Just Add Whoosh!
Just Add Whoosh!
By Keith Shuffler
Nothing makes a person feel more like an outdoorsman than the art of building a fire. For some reason, fires awaken something primitive and basic inside each of us. There is always a deep satisfaction once you can sit back and watch a roaring fire you are responsible for starting. Unless of course, a fire was not your initial goal and now you know you will be involved in several awkward conversations with a representative of your insurance company!
In the Western novels I frequently read, the hero, sidekick, villain, cowhand, heroine or town flunkie will start a fire, make coffee, fry bacon, and whip up some flapjacks in less time than it takes me to locate a single piece of wood. And often rain, snow, a raging dust storm, or the entire Kiowa Nation on warpath is distracting them. My attempts at starting a fire bring to mind Jack London’s Call of the Wild, in which the hero, a miner in the Aska gold rush, froze to death, unable to start a fire. Most of the time, I couldn’t start a fire if I was standing in the O’Leary’s barn in Chicago in 1871. From the time I could drive myself the 100 miles from Mesquite to Palo Pinto, I was mentored by the two best hunting and camping partners a person could ever hope for: Uncle Rick and Dan. Over those years, I observed their very different methods of starting fires. Analyzing each of these successful approaches, I felt certain would help me to overcome my own inadequacies.
Uncle Rick had a specific formula for starting fires:
Throw some wood down. Any kind will do. Heck, steel I-beams would probably work in this formula.
Be sure you have several boxes of sturdy strike anywhere matches. A lighter will not work and those wimpy little book matches need to grow up.
Add a one gallon can of Whoosh! to the wood. Whoosh! was so called by Uncle Rick, but is recognized in the store by it’s brand name: Coleman Lantern Fuel.
Stand back from the Whoosh! saturated wood at least 10 feet and start flinging lit matches.
This method is nowhere near as dangerous as it sounds. It is much, much worse. In intervals of between 10 and 20 matches that have either missed the wood pile entirely, or flickered out before reaching it, Uncle Rick takes one step closer. Finally, standing directly over the pile and dropping a match, a mushroom fireball ignites with the intensity of a nuclear detonation. Normally, this would be extremely entertaining to observers, but about this time, Dan and I were usually busy trying to extinguish Uncle Rick before the fire did.
Dan, on the other extreme, was the consummate woodsman. He, too, had a specific formula for starting fires:
He builds a little pyramid with large sticks on the outside and small twigs, dry bark and tender on the inside.
He is very methodical and takes his time, carefully sorting and placing each twig,
Only one match is allowed.
No form of accelerant is used.
Self-igniting is not permitted.
All members of the camping party must be completely frozen solid before a cozy fire is comfortably blazing.
Comparing the two methods, I have made the following observations:
Dan did not have a “crispy” or “charcoal” complexion like Uncle Rick did after starting a fire.
Dan was not bald like Uncle Rick.
Dan did not have a nervous twitch.
Dan had two sons and one daughter; so did Uncle Rick, but all three were adopted.
Dan’s camping partners complained and threatened mutiny until either the fire or rigor mortis had set in.
Uncle Rick’s camping partners laughed for hours saying things like, “…do you think the US launched against Russia when they saw that fireball?” or, “…you know, smoking is bad for your health, and setting yourself on fire won’t win awards either.”
Uncle Rick and Dan have both moved on to that other Happy Hunting Ground and I have to make my own fires now, but not as entertaining or artful as my mentors. And Uncle Rick, through the grace of God and the quickness of Dan and me, didn't move on immediately following the application of a match to Whoosh!