sure I want that solution, but it was fun to see what I
was thinking a year ago.

bow string

These 2 videos shows you how to braid the bow string:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DFALhztLrE

Archery armguard

Since my bow shooting style is not very good yet, and not very consistent, I occasionally get hit by the bowstring. 

Now, you may think that it is not a big deal but a string under 60 pounds of pressure flying 180 feet-per-second hurts and can leave a bruise.

I made myself a heather armguard that is longer than commercial ones and very much custom fit to my hand.

Winter in my garden

Ogden, Utah hotel view

Utah salt lake

Oregon

Paweł, Leszek, Uki

Jessica's family

Rain gauge

Olympic

Young (4 years) and old (210 years)

Olympic

Washington state forest in February

World's largest Sitka Spruce, WA

Olympic

Olympic

Out west ain't bad looking

Web site I am working on

Image processing on Mac - Pixelmator

I run out of the 30 day trial for Photoshop CS3, my company is too cheap to get me a license, and I need it now. 

I ended up buying my own program for $60, ridiculous - this really sucks, I cannot believe I have to buy software so I can keep working for the client. 

Considering the incredible amount of money company charge the customer for me at least they could give me the software to do the work, not to mention sending me to some classes, seminars, and the technical conferences.

I got Pixelmator, it appears to be a good little guy: nice interface, layer support, photoshop file exchange, all useful photoshop features (no layer groups, crop is funky, but easy to overcome).

PS: GIMP on Mac stinks - can you say X11 - yuck!

violence on the news

Once again, there is violence on the news. Palestinians shot katyusha- style rackets at the Israeli town of 120 thousands, Israeli retaliate and kill 60 Palestinians, including the civilians.

First of all, I don't side with either, both sides are like retarded kid-brothers that fight continuously. I don't want to hear about their never ending tribal-religious fights.

Secondly, it is all civilians doing the fighting as far as I am concerned, not a professional military under a central command.

As long as the mothers of middle east raise their children to solve problems by fighting, and their sons are willing to sacrifice their siblings, nothing will change, and somehow I don't feel sorry for either.

I come form the Poland that was oppressed and drained dry by Russia and communists, my mother was active in opposition movement "Solidarność", but she never conveyed to me a lesson that if I blow myself, or blow up whole lot of Russian civilians with a racket, or a bomb, then somehow I become a martyr and solve all my country's problems, that is not how we solve problems, that is how primitive tribes solved their problems in seventh century.

There is a time to fight, in all-out wars such as when Hitler attacked most of the Europe, or Japan attacked USA, but then it is clear why you fight and what is to be lost and gained.

Why traditional archery?

Why traditional archery?

Traditional archery is the art of shooting with the bow and arrows the way they were made for a least 20,000 years.

Disclaimer: I am not a hunter, I have never shot an animal, even if I am an expert rifleman (ex-US Marine). There is, however, a comforting feeling when one is profficient with a weapon that can put a meal on the table, or defend when needed (much imagination required).

So why archery, especially why traditional?

There are rifles and there are compound bows, I have shot both types and I am in awe with their power. Yet, there are not a much fun. Walking thru the fields and forests and shoting the rifle is out of question, even with the compound it is difficult - too much hassle, noise and technology involved. When they break, the game is over. You can make a good bow in few hours.

There is also certain level of stigma associated with guns especially around the cities like Chicago, similarly the compound bows are used mostly by hunters.

A beatifully made wooden bow has certain level of class and poetry to it, most people can appreciate.
Target shooting requires concentration and Zen-like practice. Walking in the outdoors and shooting this light and quiet weapon is a adventurous and fun.

I am also an anthropologist at heart, understanding how our ancestors fended for themselves is insightful and fulfilling.

As far a practice goes I can shoot hundreds of times in my basement, or back-woods, daily if I want, something I would not be able to do with the rifle, or even a powerful compound bow.

Many newcomers, myself included, ask about the accurancy, power and the speed.

Accurancy of the traditional bow, as shown by the Olympic archers can be pin-point at 40 meters (yards). People kill big game at this distance, shoot coins thrown in the air, hunt birds, squirrels and fish. The shotgun deer hunters don't shoot farther than that. The bow can be deadly at 145 meters (yards) which is the practice distance used by traditional archers in Korea.

My recurve bow (60# lbs.) pierce a door 4 inch deep, I have learned this when I missed my target hung on that door. I have two observations:
1) compound may be stronger, but I thing it is commertialism that drives us to buy better and faster bows.
2) a wooden shield, or light armor might be ineffective in stopping the arrow.

Now, we are talking here about 60# bow, something that the average man could shoot with a little practice, in fact American Indians often used 45# bows for light game and deer, the war bows were 120# (Mongolian recurve) to 180# for English long bows. My feeling is that we need lots of exercise, not a fancier technology. These war bows would definitely be able to kill at the effective range of M16A2 rifle (not at the same firing rate of course).

I also have an advise for novice bowman, get a 45# longbow, or recurve, it is the minimum weight that is legal for a deer hunt in most of the states, and it is comfortable to have fun with. My 60# is too strong for the first time bow, my muscles used to hurt after shooting in the beginning, which may take away the fun. You will develop the strenght eventually,  but it is better to start light.

Violins made by a friend

http://www.lutnik-stalmach.pl/