Wilderness Survival Weekend
The Uncharted Wilds of Pennsylvania
February 2007
Let’s say you are caught out in the woods and you are lost and you have mostly run out of supplies like food and water, and you didn’t bring a tent and you are by yourself and it’s getting dark. Y’know, a typical hike.
Okay, not really a standard hike, but rather a hike preceded by a substandard amount of preparation, or perhaps something out of your control got out of control. And now, if you are not ready to die, you’ve got to figure out how you are going to survive this challenging situation.
There are folks who specialize in the types of knowledge you need to survive such an experience in the wilderness. Some of these folks are willing to share their knowledge. This is how I come to find myself standing around with a group of hikers and other outdoors people, listening to one of these experts. This is wilderness survival school.
I like this guy’s approach. He sets up a semi-scary scenario and then instructs us on two things. First, how to avoid getting your sorry ass into this situation in the first place, and second, if your ass is sorry enough and you have gotten yourself into this situation, how to survive it and how to get your sorry ass out of it.
On this brisk winter day, eagerly standing around, we are barely into the welcomes and explanations of what we hope to accomplish over the day when our instructor mentions, “Oh, if anyone has to pee, please tell me before you go off to the woods.” Okay.
One safety theme that is emphasized at this seminar has to do with protection against exposure. It is February in the northeast and even though it’s not too cold today, we are standing around listening and watching, activities that generally do not generate much heat. We’re getting cold. Fortunately, our next activity involves building a shelter out of what we can find in this standard forest. Which is to say, downed logs and other plant life. We scour the area and drag back branches and logs and ferns and other ground cover, all of which, over a period of 45 minutes, we transform into a reasonably airtight lean-to that could do a yeoman’s job of protecting us from the elements. We learn how to guess at which direction the wind might hit us, and we fortify that side of the shelter. Minimize exposure. We clear the small area under the shelter and use the rocks to bolster the sides. Home, if we need it.
We warm up a lot during this activity.
We look for edible plants. We learn where the best place might be to dig for water in this stream-less area of the forest. Some participants remind themselves how to pray.
We’re a few hours in and I’m feeling an urge. Yep, I’ve got to pee. This baby’s got to winky tink. I put up my hand and the instructor gives me his attention. “I have to pee,” I announce.
“Great!” he says. “Here. Pee into this empty coffee can which I just happen to have with me. And then bring it back. We’re going to see how to purify your urine so that’s it’s potable.”
“Really?”
I take the can and go off a ways and stand on the other side of a rather large beech tree. I drop trough and pee into the can. I’m used to peeing in a can, just not this kind. When I’m finished I put the can down on the ground so’s I can zip up. I pick up the can to go back to the group and I’m surprised at how hot the can is. Oh yeah, urine must be about the same as body temperature, which today, is about 70° higher than ambient temperature.
I hand the can back to our expert. “Thank you,” he says. “It’s nothing,” I say.
At this point, he sets to. Using his camping stove, a small pot, a water bottle, the plastic tube from his hydration kit and some gravity, he builds a makeshift still. The idea is simple: put urine in one end and get potable water out the other.
But here’s the thing that gets me. I’ve already announced to the whole group that I was “making water.” They all watched me — I’m assuming — walk away and get to the other side of the tree. They all witnessed me returning with a bucket full of urine.
Now our instructor pours my pee into the cook pot. This part surprises me: I feel just slightly embarrassed. Exposed, even. Everybody is looking at my urine. Were I a kid, I might have boasted. “Look what I made!” Frankly, I got over that stage a long time ago. At least six weeks.
Who wants to sample this freshly prepared water?