The Iceman of the Alps is our peer in the classroom and he had the same teacher we have in the wilderness. We learn by the example of former students. When I went to college my professor told me to find a student who had already taken the class and have them help me know what to expect. This council has served me well throughout my life. I sat on a log near our campfire watching the dingoes practicing their primitive skills. One student was building a top rock for his busting kit so he could build primitive fires. Another student was carving an aboriginal bullroar so he could communicate with his parents when they came to visit. And the newest student in the group who arrived the same day as me was creating for himself what the Iceman had created 4000 years ago, a backpack frame, but sourced from the Utah juniper branches of the West desert. Clumsily the dingoes worked on their projects while staff members milled around the camp picking up after wayward teenagers and keeping a close eye on knives and needles. The weather was kind, temperatures in the high thirties, bright sunshine and the wind was sleeping. We sat together in the school room of the wilderness with mother nature as our teacher, learning the same lessons she has been sharing for a hundred thousand years. One older student was mentoring our newest student in the arts of the primitive backpack. And the iceman’s knowledge was passed to another fellow sapien. I watched the evolutionary process unfold as a modern youth in distress followed the instructions of an ice age mentor and pass that knowledge on to his fellow student in therapy. I watched in awe at the hearts involved in this process and the legacy of ages past, healing wounds, in the modern world. I sat and saw it all while I carved a spoon. The dingoes, the brumbies, the nowies, and other groups in the west desert therapy program are given the bare material necessities and the best in therapy. If they want to eat food with a utensil then by their own labor and creative ingenuity they my barrow a knife from a staff member and carve their own spoon from a stick found in the desert. Modern people often think of a desert as an inhospitable place where hardships are to be endured but the west desert is endowed with enough spoon blanks for every soldier in the world to carve their own spoon. In this respect the desert is wealthy. I carved my spoon to perfection, it had taken me 5 days of work to complete. I carved it between hikes, meals and chores. Today I completed it! Proud of its curves and imperfections I verbally announced its completion. Naturally the dingoes wanted to see it. I had carved a knobby handle with finger and thumb holds specific to fit my fingers. I showed eager teenagers my creation and two of the boys wanted to know how to make a spoon like that. They came to me, honoring me as a maker and inviting me into the world of a mentor. By dinner time that night a single dingo ate his campfire cooked soup with a spoon rudely fashioned to the shape of his right hand. I thought of the ice man who hadn’t verbalised anything about his pack. I looked around the campfire and I saw 11 packs, I thought of the brumbies and the nowies campfires and they all had iceman inspired packs. And I don’t think I can ever know how many packs have been inspired by a mute and ancient mountaineer. Today in the classroom I have gained a powerful insight into the art of mentoring. The campfire crackling, the smoke rose into the face of a bystander burning his eyes, laughter at a witty comment, somebody placed another stick on the fire almost knocking someone’s cup over in the coals. Staff members took notes of the conditions of the students health. The wind picked up and darkness once again descended on the dingo camp and the desert began to sleep except for the nocturnal owl and coyote. Nestled down in their sleeping bags the dingoes listened to a classic story of the Greeks read aloud by staff and I walked a distance under a cloudy sky, alone, thinking of the message in my heart. Feeling, knowing, believing.
