Outward-bound training was
fun. We jumped off a tower into a pool, flew dangling by a loop
under our armpits connected to a pulley that ran along a cable  high
in the air, went on long mountain treks that we would never have
stood for if not for the fact they were led by a gorgeous young
six foot tall Swedish woman in a pair of tight khaki shorts who
humiliated us into keeping up. We’d have followed those shorts
to hell. We learned to rock climb and repel down steep cliffs. Well,
we didn’t actually climb up very often. We found a path that
led around to the cliff tops, but we got into repelling down. The
same Swedish beauty was the one who coaxed a few of the more reluctant
repelers that they really could drop down several 100 feet through
the air down the face of an enormous dam to a safe and jubilant
landing below. We learned to drown proof. To survive for hours in
the water without treading which I have since taught a number of
friends.
Then at the end, came the survival trek. Three days in the mountains
with a few ounces of food. In order to do this we were taught things
like how to eat tree snails, for example. Half our fishing group
set up into the mountains, following a trail we were told to take
to the end, about 3 hours as I remember. This brought us pretty
much to the top of our particular mountain. The fishermen held a
meeting. It was decided that it was unfair to fake this sort of
thing, knowing that at any moment we could just stroll back to camp
if things got rough. It would be far better, argued one of the  fishermen,
if we really were stuck on a mountain with only 3 ounces of food
to see if these surviving tactics would really work. So an alternative
plan was formulated and carried through. I was the only dissenting
voice, and to this day I’m not sure what my objection was.
It would be cool to say I wanted to see how I would fare on that
mountaintop, or that it was a matter of integrity. But I don’t
think so. I think maybe I was afraid we’d get caught. Anyway,
the others didn’t question my decision to stay on the mountain.
They shook hands and off they slid down the other side of the mountain
to a road, hitch-hiked to San Juan, where they caught a plane to
St. Thomas where they spent three days on a beach drinking cold
beer. These guys were true survivors, and to this day I am filled
with admiration for them.
I meanwhile was hard at work on my banana leaf shelter, having eaten
my first ounce of food and passed on a handy tree snail sliming
his way up a nearby tree trunk. It was soon dark, and I snuggled
under my banana leaf blanket and dozed off. Something itchy in my
ear woke me and half asleep I jammed my finger in for a good scratch,
shoving a live cockroach down my ear canal, which promptly wrapped
itself around my ear drum, causing a level of pain I have not the
literary skill  nor
desire to describe. I won’t go into much detail on what followed.
The three hour walk, run, stumble, fall, back to base camp was the
most unpleasant and in truth I don’t remember much of it.
Once there, our resident nurse poured alcohol into my ear, which
killed the cockroach. The bug’s death throws were dramatic.
I was then driven to a Puerto Rican hospital by the Swedish beauty,
now turned Swedish angel. She stayed with me in an emergency room
physically discouraging a variety of interns and nurses with a variety
of tools from digging into my ear after the first couple of attempts
to remove the bug from my ear produced a strongly negative reaction
on my part. Finally a specialist  arrived
who kicked out the crowd who had gathered in the room, got me off
the table and into a corner of the room and braced a couple of metal
tables under my arms and told me to hang on to them and try not
to move. He then took a large metal syringe that looked like a plumbing
tool and sucked up about a quart of water with it, stuck it in my
ear, and blasted that water directly into my ear canal, flushing
all of the cockroach out of my ear. It came out in pieces because
of the first couple of people poking around in there with tweezers.
Then the doctor gave me a shot of anti-biotic and told me to go
home and rest.
A few years later I visited St. Thomas and found it incredibly boring.
But it would have been a lot better than the bug thing. Two days
later we left to go learn about sharks. |
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