There are relatively few people who know how to start a fire by rubbing sticks together. When using what is called bow-and-drill technique, the first thrill comes when smoke begins to issue from where the scorching sawdust collects in a gap under the point of the drill. At this stage, novice fire makers will usually discover that the aphorism ‘there’s no smoke without fire’ has little basis in bushcraft reality. It is not long before getting smoke is more irritating than encouraging, the learner having rather too quickly realised that the gap between smoke and flame is much wider than had been anticipated, or indeed, previously advertised. The next surge of adrenalin is provoked by the sight of embers in the small pile of scorched sawdust generated by the umpteenth flurry of determined drilling using the fourth, fifth or even sixth iterations of drill, base board, bow and handboard. In the early days, the novice will record their successive increments of progress with a calendar rather than with a watch. Because of the nature of the challenge that has been taken up by the individual – making fire from little more than a piece of string and some sticks – they often find themselves feeling more than a little ridiculous. The combination of the potential for Crocodile Dundee and Ray Mears jibes coupled with the incidence of smoke-without-fire failures drives many to practise in secret and thus with little external encouragement. The test on the individual’s perseverance with this most basic of human challenges should not be underestimated; a bushcraft warning from the wise reads:

People who do not know how to start a fire with sticks sometimes forget their matches. People who do know how to start a fire with sticks never forget their matches.

The basis for this wisdom only really becomes apparent after the novice has danced Apache-like around his first blaze, taken a suitable warrior name for himself and been compelled to put the same fire out in response to the shrieking of his garage’s smoke detector. It is after all of this and after about the fifteenth attempt to duplicate that piece of pyrotechnic magic that our warrior realises that he doesn’t really understand what fire making is about after all. With knitted brow and jaw set for renewed victory our hero is within minutes presented with a series of questions and decisions: What is going wrong? Is it the bow? Is it the drill? Is it this is or is it that? He may not notice that what lurks in the background; a barely perceptible question demanding to be answered: “When do I give up?”.

Failure to address this issue in time substantially increases the chances of ultimate failure. If our new warrior continues to repeat the same mistakes over multiple attempts at drilling up a fire he will soon lose hope; when he loses hope he loses confidence; when confidence walks out, ingenuity and perspective go with it. Making fire takes its share of perseverance but it takes a steady mind to not get carried away with the energy of the physical activity. The fire builder must be constantly looking in from a mentally-generated distance, questioning which component is at fault and which is performing its function correctly; put more plainly still, he must know when to give up. He must develop a knack of knowing when to start from fresh with new components – to go backwards before he can proceed once more.

But having achieved smoke with one set of tools, it can be very hard to admit that it isn’t going to go any further and that it’s time to call it quits and to begin again with the first stages of whittling and preparation of a new set up. What feels like starting from scratch is both a shortcut to competency (through the repeated preparation of the components) and a shortcut to fire (because the young tenderfoot will simply succeed more quickly with the right components). ‘Intelligent persistence’ is the name of the fire builder’s game.

The fire can of course be anything you care to mention; the skills required do not vary. Our skill at judging when to persist and when to desist will decide whether the task will get the better of us, or we of it. In stopping too soon on one particular tack we run the risk of not exploring and mastering that opportunity well enough to reach an informed decision about its merits; in stopping too late we increase the chances that we will grow frustrated with the lack of progress and abandon the task altogether. Our success at getting difficult things done in life is perhaps less predicated upon our skill in addressing specific challenges and more upon our skill at approaching challenges in general.

It’s been a while since the last post and I was asking myself this morning – why? There’s an element of out of site out of mind (ha ha) but also a distinct lack of pressure to write when no one is beating me up for output or even encouraging me to put finger to keypad. This is not, I repeat, not a ‘poor me’ post but about why we find it so difficult to change even small things about ourselves without a good deal of support from some important person around us. In this case, the change is: start publishing your ideas and then keep publishing…

The really funny thing is that once I get going here I wonder why it took me so long to come back. Here are 5 ideas that come to mind and have an application in real life attempts to change (anything):

1. I thought I’d have to write whole, well-formed thoughts. I didn’t have any of those so I stayed away completely. Remedy: start something – anything – and then refine.
2. Fed up at the lack of feedback and encouragement. Remedy: ask for some (doh).
3. Balked at writing a whole post all at one go with pictures and all the fiddly stuff – groan. Remedy: Write something short and then save. Do something small towards the change and then save (realize/publish) what you have done to someone important.
4. Performance – the perceived need to give a complete and polished rendition will often stop me/people from getting out of their seats. Remedy: The performance will find its shape – just make a start.
5. Looking for that extra bit of energy – that little kick to send me hurling down the Cresta Run – and not knowing always where to find it. Remedy: Just make a start and the energy will come as the sled picks up speed.

Key idea: Make a start – any start. There’s more than enough fuel in the tank.

For more ideas and answers come and have a look at the FAQs bit of the PEC site.