Will to Live: Dispatches from the Edge of Survival Page 11

  Worried that the madly flopping fish would propel itself back into the sea, Dougal leapt into the dinghy, grabbed the fish, and rammed a knife into its head, sawing furiously. When he had decapitated it, he cut the tail off for good measure.

  After Dougal had cleaned and gutted the fish, the Robertsons enjoyed more food than they had had in one sitting since the sinking of the Lucette. They ate fish flavored with lemon juice and onion, along with a concoction of dorado liver and heart and small pieces of yet another flying fish that had landed in the dinghy overnight. When they had eaten their fill, Lyn was wise enough to split open the dorado vertebrae. They found the spinal cavity to be full of fresh, nutritious water.

  It’s amazing that, after what otherwise would be considered a very small meal—the Robertsons were diligent about rationing—most felt quite full. In fact, Dougal was surprised that he was not crippled by hunger pains. I don’t find it all that surprising, though. Too often, those of us in Western society figure we are starving if we go about three hours without food. True hunger pain takes much longer to kick in, especially when the adrenaline of a survival experience is involved. I don’t really get hunger problems until day four of my survival experiences, and sometimes not even for a week.

  Encouraged by the bounty of the dorado, Dougal continued his fishing attempts. He started with the large hooks, baiting them with the heads of the flying fish or guts from the dorado. But Dougal was thinking too big by going after dorado from the get-go. He would have been much better off fashioning a very tiny hook and catching the numerous small fish that also swam around the raft rather than trying so hard for big ones. Small fish are not only easier to catch, they’re much safer, too. Large fish are powerful creatures, and many unsuspecting fisherman have been injured by their wildly flapping bodies. Their sharp teeth can rip a hole in a rubber raft. Catching, cleaning, and eating small fish would kill much more time, which not only offers a psychological benefit, but would give the kids the chance to try, too. Going for the big fish is not really survival thinking, it’s recreational thinking.

  The seventh day on the raft was a momentous one, in several ways. The day began with an outburst of rain. Soon, the water running down the pipe from the catchment area on the roof was clear, and everyone drank until they were bursting. They also filled up as many spare jars, cans, and plastic bags as they could. With such an increase in their water supply, spirits were high.

  They soared to even greater heights later that day, when Douglas cried out that he had seen a ship. Everyone crowded to the door of the raft, and sure enough, a huge cargo vessel was approaching on a course that Dougal estimated would bring them within three miles of one another. Although three miles is a long way to see a flare during the day, they were encouraged that gray skies would help their cause. Dougal climbed into the dinghy and set off one of the rocket flares. Thankfully, it fired, cutting a long, pink arc in the sky. They were about to be rescued! When the ship didn’t change its course in the direction of the raft, Dougal lit a hand flare, waving it high over his head until the heat made it unbearable. Still, the ship did not alter course. He struck another hand flare and waved it frantically, to no avail.

  With the eager faces of his family and Robin glancing back and forth from Dougal to the ship, he struggled to make a decision. Realizing that such a chance might never come again, he knew what he had to do. He would use their last rocket flare and one more hand flare, which he did. Still the ship did not turn. They had not been seen.

  I don’t disagree with Dougal using most of their flares. Indeed, it might have been weeks—or months—before they were seen again by a passing ship. What surprises me is that they didn’t seem to have planned for what they would do in that event. In desperation, Lyn urged Dougal to set fire to the sail in a last-ditch effort to be seen. It was an irrational, and potentially disastrous, suggestion. Sure, it might have increased their chance of being rescued, but given the lack of response to the five flares they set off, chances were still slim. And without a sail, getting to the Doldrums alive would have been nearly impossible.

  In those desperate moments as the ship sailed away, something snapped in Dougal. But it wasn’t what you might think. With the prospect of rescue looking less and less like a reality—when would they have another chance like that?—Dougal did not sink into depression or self-pity. Quite the opposite. With all hope seemingly lost, Dougal decided that he would no longer think of rescue as a viable outcome. From now on, their survival was their own responsibility. They would make it to safety under their own power and by the strength of their collective ingenuity. Dougal vowed not to use the words rescue or help anymore, a surprisingly common occurrence in survival situations, particularly when it becomes obvious that the rescue you have hoped for is not going to come. The same thing happened to Nando Parrado and some of the more steel-hearted of his teammates after their plane crashed high in the Andes and they learned via transistor radio that the search had been called off.

  It is, without a doubt, this kind of thinking that will enable someone to survive. As Dougal so rightly said, it was no longer a question of if they made it to land, but when.

  Later that afternoon, they were disturbed by an unusually hard bump on the bottom of the raft. They had become accustomed to the many sharks filling the waters around them, but this felt different. When they looked out over the side, they were amazed to see the scaly head of a sea turtle looking back at them. The old Dougal Robertson might have let the beast swim away, but with his newfound mantra of survival at all costs still ringing in his ears, Dougal leapt to the dinghy and pulled the eighty-pound turtle aboard by its flippers, careful to avoid its sharp beak, which was now snapping wildly.

  * * *

  Skin Afflictions When Adrift at Sea

  Anybody who has spent time in the bottom of a water-filled boat under the burning sun knows all too well that there is nothing romantic about drifting helplessly across the open sea. From sunburn to boils, there are several ways your skin can turn on you in these situations.

  Sunburn is the most obvious risk. Dougal and his family were fortunate enough to be covered by canopies, which minimized their exposure to the sun. Others haven’t been so lucky. As we all know, prolonged and extensive sunburns increase the risk of skin cancer.

  The risk of sunburn on the open sea is magnified even further by the fact that salt water drains away skin’s natural moisture, making it more susceptible to dryness and cracking. Constant contact with salt water also chafes the skin and makes it prone to the formation of boils, those tender, red, pus-filled lumps that make the simple act of sitting a painful undertaking.

  * * *

  Slaughtering and butchering the turtle would be no easy trick, but Dougal used his combined experiences as a sailor and farmer and set to the task. He set his feet on each of the front flippers, held the beak in his left hand, and plunged the knife deep into the turtle’s neck, quickly killing it. Unfortunately, they had not learned yet that the blood of the turtle, which was spilled during the quick killing, was an extremely valuable food source.

  The next days found them happy and motivated. They had food drying in strips all over the boats, water was plentiful for the moment, and they were driven by their collective will to live. Their mantra—“Survival!”—was repeated often, as a daily watchword. Their focus was clear and intense.

  While Dougal played the role of hunter, Lyn’s days were full to overflowing as she tended to everyone’s well-being in one way or another. She worked hard to keep the twins, Neil and Sandy, active and moving to the extent that she could on the cramped raft. Her daily exercise regimen was a stroke of genius, but it should have extended to all the people on the raft, not just the twins. When you’re in cramped quarters and have little room to move, you need to do anything you can to prevent your muscles from atrophying. One of my favorite ways of doing this is by employing the yoga-like method I described in Chapter 3 (see “Curing the Nighttime Chills, page 50). Not only does it hel
p generate heat in cold, cramped places, but it keeps the muscles active, too.

  Lyn’s involvement did not end with exercise. She also looked after everyone’s skin, which was becoming peppered with various boils and sores, the result of exposure to the sun as well as the constant sitting in salt water. She also took care every day to dry out the bedsheets, which became soaked each night as water seeped into the raft. They didn’t stay dry for long, but it was comforting for everyone to at least lie down on something dry.

  Lyn’s attention to the small details was brilliant. She not only occupied her time—and that of the others—with a series of small tasks, but her meticulous devotion to tidiness likely kept everyone as healthy as possible. Hygiene and cleanliness are often overlooked in survival situations, but they are important considerations, especially in the long term. Yet the one thing Lyn could not reconcile was the weakening condition of the twins, especially Neil, who had been so seasick when they first boarded the raft. She and Dougal discussed it at length, and finally decided that as long as they could harvest food from the sea, the raft’s emergency rations would be kept as supplemental rations for the twins only.

  As a parent of two children, I certainly understand why they put the rations aside exclusively for the twins, but don’t necessarily agree with it. Their primary rationale was that the kids’ digestive systems might not be able to handle raw food, but the brutal fact is that if Lyn and Dougal didn’t survive, the chances of the rest of them surviving was greatly diminished. It seems they were doting on the twelve-year-olds quite a bit. In fact, the twins were quite capable of pitching in and helping out. But Lyn would have none of that. She focused on them constantly, often denying herself to give them more. She gave them “little dinners”—a bit of extra food beyond what the adults were eating. She even went so far as to pretend to drink her share of water when the jar was passed around, but only pressed the glass to her lips so there would be more for the twins. While seemingly noble, these were risky and unproductive steps to take. You can’t help anyone if you yourself are incapacitated. The caregiver must keep himself or herself as strong as, if not stronger than, those they are looking after. In a survival situation, selflessness can be stupidity.

  I don’t mean to seem heartless here. I’ve never been in a survival situation with my kids, so don’t really know how I would react. And I recognize that children are weaker than adults, with less maturity and less resolve. If babying the twins gave Lyn and Dougal a focus that also helped keep themselves strong, it may have been the right thing to do. But the pampering seemed a bit much and possibly counterproductive to the survival of all. These were twelve-year-olds, not helpless toddlers.

  The hours and days passed, yet the Robertsons were doing surprisingly well. They had food and water, and nobody had fallen ill. Yet the ordeal was beginning to take a gradual toll on their physical frames. The skin eruptions and boils that made sitting and sleeping so difficult were worsening. This was primarily due to the salt water, which was now leaking into the raft with alarming regularity. The life raft had sprung quite a few small leaks, and it looked as though the dinghy might soon become their home at sea. Dougal worried about whether the Ednamair was big enough to hold them all without capsizing on the ocean swells.

  With so much time on his hands, Dougal obsessed over the idea of catching fish. I have been in many situations where a problem at hand has been solved by someone “obsessing” over it, as was the case when the plane crash victims needed a better water supply in the Andes mountains tragedy. In the right circumstances, obsessing can be useful; in this case, the waters were literally teeming with fish, yet the Robertsons could find no way of getting them out of the sea and into the boat. Dougal’s next idea was to impale them as they swam by, so he began carving a fish spear from an extra paddle handle.

  This kind of innovation is a testimony to the Robertsons’ collective ingenuity and resilience. They were great at fixing problems when they arose. But the family—and Dougal in particular—never seemed to devote much energy to anticipating what might lie around the corner. Time and again, Dougal simply accepted the first solution to a problem that presented itself, apparently without taking the time to ask himself what else might go wrong and how he might deal with that. In reality, he would have been wise to look for two to three solutions to each problem.

  For example, near the end of their second week adrift, Dougal tugged on the rope that secured the raft to the dinghy and found that it came slack in his hand. The pin that held the rope to the dinghy had worked itself loose with time, and nobody had bothered to check it. I would guess that Dougal assumed the rope was safe enough, but he really should have devised a backup method of securing the dinghy to the raft. He’s lucky they didn’t come apart in rough water, or they would have lost the dinghy completely and come to a very different end.

  Similarly, they seemed content to use the roof of the raft as their primary method of collecting rain. Given the infrequency of rain and the critical importance of water to their survival, they would have been wise to use the extra sailcloth as a secondary catch. Again, though, they had one answer to a problem, and it was good enough. The Robertsons didn’t investigate other possibilities, even if it would have meant more water for them. Had I been in their situation, I would have at least considered the possibility of a solar still, a device that makes seawater drinkable and could have made their lives a heck of a lot easier.

  Although the days were long and monotonous, there was the occasional spate of excitement. One morning, Dougal entertained the idea of catching a dorado by hand, and held his hand just under the surface of the water, hoping to grab one by the tail as it swam by. When the raft shuddered from a collision with what seemed like a particularly large fish, he slid his hand into the water, waiting. He was surprised to find the fish swimming perfectly between his arm and the raft, and he instantly hauled it out of the water. To his surprise, he held in his arms a five-foot mako shark, which could sink the fragile craft with one slash of its razor-sharp teeth. Dougal hurriedly threw the shark back into the water, relieved that it hadn’t done any damage.

  Photographic Insert

  One of the first Survivorman film expeditions I ever did was based upon being stranded with a downed airplane. While the scenario was a bit morbid, the point was clear: the things salvaged from the aircraft could save a life. I used some of the plane’s wires to make a snare, in which I caught a rabbit. I roasted it over the fire you see here, which I started using the battery, some wires, and a tiny bit of gasoline from the airplane.

  Surviving beneath the waves is another world altogether. I learned a lot from shooting films with sharks, and though I received a few scars from some small bites, I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything. Sharks are big, powerful, and beautiful creatures. It’s just that if they take a “test nibble” to see if you are food, you can lose an arm in the deal.

  I am always asked which is harder: surviving in the extreme heat or the extreme cold. Even after coming close to succumbing to heat stroke and possibly dying in the Kalahari Desert, I still feel that the cold is the toughest. In the heat, at least you can sit under some shade and wait out the day. In the cold, you have no choice—you must keep moving and effecting your survival, so it takes much more out of you.

  While filming for Survivorman, I spent four days in a raft floating on the ocean. It’s the one survival challenge I hope to never face again. I had to be rescued when a massive storm came in, or I would have been blown to Honduras and likely never seen again.

  Of all of the places I have survived in—deserts, the High Arctic, oceans, forests, and mountains—it is always the jungle where I feel most at home. Perhaps it was the incredible experience of learning from the Waorani in the Amazon, or maybe it was just all those Tarzan movies I watched as a kid. Snakes, ants, spiders, jaguars, and all, I still relax when I step foot in the world’s jungles.

  The concept of building a raft and floating down a jungle river sounds very
romantic and adventurous, but it is nothing like that in reality. Here, in New Guinea, I build with the Hewa so that we can bypass some thick jungle and make our way downstream. The building of the raft is hot and difficult work, but it’s rewarded by easier traveling than on foot.

  * * *

  Using a Box Solar Still

  The basic premise of a solar still is that the sun’s rays are used to evaporate the water, leaving the solid matter (the salt) behind.

  Many solar stills are built by digging a hole in the ground, but you can also construct what’s called a box solar still, which uses any kind of rigid structure to hold its components. Into the box goes a container of salt water (if the box is plastic and doesn’t have any holes in it, you can pour the seawater directly into the box). Place a small container such as a cup or jar in the middle of the box, then cover the box with plastic sheeting.

  Weigh down the sheeting with an object such as a rock. The weight should form a small depression in the middle of the plastic sheet, directly over the container, that will catch the pure water. Make sure the plastic sheeting is sealed as tightly as possible around the perimeter of the box.

  Place the still in a spot where it will be exposed to as much direct sunlight as possible. As the sun beats down on the box, the salt water will evaporate, leaving the salt behind. The pure evaporated water will condense on the plastic sheeting, run down to the point formed by the weight, and drip into the container. It’s not the most efficient way to collect fresh water, but it’s better than nothing.