The main character of this short story
was inspired by Jordan Tate's lecture
on 26 Jan 13. It was originally written
as an English assignment, but has
since been submitted for publication
in a local literary journal
.
* * * * *
How to Survive One Week in the Wilderness
You are a wilderness photographer who lives in a loft apartment in the Urban Reclamation part of a metropolis. One day you see a photos of yours in a wildlife magazine, opposite an ad for outdoor gear in which a man is sitting at a camp fire as a large bear passes in the background. In that moment you realize that you have never spent more time in the wilderness than is necessary to take pictures. You are momentarily lost in a flashback of Art school where you had grand ideas about your contributions to photography and how your photos would be honest, reflecting reality and your unmasked self. The flashback ends and you decide that your profession is a fraud. When is the last time you slept outdoors? It was your first Scout outing. Then your parents separated because your father was a workaholic who took a job across country and your mother was a feminist who refused to sacrifice for his career, and neither parent took you to another Scout gathering again.
You resolve to spend the night outdoors. The gas station sells artificial logs across the aisle from the six-packs of beer, you buy one of each. There is a campground twenty minutes from the city; you drive there with your pillow and blanket, your favorite coronary inducing combo, and the purchases from earlier. The log gives off a chemical smell, the last beer might be having an effect, the lone street light next to your city-boy campfire masks the stars and there are fewer signs of wildlife than there are of other campers, besides the party-wagon RV three pitches down. You sleep in your faded and pealing black ’93 Audi Sedan, wake up dehydrated and sore, and decide last night shouldn’t count as you communing with nature.
A few days later you come to a conclusion, you will spend a week in the wild; just you and Mother Nature, mono-y-mono. You realize you don’t know how to survive anywhere for seven hours that doesn’t have a drive-through, let alone seven days. You think you still have your Scout handbook somewhere; you spend the next two days looking for it. Success, your name is still visible in the corner “Alex”. You rent every season of Stranded in the Wild. You take copious notes, more than you remember doing in Art History class. You subscribe to a plethora of wildlife magazines, including the one that started you down this trail. Only afterward do you consider if they can be a business expense.
Your girlfriend, Jen, is trying to understand why you have a laundry rope tied between your bookcase and futon with a blanket draped over it. You tell her you’re practicing making tents. She makes that giggle that means she finds your misguidedness cute, like when you wanted to learn how to brew your own wine in the loft, or wanted to become an escape artist. She tells you she is running late for work anyway, punctuated with a kiss filled with amusement.
It’s coming on a year since sleeping in your car. The magazines are dog-eared, you own an incomplete collection of outdoorsy movies, your photographs are primarily potential campsites, of which only a third are accepted by your publisher. Your friends consider you obsessed, you’ve taken to wearing jeans, flannel shirts and hiking books. You’ve started accepting the nickname Paul that your Paul Bunyan-esque attire has earned you. You were slightly surprised people remembered who Paul Bunyan was; you had to web-search him yourself.
You decide it’s time to purchase the proper gear for this adventure. You first go the huntsman’s superstore. The salesman, wearing a camouflage polo, tries to sell you more gadgets than could fit in the multitude of pockets in his cargo pants. You explain what you want to do, you watch his expression go blank.. Next you go to an outdoor sport emporium. Here the saleswoman understands your desires; you have long meaningful conversations about backpacks and down sleeping bags. You wonder if you and Jen have ever talked so thoughtfully. You see the price tags and realize it would take three months salary and an early inheritance to afford the gear that the saleswoman has listed for you, assuring you of its importance with a firm grasp of your hand and a smile. You buy the prepackaged meals, not being ready to actually eat-off-the-land yet, and resolve to buy the camping equipment second hand.
The time has come for you to prove your manliness as well as being true to your art. You chose a State Park that several of your magazines listed in their top-ten locations for your region. You verify the canvas backpack with the metal frame and discolored spots where award patches used to be is loaded with the canteens, packaged meals, sleeping bag with duct tape patches, a rope, an army tent that smells a little too musty, other miscellaneous items and the Scout handbook.
Following the advice of some article you once read, you have left an itinerary with every friend and family member you have ever known. You remind yourself to leave one at the fire station on your way out of town, just in case. The drive into the country is picturesque. You wonder how you have never appreciated its understated beauty before. The trees start just before the road begins to climb the foothills. This drive isn’t new to you, you’ve photographed this area hundreds of times, but now you are going to live in it. You are going to do the thing that most metropolitans only dream of while sitting in traffic on their way to purchasing gourmet coffees before spending their days in concrete rooms. You are about to experience life as it was meant to be, as the first men experienced it.
You are two miles from where you are going to leave your car behind; from there an hour’s hike into God’s Country and then you will have redeemed yourself, no longer the sellout. You will be the adventure, the intrepid photographer. Rain begins to sprinkle lightly on your windshield; you see light-grey clouds coming over the mountain peak toward you.
The rain lets up by the time you surprise Jen at her apartment with flowers and an invite for a romantic weekend at a nice hotel.
