It probably all began when I moved to the countryside at the age of five. The forest was right outside our door and almost immediately became my playground. There was also a woodworking shed with just about everything you could imagine, and I was allowed to use most things that were not powered by electricity or a drive belt. We were lucky enough to have a stream running through the woods, only 50 metres from the house, with a fair number of brown trout in it.
Not long after we moved there, a film gave my woodland adventures an extra push: John Rambo in First Blood, of course. I managed to get my very own “Rambo knife”. It did not matter that it looked nothing like the one in the film. The knife itself was fairly useless, but its hollow handle held all sorts of exciting things, including fishing line, sinkers and a hook. Naturally, I carved a fishing rod and went fishing for trout. Catching a fish with equipment I had made myself was so deeply satisfying that the feeling has stayed with me throughout my life.
I think that was where it began. Outdoor life has always been part of my life, but many of the people I met were mainly interested in outdoor activities as a test of performance: running around with maps and compasses. The scouts wanted me to stop using a knife, or wait until I was older. Being treated as incapable hit me hard. Sitting indoors tying knots instead of being outside also helped me decide to leave quite quickly.
What I really enjoyed was the annual fishing trip with my two brothers and our father. There was certainly some competition between us brothers, but achievement was not the most important thing. It was about being together and being outdoors. My dear father hardly ever caught a fish, but it never seemed to bother him much. With three sons needing help, it was difficult to find time to fish himself. I think he appreciated the peace and quiet when we were busy fishing.
Another vivid memory is of winter afternoons when I would come home, load a sledge with firewood and sausages, take my dog and walk to the little shelter I had built. I would light a fire, cook the sausages and think about whatever a nine-year-old might think about. Once the food was gone and darkness had fallen, we would head home.
Then, in the late 1980s, something else affected me as much as Rambo had. I got hold of a newly published book. Even the cover caught my attention: someone had put mittens on their feet to replace lost boots. It was, of course, the Swedish Army Survival Manual. It became my bible. I tried everything in it, over and over again.
Life moved on, but the forest never disappeared from it. The amount of time I could spend outdoors varied, yet I always made time for it. I spent holidays in an open canoe, mainly paddling the waterways of Värmland.
Some years ago, someone told me that what I did was called bushcraft. I had heard the word before, including in a film from the 1990s in which Ray Mears and Mors Kochanski were teaching in Sweden. It had never quite stuck, but now the time was right. Perhaps I had moved from surviving to living in the woods. The more I learned about bushcraft, the more I realised how well it fitted.
Things came together. Before I knew it, I had helped establish the Bushcraft Sverige membership association and the Bushcraft Festival. I went on to start Craft By Karlsson and then took a bigger step. There was so much more I wanted to do and learn that, in autumn 2018, I enrolled at the long-established Bäckedal Folk High School to study ancient forging techniques. I continued with Human–Nature–Technology (MNT), followed by an advanced term focusing on ancient trapping and hunting methods. Leaving “ordinary life” behind and doing what you really want is wonderful. I can focus on learning more so that I can teach more — and, above all, I feel that I am living more fully.
The future is uncertain, as always. My long-term plan is to work less and live more.