Down the River; Part 3

The first thing Sam noticed when he woke up was the level of his blood sugar. He knew it was high. The ripping dehydration and fruity taste of his breath told him that he had a problem. Adrenaline had always been Sam’s biggest challenge in controlling his diabetes. Whether it was pick-up basketball or state cup soccer, his blood sugar always went high after an intense, adrenaline-pumping experience. Standing up, he reached into his pocket, hoping against hope to find his insulin pump. But all he found was some wet lint, his pocketknife, and his packing list, left in his pocket from days before. His heart sank. Not only was he lost. Not only would he have to survive until Saturday before anyone came looking for him. Not only did he have to find food, water, and shelter. Not only did he have to survive alone. He had to do it with a chronic illness. The more he thought about the task ahead of him, the more he wanted to lie in the grass and cry.

Forcing himself to gain control, however, he stood up and took account of his surroundings. He was at the edge of a small, somewhat-circular meadow lined with trees. He was wearing a pair of jeans, an old t-shirt, and a long sleeve flannel button up. Slowly, the Boy Scout in Sam began to emerge,

“If you get lost, stay in one place, don’t wander.” Sam thought. The advice had been given to him countless times. A flood of memories of watching “Man vs. Wild with Bear Grylls” episodes came rushing to Sam’s mind. Sam’s dad had always said,

“You’ve seen so many of those survival shows that you could probably survive anywhere on Earth for the rest of your life, Sam.”

“And he was right.” Sam thought. “I can survive here.” But the more Sam thought about the advice to stay where he was, the more absurd it sounded. He couldn’t sit here for two days, alone, waiting to be found.

“I just have to be able to find my way back. It’s simple.”

In minutes he had circled the meadow, marking each tree with his initials. When he was finished, relief rushed over him. He was on his way to survival. It wouldn’t get any easier than that, but this first action set firmly in his mind his decision to survive. After going the river to drink, Sam returned.

“Ok,” he thought, “I’ve got to have some kind of shelter.”

After several hours, Sam had built an effective lean-to shelter at the end of the meadow, farthest from the roaring river. Next, Sam spelled out the word “HELP” in huge letters in the middle of the meadow in logs. Once again, the achievement of something proactive eased his mind a little.

Sam spent the remaining hours of daylight searching for any food. Just beyond the trees to the east, Sam found a single bush of red berries. Despite his high blood sugar, Sam couldn’t help but stuff himself full of the tart, red berries.
~~~

The night was an endless tunnel of freezing, restless darkness. Every drop of moisture in the grass froze overnight and when Sam finally woke up, his blood sugar still high, he was covered in a dusting of frost. When the discomfort of the cold frost had overcome his desire to lie in the shelter forever, Sam army-crawled his way out of the shelter. After going to the river for several long gulps of the cool water, he went to gather some dry tinder and wood. It wasn’t long before he had found a several dry branches and a fallen, dead pine tree.

“Nature’s gasoline.” Sam thought with a smile, remembering roaring bonfires at previous camps. Carefully he transported the branches to his shelter, trying to salvage every precious needle. After some consideration, Sam determined that the best approach was to carve a semi-circle groove into one of the larger, dry branches and then to rub one of the other branches in the groove to generate the spark.

When Sam had completed carving the large branch, he began the daunting task of starting the fire. He dug down into the dirt to protect any precious sparks from the wind, and then started rubbing. He rubbed for hours, experimenting with short, fast, jerky strokes and longer strokes with more pressure.

Sam sat all afternoon, still showing signs of high blood sugar, with blistered fingers, rubbing the sticks together. When the sun had just begun to set, Sam heard something behind him. Turning he saw a rabbit sitting not ten yards to his left. Thinking quickly, Sam reached to the ground where he knew sat a small, baseball-sized rock, his eyes still locked on the unaware rabbit. Picking up the rock in his now sweating hand, he focused in on a small patch of the gray fur. Slowly he adjusted his legs to face the rabbit and then, as quickly as he could, he side-armed the rock with all his might at the rabbit.

Bullseye.

Sam jumped up off his aching knees to examine his kill. His stomach screamed in excitement at the prospect of food. Turning back to the branches, Sam stretched his arms and returned, reinvigorated, to his fire building.

The extra motivation of the rabbit was just what Sam needed. In less than half an hour, Sam had a blazing fire burning. After cleaning the rabbit somewhat clumsily, he cooked and ate it, supplemented with several crimson berries squeezed over the sweet meat.

“Just like Bear.” Sam thought, smiling.