It was on this day (September 20) in 1929 that Burt McConnell, associate editor of The Literary Digest, then a major national magazine, embarked on a planned 10-week experiment to live like a prehistoric cave man in the Canadian wilderness.
The point of the experiment and/or stunt was, in McConnell’s words, to prove “that we still retain some of the characteristics and instincts of our remote ancestors, that we have not grown soft through easy living.”
He also seems to have had a book deal.
Newspapers across the U.S. reported that McConnell was heading into the wilds “naked and unarmed except with cameras and a typewriter.” A closer reading of his own accounts indicates that he kept his underwear on.
McConnell, age 41 at the time, chronicled his adventures in a series of syndicated newspaper columns that somehow made their way back to civilization.
“Here I was, a ‘cave-man’ without a cave—without even a fire, food, clothing, or shelter, which I believe are considered the four prime necessities of civilized man,” he wrote in an early dispatch. “Which of these, I asked myself, was the most important. To some, the answer might have been food; to others clothing. To me, however, it seemed that if I had a shelter, I would not need any of the others until morning.”
So, equipped with an ax that he said had been forced upon him by the forester who dropped him off in the wild, he went about chopping down trees and building what he described as a log cabin.
Shelter having been checked off the list, and some hours of daylight still remaining, he decided to do something about food. Ax in hand, he began following some moose tracks he had noticed.
The actual moose seems to have eluded him, but he did come across a moose hide, stowed away in the tree branches by, he assumed, a local Indian. The moose hide happened to be wrapped around a deer hide, as well as a dog-skin pouch, so he now had the beginnings of a proper cave man outfit. He admitted that there was an ethical quandary involved in making off with a stranger’s hides but decided that the law of self-preservation took precedence in this case, and did.
In another early column, he described how he went about making his hunting gear, which ultimately included a bow and some arrows, a seven-foot-long fishing spear with a sharp moose horn at the end, and a 20-foot raft, presumably for spear-fishing excursions. He lavished particular attention on his rabbit snares, also constructed from the versatile moose hide:
“My rabbit snares are the usual loops with a running noose at the end,” he explained. “The loop is about three and one-half inches in diameter, and, since rabbits hop along, with their heads about four inches from the ground, the loop is placed in a well-worn runway at about that height, suspended from a twitch-up—a bent sapling so notched as to fit into a peg driven into the ground at the side of the runway. The rabbit puts its head in the noose (sometimes), the jerk frees the twitch-up and—if you are lucky—he is left dangling in the air.”
McConnell also seems to have eaten his share of squirrels.
Further episodes included his quest to get a good, up-close photo of a bull moose and his ongoing battle of wits with a weasel that kept stealing his food.
In a late column, shortly before his return to New York City, he attempted to sum up what he had learned.
On the minus side: “In my enthusiasm I saddled myself with too many handicaps. Whereas primitive man could call upon a group to help in the hunting, I was obliged to work alone. I was compelled to cut and haul my own wood, carry water for cooking and drinking purposes, tan my own skins, cook my food, and make my own clothing—all of which was usually done by Mrs. Caveman.”
On the plus side: “I would not, however, give the impression that I have not thoroughly enjoyed these two months in the wilderness. I have. It has meant a great deal not to have to live up to the demands of an artificial civilization, with its haircuts and shaves, tight shoes and collars, and so forth. A simple diet of meat and fish has taken off approximately 12 pounds of surplus weight and five inches of waist-line, so that I am almost down to normal size. I feel rested for the first time in years.”
After another three decades of adventures, including service in World War II, McDonnell died in 1960 and was buried at Arlington National Cemetery.
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