{primitive ins tinc ts}
arrow. But, if I’m lucky, I might kill a fish with a spear. The bamboo spear class is taught by
Mac Maness, a white-haired veteran of the primitive movement who, when he’s not showing clueless urbanites how to hold a knife, is selling kettle corn at music festivals. Mac is a believer. He points to the woods and says: “There’s your phar- macy! There’s your Wal-Mart!” Mac gives us tips on cutting down
a bamboo stalk. After you’ve harvest- ed your spear-to-be, you make several cuts at one end by digging the point of your knife into the thick, hollow stem. Then you taper and sharpen each point. Finally, you separate them by shoving slivers of bamboo into the gaps. What you end up with is pleasingly
ferocious. Spears in hands, our group treks down to a nearby pond, where Mac shows us how to adjust our aim to account for the refraction of the water. The fish, he explains, is not where it seems to be. I roll up my jeans, Huck Finn-style, and head to the far end of the pond. My plan is to skewer a meaty bass and fry it up for dinner. I wade in and quickly discover that the pond is deeper than it appears. Holding my spear aloft, I stand there,
silent sentinel. Several minutes pass. I am feeling pretty primitive but also kind of bored. Then I spot a fish swimming blithely in my direction. That’s it, I think. A little closer. Yeah, that’s right. I aim, rear back and release. I miss by a solid two feet. The fish,
mildly annoyed, saunters off. I retrieve my spear and discover that the points have broken off (my fault: too thin) and what I have now is a piece of useless bam- boo and no fish dinner. Plus, I’m wet. Maybe the spear isn’t for me. I need
something less complicated. Like, say, a stick. As luck would have it, one of the nation’s foremost experts in throwing sticks at animals is on the premises. His name is Tom Brown. Actually, it’s
Tom Brown III, and in modern primi- tive circles he is royalty. His father, Tom Brown Jr., is the author of “The Way of the Scout” and “Awakening Spirits,” among other books, and is the founder of the Tracker School, perhaps the best-known primitive educational institution. T3, as he’s known to friends, started teaching at
Tracker when he was still in elementary school and not long ago opened his own primitive school in Ohio. Tom explains that you want a stick
that’s about the same length as the dis- tance from your armpit to your wrist. It also has to be sufficiently dense to do damage. Tom shows us three kinds of throws — the sidearm, the overhand and the “J” throw — each of which is in- tended for a specific situation, usually in pursuit of small game such as rabbits and squirrels. Just as important as knowing how to
throw, he says, is knowing how to sneak. You have to float smoothly through the woods, being careful not to make any herky-jerky movements, and avoiding crunchy twigs and crackly leaves that might betray your presence to the para- noid fauna. Often the most successful expeditions, Tom says, don’t involve bagging game. It’s about maintaining a mind-set, finding a rhythm, being in tune with the environment. Tom is awfully gentle and reflective
for a guy with tattoo sleeves and a buzz cut. I see him snatch a fly that comes too close to his face. “Sorry, brother,” he says, addressing the insect, “I didn’t mean to kill you.” The fly, though, is not mortally wounded, and resumes its flight. “Oh, good; he’s fine.”
mind, I sign up for a night class on sha- manic journeying. When I hear the word “shaman,” I
T 20 The WashingTon PosT Magazine | september 26, 2010
picture an old Native American man decked out in colorful garb. I expect feathers, robes — that sort of thing. Instead, my shaman for the evening, Wendy Nufer, has the no-nonsense atti- tude and attire of a softball coach. The purpose of the class, Wendy tells
us, is to locate our power animal. As best I can understand, your power animal is like your spiritual mascot. Wendy warns that we will probably meet multiple an- imals during our shamanic journey and that we should interrogate each of them to determine whether it is our power animal, someone else’s power animal or
just an animal that’s hanging out doing whatever spirit animals do with their downtime. Among the questions she tells us to ask: “How can I call you? Will you show me around this place? Can you tell me something I need to know? Can you teach me a skill? Can you take me to my power animal?” It’s going to get strange, Wendy in-
forms us. Very strange. But we shouldn’t be troubled by the surreal narrative twists. “You may end up on top of a mountain with a sheep, even if you start-
om says he always manages to “slip a little spirituality” into his classes. Maybe a little spirituality is what I need, too. With that in
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