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Journey Through the Great Emptiness
A tough ordeal in the Canadian wilderness
Bart de Haas regards life in the wilderness as a carefree existence. Man can be happy just by
meeting the basic needs of water, food, air and protection against extreme conditions. Backpack,
sleeping bag and other equipment is all you need. On all his solo trips, he learned to live with
less and less equipment until one fateful day when he lost everything. With only his clothes
and his knowledge of nature, it became a journey of discovery, his place in the universe. From
the hardships of the first weeks after the loss of his equipment, his journey to civilization
became a journey through an earthly paradise. A self-speared salmon, a shot fowl using a homemade
bow and arrow, collecting blueberries, eating pure plants which had grown in nature, and the
warmth of a campfire lit with a fire drill, this all helped him realize that having nothing can
make you more happy than having something.
During the hundreds of kilometers long journey to civilization, an inner conflict arose: do I stay
in this paradise, or do I return to the hustle and bustle of civilization?
ISBN: 9789402149364
Buy the Dutch book here - Reis door de Grote Leegte
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Campfire in Bear Country
Bizarre and hilarious wilderness adventures
A grizzly bear pooping in front of your tent; a mountain being excavated for a cigarette butt; a
tent in tatters from a dream; two huge moose bulls in rut that start a fight for the females
between the tents. This is a book with hilarious and bizarre wilderness experiences.
Bart de Haas regularly wandered through the forests of the Netherlands in his youth. As a teenager, he saved
up just enough money and left for Canada, without telling his parents. The Canadian wilderness
punished his inexperience, but gave him incredible freedom. In the Netherlands he comes into
conflict with strange rules: camping is only allowed at a pole with a number and campfires are
only allowed on Thursdays.
When Bart was fifty, he founded his outdoor school Taku Adventures.
He organizes hikes on foot, by canoe and kayak through the Canadian wilderness. These trips
bring people from all walks of life, such as the young man who claimed that the ravens activated
the K2 forces with disastrous consequences. His faithful dog Kazan and of course the many
encounters with large and small wildlife are also topics for stories.
A story from this book
The Pancake Maker
Jan had many talents, and what he got his hands on was also executed perfectly. Everyone
respected him for his versatility. I don't know why the Canadian adventure attracted him
because the big picture, the immense wilderness, did not seem to get through to him. No,
but what he had to do, he did with passion and great responsibility.
It was one of the last evenings of a two-week trek. We were once again approaching
civilization, the small village of Atlin, hidden in the mountainous north of British
Columbia.
It was pancake night and normally I let everyone make their own pancakes. A special
experience for some because most of them, especially men, had probably never set foot
in the kitchen before. Except Jan, who had experience in everything.
"I am a pancake baking specialist. You can hand me your bag of flour and everything
will be fine." Many felt very happy and breathed a sigh of relief. Jan mixed the flour
with a handful of powdered 'canned cow' (American for milk), a glowing bed of coals was
made from the campfire and Jan whipped the batter to perfection. With his tongue hanging
out of his mouth, he turned the pan upwards, to the left and to the right. The spoon was
beaten left and right. He tapped and clacked in circles, in squares and triangles.
Every now and then the batter was checked very carefully and gradually it became a smooth
paste without a single lump, truly perfect. Now the baking started. The ladle was held
at a fixed height above the frying pan and the batter gracefully flowed into the pan
to take a perfectly round shape. Everyone was watching the scene with admiration and
eagerness. He then filled the second frying pan and worked efficiently with the two
now blackened pans without the pans being idle for even a moment. The first golden
brown pancake was placed on the dish with a gentle hand and some uncivilized people
wanted to tear it up and divide it. A stop was put to that.
"Don't touch it, that's not how you handle pancakes. Don't you have any manners? You
wait until I'm done baking, then I'll count the pancakes and then I'll show you how to
eat a pancake."
The disappointment was great, the craving for those tempting golden brown pancakes
became worse by the minute. The tasty smell circulated around the campfire and Jan
continued to bake relentlessly. No one dared to touch the bowl of pancakes. It stood
neatly on some stones, close to the fire with the lid on top to keep the dish warm.
Jan was really a pancake specialist. The smell made your mouth water. The pancakes
were golden brown and perfectly round. The impatience around the campfire increased
noticeably, but Jan continued to bake until the last drop of batter had been scraped
from the pan. Oh, finally we can eat, everyone thought, but the cheering was too early.
Jan took a seat on a fallen tree and gave a great demonstration of how to spread syrup
of Aunt Jemima, roll up a pancake and how to eat it. The pancake was lovingly eaten. He
reveled like a hungry coyote in a moose carcass. Everyone watched longingly as he
elegantly devoured the rolled pancake, bite by bite, without spilling a single drop of
syrup. It was also truly the pinnacle of table etiquette.
"Did you see? There are five pancakes for everyone and they will all be eaten." Now
very neatly and meekly, without grabbing, they took a pancake and it was prepared and
consumed in the master's manner. There was complete peace in the camp, disturbed only
by the crackling campfire. The pancakes were served without a word. For me it was too
much, five pancakes.
“If there are still enthusiasts, go ahead,” I said.
"Absolutely not," Jan responded, "everyone eats five pancakes!" I didn't protest, I
continued eating, listening to the master. Bloated like an overweight hunter, I
disappeared into the sleeping bag shortly afterwards.
In the morning, a few days later, we arrived in Atlin and the custom was to
immediately go to the Pine Tree restaurant, dating from the gold rush days, to eat a
greasy hamburger for breakfast. Everyone was looking forward to it, after living on
fat-free trail food for a few weeks.
With our stinking, sweaty, campfire-smelling clothes, we were of course warmly welcomed.
The hamburgers were fried at great speed by the chef, only Jan had ordered pancakes.
The burgers and a plate full of thumb-thick steaming pancakes were served. Jan carefully
inspected his breakfast. He cut a pancake in half and to his dismay he saw that the batter
had been whipped very sloppily. All grains.
"This is not a pancake. This is a piece of tree bark," he says indignantly. He resolutely
stepped into the kitchen, politely asked the cook to take a break and started baking
pancakes. Astonished as a lonely caribou, the cook watched the entire process without
intervening. Jan gave an excellent demonstration of baking pancakes and said:
"That's how I want them from now on, did you see it?"
The cook looked at him sheepishly and didn't know what to say. Jan returned to the
restaurant and ate his own baked pancakes with Aunt Jemima syrup with relish. He didn't have
to pay for the meal, the cook appreciated the pancake-making class.
ISBN: 9789402149371
Buy the Dutch book here - Kampvuur in berenland
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The Hidden Way of Karate-do
Bart has been teaching various sports for 52 years. During military service he completed his
instructor training. During that period he learned Kyokushin Karate from sensei Tigele. In
1969 he was selected for the national Military Pentathlon team. For five years he took part
in international competitions and world championships. After this period he wandered
thousands of kilometers through the uninhabited Canadian wilderness, sleeping in the open air
and living off the land.
Karate is not just about learning countless fighting
techniques. Karate-do requires a total training of body and mind. It is an art of living,
it is the path to a healthy existence, lasting inner peace and being satisfied with having nothing.
The teachings in top sports, karate and years of surviving in the wilderness were a journey
of discovery to the foundation of life, to the fathomless depths of the human spirit. 'The
Hidden Way of Karate-do' does not deal with fighting techniques, it is a manual for optimally
training body and mind according to Eastern and Western insights. The book is by no means
complete, even an entire library cannot contain this knowledge.
A part from this book
Brain Waves and Peak Performance
The performance of top athletes does not lie in the muscles, heart and lungs, but between their
ears. In every sport and also in everyday life, countless unconscious actions have to be performed
at high speed. Actions in sports are more than just a series of automatic responses to unexpected
situations.
They are part of a dynamic strategy to calculate an ever-changing array of challenges and to master
them as quickly as possible. Because situations are never the same, adjustments will always have
to be made by combining previous experiences with the new situation to obtain the ideal situation
at that moment.
The comparisons of brain waves between top karatekas and non-karatekas, at rest with their eyes
closed, show that the karatekas emit stronger alpha waves and were therefore in a calm meditative
state. The karatekas' brains were also much calmer during complicated motor experiments, there was
less brain activity. Even the most talented sports people with inherited 'sports genes' need a
lot of practice to develop the brain into a 'sports brain'. As soon as one learns a new sport or
activity, the brain begins to change and the changes sometimes last for years. After a week, the
beginner already develops extra gray matter in some brain areas. The neurons in the prefrontal
cortex, the front part of the brain, are activated by exercise. That area is vital for
concentration on the task. Responding to new situations or predicting actions in a new situation,
for example in a fight, is then much faster and more accurate. Meditation or getting into an
alpha/theta state is very important for everyone and especially in karate or other martial arts.
ISBN: 9789402162820
Buy the Dutch book here - De verborgen weg van Karate-do
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Military Comrades
Handbook for the retired soldier
The Netherlands has an interesting military history. For years, the Netherlands had a small
professional army and a large army of conscripts. Despite the fact that the armed forces were
unpopular, many conscripts, KVV members, reservists and professionals think back with
nostalgia on their experiences in our armed forces. These experiences are unique and often
unbelievable to the outsider, something you will not find in any other organization. It is
all too true: once a soldier, always a soldier, regardless of rank, for the rest of your life.
Especially during festive gatherings, the stories return, usually somewhat exaggerated, but
it considerably increases the atmosphere and many a tear is shed at the thought of those
'good old days' that will never return. A time of camaraderie in good and bad times,
during and after the service. Hundreds of thousands have experienced this over the years and
everyone has their own experiences. This book contains my own, often hilarious, sad and
romantic experiences as a professional soldier in the period 1963-1980 and later as a Knatres
soldier from 1988-2001. Many will recognize these stories, they are timeless.
A story from this book
We Swam Across
We participated in a large exercise in Drenthe. We had begun a night move to a staging area.
I was group commander of a group of eight conscripts in training. A good exercise was always
looked forward to by me; it was an ideal break from the 8-5 barracks life.
We snuck through the woods at night near Blue Lake. Our senses were on alert, there would
be enemy units patrolling the terrain, but we did not know if they were on foot or motorized.
At every intersection of dirt roads, I sent a scout ahead who made a detour a hundred yards
before the intersection. We were then in all-round defense waiting for the safe signal. In
the open woods we looked for a silent route and if we had to cross meadows, we crawled through
the ditches or low along the ditch side. For the boys, it was all exciting, for me too, of course,
but I had experienced it before. I had been given a coordinate where to report to a bridge
over the Drenthe Main Canal. By my calculations, that was another four hours or so of sneaking
around. Every now and then we paused and continued to listen in all-round defense to see if there
was any enemy activity. By now we had caught sight of a unit on foot, but I could not discover
whether they were our own or enemy troops. Occasionally I heard a jeep tearing along dirt roads,
but these could also be observers of the exercise. At the bridge we were supposed to get a new
assignment, but I wasn't sure. In any case, the bridge was on the route to the training grounds
opposite the Johannes Post Barracks in Havelte. We crept along and a few minutes later, suddenly,
lights loomed and the sound of a jeep's roaring engine. We dove fifty meters into the forest
and waited.
The jeep stopped, a few men jumped out and searched the forest plot. In full
excitement we lay among the bushes as the enemy walked past us at less than five meters.
They disappeared quickly and we gave a sigh of relief. At least we were now almost certain that
there were motorized patrols and patrols on foot. Sometime later we had to cross an endless
straight road lit by lampposts, but from afar we could already see a post walking back and forth,
clearly visible under a lamppost. That post apparently didn't feel much like doing a good job.
We stayed for some time until he was relieved, the ideal time to quickly cross the road in line.
The posts stood for some time chatting without paying attention. Because we took a detour to cross
as far as possible from the post, I had to study the map again. We looked for a forest patch and
with the coat over my head I tried to study the map with a faint glimmer of light. I always
memorized the self-planned route, memorized the compass bearings and distances, but unexpected
changes to the plan sometimes required adjustments. I determined our position and calculated
the new compass bearings and distances to the bridge. After hours of sneaking around, we
finally approached the bridge in the chilly damp night. With my scope, I tried to find the
post where we would receive a new assignment. Finally I saw movement. Near the bridge
keeper's house stood a soldier with a luminous armband. We snuck up to behind the bridge
keeper's house and there I left the boys under cover. I snuck further along the canal myself
and reported to the man, an adjutant with the luminous armband. He was startled for a moment;
he hadn't heard anything.
"Well done, sergeant." The adjutant handed me a note and said "Just read the next order at
your leisure, let the group come out of hiding." There wasn't much to read:
'The bridge has been blown up.' 'Damn,' I thought 'that means swimming, making flotation
suits and then getting into the water.'
"What is it Sergeant?" asked one of the boys.
"Here read it," I said. After prowling through the cold damp night, I had little desire
to get wet, I longed for a nice warm sleeping bag. I saw my reading groupmate pondering.
"Do you have a pen for me sergeant?" I gave him my pencil, a pencil always writes.
He wrote something on the back of the piece of paper and gave it to the adjutant. The
adjutant read the bill with big open eyes and laughed uncontrollably.
"Go ahead and cross the bridge with your group, Sergeant. How glad I am that we have
conscripts, these are the cherry on the cake, the army stands or falls by that."
We were soon across the bridge and I asked extremely curious, "What did you write down?"
"Very simply Sergeant: We swam across."
I had never thought of that.
ISBN: 9789402184532
Buy the Dutch book here - Dienstmakkers
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Only the Wind Knows Where I Am
2000 kilometers wilderness on foot
After his father passed away, Bart is not given the opportunity to cope with this loss.
He is also struggling with an unhappy marriage. Bart decides to pack his backpack and
disappear into the Canadian wilderness. This is where he has found peace of mind before.
His plan is simple, from an Inuit camp on the arctic coast of the Yukon Territory, he
simply wants to trek south, through the wilderness, to a small settlement in central
British Columbia. It will be a monster trek of 2,000 kilometer on foot.
The first stretch is across the endless tundra where he walks through a river for days,
as there is no other way through. During the first weeks, his thoughts are constantly
elsewhere. Very slowly, his mind settles down and he lives more in the now. As the trek
progresses, his senses become sharper and he has an eye for his surroundings. He has
amazing encounters with wolves, bears, caribou and moose during his trek.
After the tundra come the exhausting pine forests, the mountains, rivers and steep
canyons. Bart struggles not only with the many willows in his path but also with the
feel he 'must' go on. He enters indescribably beautiful areas and many times meets
giant moose, and very hospitable people. He also experiences, sometimes a little too,
exciting moments with grizzly bears and other large wildlife.
An extract from this book
I slept like a log and am still dozing. There are many reasons for waking up again: the
body is rested and resuming its daily task, or the subconscious detects a change in the
environment. Where am I? My memory fails me; the entire environment has disappeared from
my mind. My eyes open very slowly and immediately the presence of other beings is felt.
Carefully I unzip the tent and look straight into the muzzle of a gray wolf with dark gray
to black flanks! For minutes we stare at each other. Every now and then he sniffs some
air and sniffs a little indifferently at a bush while constantly watching me. Then the
wolf starts sniffing my equipment curiously and strolls around the extinguished campfire.
What a beautiful animal, heavily built, powerful legs and a slender abdomen. No doubt it
smells the scent of my roasted snowshoe hare. I grab my camera, but the lens fogs up.
Carefully I crawl out of my tent, the wolf takes a few steps backward. Very calmly I put
on my clothes and then start packing the backpack. Silently I break down my tent. The lens
is still fogged up. The wolf is all interest, sometimes even sitting at ease. Then from
the corner of my eye I notice a gray movement, another wolf approaching the camp. It is
a skinny wolf with a sad look in her eyes. She has swollen nipples and is scrawny. She
has given birth to cubs, the heavy burden of motherhood has taken its toll, hunger and
fatigue have given way to the urge to raise and survive. Distrustfully, she continues to
observe the camp activities at a distance of forty meters. When my pack is almost packed,
both wolves continue to stare at me questioningly, almost pleadingly. Talking softly in a
low tone, I walk over to my full food bag in the tree, pull it out with some difficulty
and try to squeeze it into the chockfull backpack. Then all their senses are on alert,
the snowshoe hare smell escaping from the plastic bag and floats toward the wolves'
snouts. The distrustful wolf is now all interest. A glimmer of survival instinct gives
her back the accountability of motherhood, the smell of food, the smell of survival and
death. On a whim, I break the hare's back in half and walk toward the wolf, throwing the
upper body toward her. For a moment she flinches, looks at me uncertainly, but then she
carefully takes the smoked hare carcass in her mouth. With glistening eyes she looks at
me for some time and strolls away, pursued by the male dog. Does she have tears in her
eyes? The wolves disappear, leaving me with a lump in my throat. That will be a feast,
roasted snow hare, they will not experience that again in their wilderness life.
ISBN: 9789464806588
Buy the Dutch book here - Alleen de wind weet waar ik ben
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