When I first heard I had received the scholarship to attend the Boulder Outdoor Survival School 28 day Field Course, I was curled in the fetal position in a lower end motel in North Central Mexico trying to keep down the scant fluids I struggled to sip all day. I had spent the day in a 15 passenger van with 17 other people travelling over 6 hours. It was the day after having run the Copper Canyon Ultra Marathon, and my body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder, twice. I shivered under the dingy comforter with gaudy pink flowers that smelled slightly of stale ashtray as the automated almost feminine voice barked at me, "Four new messages." The first two were mundane (sorry if you left them). The third was different.
As Jenny Stein's voice came over the line, I found myself tensing muscles I thought were completely spent. When she uttered the words, "Offer you the scholarship," I found myself out of bed screaming like a tween who was just told she was going to get a limo ride with the young Jonathon Taylor Thomas. I spun around, gave a little whoop and a jump, then slowly and methodically returned to the bed, tucking my knees into my sternum again, wishing I hadn't spontaneously shaken up my stomach.
You see, the BOSS program was something I dreamt of doing, and the scholarship would allow me to attend the $4,000 plus course for free. After having turned down the opportunity to take a nice cushy office job sheltered from the elements using my security clearance and no natural instincts, the prospect of travelling miles on foot over rugged terrain for 28 days with no comforts was music to my ears. When I received the paperwork, I chuckled at the wording of the physical waiver I had to get my doctor to sign. “Is this person capable of going without eating for at least 4 days while walking 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain?” Sure. Why not? Maybe on a swollen ankle, or one sneaker and one flip flop. Throw it at me! I’m ready!
I spent the summer in the sleepy town of Haines, AK floating down the mighty Chilkat River daily, chatting with my passengers about the approaching survival school. Some looked at me like I was speaking a foreign language that they not only did not understand, but thought sounded incredibly stupid. Others smiled at me like I was a ten year old expressing my desire to become a professional ball player in adulthood. Others yet mused that they wished they could do it, too, but I didn’t feel anybody truly understood my need to do it or I would have seen them, too, on the 26th of October in the equally sleepy town of Boulder, Utah.
Only one person who told me they truly understood why I wanted to go did I believe fully and without reservation. Dave’s mother. Dave had died on the second day of the BOSS 28 Day Field Course in 2006, and it was through his death and her generosity that I had the opportunity to participate in the course in the first place. She told me that she could understand why her son had felt the need to join the course, but she now understood. There are some things in life that are outside of your normal comfort zone that just need to be done.
I arrived in Boulder expecting nothing. I had not read too deeply into the instructions or the course description. I wasn’t even quite sure where Boulder, Utah was located. As a matter of fact, most of the people with whom I spoke in Provo were also unsure of the town’s location. One of the first things I was told upon arriving was to get rid of my expectations, and try to accept the class with an open mind. No problem.
There were seven of us. All from different financial backgrounds, with different stories, different accents, different experiences, and different fitness and skill levels. All with at least one thing in common. A desire to fully experience the experience: 28 days in the canyons, learning while going without eating for at least 4 days while walking 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain. And that we did. All seven of us made it through, spending the first four days without food while covering 18-30 miles daily on rugged terrain. We learned the basics about survival in the outdoors while lugging around our gear wrapped up in a blanket on our backs. We made friendships that will last a lifetime, and all learned at least one important previously unknown fact about ourselves.
We also did the complete opposite of smart survival. Often. We saw a nasty storm coming and continued to climb in elevation until we reached what we half jokingly named Mordor, all the while being pelted by hail, torrential rain, and finally snow. We camped in recently flooded flash flood zones several times, where trees were strewn haphazardly through the slick mud, reminding us constantly of the potential for raging river water to come through and sweep us away. We arrived almost daily in camp moments before dusk, only to be greeted by long, duff concealing shadows. Maybe that was part of the learning experience as well.
We spent the month dreaming up new recipes, new baking techniques, making grocery lists, thinking of what snacks we’d have upon regaining our freedom to choose. I even saw a chocolate chip cookie on the trail we were hiking. I still stand by my cookie sighting. It was a portion of a Chips Ahoy. I swear! I’m sure it was stale and would have crumbled into dust when I picked it up, if I could have found it after I accidentally stepped on it and kicked a pile of sand over it. The other students swore it was a hallucination, but I know what I saw: a half eaten chocolate chip cookie in the middle of the desert.
I learned a bunch of practical skills, like how to make fire if you have nothing but a cord and a knife. I learned what plants to eat, how to make traps, how to bake bread in a sheep’s stomach, but aside of the simple survival techniques, I walked away from this class with an even more in depth understanding of what truly matters and what doesn’t in this life. I had already decided to sell all of my furniture upon my decision to move to Alaska. I had opted to get rid of the bulk of everything I owned for profit or peanuts, as long as it would not be mine anymore. Still, I brought too much with me, and I never used half of the things I toted along in my little Rav4 to the Frontier State. I’m going through yet another cleansing now, taking droves of clothing to the thrift store, giving away non essential items. How liberating...the second wave of purging life’s inanimate burdens.
This road trip will be much lighter. The best part about it is the final destination. I’m heading home to Pennsylvania. It occurred to me in survival school that I know lots of small towns around the world pretty well. When I return to Monterey or Haines, there are people around that know me and greet me warmly. I can give you directions to get around Alcoi, Riobamba, Copperas Cove, and Watertown, but I don’t know the lady that works at the café across the street from my parents’ house in Annville, PA. Essentially, I’ve grown to know people everywhere but home.
It’s time to slow down for a few months. It’s time to have a home base. It’s time to cook for my parents, finish selling or giving away the last of my things, and finish up Call Me Stupid. I guess chapter four of freedom will be called Reconnecting with what Truly Matters, Family.
