Jim Jacobs Scout 2026

Every single time I leave the house, put on my 18th-century clothes, strap a blanket to my back, and head out on the trail, I am opening myself up to have my gear and my knowledge critiqued. Not by you, the readers, or by my fellow companions, but by Mother Nature herself, and I can say from all my experiences that she’s the best critic and best teacher there is. She will give you a completely objective and unbiased look into your weak spots and where your knowledge, understanding, and preparations need to be expanded.

Our adventure began months ago as Jim and I started to plan where we might go. We chose to go back to the same area near Hoosier National Forest. We invited some folks, but in the end, four of us made the daring trip into the woods. Friday, Jim and Ty Payne met at the boat launch area, loaded the canoe with provisions, and made their way to the eventual campsite, an island in the middle of a wide creek that eventually feeds into a lake. This was further than we had gone before when it was just he and I. They made a good camp and waited for our arrival.

Azel arrived at my house Friday night, and we made all the last-minute preparations one makes: moccasin making, food preparations, and working out just the right way to carry the gear you’ve decided to take.

My gear list consisted of:

2 handkerchiefs
Jacket
2 shirts
Leggings (4 ties)
Breechclout (handkerchief)
Moccasins (1 tie)
Belt

Bedroll

• 2 blankets (tumpline)
• Blanket coat tied to bedroll
• Extra stockings, shirt, knit cap, spare moccasins
• Sewing kit

Gun (cow’s knee)
Tomahawk
Knife

Kettle (food sacks)

We left bright and early and arrived on site at around 10:15 a.m. We strapped our packs on and headed out for the nearly two-hour hike to our rendezvous with Jim. Along the way, we observed the beautiful landscape around us that Jim waxes poetically about in our conversations. We followed the trail until a familiar form emerged ahead of us, and we found the old Indian Trader, his eyes lighting up as we came closer. I called to him, “The Sachem of the Miami sends his greetings.” I had concocted this story that we were liaisons who had made contact with the Miami to open up trade and that we were to rendezvous with a Mr. Jacobs and guide him to the town of the Miami. It was just a small scenario to give us some purpose out there.

We hiked a bit further to the landing spot, where we loaded into the canoe and shoved off into open water towards the island camp. Ty was waiting on the bank, his red toque sticking out along the stark shoreline. He called to us, “Bonjour,” and we disembarked in the mud of the island’s edge while the orange leaf cover of the rocky bluff on the opposite bank caught the sun.

We quickly became acquainted with the worst bed of seed burs and stickers that this earth can produce, and we were much tormented by their presence on every surface of our clothing and blankets.

As we came into camp, we saw Jim and Ty’s work from the day before: the canvas tent cloth lashed to a fallen tree that had snapped about 6 feet up and lay over, creating the perfect ridgepole to lash a tarp to. The fire sat smoldering, and a large stack of dead wood had been gathered for the night ahead. We sat in camp and caught up with our friends, and as nightfall arrived, we ate a supper of buffalo meat and parched corn, unfurled our bedrolls, and began to settle in. I produced a deck of cards and dice, and we amused ourselves into the night with games of chance. I was lucky at cards and took most of our hands. Mr. Payne began to wonder whether a card or two had made their way up my blanket coat sleeve, but I assured him this was not the case.

We had a restless night as the coyotes howled and cackled over the ridge and beavers smacked their tails in the water around our island. I sat up against a tree and stoked the fire in between brief moments of sleep.

As morning came, I made some hoe cakes in the bottom of my kettle with bear grease. We then discussed our plans to embark, and after deciding, we took turns shooting at a joker from my card deck. Mr. Jacobs was the winner with the headshot.

This is the part where our adventure really took a turn and our odyssey began. Mr. Jacobs gave us the choice of being taken back to where we had met him and taking the road back to the original launch site, or he’d take us upstream to a spot where, with a bit of a jog through the woods, we’d make it to the road and shave a bit off our walk, a shortcut if you will. Well, shortcuts aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, and shortly after we were dropped off, we began to suspect that Mr. Jacobs hadn’t dropped us where he maybe had intended to.

Our map told us, though, that it would be a longer hike through the woods, but we could still probably make it. Our journey began across the mucky ground, and as we walked, Azel lost his shoes in the mud. We came to a thick stand of short trees and scrub brush that became increasingly difficult to walk through. Our bedrolls caught on every imaginable snare, and the deer trails, while offering some guidance to our feet, were low beneath the brush, so we proceeded in some places almost bent in half, and the weight of our packs strained the lower back to its breaking point. As we stopped on the other side of this labyrinth, we began to realize that we were in fact going to have to cross water at some point. Ahead of us was more brush, but this time its thickness was coupled with deep mud that sank us to our ankles and higher. That simply was not going to be an option.

We made our way to the bank of the creek we knew Mr. Jacobs and Mr. Payne would be traveling back on. Upon arriving there, we fired several blanks in the air, hoping they would hear us and come to our aid so we could explain our dilemma and make a plan for someone to return with the canoe and rescue us. We heard absolutely no reply. We tried again. Nothing. So we decided to hike back across the spit of land to the opposite creek, whose crossing would lead us to the road. 

After a long debate, we decided we would ford the creek. We had no idea how deep it was in the center, and the temperature was a concern. We undid our bedrolls and used our tumplines to lash two dried-out pieces of wood together. We then lashed our bedrolls into a pile of clothing and blankets, stuffing our valuables into the center. Holding our guns above our heads, we pushed off into the cold water, taking special care to gently push the raft, which we named the “Desperation,” along through the water. Our feet began to sink into the mud, and I awaited the moment when there would be a steep drop-off, but fortunately the water only came to just above our waists. At one point, my blanket coat fell forward into the water, and we snatched it up quickly and continued.

We landed on the far side, having conquered the creek, and we smiled and laughed at our good fortune. The road wasn’t far now. As we took our time getting our gear reorganized and ready to go, I noticed something was missing: my shot pouch. I’m sad to report that it and all of its contents now lay at the bottom of the creek. I debated going back in for it, but I couldn’t really be sure where it was, and with the cold water and our distance from any help, I opted not to risk my health. It’s moments like that that teach you, and I will proceed with more caution when next I have to cross water. It’s also moments like that that remind me of the countless narratives and accounts that highlight the truth that most people on the frontier were learning as they went, too. The frontiersman of myth and the frontiersman of fact are very different things. The standouts of the 18th century stand out precisely because they were the exception and not the rule. For every Kasper Mansker or Daniel Boone, there were 50 guys just like the ones Cresswell finds himself with on his way to the Illinois country, totally inept and scared out of their minds at the first sign of Indians or some other trouble.

We made our way to the road, and as we traveled down it, we met Mr. Payne, who had been sent to find us. The trip tested our equipment and our fortitude, and that is always the goal. I look forward to the next time so I can make new mistakes and continue on the path of knowledge.