SURVIVAL IN BOCA RATON
SURVIVAL IN BOCA RATON
By Leon Berger
Harry adjusted his chair and examined his reflection in the mirror. He grimaced at the red rimmed eyes, the welts and insect bites on his face. He opened his mouth and moved his head to make sure it was his reflection he was looking at. The features didn’t look familiar but it was his face.
He blamed himself. Poor planning. He had underestimated the challenge for survival. Long ago he acquired his field craft in the jungles of Panama. He knew his physical stamina was unusual for a man his age and each year he proved it to himself by conceiving a challenge that tested his mettle. This time, however, he underestimated the difficulties and his faulty planning had cost him dearly.
He was obsessed with the necessity to prove his self-reliance by contriving and resolving difficult situations. His wife Lois humorously went along with what she described as his “egocentric vanity coupled with a Peter Pan complex.”
The idea came to him while he was exploring a lush, undeveloped area of
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At the time, it seemed so simple. All he would need would be his Swiss Army knife, an eight-oz. bottle of water, a book of matches and a tin cup. A few tea bags would be a good idea too. In addition, something to read. Two days of isolation in the park could be boring.
Lois was taken aback when he told her what he was contemplating. “Is it legal to stay overnight in the Park? Is it safe?”
“Legal or not, nobody will know I’m there. The area is quite isolated and I’ll take pains to avoid detection. As for safety, I’ll have my cell phone and you can drive by each morning at 10:00 o’clock. I’ll call you if I need assistance.”
His ‘adventure’ began the next day. The sky was overcast and there was a slight breeze. The park was deserted where Lois dropped him off and when he kissed her good bye, he murmured “I’ll see you here tomorrow at 10:00 a.m.” Walking through the underbrush to the location he had staked out previously, he felt excited and invigorated. It was ‘man against nature’ and he felt the confidence cultivated by years of challenge and victory.
The area was secluded and overgrown providing the privacy he required. An unexpected shower sent him scurrying to the shelter of overhanging tree limbs, dampening his clothes but not his spirits.
Time for some tea. To his dismay, the matches were damp and would not ignite. How could he have forgotten the waterproof container? Oh, well, the greater the challenge, the greater the victory. He looked about and saw there were sufficient implements for starting a fire without matches. With the use of his shoelace, he fashioned a bow and drill and labored for an hour trying to start a fire. The wood was too wet. It was then, for the first time, that he had doubts about the wisdom of his adventure. His arms and shoulders ached. He was completely exhausted and decided to do without the fire.
To his dismay, his perspired body attracted hordes of mosquitoes. Adjusting his clothes offered some shielding but his hands and face needed protection. A coating of mud would take care of that problem. Plenty of water in the bromeliads to mix with dirt, but the water should be filtered even if it could not be boiled. He cut a piece of cloth cut from his shirttail but the fine weave of the cloth didn’t permit the passage of the water. He had decided to keep the bottled water for drinking purposes and to use the plant water for a mud pack. Using the cup as a mortar and a stick as a pestle, he ground down the insects he could see and mixed some soil from the ground, coating his face, neck and hands.
The sun had gone down and he was getting cold. He tried to conserve his body heat by removing a sock, cutting a slit to enlarge the opening and stretched it over his head. Despite his discomfort, he laughed aloud as he visualized his ludicrous appearance, but his amusement was short lived, for his mud encrusted face was crawling with insects. In panic, he scraped the mud from his face and hands, sinking to the ground, feeling foolish and depressed.
It was a miserable, cold and sleepless night, with strange unidentifiable noises mixed with the sound of traffic from Military Trail. He positioned himself sitting with his back against a tree, eyes wide open, frightened by the deep shadows and strange noises.
It was a relief to see the sky lightening and he waited impatiently for the 10:00 o’clock rendezvous. Promptly at l0:00 a.m., Lois pulled up to the area as he staggered out of the brush. She was startled by his appearance and sensing his mood decided to keep quiet.
He barked at her: “Take me home. I’m okay, all I need is a hot bath, a stiff drink and a chance to catch up on my sleep.”
The next day she listened patiently while he explained: “I underestimated the challenge. I should have brought mosquito netting, matches in a water proof container, a can of Sterno, a tea strainer and a few other odds and ends.”
“Are you going back again?”
“No, I think not. I think white water rafting is more my style.”
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