The home made spear gun - Thailand

Here are a few pictures of a home made spear gun I saw a local guy using near Pechburi,Thailand. He was standing on a bridge shooting at the fish about 15 feet below the bridge. Factor in the water refraction the distance to the water and the equipment, I am amazed that he was scoring hits. I guess practice makes perfect.

The "spear" was only about 8" or 9" long , made from a piece of steel with a small barb and a hole drilled into the end to accomodate the line. I liked the simple trigger mechanism and reel for the line made from PVC pipe. The string/rubber tube used to launch the spear was made up of several pieces of material tied together. This spear gun is yet another prime example of the skill local folks possess all over the world. Taking parts of other things to make a functional and useful tool or weapon. I really admire that!

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Tomahawk in Bangkok

Tomahawk and a couple of friends in Bangkok

The Tomahawk has arrived back in Bangkok, Thailand for a few days prior to possibly heading back to the USA on April 1st to attend an important meeting in California.

I have been wandering around Thailand, Laos PDR and Cambodia since January 10th, exploring, hanging out in my Hennessey Hammock,camping in the mountains etc. I am Back in my usual Haunt at soi 27 ,Sukumvit road. I have a decent apartment there and it is good to be back! I can take a crap on a sit down flush toilet and wipe my ass with toilet paper instead of the hand, and revel in the luxury of a hot water shower!

And there are numerous places to eat, drink and be merry! I went out last night with my friend "Raja" to have a few beers and talk to him about making some "adventure clothing" as he calls it. Raj is a Tailor and I have all of my clothes made by him when im in Thailand.

He has made copies of other clothing for me like carharrt,5.11,sonora,columbia etc. in fact, im wearing a Raj design patagoina copy now. I have had it for 3 years or more.

Anyhoo, if I dont fly back to the USA this weekend, Ill head north toward Chiang Rai and the "Golden Triangle" where Thailand, Burma and Laos PDR come together. There are some national parks in the area which I would like to visit.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Rass and his ass - by Alan Erickson

My good friend Alan Erickson in Utah shared a story with me about a mule he knew as a kid in Minnesota. With his permission already granted I want to share it with you folks out there in Cyber space.

It is a fun and entertaining story. "They" say that truth is stranger than fiction and this story certainly bears that out. I hope you like "Rass and his Ass" in Alans own words.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Rass and his ass;
You know, funny things happen in a small Minnesota town that is home to 150 people and 2 bars. This is the story of one I remember from childhood and was reminded of after the passing of a friends faithful pack mule. I am not much of a writer, so bear with me please.
In a small town,Kenneth Mn. there is more of a population in the bars than outside of it at times. People like farmers, snowmobilers, retired folk, and of course the bar crawlers live in harmony, drunken harmony, with the locals. There are also allot of interesting old unmarried men, hermits and just strange but harmless people. This is the story of Rass. and his world famous ass.
Rass was really named Rasmussen but went by Rass. He was an old unwashed hermit who worked at local farms as a hand or for seasonal work. Pleasant fellow, always quick with a joke or right there when somebody was buying a round of drinks. He wore dirty bib overalls, several shirts and smoked the nastiest cheap cigars made. He was not going to let himself ever be tied down to no "womanfolk" but had never really been anywhere that I knew of. Rumors were he was in the "Big One" and came back just a bit off center. Rass used to always talk to the kids when they were in the bar and we found him fascinating. He would also give us a nickel to play the old jukebox but insisted we play Patsy Cline, "Crazy". He would then sit and close his eyes and sing along. Life in the bar just went on around him as everyone but I and a few others knew the real heartache behind the song and it's connection to Rass. I digress.
Rass Did have one love in the world. His old mule. Yep, a beat up mule that was known all over as Rasses Ass. He would ride her into town because Rass didn't drive and it was to damn far to walk. Rasses ass would come right into the bar with him, the bartender would give him some bread to eat and a Hamms beer and shot to Rass just as if Norm from Cheers had walked into the door. Nobody batted an eye when they walked in. I got to sit on the mule as a child and it was one of the highlights of childhood to be inside this strange culture. Today of course, this all would be frowned upon and most likely illegal, but the rules were different back in the late 60's.
One day Rass walked into the bar all out of breath, red as could be, with tears streaming down his face, doubled over and panted out, he needed help, he thought his Betty had died. I never knew Betty even had a name so I though it was his wife or somebody else.Right away the bar patrons jumped to life and rushed to his side. A plan was drawn up where a few of the old farmers would help to see first if she was dead, and if she was, how to help old Rass do the right thing and bury her.
Sure nuff, after poking her a few times and other scientific things, They came to the conclusion, she had passed on to the big ass heaven in the sky. This brought more tears and hugs from the other drunken mourners and an idea of how they could pay a final tribute to this fine a noble beast. Drunks, free time and mourning are wonderful things when combined.
So one of the farmers said, I will go get the tractor and loader and help pick her up and bring her to where we can bury her. Another said, "We need to get a wagon cause it just wouldn't be right to carry this fine beast chained to the tractor loader" and off he went. Slowly the crowd moved on to various tasks to make sure Rass's Ass got the final call she deserved.
A couple hour passes as well as a few jugs of whiskey, and it is all put together. Betty was placed on a flatbed wagon on top of a few bales of straw spread out for her. Some women went into the old cemetery and collected all the flowers from the graves because as they said it, "They are needed more here and the dead like to share" The wagon was being pulled by the old Case tractor that the city owned to plow the one street and the Mayor/bar owner was driving. He was about the only sober person there and besides, the tractor had some glitches that made it hard for anyone else to get it in gear. So the march began with about 75 people, adults and kids all walking to town and the bar to have a little prayer before they laid poor Betty to rest at the edge of town. People would join the little parade as they passed by. You see, respect was given based not on wealth or grand things, but as one true friend to another.
By the time everyone got to the bar, there were lots of cars from all over. seems word got out to the other little bars in the area and patrons headed over to see what was up. The bar community is a very tight one in rural Minnesota and bar hopping is a past time that is close to an art form. Rass and his ass were a legend as well, many had had a conversation with both Rass and Betty at one time or another. Food was brought, drinks flowed and every other song was "Crazy" blaring from the old Jukebox. Rass sat in a booth as friends brought him another shot and gave him a hug or a manly punch in the arm. The bar was packed and while the wagon and Betty were outside, people would go out and sit by her and talk about times they remembered involving both Rass and Betty. It was not sadness but respect and acceptance for life, differences, and more.
Soon some local High School kids came into the bar to ether meet their parents, look for odd jobs or even have a beer. (yes they were served, remember, different times) They said it was getting cold outside and it wasn't right to leave poor old Betty out in the rain by herself considering how she had been allowed in the bar while alive. These kids had also once been thrilled as young'ins to be able to sit on her back as they drank a Coke from a little bottle and eat their Slim Jim and pickled eggs. They laid out a couple rugs over the pool table and sure enough, brought the mule into the bar and laid her out proper like for all to shed a tear over.
I will let your mind wander now and picture this wonderful event. I am not making any of it up and was there to see it with my own eyes. In the end, Betty was laid to rest, the local Lutheran minister, snockered on Beam and Hamms beer, said a few words, and she was buried. Everyone silently filed back to the bar, slowly gathered up their dishes, coats, and kids and headed home to do the chores before bed. The bar was cleaned by people who were part of the whole event without many words said. Things went back to normal.
You know, when I die, I hope my funeral is just like the one I went to as a child. The one given for Rass's ass. Filled with unconditional love and real people.

Tomahawks pictures from around the USA and the World

Here is the 2nd batch of pics im sorting through for my book. if there are duplicates from the last batch i apologize for the redundency.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

My friend Saijung and some cohorts cutting down a coconut palm

When I was still up around Udonthanie , Thailand my good friend Saijung Kaipo invited me to go along with him while he and some friends cut down a large coconut palm. The tree had to be taken down because they were getting ready to build a house on the spot.

Saijung tied a rope around his waist, stuck a jungle knife in his belt then shinnied up the tree like a monkey – that was pretty impressive to me considering he and I are about the same age, hells bells I couldn’t climb a tree like that! Especially if I had been drinking as much Lokao whisky as Saijung had.

Anyway, he got to the top, lopped off all of the branches and most of the coconuts, tied off the rope and slid back down the trunk – all in about 5 mins.

We all had a great feast on young coconut and the sweet juice then Saijung and his friends began cutting down the tree using the most interesting looking Axe I have ever seen. This Axe had a tubular head and a long hard wood counter weight (See picture).

These guys chopped on the palm for a while then broke out the dullest crosscut saw I have ever seen and finished cutting down the tree. As the tree neared being cut down, several of the local men grabbed the rope and gave it a good pull to insure that the tree fell in the desired direction.

It was fun and pretty cool to watch this Asia tree cutting process; you learn something new everyday.

Tomahawk – scouts out!

Tomahawk and the Osprey's at the Pusai temple

Here is another short film about some osprey's i saw at the Pusai temple in thailand.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Mam sharpening a knife on stone - Jungle girl is back!

After arriving back in Thailand from Cambodia, I spent a couple of days in Bangkok checking things out and doing a bit of "Bird watching"(looking at ladies) as my friend Raja calls it.Later on, I hopped onto a bus and came back to the Pechburi area to do a bit of hiking and camping in the mountains.

Once I got back into the mountains some bad weather rolled in and it continued to rain almost non stop for 3 days. I got a little tired of it so I packed up my plunder and headed to the Home of Mams aunt and uncle. As luck would have it Mam was there.

It was still raining pretty good but she knocked some coconuts out of the tree and proceeded to cut them open using my Saijung kaipo jungle knife. Mam told me my knife was too dull so she sharpened it in the rain on a stone used by her grand father for the same purpose.

Seeing a good photo opprotunity, I snapped this picture of Mam sharpening my knife in the rain. I have not met too many ladies that would do the same.

Anyone who follows this blog will recall that I had to strip Mam of her jungle girl handle after she ran screaming at the sight of a ghecko but, After watching Mam knock some coconuts out of a tree with a bamboo pole then sharpen my knife on a rock in the pouring rain,I decided then and there to give her back the "Jungle Girl" Moniker. I think she erned it!

Check out the picture.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Arlene - RIP

Folks, I got some bad news today. My good friend Alan Lackey in New Mexico, Mountain man, mule skinner, hunting guide and pack master Delux – Informed me that my grand old saddle mule Arlene died over the winter.

That old girl carried me over countless miles of New Mexico and Colorado wilderness trails, in all types of weather, day and night. To me she was my original 4 wheel drive…

She was about 17 hands high, had good withers, was broke to ride or pack, had a good disposition and perfect confirmation. I loved her and will mourn the loss of Arlene for some time to come. My relationship with Arlene is the longest relationship I have ever had with a female!

A few winters ago Arlene went blind in one eye so Alan retired her to the green pastures on his ranch near Roy, NM.It is a pretty ranch near the Canadian river where Arlene could graze to her hearts content.

Sadly, I do not have many pictures of her but here are a couple of them id like to share.

I hope Arlene is up there now in Mule heaven rustling up grub in tall clover.

Tomahawk – Scouts out!

Tomahawk at the Pusai temple in Thailand

Tomahawk went to the Pusai temple the other day with Mam and her friend Mai and mai's little girl. It was a pretty spot and full of wild chickens and squirrels. I went down to the lake and saw lots of big talapia fish swimming around . I wish that I would have brought my fishing pole! On the walk into the temple there were statues of the Hear no evil speak no evil and see no evil monkeys.

I paused for a moment at the Speak no evil monkey for a quick photo. I believe in speaking the truth and being direct so the SNE Monkey is my hero.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Tomahawk at the killing fields - Cambodia

I had to go over to Cambodia the other day to renew my thai travel visa at the Thailand embassy. I had some time to kill so I hired a motobike taxi to take me out to the "Killing fields" near Phanom pen. Now, the tomahawk is a rough old cobb and sensitivity is not one of my hall marks. I have developed a lot of hard bark on me over the years from dealing with unsavory types, but I have to be honest. The "Killing fields" got to me. I didnt tarry long and had to get out of there quickly. You (I) could feel the overwhelming gloom of this place.If you do happen to find yourself in Cambodia, swing by the "Killing Fields" it is very sobering.Like my good friend "Thebluepaint" says "IF WE FORGET THE PAST...WE ARE DOOMED TO RELIVE IT".

Tomahawk - scouts out!

1000 year old tree (log)

I took a short side trip with my friend Mam to her hometown of Phetchbury about 2 hours from Bangkok. It is a pretty little city with some interesting temples and a shit load of monkeys running around.

What impressed me most though is the central park, in it , is a log from a 1000 year old tree. This log is massive. I have posted a picture of Mam pointing to a message in Thai which indicates that this tree is 1K years old. Interesting. But what I found most interesting is the Whisky Jack was apparently there at one time - why? because there is a large WJ in spray pain on one end of the log (see picture). That whisky Jack is a character!

Anyhoo,

Tomahawk signing out! see you on the trail!

Tomahawks book excerpt - "The uncoiled rope"

Hello folks, I have access to a computer for the weekend so I just wanted to post an excerpt from my book. All of the stories In my book will be of a similar nature, Keep in mind that i am not a writer. I am writing from memory and it is for the most part raw and uncut and full of my personal opinions and feelings. If people are offended by my style of writing or speaking, I do not care - move on! But, if you do like it Id love to hear any comments,Ideas or suggestions you may have.

Gracias in advance,

I hope you like this excerpt;

Tomahawk - scouts out!


Tim in his natural environment


Whisky Jack enjoying a meal in Maine with Nicole and Tim

The Uncoiled Rope;
I had just returned to Arizona from a round trip hitch hiking and bus trip to the Panama Canal, when my good friend and fellow wilderness bum Tim Smith of the Jack Mountain bushcraft and guide service in Maine contacted me about coming up there to help him with a semester course.

Back in the 1980’s when I was trying to decide where I wanted to attend guide school it came down to a coin toss between Maine and Montana – Montana won. I ended up working as a Big Game Hunting guide in Montana, Arizona and New Mexico for about 10 years on and off. But in the back of my mind I always wanted to go to Maine and experience its wilderness and local “wild life”.

I sold my last 2 guns at a pawn shop for some quick cash, collected what gear I had on hand then bummed a ride to the Tucson airport from my good friend Matt.

The money I had was enough to get a one way ticket to Manchester New Hampshire via Chicago. I have yet another good buddy – Sean “Pog” Kendrigan, living in NH with his family.

Sean is a cool dude to hang out with and talk too, He possesses a quick wit, a superior intellect and perhaps the greatest sense of humor I have ever encountered. He loves Big Game Hunting, Guns, rock climbing, mountaineering and all things associated with wilderness. I know he has worked as a ski instructor, wilderness guide and river raft guide. Sean and I spent a lot of time working together in the Utah wilderness programs; we got along well and tried to make the best of a difficult job. In short – it is guys like Sean that make guys like me stay as shitty jobs like that.

Sean met me at the “Manch-vegas” airport; we hopped into his truck and headed to his place in the woods. It was about a 1 hour trip so we were shooting the shit about the annoying characters and “Little assholes” we worked with at the wilderness programs in Utah.

It was good to reminisce about that job, Id sure hate to do it again though; it is not so much the “Little assholes” you work with but rather the self important staff. The instructors and staff of those programs seem to always be comprised of Trust fund babies out slumming for the summer.

It is not only my opinion, but also the opinion of many others that most of those “trustafarians” feel guilty for being rich so they come west and work with juvenile delinquents for the summer. So 40 years from now, at a cocktail party, they can say how hard it was when they had to live in the woods or their cars to help out the under privileged kids. I digress…..

Anyway, in due time we arrived at Sean’s temporary digs, he went to bed but I sat up drinking the last of my whiskey and watching TV. Once the whiskey was gone, I grabbed my poncho liner and hammock and headed out back to go to sleep. I found a nice spot to sling the Hennessey in a small birch grove.

I crash out, woke up several hours later with a slight head ache and a powerful hunger.

Taking a look around Sean’s place I noticed there was nothing to eat there so I headed up the road to look for a café to get a bite of breakfast.

After eating, I took a look around the area and saw some pretty scenery. I had never been in the North east USA before so it was a refreshing change from the desert South West.

The next night Sean, his friend Dave and I headed for Vermont to a strip club for some stimulating adult type of entertainment. The following morning I was feeling a little rough after a night of strippers and Vodka so I slept in my hammock most of the day and prepared my gear to head for Maine.

After a day or so of hanging out with Sean and his cohorts I asked Sean to drop me off at the bus station in Concord, NH where I caught a bus to Boston then north to Presque Isle, Maine.

I arrived in “PI” around 10 PM; I asked a convenience store clerk to call me a taxi. I paid the driver the last of my cash to drive me to Masardis, Maine. The driver told me it was “Moose 30” and was a little nervous about driving in that area at night due to the number of moose possibly on the road. I promised him a decent tip if he could get me there so he consented and we left, after about a ½ hour ride he dropped me off in the middle of no where between Marardis and Ashland Maine. – just the way I like it!

It was a beautiful Moon lit clear night. After the Taxi driver departed I stood by the road for a few minutes breathing to cool night air and enjoying the silence. In due time, I shouldered my packs and headed into the woods to sling my hammock. On my first morning in Maine, I awoke to the sounds of gun fire and a chain saw! Ah wilderness! To me, those sounds sure beat the hell out of hearing kids screaming, loud music, or your neighbors fighting.

After rousting myself, I took out my small butane stove and fired up a cup of “Guides coffee”. Feeling much refreshed, I packed my gear at a leisurely pace and made plans for the day.

I need to locate Tim Smith’s place and the Jack Mountain Bushcraft and guide school, I had a vague idea where it was but had no idea of how far of a hike it would be.

Sean had given me some extra gear in the form of quality outdoor clothing and some dry bags and river gear so I was pretty heavily loaded down. In fact, I had 2 heavy packs to carry.

I decided to head back to the road and see if I could hitch a ride to Ashland Maine to see if anyone knew where Tim could be located.

After several hours of standing on the highway with no luck catching a ride, I made the decision to cache some of my gear and take off walking.

I had been walking for about 20 minutes or so when I spotted a potato field – never one to pass up “free” food I made the decision to pilfer a few ‘taters to stick in my pack.

After a long a hot hike along a highway full of logging trucks I was offered a ride by a very nice lady. Ironically though, it was only about ½ a mile from Ashland. I cordially accepted her offer of a ride; we went to the Ashland store where we inquired as to Tim Smith’s whereabouts. As good luck would have it these folks knew Tim well and gave me directions to his property.

The lady who offered me the ride took me back to where I cached my gear then took me to Tim’s place in the woods. Fearing she would get her mini van stuck on the rough road the lady dropped me off and headed out. I thanked her and she waved her goodbyes in a cloud of dust and a hail of gravel.

I pulled out my water bottle and took a long pull, next I decided to air out my feet and take a little break before heading down the road the rest of the way to Tim’s field school.

Looking across the road I noticed an apple tree full of good looking fruit, I dragged one of my packs to the tree and picked a couple of apples to munch to on. Then I sat down on my pack and kicked off my shoes to air out my feet.

In between sips on my water bottle and munching the apples, I swatted mosquitoes and flies and took in the immediate scenery. After a short time I notices a small red car approaching, it happened to be no other then Tim Smith AKA “the uncoiled rope”. An uncoiled rope in a canoe, boat, camp, or around pack animals is a dangerous thing to ignore.

I don’t think of Tim as a dangerous person but rather, I think it is very dangerous to ignore his knowledge, skill or advice in the wilderness. That is why I like to call Tim “the uncoiled rope”.

Tim is a natural teacher a gifted conversationalist and another one of those extremely intelligent, articulate, skilled and crafty Individuals I have encountered in my travels around the world. More over, he is a good cook in the wilderness, Loves to sing around the campfire and seems to like whisky as much as I do. What I admire most about my friend Tim though, is his dedication to his family and his love of wilderness education.

After some back slapping, hand shaking and insulting each others mothers we piled my gear into his car and headed into “M” town to buy some supplies.

In town we bought some veggies, chicken and a ½ gallon of cheap whisky. I told Tim I hoped that we would be able to squeak by with only ½ a gallon. Tim said not to worry because he had a guide’s canteen full of a brand of whisky called “Devils elbow”.

Some say it is the Aroostook river water, some say it is the soul of a dead Indian used in the distilling process. No one can say for sure but, it is a fact that “Devils Elbow” has more of a kick then regular whisky. I was soon to find out.

Tim and I headed back to the field school and got a fire going to make guides coffee, then threw the chicken and veggies and my pilfered ‘taters into one of his Dutch ovens and set it on the coals. I can’t tell you why but to me and also to most of my wilderness bum friends, food always seems to taste better when cooked in a Dutch oven.

While the food was cooking and armed with a large travel mug of coffee and whisky, Tim and I ambled down to the Aroostook River. It was starting to get a little chilly even though it was August. This being my first time in the North East USA I was surprised at how cool it got that evening.

After washing up in the river we headed back to camp to check on the food and to refresh ourselves with a little more whisky. I really liked the field school, there is a comfortable cabin and Tim has a large and diverse library of interesting books to enjoy.

Tim and I sat around shooting the shit, drinking whisky, talking about the upcoming course. We also took turns reading aloud passages from a book of poems by Robert service. When the chicken was cooked we dined in regal splendor inside the cabin listening to Stan Rodgers sing “Barrett’s privateers”, and Dick Curless belt out “Tater raisin man”.

The rest of the night is a bit of a blur due to the cheap whiskey but especially the “Devils Elbow” whiskey. I can’t really remember doing it but sometime during the night I apparently set up my hammock because I awoke the next morning to the voice of a woman saying “Whisky jack wake up”, I heard her voice twice. I looked around and didn’t see anyone so I got up to take a leak and was rewarded with the sight of a cow Moose and her calf cutting through Tim property. After I watched the Moose and her calf for a while I crawled back into my soogans for some more sleep.

I decided then and there that my new Moniker for the North East USA would be “Whisky Jack”. The name “Whisky jack” is used by many of the old time Maine woodsmen as a nick name for the Canada Jay birds you see flying all over the place. These old timers believe that the Birds are reincarnated woodsmen. I thought then as I do now that it is a fitting name for me.

A little while later I heard a car pull up to the field school and it was no other than Nicole AKA “la femme du Norde” and her father Roy.

Nicole was there to attend the semester course and so we chatted for a bit then I excused myself and went back to my hammock in the woods for a little more sleep.

Thus began my sojourn in the Maine woods with Tim Smith and the Jack Mountain Bushcraft and guide service. It was and still remains one of my most memorable wilderness experiences in recent times. I sincerely hope to return to Maine as soon as possible to explore its wilderness with my friend Tim and our wilderness bum friends.

But that will be another story.

“Whisky jack”
-see you on the trail!

Tomahawk and Toum at the lake

Mams aunt and uncle(Toum pronounced Tom) were having a bit of a tiff due to the old rascal drinking too much whisky the night before. So he and I lit a shuck to the local lake until things cooled down on the home front.

Eventually though , we had to return to the barn so Toum could pay the fiddler.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

Tomahawk diaries - pictures from the road.wmv

Folks, here is a sample of the pictures that will be featured in the appendix to my book.

I am hoping to complete it by this summer. I am currently taking suggestions for a title and am accepting submissions for a preface and introduction. So if interested please feel free to contact me and we can talk turkey.....

I have about 400 plus pictures to share when the book is finished.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

white stone mountain Thailand

Tomahawk was out on white stone mountain in thailand with Mam and her aunt and uncle picking "sweet vegetable" as they called it.

Sorry for the short vid but the batteries in my camera died and i didnt have any extras with me.

The local folks seem to lve this leaf but to me it has a unpleasant smell and consiquently a bad taste. but, it is not unlike many of the local favorites I have encountered here in asia. not my cup of tea but they seem to like it.

Tomahawk -scouts out!

Tomahawk at the swimming hole in thailand

Tomahawk was out fishing with Mam and her uncle the other day. I saw some kids swimming and they called me over to watch them jump off of the dam wall into the spillway.

It was fun to watch and brought back many memories from my childhood about a milion years ago.

I hope you like the video.

Tomahawk - scouts out!

The PVC Knife sheath

Yesterday, I was wandering around the area south of Bangkok, Thailand. I stopped at a small shop to buy some drinks when I spied a Thai style Jungle knife on the bench, next to it was a sheat cleverly made rom Plastic PV pipe. The sheath even has a belt clip.

The clever use of available materials here in SE Asia always amazes me. Here are a few pictures for you to enjoy or maybe you can even copy and use this sheath idea!

Sorry for the lack of posts on the Blog this month but, it cannot be helped. I sold my laptop and some other stuff at a pawn shop here in Thailand for some quick cash. I sure do miss my laptop though!

BTW - Im trying to scrape together the $$$ to get back to the USA to take care of some personal business. ANY Donations to the ticket fund would be wisely used and greatly appreciated.

Many thanks to those who have already donated!

I plan to fly into seattle, then hitch to montana, re-outfit myself at Jagers house then Hitch south to New Mexico to see "Hippy Doug" then on to Arizona.

Tomahawk - scouts out!