There was lots of people here living off the grid before there was a grid. Lots and lots of resources, berries, fruit, game, water, firewood, etc.
EXACTLY TRUE! And I was one of them.
I was born into a poor hunting and fishing family in Montana in the late 50s. My parents started taking me on hunting and fishing trips before I was even 1 year of age. My mother was raised by her grandmother in a one room cellar in eastern Montana (obviously off-grid), heating the place by collecting coal that had fallen off the coal trains. She had a tough life back then. And my father was raised on a farm near Laurel, Montana (also off-grid); an equally difficult life for a kid.
My Uncle Herman was an eccentric old geezer who was the original survivalist prototype. He buried guns on his remote off-grid property near Roundup, Montana as far back as 1960. He’d flip off the satellites when he buried his guns. Back then Roundup was extraordinarily isolated and remote. Wildlife was abundant. He mostly lived off the land, but traded wild game for beef, vegetables, and eggs from local farmers. Fruit was scarce, only to be found in far-away Billings.
He was an extraordinary gun trader - mostly selling 20 gauge Winchester shotguns by mail order. He traveled the country (mostly western states like MT, WY, CO, ID, and TX) in his Chevy pick-up truck buying guns at gun stores, pawn shops, and through newspaper ads, and, once the entire back of his pickup truck was full of guns, he’d return to his backcountry hideout and sell them by mail order. He had very impressive gun buying, trading, and selling skills, as well as his gunsmithing, and marksmanship skills.
He lived without electricity, running water, and sewer for decades. He had numerous secret hiding bins throughout his hand-built cabin. And he even used a post office box 60 miles away in Billings, Montana for his business mailings for retreat location privacy.
As a kid in High School I spent several week-long trips visiting ole’ Herm. We reloaded 45/70s and shot his antique guns on his remote property. We trapped rabbits, and hunted deer, antelope, grouse, and pheasants. He taught me many backwoods skills such as shooting, reloading, hunting, fishing, trapping, navigating by the stars at night and the sun and trees in the daytime, home butchering, fire building, primitive shelter building, and much other bushcraft that he learned from the Crow Indians when he was a young adult.
In 1966, when I was just 8 years old, Herm gave me a 20 gauge Winchester shotgun on my birthday and told me that there was a secret letter hidden in the stock which I wasn’t to read until after his death. So I got my first gun at age 8. I never told anyone about our special secret, nor did I ever take a peek inside the stock. After the years passed and my memory became faded, I often wondered if I remembered it right or if it was just a childhood fantasy.
On his passing in 1991, I finally removed the butt plate and found a hollowed out chamber. The letter read, in part,
“This Winchester Model 12, Serial No. (XXXXX), was purchased new wholesale from Gamble’s in August 1950 at a cost to me of $63.00 at Billings, Montana. It is completely factory original and has never been repaired or any alteration made whatsoever and has never has a single malfunction. I have hunted with it every year with the exception of 1965, it was not fired that year. It killed many ducks, partridges, Chinese pheasants, grouse. Has made three triples for me - - one in 1951 on three Mallards at Rapelje, Montana, the other two on sage grouse, one north of Laurel, Montana in 1956 and the other Northeast of Roundup, Montana in 1960. The exact number of birds killed and shots fired, I do not know, but it is many and has never been fired by another person other than myself. In my opinion, there isn’t a finer one built and it with a great deal of regret that on this day, November 8, 1966, that I will retire it not to ever fire a single shot again as long as it is in my possession and in my Winchester collection. The last shot was fired on November 6 at approximately 5 p.m., killing a Hungarian partridge. May you spend as many fine days afield with this fine shotgun as I have. Treat it well and it will do the same for you. I do this with great pride and great pleasure. Good luck and good hunting. When the time comes, I know you will know who will possess it after you.”
