HITCHHIKING THE AMAZON RAINFOREST ~ Hiking the World's Most Dangerous Paths

A SERIES OF QUOTES BY NEWT LIVESAY

2010-04-17T18:12:00.046-05:00

NEWT LIVESAY QUOTES

I would hope you enjoy reading some of my quotations. You are welcome to use any of my quotations as long as full credit given to the author. Newt Livesay, writer and author

“Keep you powder dry, hatchets sharp, and never ever let the bastards see you bleed." © 2004 by Newt Livesay all rights reserved

"Patriots keep your hawk sharp, powder, ball and patch dry and extra flints so you can come on the run when you are called." © 2005 by Newt Livesay

"I am non-PC, wound up tighter than a imported three dollar wristwatch, I'm off my chain and I have been known to bite." © 2011 by Newt Livesay all rights reserved

“Political Correctness, is the means that tyrants suppress the written and spoken ideas of free men.” (c) 2009 by Newt Livesay

"e-books, once the electricity is turned off your words are gone forever. With paper however at least 100 years from now, someone might still be able to dust off a book's cover, and still read your words." (c) 2011 by Newt Livesay

"When asked, every successful author at one time referred to himself as a writer." © 2008 by Newt Livesay

“At first it is just words on paper, and then in a intoxicating moment it takes on a realm of it on becoming a fantastic work of your subconscious, a work of of art, a novel.” © all rights reserved copyright 2009 by Newt Livesay

On our American Republic. " God have mercy on us, for we are so damn apathetic we know not what we do." © Newt Livesay 2010

On a Muslim woman suicide bomber killing people at a train station, and what her gift in heaven will be compared to that of a man which is 72 virgins. " If the Muslim suicide bombers is a woman does she get 72 young boys that do not know what they are doing?" © Newt Livesay 2010

Another version of the Muslim woman suicide bomber and her gift in heaven. " If the Muslim suicide bombers is a woman does she get 72 young boys that pre-ejaculate?" © Newt Livesay 2010

Referring to the misuse of the word Corpsman made off teleprompter by President Obama. "Obama didn't have his teleprompter with him today in Afghanistan, and he referred to the terrorist as the Tallywhackers." quote © 2010 by Newt Livesay

In reference to the slot machines in the casinos. "Slots beckoning you with stories of quick fun and pleasures like a cheap stripper at the clip joint, but all the time they are going through your pockets, and hauling your money away faster than a pack-rat on crack." Quote © 2010 by Newt Livesay

Referring to re-tweeting a tweet on Twitter. "When RT this please delete MY name and send it as a BCT. (Blind Copy Tweet) Your thoughtfulness will help prevent the spread of worms and viruses." © 2010 by Newt Livesay

“ Prognosticators verse the virtues of the ballot box to get the attention of the elected bureaucrat. Sometimes nothing gets the point across to them better than the coppery taste of blood, and the bitter tinge of bile in their mouth from a stomach wound.” Quote by Newt Livesay © 2009

“Should I tell my therapist that I have a muse in my head telling me what to say? © by Newt Livesay 2010

“Look, take your tired, your poor, your huddled masses who do not want to assimilate, and leave our teeming shore and go home, we don't want you.” © by Newt Livesay

“Heat treating is the heart of the knife, and the design is its soul. Once you fully understand this concept, then you will want to own a truly good knife.” © 2008 by Newt Livesay

" From their throne on high, the Marxist leadership in Washington DC promising all to send gifts down the mountain. With napkins tied around their necks, and forks, and spoons in their hands the zombies, looters, non-producers, and takers stand around in the valley believing they have voted themselves to a picnic, but unknowingly they are just standing in the path of an avalanche of excrement." © 2009 by Newt Livesay

“Some times I wish I had taken up a hobby instead of loving women. It would have been a lot easier to atone for the sins I have committed and those that I will commit.” Quote by Newt Livesay all rights reserved © 2009

"On the eight day God made meat candy, and seeing that it was good he called it bacon." quote by Newt Livesay © 2009

"I thought this thread was dead and in a cyber trash can in Valhalla." (c) by Newt Livesay 2009

"It isn't about how many friends that you have, it's about the quality of the friends that you have." an original quote (c) by Newt Livesay 2008

"If you have never been there, you want understand, but once I could control the madness, I was able to write." Quote from a novel by Newt Livesay (c) 2010

"I am just like any other Super Hero other than the fact that I don't have any super powers. How ever I am sharpening my pencil." by Newt Livesay (c) 2011

“I love their flowing hair, the smell of their skin, the fullness of their lips, the softness of their femininity, their touch, their very sound. Thinking back I should have taken up a hobby that would have given me more peace of mind.” Quote by Newt Livesay © 2009

"Get up every morning and write like they are going to take all the pencils away from you tomorrow." An original quote by Newt Livesay © 2011

"Do you think in those fleeting moment of twilight as you stand on the edge of a lime filled ditch, dug by a government back hoe in some obscure national park that it will all become clear? Is that the moment you have an 'epiphany?'" An original quote by Newt Livesay © 2011 (from a letter to a friend)

"I do not want my enemies to respect me, I want the bastards to fear me." (c) 2007 An original quote by Newt Livesay from the novel Steele Six.

"Just remember, writing a novel is a bitch and everyone has an opinion on how you should have written it." (c) 2008 An original quote by Newt Livesay

"Like it or not, the world is ran by men who wear lace up shoes." (c) 1989 an original quote by Newt Livesay

Huma Abedin is disgraced Rep. Anthony Wiener's wife's name and she is a Muslim, he is Jewish. From news accounts, she is pregnant. So the question: "After the kid is born and comes of age will he have a Bar Mitzvah or blowup the cake and all the kids at the party?" (c) 2011 an original quote by Newt Livesay

Happy Independence Day to all my friends and fellow countrymen. "Rally around the fires boys, keep your hawks sharp, your patchbox dry, your wits about you, and fear not. Remember they can hang us one at a time, but they can't hang us all at the same time. On November 6, 2012 we shall cast off the yoke of another tyrant."
God bless America. (c) 2011 an orignal quote by Newt Livesay (from a Tweet on July 4th, 2011)

“Is it not time for us to live once more as Americans, and tell the government it works for us, and not we for them.” an original quote © 2011 by Newt Livesay

"Forget all those Politically Correct theories about trying to win their hearts and minds, because that leftist feel good approach didn't work in Vietnam either. Dominate them on the battlefield, destroy them where they seek sanctuary, and make them fear you. It is time to get the politicians, lawyers, and all this feel good social-piety out of the military and let them do what they do best and that is break stuff and dominate the enemy." all right reserved (c) 2011 by Newt Livesay from an open letter

__________________________

ZEN THOUGHTS by Newt Livesay

“She took the wand of light into one hand, and with the other hand she touched the sacred spot at it's base. I held one of the mysteries of the universe in my right hand, as she guided the wand along the ecstatic path to enlightenment. Our breath became one as she began riding the wave.” Zen thoughts by Newt Livesay. © all rights reserved 2010

"You are holding one of the mysteries of the universe in your hand." "riding the wave." Zen thoughts by Newt Livesay. © all rights reserved 2010
"Many disregard water because it is soft, but with softness comes determination; and with that comes time and persistence, to move even the strongest of mountains. Softness always wins." Zen thoughts by Newt Livesay © all rights reserved 2010

THIS IS A QUOTE BY ONE OF MY FAVORITE AUTHOR ~ Mario Vargas Llosa, Peruvian Writer, Poet, Philosopher, Politician:

" Prosperity or egalitarianism -- you have to choose.
I favor freedom -- you never achieve real equality anyway,
you simply sacrifice prosperity for an illusion."

BECOME A FRIEND OF NEWT LIVESAY ~writer You are more than welcome.

THE HEART OF A KNIFE

2010-02-03T19:23:00.004-06:00

HEAT TREATING – WHAT IT MEANS TO A KNIFE
1095, 5160, D2 or 52100.

First I would like to say that one of, if not the best knife maker in the country today is Bob Dozier. I worked in the Dozier shop, at Morseth Knives for three years, for those who were not aware of it. Bob, was an inspiration for me, and contributed to my knowledge of knives and knife making eminently. He, and I, were talking one day in the shop while making knives. Bob was a perfectionist when it came to heat treating his knives. He would not hesitate to break or destroy a blade that did not meet his critical eye, and I have always admired him for that. One particular day he and I were discussing this very subject as this note addresses, and Bob said something that has always stuck with me. We were talking about the junk that many people consider as such a good knife.

Bob, was grinding blades and I was doing finish work, when Bob, stopped grinding and looked towards me. “Lindsey,” he said as he seldom called me by my real name unless he used my first name. “They have never really owned a good knife,” he added. I thought about that, and I have never forgotten that statement. I think of it when I see some of the remarks propagated from person to person on forums. How true the words, “They have never really owned a good knife.”

Another thing that Bob said to me, "China makes better knives than 90% of these so called knife makers." He was referring to makers here in the United States. That is for another story, but Bob is right on with that statement alsol.

I have always maintained the fact that the heat treat is the heart of a knife. It could be made from 2,000 layers of steel hammer forged from the bowels of a buffalo dung fire by a guy wearing a dress and listening to Beethoven. Handled with some rare eco-friendly long dead tree, and shiny, but you would be about a well off with cat-scat in one hand, and can of Shinola shoe polish in the other if it is not properly heat treated. In reality you would be better off in the woods with a tuna fish can lid, after all you know it will cut. For some reason there is small number of people who have knives made, (notice I did not say knife makers) and a few knife makers who have perpetuated the misconception of heat treating. What do I mean by misconception of heat treating? These so called self proclaimed experts use such superlatives in their advertisements such as, heat treated in the high 56, or high 57 referring to the Rockwell hardness. What? There isn't a high 56 or a high 57 Rockwell hardness, it is either 56 Rc or 57 Rc.

Let me back up here a little. Most of you I am assuming who are reading this know something about knives or own a knife, other wise you most likely would not be reading this. I am not going to go into a long diatribe about the Rockwell hardness process. If you want to know more about this method of measuring metal hardness, Google the words and hundreds of pages will come up. What I want to talk about here is heat treating relationship and its effects on performance. There is a lot of misconception about heat treating.

You and I both have seen post on web pages or forums about how well a knife preformed in one situation or the other. The sad truth to a lot of this is dependent on peer-hype or more over appearance. Many end users buy a knife because it looks cool, manufacturers hype, or the knife looks exotic. After all the buyer just wants to be part of the crowd, and everyone on the WhiteDwaftsCuttingEdgeToad forum dot com, is constantly telling you how many two by fours their knife can chop through or how many times they can stab a steel barrels, or chop a rope into little pieces. This is all done and backed up while the user chants the mantra hype brought on by consuming to many Sudafed tablets. Oh! I forgot, when finished the knife will still cut a silk sow's ear adrift only on the wind, shave a goat arse bare, and spread peanut butter without making ripples.

So what makes it a good knife so to speak. Is it the fact that it looks cool because it is painted with camouflage paint, or it has a hole in the blade to straighten home made arrows, a screw driver in the handle that doubles as a tool for breaking car windows. Maybe it was the serrated saw blade and the lanyard cord with a Swedish fire stick, compass, toothpick holder, salt & pepper shaker, and a mini parasol all packaged in a box with a picture of the knife designer sitting in a camp with the lost tribe of Bushguano.

Is that what makes a good knife? Of course not. A good knife begins with a practical and usable design followed up with a proper heat-treat for the type of metal used in the knife.

So why wouldn't a so called maker or knife designer heat treated a blade properly. Inferior tolerances are either a lack of experience with a blades' (metals) performance, regardless of their hype. Another reason is their total ignorance of the heat treat process, and the manufacturing cost. So what does all that mean, and does it come out in the wash?

Carbon steels such as 1095, 5160, 52100, and 01, does not preform to it optimum when heat treated 56, or 57 on the Rockwell C scale. 58 is better, and 59 or 60 is optimal. D2 stainless steel, when heat treated to 57 Rc is hyped by some of these people as the best overall hardness. These survival/designer/cutlery experts are spouting pure unadulterated Bravo Sierra. D2 when heat treated to a 60 Rc will wear better, and preform ten fold over the same blade that is improperly treated to an inferior 57 Rc. This is in comparison to the differences in a four point zero earthquake, to one that shakes out at six point zero.

Just as higher hardness numbers mean a harder blade, when properly quenched and drawn it will out perform (wear-ability) inferior heat treats. Now a harder blades doesn't mean that the blade is stronger, especially if the blade is not properly drawn. As a quick side note, D2 tool steel is not the optimum choice for a big blade such as machetes. It is a great steel for smaller knives, but in my opinion it is a poor choice for a large chopping type blades. The carbon spring series steels (1095, 5160, 01, 52100) when properly heat treated and drawn to 59, or 60 on the Rockwell 'c' scale will out preform the lower Rockwell numbers, regardless of the hype.

So why wouldn't these knife companies do a proper heat treat to maximize the performance of a steel, and max the higher Rockwell number if it would benefit the end user? Well like I said, it could be inexperience, ignorance of the process or a cost factor. Cost is the primary concern of most commercial companies. I once talked to the plant manager of a major cutlery factory, that is now sadly out of business after almost 165 years. They made some of the finest folders, straight blades, and had military contracts during both World Wars, Korea, and Vietnam. Their contributions to the cutlery industry will be ever lasting. Their steel of choice for over a hundred and twenty five years was 1095. I asked him why they did not heat treat their folder blades to a higher Rockwell. I was references the wear ability of old bone handle folders like those carried by my grandfather. Those old folders held there edge, much better than new manufactured folders. He said if they did it would cost them about ten cents more per blade to grind. A dime? Now their daily production of folder blades was about 13,000 blades per days. So, you may think a dime isn't that much money, yet it quickly add up to about 30,000 dollar per month. That round out to almost a half million dollars per year, and that doesn't include the cost of there fixed-blade production.

The other factor against hard blades is wear and tear on grinding machines. All commercial cutlery producers use automated machinery in their production any more, and most use 'stones' to grind (stock removal) the metal. Custom makers over all use abrasive impregnated cloth or paper 'belts' to do their grinding or stock removal. Commercial companies normally heat treat their raw blanks in large baskets in bulk using heat treat furnaces, before surface grinding the blank to the desired thickness. This process eliminates loss of blades due to warping. The heat treated blade come out of the 'heat' in a hard state, once drawn it is then surface ground to thickness, and finally ground to the finish specifications. Once surface ground blanks begin there trip to the big automatic grinders. A water base coolant, mixed with soluble oil is sprayed on the blank while they are being ground. This liquid coolant keep the abrasive stones from burning the blanks. This last process where the blade is ground is also a critical point in production, where the heat treat can be compromised. If the blanks are burnt or warped during the final grind process the knife blade are normally discarded.

“Heat treating is the heart of the knife, and the design is its soul. Once you fully understand this concept, then you will want to own a truly good knife.”

Newt Livesay

LIVESAY COMBAT KNIVES

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SCENES of IQUITOS, PERU

2010-01-03T22:56:00.005-06:00

The Black Dog, A turn of the 19th century building that has seen better days. This old building sits on the banks of the overflow from the Amazon River where the City of Belen and Iquitos meet. Copyright 2007 (c) by Newt Livesay all rights reserved

Garbage Day, Men picking up garbage at the end of the street from the market. Large metal wheel barrows full of garbage are lifted by hand to the truck's bed. Copyright (c) 2002 by Newt Livesay all rights reserved.

NECKLACE OF PINK DOLPHIN TEETH & SHAMANISM

2009-11-12T22:56:00.005-06:00

I walked into the small house with dirt floors. The house set at the edge of the jungle, on the south side of a sandy red dirt road. I shouting out announcing my presents. My adopted mother answered from another part of the house, she was 41 years old had three sons, and a daughter. She was a widow, her husband had been killed some years earlier in what the local police called an accident. In my opinion he was murdered. I knew him well, liked him immensely, and had heard of his death while back in the United States. Myself, I never thought his death was an accident, I have always felt he was murdered.

I stay a lot in the City of Punchana, which is the capital of the Punchana District in the Maynas Province of the Loreto Region in northeastern Peru. It is in the Peruvian Amazon Jungle, and is a neighborhood on the outskirts of the city of Iquitos, Peru located on the fork of the Amazon and the Nanay Rivers. The house I stay in is typical of native homes. It is a large open building as most native houses are, except that smaller rooms had been made by using woven palm frond dividers to separate the open space. The front door opened into a small room. Straight ahead of the front door a divider opened into a small front bedroom. The open doorway was private-ed only by a hanging bed sheet. A second opening to the right of this doorway led directly into a rather large living room area that made up the main part of the house. This room and the kitchen area were continuous all running together. A small propane powered stove set against the south wall of the kitchen area.

A long wooden hand made table along with a half dozen small white four legged stools sat a little off center of the east edge of the room. A five gallon bucket full of clean water and a large blue plastic bowl used to wash dishes in sat atop a small wooden table. This room also was divided by a palm frond divider. Two beds one facing the other along with a box that was used for storing clothes were the only furnishings. Large gossamer mosquito tents, liken to cobwebs hung from bamboo stringers over each bed. Outside of this small bedroom used by the two youngest boys in the family, a structure with three single shelves set against one wall of the kitchen area. It held a half dozen mismatched plates, a conflicting array of drinking glasses, and at least one fork, knife and spoon for each member of the family. Guest were always given the best of the eating utensils with younger members of the family having to eat later.

A single step carved from the hard red clay of the floor led up to the split level of the back room and to the back door. The back room was also a bed room with one bed against the north wall of the house. The divider for this room was made from a combination of palm fronds, and split wooden slats tightly woven between thin wooden sticks. This room also was divided from the main house by a single cloth door that hung across its opening. A back door led onto a back porch where a well worn wooden bench had been attached to the back house that was made of saw lumber or slat boards.

A couple of wash basins and a bar of soap set atop the crude wooden shelf. Tooth brushes hung from nails hammered into the wall. Clean water captured from rain water that was directed off the tin roof of the house was captured in a rusting 55 gallon barrel. This water was used for washing ones hands, face, or for taking a standing bath so to say. I always found pouring water over you body with a dipper from the barrel more than stimulating. For some reason the water always seemed to be icy cold for that moment of shock. There was no indoor sanitary plumbing as a well worn path lead out across the back yard led to a small, falling down hovel that was served as an outhouse.

Entering the house I had shouted out for Mama, whom I hope was home. I used the most endearing term for Mother which is "Mamita." My adopted mother answered in Spanish indicating that she was in the kitchen area. Making my way back to the table I saw my mother and an older man seated around the table. A younger man around twenty four or twenty five years old, and a younger woman in her late teens or early twenties stood to one side. A small stainless steel frying pan set atop the propane stove's open flame; a piece of chicken sizzling in the pan along with some rice that I assumed had been left over from breakfast.

Mamita introduced the older man to me, but not the two younger people. The man was a Shaman or Medicine man from the small city of Requena which was about 130 miles down the Amazon river from Iquitos. The woman told me that he was her true father and had come to visit for the day. I had heard of him numerous times, but I had never met the old gentleman. I spoke to him and was surprised that he knew who I was. He was a short stocky man of medium weight and I amazed how young he looked, and that he had such a full head of curly dark salt and pepper colored hair. He wore a pair of long pants, a checked blue and white short sleeve shirt, sandals, and a number of necklaces around his neck. The necklaces were made up of beads, teeth, plant seeds, and a few assorted feathers. My adopted mother said he had taught her all she knew of plant medicines and the healing effects of the rainforest. Mamita, was known in the community as a “Bruja” (brew-ha) or witch. This is not a bad name as she processes powers that I sometime find hard to explain. She has a vast knowledge of leaves, plants, trees, and other medicinal herbs that abound in the jungle. I explained that I was very pleased to meet her father and excused myself and went into the back bedroom where I slept, and got four inexpensive pocket knives from my suitcase. Entering the kitchen once more I sat down at the table across from her father. I knew her father's last name was “Agulia” in Spanish which meant “Eagle” in English. One of the knives had an eagle printed on the plastic handle scales. The knives were single bladed folding pocket knives that were made in China. I asked him if he wanted one of the knives and he immediately picked the folder with the eagle on the handle. I smiled and asked him if he wanted the other three knives as gift to give to someone else. His face brightened and he immediately handled one each to the two young people stand near the table. He thanked me and put the fourth folding knife into his pocket. We talked some more, and I send the youngest of my adopted brothers to a small nearby store for some Inca Kola to drink.

The old man ate the chicken and rice and listened to the conversation, nodding occasionally. The evening came quick as we continued to discuss things of the jungle, where his family had come from originally and what tribe he belonged to. He told me that he was from a tribe that called themselves, Colombians.

Before he left for the night I saw him talking to my mother. Walking over to me he said he had a gift for me, but needed to warn me of the powers of the gift he was giving me. He reach up and removed a necklace from his neck that had five most unusable teeth strung on a long green and black woven cord. He placed the cord around my neck with the five strange teeth strung on it much to the amazement of the his two young protegees that were traveling with him. My mother put her hand to her mouth in what I saw as an act of surprise as he stepped back. His instructions on wearing the necklace of pink dolphin teeth was solemn, and straightforward. He turned toward his daughter and quickly admonished her to impress on me the gravity of this talisman that hung around my neck, and left the house with the others.

A few minutes had passed before I removed the necklace and looked at the teeth strung on the cord. They reminded me of jaw teeth from a dog or coyote, but more delicate.

My mother was looking at them when another much younger woman who was my adopted mother's niece, walked in. She came to the table spoke to her aunt, and reached over and pecked me a kiss on the cheek. Asking what was going on my mother explained what had transpired in the few hours before, and then explained that her father had given me a set of pink dolphin teeth strung on a necklace. The young woman who was twenty-seven years old became very nervous and began speaking rapidly in Spanish to her aunt. I was only able to catch a few of the words such as 'peligrosos and mortales ' which means 'dangerous and deadly' in English. The two women sat across the table from me, and said that only a person who were very strong referring to their magical or spiritual powers such as that of the old man who was known as a powerful shaman could wear the necklace all the time. They related that he had told them that I could not wear the necklace when I slept as the spirit that was in the necklace would kill me. I smiled broadly and laughed slightly at their wild story. Both women became very serious and concerned about my attitude.

"Do not go to sleep with the necklace on, my son.” Molina said her voice tense with emotion.
“Please, do not go to sleep with the necklace on,” the young girl I had been dating begged. “It is very powerful medicine and you do not understand, it will kill you if you go to sleep with it around your neck.”

I shook my head and muttered something about the fact that I would remove the necklace before I went to bed. Thinking back I believe I made that promise more to placate their superstition than anything else. It darkened out side and the three of us hopped in a three-wheeled moto-cart taxi and made our way down town where we ate dinner. It was a nice evening, late summer, hot, humid, and oh so romantic along the promenade that laced itself along the river front. We stopped at a small restaurant whose chairs and tables flowed out onto the white marble walkway. The breeze off the Amazon River was refreshing, the beer was cold, and Mamita's niece who was my girl friend kept telling me what a great kisser I was. Life was good. What more could one ask for?

Making our way back home, I explained that I was tired and that I was going too go to bed. My bed was in the back of the house just before you went out to the back porch. I had purchased an electric pole mounted fan a few years before, and my mother always saw to it that it was in my room when I slept. The heat and humidity of the Amazon Rain Forest is like none other in the world. I love it, but I have never really gotten used to it. The two women were in the front bedroom, laying on the bed watching television, both of the boys were gone. I lay down stripped to my sleeping shorts, pulled the mosquito netting over my bed and tucked the loose edges under my mattress. The fan moved the silken sheets of finely woven cotton in repetitive folds like a flag in a breeze.

I do not know how long I had been asleep, but slowly I began to dream of darkness. It was if I was paralyzed as I watched a boiling cloud of black soot form above my bed. I could see my body lying on the mattress and I could feel something in the room with me. When I turned to see what was behind me it was if I were slammed back into my body. There was something tightening, chocking me every so slowly like a snake coiling around my neck and chest. It constricted every so tightly around my neck. I tried to call out, to scream out for help. In my mind I know I am dreaming, or I think I am dreaming but I can not wake up, I can not lift myself from the mattress. Something heavy, powerful, terrifying was pushing me into the mattress and squeezing the life from my chest. My heart began to burn, I felt hot, sweat poured from my every pore soaking the sheet and mattress I lay on. Terrified at what was happening, once more I tried to shout out. I knew I was yelling, but I could not hear my voice. I was becoming desperate for a breath, I thrash about before feeling the tightness around my neck loosen so very slightly. A moment seemed to lapse before it began to crush me once more. That split instant was all I needed. I scream I think, or maybe I cried out in udder anguish for something, someone, anyone to help me.

I began to fade in and out, as breathing became difficult; I heard voices shouting. It was the voices of women, wailing, screaming out to someone, or something. Then I felt their hands on my body as they clawed and pulled at my arms that crossed my chest as I clenched my hands around my neck. Pulling my hands down from my throat my mother grabbed the cord that hung loosely around my neck and pulled, breaking the cord that held the teeth. The necklace gave way from around my head, and instantly I was awake, gasping for a breath. I was confused as what was happening, but I could breath and it felt good as I pushed my self up on one elbow. It was then I realized how truly wet the sheets, mattress, and my body were from perpetration.

My mother and my girl friend were both shouting at me. Molina held the necklace in her hand, shaking it wildly at me all the time speaking in Spanish so rapidly I could not understand. My girl friend also joined in on the Newt bashing as she also seemed to be repeating some of the same rhetorical. The Spanish word 'idiota' seemed to be thrown around quite loosely I thought in more than one sentence.

“I told you to not too go to sleep with this necklace on,” Mamita said her eyes wear tear full. “It will kill you my son.” She continued in a harsh voice before turning and leaving the room with the necklace.

My girl friend had gotten a wash cloth and began to wipe the cool damp cloth over my forehead and chest cooling me down. Once I was calm and cooled down she crawled under the mosquito net with me and I whispered, “thank you,” before giving her a kiss.

She spoke only one word. “Rico.”

Newt Livesay
Comments Welcome

(Note: The Comments section is provided in the interests of free speech only. Comments mostly go un-moderated, but comments that are off-topic, offensive, slanderous, or otherwise annoying to me stand a damn good chance of being deleted. The fact that any comment remains on the blog in no way constitutes an endorsement by this blog and/or myself of any expressed views. This Blog is the copyrighted © 2007, 2008, 2009 of Newt Livesay, and is not public domain. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission of Newt Livesay is prohibited and strictly enforced. Web-pages, Images, Articles, and Newsletters may contain links to sites on the Internet owned and operated by third parties. Newt Livesay is not responsible for the availability of, or the content located on or through, any such third-party site. Information in this document is provided "as is" without warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied, including but not limited to the implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose and freedom from infringement. The comment of this blog are the those of the writer and may or may not reflect the views of the owner of this blog.

EATING TURTLE EGGS & DRINKING BEER

2009-04-15T22:53:00.003-05:00

This is from a blog on my web pages dated Wednesday, October 2, 2008. I thought some of you that do not read my web might like seeing this article.

Last year at about this same time of the year my Peruvian wife, my Peruvian mother or Mamita, and I left our house and rode the motor-carts down to the embarcadero along the banks of the Nanay River, just upstream from where it dumps into the Amazon River. The area is known to the locals as just Nanay, and is a location in the evening hours that very few outsiders are seen. After the sun goes down and the tropical air cools somewhat, this is when the locals come out to eat, drink and socialize. We made our way to one of our favorite little open air restaurant just off the banks of the river. The three of us sat down at a rickety, wooden table, and were immediately served by a older, heavy set woman, who knew my Mamita. The woman spoke to Mamita, before returning and placing three clean plates, and a small dish of coarsely ground salt on the table. The natural salt came from salt mines high in the Andes Mountains, where it has been dug for century, going back even further than the great Inca Civilization.

In a matter of minutes pile of freshly boiled turtle eggs, right out of the river were heaped on our plate. Char-coaled plantains, were piled on another plate, along with hot peppers, and some purple onions per my request. Now, one thing about eating boiled turtle eggs, or turtle eggs fixed in any manner; you need to have somewhat of a strong stomach. Turtle eggs are pungent to the palate in my opinion, and, many just flat out dislike the strong taste of these eggs. There are just a little smaller than ping-pong ball with a pliable leathery shell. Once you get the soft-leathery shell torn open you can peel the hard-boiled egg out with your thumbs, finger, or just squish them or pop them directly into your mouth. In my travels, I have eaten some disgusting items that have been disguised as food. I once sat on a riverbank with a half dozen Jivaro Indians in the Ecuadorian rain-forest and ate monkey meat fresh off the fire. If you still have an appetite after watching you monkey being thrown on a fire, and worst off, smell him roast until his entrails burst - - - - Well few things will effect you.

I have eaten rat meat, dogs, cats, pigs, testicles (mountain oysters) from bulls, hogs, sheep, and buffalo. I have eaten Moose tongue, maggots, whale, Suri worms, grasshoppers, horse meat, armadillos, chickens, cows, calves, snakes, insects, guinea pig, turtles, half-rotten eggs with steamed with whole chicken embryos inside, seals, walrus, whales, shark, eels, MREs, fishes of all kind, deep fried crickets, giant snails, little bitty snails, mussels & clams from lakes, streams, and the ocean. I have endured an assortment of other disgusting gastronomical items unless you were a vulture, not all of which were served up by good meaning peoples in utensils so dirty that most would not pass for a urinal in a civilized society. Most is given to you with the best of intentions and we smiled while eating it, and depending on how long it had been since you last ate ---- it was good.

Some of these delicacy could be considered just out and out repulsive. I found out a long time ago however sometimes it all depends on just how hunger your are. Boiled turtle eggs though go best with plenty of cold beer, and a liberal dash of hot sauce. The total cost for the three of us to eat was about two dollars and fifty cents in United States Dollars.

Those were good times, and I was there with family. Just thinking about it leaves me with some great memories. Those few hours that night will never leave me, and like I have said more than once, "you will forget many places and times in your life, but this will not be one of them." This is not a area that the tourist bus drops off the herd, but it is where the locals who know about these wonderful out of the way places gather to eat, and enjoy life, family, friends, and just have fun.

Ciao;

Newt Livesay

Update: On October 19, 2007 my wife Liliana was murdered in Iquitos, Peru.

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Comments Welcome

(Note: The Comments section is provided in the interests of free speech only. Comments mostly go un-moderated, but comments that are off-topic, offensive, slanderous, or otherwise annoying to me stand a damn good chance of being deleted. The fact that any comment remains on the blog in no way constitutes an endorsement by this blog and/or myself of any expressed views. This Blog is the copyrighted © 2007, 2008, 2009 of Newt Livesay, and is not public domain. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission of Newt Livesay is prohibited and strictly enforced. Web-pages, Images, Articles, and Newsletters may contain links to sites on the Internet owned and operated by third parties. Newt Livesay is not responsible for the availability of, or the content located on or through, any such third-party site. Information in this document is provided "as is" without warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied, including but not limited to the implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose and freedom from infringement.

AYAHUASCA ~ MY HALLUCINOGENIC EXPERIENCE A PHANTASMAGORIC PHENOMENA

2009-03-14T18:36:00.008-05:00

Peru is the land of Ayahuasca. (Ah-ya-waash-kaw) Being a student of anthropology since childhood, I have always been fascinated by primitive or indigenous peoples, especially those of the Americas. Over the years, I have intertwined both socially and religiously with numerous indigenous peoples of both North and South America. Two of my most memorable experiences have been with members of the Cheyenne Nation in West Central Oklahoma, and with the Shuar Indians of Eastern Peru.

I have never smoked marijuana or taken any hard drugs such as heroin, meth, or powdered cocaine. My experience with drugs has been limited to tobacco and alcohol as a very young man. I heard people speak of how marijuana caused them to relax and be mellow; hell, I never wanted to be “chill out.” I have always wanted to burn my candle at both end just to see what I might have missed if I had been rubber necking in the slow lane. Once I was associated with some members of the Wycliffe Bible Translators School, I was trying to learn some indigenous Native American languages. They had numerous teachers from different tribes, but two elderly Cheyenne women took a liken to me, and tutored me in particular. Both had been hired as teacher by the Wycliffe Bible Translators to teach their (Cheyenne) native language. We became close friends, and I spend many hours with the two wondeer ladies after classes talking about ‘The People’ as they called themselves, and listening to their wondrous stories. One of the women named Minnie, told me stories about her father who at 16 years old had fought as a Dog Soldier at the Battle of Little Big Horn against General George Armstrong Custer and the 7th Calvary. Both of these women were members of the Southern Cheyenne Indian tribe, and both lived at the time near Lawton and Fort Sill in Comanche County, Oklahoma. They were wonderful women whom I grew to love.

I was living in an apartment just off campus and late one Friday evening Minnie Bearbow, Jeannette Howling Crane, her husband and some others visited my apartment. Minnie, said that I was going to be adopted as her, and Jeannette's grandson. The two Cheyenne Grandmothers cleansed me in a ceremonial ritual. I was sweated so to say, as the smoke from smoldering green Juniper branch [leaves] were ceremoniously rubbed over my skin. There were numerous songs, and I was told to always keep a piece of green in my house refereeing to a plant, flower, branch of a tree, etc. to ward off evil. “Death does not like green things,” I was told. I was given a new name, and then I participated in another religious ceremony where hallucinogenic drugs were used. The husband of Jeanette Howling Crane who was considered a healer fed me a small dried bud of Peyote Cactus during a night of stories and celebration.

Outside of the Peyote Cactus bud the most powerful, hallucinogenic I had ever taken until I accepted the brew of Ayahuasca from a Shuar Shaman in Peru. A Peruvian woman who refers to me as her sons arbitrated my relationship with the Shuar Indian Shaman. In the community she is known as a “Bruja” (brew-ha) or witch. This is not a bad name as she processes powers that I sometime find hard to explain. She has a vast knowledge of leaves, plants, trees, and other medicinal herbs that abound in the Amazon jungle around Iquitos, Peru. She also had led me on a journey into a world that I had never experienced, stories and sometimes-secret rituals that most locals and especially outsiders will never experience. In another story here, I relate how a necklace strung with teeth from the Pink Amazonian Dolphin almost killed me. When the subject of Ayahuasca came up, she said she was not able to perform the ritual, but knew of a Shuar Shaman that she trusted.

Shuar Indians, are one of the four sub-groups that make up the Jivaroan tribes that originally inhabited the Amazon Rain Forest of Eastern Ecuador, and Northwestern Peru. The other three sub-dialects or groups were the Ashuar, Huambisa, and the Aguaruna. Of these four sub-groups of the Jivaroan tribes the Shuar were more commonly referred to as the notorious headhunter of South America. They are the “Jivaro Indians“ of legends. Their notoriety for shrinking the heads of the people they killed, and their ferocity in battle have made them larger than life in modern history. They were intensely warlike, and protective of their territories, unwilling to subordinate themselves to the Inca rulers, or any other tribes. They successfully revolted against the Spanish Conquistadors that conquered most all of South America.

As a young man, I owned two of the finest shrunken heads that I have ever seen now or before. They came from Eastern Ecuador, and had long flowing black hair and were superb examples of the Jivaro skills of shrinking human heads. In the mid 1970’s I talked at length with a man of great power who had taken over 36 heads in his earlier more violent life. He had found the Lord Jesus Christ via the Wycliffe Bible Translators, and had given his life to Jesus Christ leaving the old ways behind. He was however, fond of talking about the old ways and through an interpreter explained the intricacies of removing a human head and the process used in shrinking it. That also is for another story.

Most indigenous peoples of the Amazon hold Ayahuasca in the highest regard, feeling that it a sacred plant, and show deep respect in its use. They feel the plant is imbued with a spirit that is alive, and one that can speaks to them when they drink the Ayahuasca drink. These people are not seeking to use the Ayahuasca as a recreational drug, or for mystical arousal, but more to enlighten the spiritual being within themselves. They do not use the drink to find their inner-selves or trip out on an interpersonal kaleidoscope. Any Shaman, who is worth his salt knows that Ayahuasca has a higher calling as it is the matrix that brings the soul closer to what every man is seeking knowledge of his surrounding. Knowledge of his being in relationship to the animals of the forest, the human being he is in contact with daily, and what ails us all in our minds the fight between good and evil. It is to be taken in a spiritual moment when the truths of your inner self will be revealed. Only then can the fears and the desires that cloud our subconscious finally be set free.

My adopted Mother send out the word that she wanted the help of the trusted Shaman. She held him in deep respect for his knowledge of the Ayahuasca. These men are sometimes referred to as Ayahuasqueros, or curanderos as well as the more common name of Shaman.

The man came to my mother’s house, and all of the people who were there had to leave. Only my mother and one other female member of the family were allowed to stay in the room with me. The old man began with a series of short chants, all the time smoking a rather large cigarette, and occasionally he would blow the stout smelling smoke in my face. Even with his moving around and the occasional chant, the cigarette burnt with a long ash but did not drop off. Finally, he gently offered me the cigarette all the time holding it between his fingers. I took a long draw, almost choking on the pungent smoke. He looked once more at the long ash, dropped it at my feet, and instructed me to grind the ash into the dirt floor.

“You will live long.” He said in Spanish.

Before the ceremony had begun I removed my street clothes, and wearing only a pair of bathing trunks, a T-shirt, and sandals that I had with me. I sat on a woven grass mat that had been spread on the room’s dirt floor. It began to grow dark inside the house, the last burning rays of the sun were being drowned by the lushness of the jungle. The only light in the room was from a wick-lamp that sat on a small table. The fumes its burning wick gave off smelled of kerosene, and helped to ward off the hordes of mosquitoes that would surely arrive once the sun fully set. A younger man entered the room and set a clear plastic pitcher on a small four-legged stool, and left the room without saying a word. The Shuar Shaman poured a drink, and handed me the dark brew in a plastic drinking glass, and indicated for me to drink it all. The taste of the Ayahuasca was earth, slightly bitter to my taste and it was strenuous to swallow. I flinched slightly, and gagged at the taste. The only thought that went through my head at that moment was “What the hell have I done.” Here I am in the middle of the Amazon jungle sitting almost naked in a room that is a life time from any form of modern medical help drinking something that is made from plants that are also used to make one of the most deadly poison on earth; Curare!

I tried to smile, the Shaman began singing a monotones chant. My stomach churned, I felt nauseated, there was a bitterness in my mouth, and a acidity in my stomach that caused me to lay on my side hoping for some relief. I did not want to close my eyes as the room began to spin like when you over indulgent alcohol. I had thoughts of dieing from the actions that I had just taken by drinking the narcotic concoction. I felt lethargic, slightly nauseous, yet there was inclusiveness in my widening experience. My heart seemed to become less intense or vigorous as I felt its beating slacken inside my chest. My head seemed to be faint, with a tingling sensation almost as if it were asleep like when your arm or leg goes to sleep from lying on it wrong. I could feel the blood draining from my head; it trickled and gurgled like a kitchen drain. My recollections of time, space, and reality were slowly vanishing.

Time was now quickly no longer relevant as the narcotic coursed throughout by my blood stream activating even more of my senses. I was conscious of numbness in my face, the outer layer of my skin, and my fingers but the sensation was one of pleasure. I was a sensation like someone gently running their fingertips over my body. The room seemed to draw dark and I saw sparkling of tiny lights floating like firefly across the floor. My gut not old burnt with acidity but it hurt in spasms. I felt the sensation you have just before falling into that deep form of REM-sleep. I began to float above myself, but jerked violently as I dreampt I was falling off the edge of a bed from the sensation. I looked down to see my body coiled up in a fetal position with three darkened figures sitting near by. This was the beginning of my hallucinogenic experience that produced a series of phantasmagoric phenomena that manifested from shear beauty to screaming terror, and then to unimaginable tranquility and peace.

I flew over the tops of the jungle in swooping dips and rolling spirals, skimming the tops of huge trees. I felt the air rushing through my hair that was long and dark like the people who looked up at me from the ground. I hung in the clouds and sat with my feet over the edge of one and looked at the land below passing underneath my perch. I saw a beautiful waterfall that crashed in slow motion into a deep emerald-blue pool. The next thing I remember was the cool spray on my skin as I flew so close to the falling water. The water crashed down over the face of the mountain not making any noise. I found myself climbing higher and higher in the sky until I was soaring with two large Condors. They took me over the snow-capped mountains and showing me beautiful valleys and a ancient city of pure gold hidden in the jungle. We flew over a beautiful pyramid, and circled it numerous times, before taking turns plunging towards the top of the tower in death defining tumbles before each of us landed gently on its top. One of the Condors said I could never tell anyone where the city of gold was, but I could come anytime I wanted and visit. The other Condor warned me of my faith if I every told anyone and said it was time to foretell what was to come.

Instantly I felt shear terror as I fell uncontrollably end over end. I wanted it to be a dream, but I knew that this was not a dream as I plunged into a lagoon of dark water that smelled of sewage. I fought to reach the surface of the water. I choked on the taste as I fought for air. Suddenly I saw something with a large green head and red horns coming directly towards me; it was a huge snake. I thought if I do not move he would not see me, even though he was only a few feet in front of me and looking directly into my eyes. I felt helpless and began to scream for help. I remember vomiting. I choked on my vomit as it not liquid, but a bundle of even smaller snakes that began to unwind and entwined themselves into separate balls. I recoiled but was not able to stand or get off the floor were I lay. I became paralyzed with fear not fully understanding where I was or what was going on. I think my eyes were dilated, as everyone in the room was blurry; I saw my mother as she reached forward to wipe my face.

I lapsed as the big snake told me to look at the squirming bundle of smaller snakes; I felt a calmness come over me. The snakes began to unwind and their heads took on the faces of people whom I had known. Some were strangers and I asked the snake who they were. The big snake indicated that those smaller snakes on the far side of the room away from me were my enemies and that I should never trust these people no matter what they promised or offered. He said they would harm you, betray you, use you, and truly abhor you for your gifts. Then drawing the remaining snake together within its coils I heard it speak again; these are your friend. Some of them you know and some you do not know. Yet all of them will come and go into your life and some will lay down their lives for you and you for them.

The smaller snakes on the far side of the room were vipers that snapped hissed, and bite at each other. The big snake with the orange strips over its head opened his mouth and the vipers withered before fading into ashes; he consumed them. The other snakes nearest me that had been inside the large snakes coils morphed into beautiful lights that glowed and flashed in fantastic patterns. I wanted to hold the lights in my hands, but they all had disappeared. I looked back and I was alone floating above my self one more, and all the snakes were gone; my nausea increased.

I vomited once more and then rolled over on my back and watched as vivid colors, fantastic sights, and extraordinarily shapes raced before me. I felt something close to me and then I could feel its breath on my skin. A magnificent and beautiful Jaguar stood close to me yet I was not afraid. "Come with me." she said, and we instantly walking though the jungle where she showed me many things. We ran, jumped, and played hid and seek. I could jump over huge logs, and dart off the side of trees and disappear in the thickets. Finally, I said that I was very tired and the two of us lay down in the grass along side a clear mountain stream. “You are the good man,” she said licking my face. Instantly once more I was lying on the woven grass mat in the room, she next to me, we both fell into a deep sleep. .

That was the last of the truly bizarre dreams that I had. I awoke about eight o’clock the following morning by myself still lying on the grass mat. It seemed that I had vomited my weight. I became nauseated at the smell of vomit and urine; it was unpleasant to say the least. I rolled over on my side and tried to push myself to my feet. I lost my balance, I felt shaky, my head was light, my chest, and guts hurt, and when I looked at my arms and legs, they seemed ashen. My hands shook and when I tried to stand I stumbled hitting the wall causing my mother to come rushing into the room. She put her arm around my shoulders, and she helped me to an area where the family bathed under a shed in the back of the house. A 55-gallon barrel that was full of cold rainwater awaited me. A bar of soap lay next to it on a small shelf. My mother helps me to a small hardwood stool where I sat down. She pulled my foul smelling T-shirt and bathing trunks off, and taking a large washcloth began washing my body clean.

Putting on clean dry clothes, I still felt faint. I sat at the kitchen table and tried to sip some Inca Cola, but found the taste unpleasant even though it is one of my favorite drinks. I ate a few spoons of rice and gagged down a piece of cold chicken I had trouble sitting upright; I make my way to the bed with help, and lying down I fell into a deep sleep. I dreamt of many things; it was all pleasant.

That evening I awoke with a ravenous appetite and extremely thirsty. I seemed as if I could not drink enough fluids to satisfy my thirst. We decided to go into town to eat. I was still weak, but as I rode with my Peruvian mother, and my adopted Peruvian brothers the air seemed to smell fresher, the sky was bluer, the Amazon River looked more magnicent, and as we traveled down the boulevard that was lined with beautiful Palm trees, I hear many new and strange voices.

Ciao;
Newt Livesay

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Comments Welcome

(Note: The Comments section is provided in the interests of free speech only. Comments mostly go un-moderated, but comments that are off-topic, offensive, slanderous, or otherwise annoying to me stand a damn good chance of being deleted. The fact that any comment remains on the blog in no way constitutes an endorsement by this blog and/or myself of any expressed views. This Blog is the copyrighted © 2007, 2008, 2009 of Newt Livesay, and is not public domain. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission of Newt Livesay is prohibited and strictly enforced. Web-pages, Images, Articles, and Newsletters may contain links to sites on the Internet owned and operated by third parties. Newt Livesay is not responsible for the availability of, or the content located on or through, any such third-party site. Information in this document is provided "as is" without warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied, including but not limited to the implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose and freedom from infringement.

ESSEL "DOWNED PILOT SCHOOL"

2005-05-10T08:50:00.004-05:00

At the Military Jungle Survival And Training School with Officers and NCO members. Peruvian Military Jungle School Instructors with Newt learn the finer arts of knife sharpening with "DMT" brand Diamond Hones on Jungle School Machetes.

ESSEL is the official school of Peruvian Military Jungle Survival School aka "The Downed Pilot School" or the "Jungle Survival School"

ESSEL is considered as the premiere Military Jungle Survival and Training Schools in the world. Attended by foreign and domestic military personnel included but not limited to members of the United States Special Forces, Delta Force, American Astronauts, & other Special Operation Personnel. Commercial airlines companies worldwide send their top personnel to this school. Class room and field survival course aimed at survival by challenging you as an individual, as well as a team member. With the knowledge comes motivation, confidence, problem solving, teamwork, trust, communication, decision-making and conflict resolution and a target achievement, which is to survive. In today’s troubled times marked with world chaos with car bombings, suicide attacks on civilian personnel, high jacking of aircraft and automobiles, and kidnapping a knowledge of survival and self-awareness is vital.

Livesay Expeditions & Training is a professional training and expedition company that lends it’s knowledge to a no non sense confidence building schooling system based in the United States with associated hands on training facilities in South America, Latin America, and the United States. Our training facilities will give every member of the class an opportunity to experience and learn first hand practical training that can be used in decision making anywhere in the world. Everyone has something to contribute to the team, and with your information and knowledge learned from our course you will be enabled to survive.

Knowledge and information being shared openly therefore a grained trust in your abilities to survive any conflict or objectives. Such basic survival skills or essential in today’s world: For centuries the largest indigenous group and the fiercest warriors of the Amazon basin has been the Asháninka (Ash ah knee Ká) peoples. They have a simple out look on the jungle. "Knowledge saves; ignorance leads to being lost." In other words; "Knowledge is, in essence life; while lost is death." We are not so vain as to claim to be the experts when it comes to the jungle, and will leave this self-adoration of arrogance to the egoist. The true credibility should lay with the real experts such as the Asháninka, Shipibo (She pee bow), Conibo (Cone I bow) or countless other indigenous people of the region we call the Amazon Jungle home. The peoples we train with are the true experts at surviving in one of the world's most hostile environment.......the Amazon Rainforest. The knowledge, structural discipline, and self confidence that you will acquire can be applied in everyday situations for the rest of your life.

The Survival Plan: Mindset for survival - How to survive a crash landing, boat accidents.
Planning and preparation: Shelter, how to find and build shelter - Fire making - Water, how to find and collect life sustaining and pure water - Food from nature, how to find, identify and prepare wild plants you can eat - How to built traps too catch animal, fish, birds, or insects for food - Field craft. Navigation:How to navigate by map and compass, stars, and the sun - How to assess, and survive water crossings at rivers, creeks, and lagoons.

First Aid: Field Expedient Ground to Air Emergency Codes - Emergency Evacuation - How to improvise from material in the field, basic first aid.

Desire and learn to survive. Find out what it takes to makes a survivor? What it takes to be a team member? A team leader? Develop that type of leaderships that exist within you? Learn what how to be a survivor? Be on the winning teams. Remember; "Knowledge saves; ignorance leads to being lost."The tropical rainforest or jungle has an abundant richness of trees, plants, fruits, and animals that can be used as a source of food or to be made into a tool for survival. From small Waree Palm who’s inter heartwood can be eaten to the sometime giant Cohune Palms that are found in abundance through out most of the rainforest. The stately Cohune Palms provide large clusters of fruit, the heart can be eaten, and the fronds are woven into thatched roofs for shelters. The tropical rainforest provides some clean water if you know when to find it. There are three different species of water vines that will provide life sustaining clean water. Some being slightly bitter while other species provide a sweet abundance’s of life saving clear, cool fresh water to quench your thirst safely.

Decide to Survive!
S - Size up the situation, surroundings, physical condition, equipment.
U - Use all your senses
R - Remember where you are.
V - Vanquish fear and panic.
I - Improvise and improve.
V - Value living.
A - Act like the natives.
L - Live by your wits

ATTITUDE – KNOWLEDGE DESIRES TO LIVE - Livesay Expeditions & Training

LIVESAY COMBAT KNIVES

READ "Steele Six the novel"
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Comments Welcome

(Note: The Comments section is provided in the interests of free speech only. Comments mostly go un-moderated, but comments that are off-topic, offensive, slanderous, or otherwise annoying to me stand a damn good chance of being deleted. The fact that any comment remains on the blog in no way constitutes an endorsement by this blog and/or myself of any expressed views. This Blog is the copyrighted © 2007, 2008, 2009 of Newt Livesay, and is not public domain. Reproduction in whole or in part in any form or medium without express written permission of Newt Livesay is prohibited and strictly enforced. Web-pages, Images, Articles, and Newsletters may contain links to sites on the Internet owned and operated by third parties. Newt Livesay is not responsible for the availability of, or the content located on or through, any such third-party site. Information in this document is provided "as is" without warranty of any kind, either expressed or implied, including but not limited to the implied warranties of merchantability, fitness for a particular purpose and freedom from infringement.

Welcome to the Jungle!

2005-05-04T09:49:00.002-05:00

This is how a page on the web starts off with the Newt Livesay Expedition & Training site.

Welcome to the jungle..... "You will forget many days of your life but this won't be one of them"
Welcome to the Newt Livesay links too Jungle Expeditions & Jungle Survival School page links. Expeditions with Newt Livesay to the Amazon Jungle, Jungle Survival Schools, Jungle Training Schools, Eco Tours & Rainforest Expeditions to the most beautiful and exotic places on earth.

The location of the page is LIVESAY EXPEDITIONS & TRAINING

This is a fascinating site with links to most interesting and best maps around Iquitos, and Peru. There is also a link to an extreme adventure for those with a more adventurous side and that is to the Peruvian Military Jungle Survival School in the Jungle know as ESSEL. There are a couple of sites that link to this school, but the Livesay school is by far the best bet, and bang for your buck.

I want to thank you for your time and consideration of my pages.
Newt