My Desert Island Kink

I grew up watching Gilligan’s Island. It wasn’t quality TV. It wasn’t important to me. But it certainly helped establish the stranded-on-an-island and making-a-radio-from-coconuts trope. Swiss Family Robinson hit similar notes. My favorite childhood books, Hatchet and My Side of the Mountain, even more so. But what really struck a formative chord was MacGyver. Each episode revolved around MacGyver solving a make-or-break dilemma with a paperclip, some gum, a bit of fireplace ash, whatever. That shit gets me going.

I relish those moments where I am stuck, stranded, or otherwise distant from civilization and a problem can only be solved through the inventive application of the scant resources at hand. That puzzle and possibly clocking an angle that others might miss is a particular thrill. There’s a part of me that legitimately yearns to be stranded on a desert island, figuring out how to filter water with bamboo, making batteries from scrap metal, and building a whole damn sailboat from flotsam and jetsam.1

Now, I don’t generally pursue these hardships, per se. I’m not one of those guys who goes off-roading with the mission of pushing limits and breaking my suspension, spare parts in tow for the inevitable field repair. I don’t aim to create failure. But do I set myself up for as much problem solving success as possible should an issue arise. That’s just practicality. And doing so inventively, in a situation where others might presume the task impossible… that’s the kink. I love it.

It doesn’t even have to be a capital P Problem to draw a smile. Years ago Molly and I were at a friend’s ranch (sans Internet) and she wanted to bake a pie from a recipe book. It called for a specific weight of apples and we had no scale. Sure, we could’ve guessed, but I was excited for the project of figuring out a solution. I knew the weight of water, so I worked from that and made a balance scale from a hanger and a sack of bottles. I doubt it was terribly better than estimating, but sitting in the proverbial sand and staring at the proverbial coconuts and trying to crack the puzzle brought immense satisfaction.

A few weeks ago I was at our land, squaring away the place for our artist-in-residence who was arriving in just a couple hours to begin her two-week stay. In the last minutes the bathroom door lock decided to break, sealing the door shut. Crap. How to get through the locked door to repair it, ideally without breaking anything? We don’t keep tools at the property post-fire, so I surveyed the few of them in my truck and what supplies I did have. Eventually I realized I could use my saw to cut a block of wood and pair it with my truck’s jack to gently spread the door frame enough to pop open the door and repair the lock. I sent pictures to those friends who might appreciate, basking in the pride of having solved the puzzle.

A similar success happened a week later while replacing a valve on my truck. It called for a tiny torque value that was far below what my torque wrench was capable of measuring. I stared at it for a long while scratching my head, not wanting to leave and buy a new wrench for this one job, but also not wanting to wing it, potentially over-tightening and splitting the delicate plastic. It occurred to me that I could convert the 44 inch-pounds to foot-pounds and that worked out to 3.67 pounds of force applied to a 1-foot lever. I zip-tied a nub at the 1-foot mark along my wrench and pressed Molly’s cooking scale against the wrench until it read 3.67 lbs, applying just the right amount of torque to install the valve. That felt gooood. That’s that desert island kink.

A couple summers ago I was helping Jay build a treehouse in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We were departing the site after several long days of work when his van slid sideways and got stuck on the steep hillside. I’d need to help him get out, he declared, knowing my truck has a 4WD, a locking rear differential, winch, tow straps, etc—stuff I have precisely for solving these types of problems. But I got annoyed. I was ready to go home. My attitude toward the assistance was a begrudging obligation as I stepped out of the truck to survey the scene.

Jay was all smiles though. He playfully prodded, forcing me to frame it in through the more honest perspective. “Come on Jeff. You know you love it. You live for this stuff.”

I had to loosen a smile and nod. Jay was totally right. I do. I love this stuff.

Several weeks ago I shared a video and mentioned we’ve been working on a book. And that I hoped to launch the Kickstarter in a month or so. Folks have been asking where that’s at.

Turns out making a (good) book is hard! We’re still doing print tests and making photo tweaks and have test stamped a few covers. Progress is happening. Just a bit slower than was expected, as can be the case with producing a physical product that you want to feel good about.

• Start with these posts on Project Planning and Construction Basics.

• Or these posts on Community Building.

• Or browse. Posts wander from friendship, to workshops, to tools, to explosives. Because we contain multitudes.

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