It reads like something from John Kipling’s The Jungle Book stories.
Three-year-old Casey Hathaway survived two nights alone in the freezing North American woods and told rescuers that a “friend in the woods that was a bear” was with him through the entire ordeal.
Rescuers found Casey tangled up in thornbushes last week but safe after reports of a child crying were passed on to police.
Black bears are common through the North Carolina woods, but can deadly
“He said he hung out with a bear for two days,” said his aunt, Breanna Hathway, on social media.
“God sent him a friend to keep him safe…miracles do happen.”
Check out the incredible story below
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Casey was reported missing last Tuesday when he failed to come inside after playing with two other boys in his grandmother’s backyard.
Sub-zero temperatures and brutal terrain didn’t deter a full-scale rescue mission that involved helicopters, drones, K-9 units and hundreds of local volunteers.
“He’s a survivor”, said Craven sheriff Chip Hughes of the rescue.
In partnership with Grill Mates and Stubb's BBQ Sauce.
There’s something unmistakably raw about William Crighton. It’s there in his voice—deep, cracked, like bark peeling from a eucalypt—and in the stories he tells, steeped in red dirt, rolling hills, and river ghosts. But beyond the music, there’s another side to Crighton that’s just as grounded in the Australian bush: cooking.
To him, the fire pit and the fretboard aren’t all that different. “I approach music similar to how I approach cooking ,” he says, “which is, I don't know too much, and going back to that childhood curiosity and wonder.”
Bush Songs and Backyard Smoke
Crighton’s music is often shaped by time spent in nature—walking through scrubland, sitting by creeks, or staring into campfire flames. His songs are rooted in place, and so is his food. He’s not about complicated recipes or kitchen gadgets; his ideal cooking set-up is a cast iron grill over coals, a sharp knife, and the open sky.
“There’s something about the bush that strips things back to what matters,” he says. “It’s the same with cooking. When you’re out there, it’s just you, the fire, and whatever you’ve got on hand. That’s where the magic is.”
And while Crighton’s approach is humble, it’s far from bland. A believer in bold, honest flavour, he’s quick to call out two essentials in his campfire toolkit: Grill Mates seasoning and Stubb’s BBQ Sauce.
“I’m not a chef, but I know what tastes good,” he laughs. “Grill Mates have that smoky hit that just works with anything—lamb chops, kangaroo, even a grilled zucchini. And Stubb’s? That stuff’s got soul.”
Smoke and Soul
For Crighton, cooking is more than just survival—it’s ceremony. Whether he’s on tour or out bush with his family, there’s a rhythm to it. Gather wood. Light the fire. Let it burn down. Season the meat. Cook it slow. Sit, talk, eat, listen. It’s the same process as writing a song, he says. “You don’t rush it. You let it build. You taste as you go.”
That sense of time, patience, and presence defines both his music and his meals. There’s no room for distractions when you're working with fire and feeling your way through a song. It’s tactile. Sensory. Honest.
“A little bit of not knowing, that's where the best s*** comes,” he says. “Too much heat, too much spice, too many words—it’ll burn out or fall flat. But when you hit it just right? It’s unforgettable.”
Music, Meat, and Meaning
Ask Crighton about the perfect cook-up, and he won’t talk about sous-vide machines or reverse searing. He’ll talk about standing barefoot in the dust, his guitar nearby, kids running around, a bit of Stubb’s soaking into a thick ribeye as the sun drops low.
It’s not just about what’s on the plate—it’s who you’re sharing it with, what the day’s been like, what you’re listening to Will tells us. "Food and music are both about creating a moment. That’s the stuff people remember.”
As his songs continue to resonate around the world, from the stages of Nashville to the paddocks of New South Wales, William Crighton remains committed to that core philosophy: stay grounded, keep it simple, and always cook with heart.
Because whether he’s crafting a haunting verse or searing a steak, Crighton knows—the good stuff happens when you let the fire do its thing.
In partnership with Grill Mates and Stubb's BBQ Sauce.
There’s something unmistakably raw about William Crighton. It’s there in his voice—deep, cracked, like bark peeling from a eucalypt—and in the stories he tells, steeped in red dirt, rolling hills, and river ghosts. But beyond the music, there’s another side to Crighton that’s just as grounded in the Australian bush: cooking.
To him, the fire pit and the fretboard aren’t all that different. “I approach music similar to how I approach cooking ,” he says, “which is, I don't know too much, and going back to that childhood curiosity and wonder.”
Bush Songs and Backyard Smoke
Crighton’s music is often shaped by time spent in nature—walking through scrubland, sitting by creeks, or staring into campfire flames. His songs are rooted in place, and so is his food. He’s not about complicated recipes or kitchen gadgets; his ideal cooking set-up is a cast iron grill over coals, a sharp knife, and the open sky.
“There’s something about the bush that strips things back to what matters,” he says. “It’s the same with cooking. When you’re out there, it’s just you, the fire, and whatever you’ve got on hand. That’s where the magic is.”
And while Crighton’s approach is humble, it’s far from bland. A believer in bold, honest flavour, he’s quick to call out two essentials in his campfire toolkit: Grill Mates seasoning and Stubb’s BBQ Sauce.
“I’m not a chef, but I know what tastes good,” he laughs. “Grill Mates have that smoky hit that just works with anything—lamb chops, kangaroo, even a grilled zucchini. And Stubb’s? That stuff’s got soul.”
Smoke and Soul
For Crighton, cooking is more than just survival—it’s ceremony. Whether he’s on tour or out bush with his family, there’s a rhythm to it. Gather wood. Light the fire. Let it burn down. Season the meat. Cook it slow. Sit, talk, eat, listen. It’s the same process as writing a song, he says. “You don’t rush it. You let it build. You taste as you go.”
That sense of time, patience, and presence defines both his music and his meals. There’s no room for distractions when you're working with fire and feeling your way through a song. It’s tactile. Sensory. Honest.
“A little bit of not knowing, that's where the best s*** comes,” he says. “Too much heat, too much spice, too many words—it’ll burn out or fall flat. But when you hit it just right? It’s unforgettable.”
Music, Meat, and Meaning
Ask Crighton about the perfect cook-up, and he won’t talk about sous-vide machines or reverse searing. He’ll talk about standing barefoot in the dust, his guitar nearby, kids running around, a bit of Stubb’s soaking into a thick ribeye as the sun drops low.
It’s not just about what’s on the plate—it’s who you’re sharing it with, what the day’s been like, what you’re listening to Will tells us. "Food and music are both about creating a moment. That’s the stuff people remember.”
As his songs continue to resonate around the world, from the stages of Nashville to the paddocks of New South Wales, William Crighton remains committed to that core philosophy: stay grounded, keep it simple, and always cook with heart.
Because whether he’s crafting a haunting verse or searing a steak, Crighton knows—the good stuff happens when you let the fire do its thing.
