Ray Mears survival.
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Last updated almost 6 years ago
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We lean back against the shore side rocks of the Allen Water River, staring into the hypnotic flicker of our campfire. The smell of the bannock bread that slowly bakes in a small frying pan aside the fire reaches my nostrils, fuelling my already strong hunger – the type that only a day of hard exercise can form – further. A creeping dusk is falling across the slow moving water; the haunting call of a loon fills the air. A golden eagle swoops down to its evening perch on the opposite bank of the river, and is lost from sight in the boreal forest that stretches around the world, broken only by the earth’s northern seas and oceans.
“I love it here,” says Ray. “There’s an inner silence here, that’s hard to find in our modern world.”