Doug Graebner ‘21
Staff Editor
Day 0:
I am resolved to escape the looming plagues the way my family always has—by fleeing to the woods. Fortunately, I can obtain a camping stove and sleeping bag, and it is surprisingly not crowded. I look at a tent, although it seems expensive. Oh well, I saw Man vs. Wild and I’m pretty sure I remember how to build a shelter from that. I also run to the grocery store to pick up granola bars, which I am told you are supposed to have in the woods, and blueberries. On my way back to prepare for my voyage, I think to pick up Robinson Crusoe. Fortunately, the Defoe section of the shelf is not empty.
Day 1:
After driving as far as I can into the Park, I notice far more softball fields than woods and check directions. Correcting myself, I drive as far as I can to the nearest “national forest,” figuring it a good place to wait out the pandemic. Finally, I find a spot and park my car somewhere that seems to allow for a week’s worth of parking (at this rate, I figure, civilization will have collapsed enough that nobody will bother to put a boot on my car by the time I emerge from self-isolation). FINALLY, I begin my intrepid journey and just as quickly feel something sticky at the bottom of my backpack. It seems that dried blueberries would have been the better choice.
Fearing the smell of sweet blueberries will bring predators, I rapidly Google “Black bears in March in Virginia,” cursing myself when I see that I forgot my charger and my phone is at 20 percent. But one must go on, so I tromp off into the woods until I find, after three hours of walking and crossing an inexplicable highway, that I am suitably far from civilization and beside a stream. I mentally prepare to make camp, until I remember I do not have a tent and, contrary to my previous belief, “watching Bear Grylls” is not appropriate preparation for being in the wilderness without a tent. Fortunately, I am able to summon from summer camp[1] the recollection of how to build a lean-to, and I set one up. Unfortunately, I realize now that there are a number of things I was shockingly not told about camping, such as that I would need things like “pans” and “multiple clothes” and “things other than matches to start a fire with.” Regardless, my resolve is undeterred and I am able to settle down to my camp stove and toast some granola bars while settling down to my book. Unsettlingly, however, I seem to have picked up the wrong book and am now stuck reading A Journal of the Plague Year, which is at least less depressing than most of my casebooks.
Day 2:
I arise bright and early, feeling a tad chilly. Realizing that I am fast-eating through all 523 granola bars I brought, I consider the possibility of foraging for food. I wander through the woods, wondering if that fern with the curly top is edible before deciding not to chance it. Eventually, I find a patch of little berry-like things. Berries are edible, right?, I think. Oh well, any port in a storm. Some of the bark smells good as well. I also am worried about scurvy, so of course I remember some pine needles since I dimly recall reading about pine tea as a cure for scurvy in elementary school. Perhaps this all won’t be so bad after all.
I wander over to the river for a drink of water and wonder if perhaps there are some fish worth catching. I don’t have any hooks, so I decide to try to “noodle,” and stick my hand in the river. It is cold and after twenty minutes I see a fish swim away. As it turns out, noodling does not actually work for trout, although I do nearly catch a snapping turtle with my left finger. All is not lost, however, as I am able to turn my backpack into an ersatz net and catch a few rather nice fish and an eel. Returning to camp, I build a modest if slightly sputtery fire and attempt to try to roast my catch in the bark. Unfortunately, I set one or two fish on fire. Perhaps I am better off attempting sashimi.
Day 3:
I am cold and wet and I decide that it is time to make my way back to the car. I end up hitchhiking, because society did not collapse and my car was indeed booted and my phone is too dead for me to Uber back home.
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dg4mk@virginia.edu
[1] Joey, if you’re reading this, I hope you remember our summers at Camp Winnoska as fondly as I do. Especially all that time setting bug spray on fire.