A girl who has learned to camp will not only have her own pleasures greatly increased, but she will also add to those of her friends, becoming a better companion for her chums, her father, her brother; for camping, if it is anything, is a social art. It is far better for a girl to be out in the world which demands all of one’s attention, one’s eyes and ears and nose and feet and hands and every muscle of the entire body, than to be leading a sedentary life at home, or analyzing emotions or sentimentalizing about things not worth while. The big moose which unexpectedly plunges by provides enough emotions to last a long time; the land-locked salmon that threatens to snap the silken line, enough excitement.

You can’t learn all that there is to be learned in the school of the woods through one camping expedition. It would be rather poor sport if you could. Don’t be afraid to ask questions about what you don’t know. Keep on asking them until you are wood-cultivated. The wilderness is your opportunity to make up for those vitally interesting facts about life which are not taught in schools. Above all, have a map of the country in which you are, and study it. Keep that map by you as if it were Fidus Achates himself, and refer to it whenever there is need. The girl or woman in camp who never knows where she is is a bore, sponging upon the good-nature and intelligence of others who have taken the trouble to familiarize themselves with the lie of the land. Such a girl never makes any plans, never takes the initiative, never gives anyone a sense of rest from responsibility. There are girls and older women who think it rather clever to be unable to tell east from west, north from south. I may say here that in camp they belong to the same class of foolish incompetents who in college boast that they cannot spell—presumably because they are devoting themselves to a much higher call upon their intelligence than anything so superficial as spelling! If camping means anything in the world, it means coÖperation, and this coÖperation should be all along the line.

If you have an innate sense of direction, train it. If you have none, do not venture out into the wilderness except with someone who has. Always tell people where you are going. If you are not familiar with the use of a rifle you would better have a shrill whistle or a tin horn to use in case you want to summon anyone. Sun and wind should be part of your compass; the trees, too. You will, of course, learn how to blaze a trail, and the sooner you do this the better, for it is good training in following out a point of the compass. The wilderness is full of signs of direction for your use, some of which are certain to be serviceable at different times, and some of which will not prove dependable. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west. At high noon of a September day, if you turn your back squarely to the sun, you will be looking directly north. The wind is a helper, too. When the sun rises, notice the direction of the wind, and, while it does not shift, it will prove a good compass or guide. If it is very light, wet the finger and hold it up. By doing this the wind will serve you as a compass. Remember, also, that the two lowest stars of the Big Dipper point toward the North Star, which is always a guide to be used in charting a wilderness way. Also on the north sides of trees there is greater thickness to the bark and more moss. This is, I suppose, because the trees, being unexposed to the sunlight on the north side, retain the moisture longer[213]
[214] there. Some say, too, that the very topmost finger of an evergreen points toward the north. Even in civilization they usually do. To become familiar with a compass is a very simple matter. Every boy learns this lesson, and there is no reason why girls should not do the same. Never buy a cheap compass; it is not to be relied upon. To the amateur in the woods a good one is not a friend at which to scoff. A few expeditions out behind the cabin will teach you all you need to know about its use. If by some miscalculation a girl should get lost, let her realize then that the great demand is that she shall keep her head on her shoulders, where it has been placed, and where she will need to make use of it. Let her sit down and think, reviewing all that has happened, and trying to solve the problem of what she is to do. A panic is the last and worst thing in which she can afford to indulge. To most people at some time or other comes the conviction[215]
[216] that they are lost—a conviction happily dispelled in nine hundred and ninety-nine cases out of a thousand. In this, as in everything, a miss is as good as a mile, and one does well to make light of unavoidable mistakes.

If, by any chance, you should be lost, don’t run around. If you have no compass or if darkness is coming on, settle down where you are. Devote your energies to occasional periods of shouting and to building a camp fire, keep your body warm and dry and your head cool. You will be found. And remember that there are no wild creatures to be feared in our camping wilderness. You have nothing of which to be afraid except your own lack of common sense. Here is a chance for your “nerve” to show itself.

As you go through the woods, cross the ponds and lakes, climb mountains, your luncheon in your pocket, compass and knife and cup and match-box all ready and friendly to your hand; as you feel the wilderness becoming[217]
[218] more and more your empire, be sure that you do not abuse the privileges which are revealed to you. The more gentle and considerate you are in this life which has opened itself up to you, the more it will tell you its secrets. That you should leave disfiguration and destruction and bloodshed behind you does not prove that you are in any sense a true sport. The camera is one of the best guns for the wilderness. It is better to be film-thirsty than bloodthirsty. A girl who is in earnest about camera shooting can test her “nerves” quite sufficiently for all practical purposes. How about facing, or chasing, a six- or seven-hundred-pound moose, plunging down through a cut or a trail, and having the nerve to press the bulb at just the right moment? Or a big buck? Or a little bear? Or a porcupine? A good kodak and some rolls of film are all that is needed to begin the work of photography. A fine way to do, if you intend to go into the matter seriously, is to get some book on nature photography and make a thorough study of it. Other books, too, there are, which will be full of profit for you as you come to know the wilderness life. Begin with Thoreau, John Burroughs, John Muir, Stewart White, Ernest Seton Thompson, and these will lead you on and out through a host of nature books and finally into a more technical literature on hunting, camping, and the wilderness life in general.

I believe that in the end an intelligent study of the woods made with eyes and ears, heart and mind, notebook and book, will bring down more game than any shotgun or rifle ever manufactured. I have seen guide-books of northern wildernesses whose collective illustration suggested only the interior of some local slaughter house. No tenderfoot myself, for, when the first shotgun was placed against my shoulder, I was so little that its kick knocked me over, I do not write this way because I am unfamiliar with the pleasures of well-earned or necessary game, but because I have tried both ways and I prefer a friendly life in the wilderness. To kill what you see, just because you do see it, to set big fires, to be wasteful, to take risks in your adventures, are no signs that you know the woods—and they are most certainly no guarantee of your love.