There is, as every true outdoorsman comes to realize, another side to the "pleasures and rewards" of camping, hunting, and fishing. Behind the hearty and picturesque promises of the Great Outdoors lie hazards of simple survival that call for the expertise no less demanding than the how-to of fly-casting or game-tracking. Over the past eight years, one writer has regularly given heed to this seldom recognized body of lore. One might call Pat McManus "a voice in the wilderness" were it not for the fact that his monthly contributions to Field & Stream have been received with such enthusiastic reader response (even as their proposals and practical wisdom continue to be ignored). What, for example, is the proper procedure when Lost in the Woods? Contrary to popular opinion, McManus maintains that one should give way to panic, and helpfully delineates the principal genres of panic (the Modified Stationary Panic, the Full-Bore Linear Panic, etc.). What is the fisherman's arch nemesis – barbed-wire fencing, over-hanging limbs, underwater stumps? None of these, says McManus; it is, rather, that species of animal life known as the cow. And more: photographing wildlife, reading maps (including the profound difference between a creek and a crick), shooting rapids, negotiating national parks, conversing with an inept hunting dog, distinguishing between the two traditional types of campfire (the Inferno and the Smudge), and on. In all, twenty-seven cautionary cases and prescriptions are served up in this book, selected and introduced by Jack Samson, McManus's boss/editor at Field & Stream . . .now for more than the several million McManus watchers subscribing to that magazine. For you need never have raised a gun or cast a plug to appreciate McManus. If you fondly remember Robert Benchley, enjoy Richard Armour, or found Mark Twain pleasurable reading beyond American Lit 201, you should curl up before an indoor fire with Pat McManus.
Any alert reader will remember the stir Patrick McManus created with his close examination of metaphysics a few years back. Always the deep thinker, Pat concerns himself this time with situational ethics. Here's an example: While mountain climbing, your partner falls and is left hanging by a rope—the one you control. You can either save him or save yourself. Now here's the tricky part: How do you distract your partner as you prepare to cut the rope?
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On the way through the woods, Pat pauses to explain several everyday facts of life. One is called the theory of convergence, and it explains, with a minimum of mathematics, why when a hunter goes one way, the elk always goes the other. Another fact of life deals with "disinformation" and the use of lies (the bigger the better) when it comes to explaining one's prowess as a hunter. When asked, "What's the longest shot you've ever made?" a good answer would be, "I'd guess about six hundred yards." (No need to add that you missed.) Likewise, to the question of how many elk one has taken in a lifetime of hunting? An ambiguous answer is always best, such as, "Fewer than a dozen" (like a dozen fewer).
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Pat offers solid thoughts on the qualities that define leadership, beginning with the need to be tall. (A good head of hair won't hurt either.)
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We could go on, but it's enough to tell you that one of the treats of this hilarious collection is a two-part autobiographical piece that reveals Pat's tortuous trip along the writer's path.
Ian Frazier
"Everyone should read Patrick F. McManus."
The New York Times Book Review
"A cross between Paul Bunyan and Dagwood Bumstead—essays written from the perspective of a happily henpecked codger."
The Atlantic
"The man is a treasure."