The Glory of Gabe

I was pleasantly minding my own business one day when I received a call from a guy in New York City. A cubicle-type guy, seventy stories high. He and five of his buddies wanted me to take them into the National Forest for a week-long survival trip. Their choice of personal equipment, the only equipment that each would carry, would be a water bottle and a knife.

I asked the caller, “Dude. Fire, dude. How are you going to make fire?”



“Well, by using fire-by-friction, of course” he answered. “I saw a video on how to do it. It’s not that hard.”

I said, “Dude. How are you going to disinfect water?”

“Whaddya mean?” he asked.

“Not sure if you know it or not,” I said. “But, if you’re planning to stay healthy, you really should purify any water that you procure from a pond, lake, or stream.

“You got to be kidding me,” he replied, as if I was pulling his leg.

I explained Cryptosporidium, Giardia, and waterborne diseases and their effect on the human body..

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “You got me on this one.”

I said, “Dude. What are you and the others planning to eat during your week in the woods?”

“We’ll forage like our ancestors,” he answered with new-found confidence. “For plants, fish, and wild game. Nothing big, though. Mainly squirrels, rabbits, and racoons.”

“Wow, sounds like you have it all figured out,” I replied.

“You betcha,” he bragged. “Me and the guys have put a lot of thought into this adventure. We just need you to keep an eye on us and make sure we get back safe.”

I said, “Dude. You don’t need me. Just go do your thing and let me know how it goes.”

“Really?” he asked. “We’ll be glad to pay you quite well for your time.”

I said, “Dude. Keep your money. Maybe one day you’ll run across a sale on common sense.”

I hung up and stood there shaking my head. Maybe shook it too hard and too much. Started hearing the voice of Tonto saying to the Lone Ranger, “Kemo Sabe, phone caller watch heap too much reality TV. Has brain of armadillo crossing I-95 at noon."

Never in forty years have I entered a wilderness area with only a water bottle and a knife. Not even during my training to become an Air Force SERE Instructor. To think such a thing … well, it goes against my grain. Kinda tweeks my trigger. Makes me hear Jay Silverheels. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying it can’t be done. Just ain’t very practical. Maybe they had something to prove. Mettle-wise that is.

I did eventually learn that these gentlemen undertook such a survival adventure. An email arrived a couple of months after the dude’s call and a report of their day-by-day activities was attached. It was sent by a fowl friend of mine - a CIA-trained, top secret bluebird specializing in survival happiness. His report follows.

From:  f_ _ kaduck007@nestofspies.com (start of report) *** CLASSIFIED ***

Day One.  At 0915, the six men park their vehicle near a trailhead in the George Washington National Forest, east of Natural Bridge, Virginia. Armed with water bottles, pocket knives, and the clothes on their backs, they enter the wilderness. After walking approximately one-hundred yards on a trail, the men stop. One tries to persuade the group to go off-trail and bust brush, another argues the merits of staying on the trail, two want to return to the car, the littlest guy in the group tells them that they forgot to fill their water bottles, and one huge dude with curly, black hair walks away from the group, leans against a tree, and pukes his guts out. The smell of rancid beer and BBQ’d hot wings (God rest my cousins) permeates the wilderness.

Arguments, complaints, multiple puking attempts, and heated discussions - for and against and just for the hell-of-it - continue among the group for forty minutes. This unplanned break provides an opportunity to deduce names. The fellow who wants to go off-trail is Bobby. He’s the ring leader, your phone caller. The guy puking is Phil. The small man … his name is Gabe. And, the guy who argues for staying on-trail is Tim. The two fellows who want to go back to the car are Ryan and Alvin. Ryan’s having second thoughts about not bringing along a survival instructor. Alvin appears to be the oldest in the group, maybe in his mid-50’s. He’s not happy about the steep terrain. Maybe because of his belly, equal in size to that a pregnant woman in her last month.

“Get it together, Phil,” Bobby hollers. “One last puke, then we’re moving out.” By this time, the best Phil could do was a dry heave or two. The group, with Bobby in the lead, heads off-trail into thick woods. Gabe brings up the rear. Within a few steps he spots a pink roll of surveying tape, almost hidden in the dry leaves. He stoops and retrieves it. Twenty feet ahead, he pulls off a piece of tape and ties it to a tree branch. He continues doing so, unobserved, every one hundred feet or so. At 1315, a couple of miles from the starting point, the roll is bare.

The group rests mid-afternoon on a steep hillside.  “Hey, does anyone know where we’re at?” Tim asks.  Bobby laughs a crazy laugh, then answers, “Virginia. In the woods, you stupid shit.”

“What about water?” Gabe asks. “Where’s water? And, didn’t you say that the survival instructor recommended purifying it? How we supposed to do that?”

“I’m starved,” Alvin chimes in. “Those two biscuits at McDonalds didn’t go very far. Shoulda had three.” 

“Suck it up, you bunch of pussies. Let’s move out!” Bobby commands.

Up the steep hill they go, following their fearless leader. At 1630, they make their way over and down a high ridge and stumble into a ravine, graced with a bold mountain stream. Off in the distance, at the end of the ravine, is a grassy meadow.

“You all can keep going,” Alvin vehemently exclaims. “I’m not going a step further today. I’m hanging at that meadow over there for the night.” The others agree. Much to Bobby’s protest, the majority declares the meadow their camp for the evening. The sun is now going behind a mountain. Temperature is in the low 60’s and dropping. The group’s clothes are soaked with sweat and all in the party dehydrated. Phil and Alvin look a might ragged. To the field they go, scrambling over a myriad of rocks to get there.

Any ordinary group of hikers would have pitched tents, built a fire, started gathering firewood for the cool night ahead, cooked a meal, and gathered water. This group seems at a loss for what to do. Spirits are low, with the exception of Gabe. He has climbed to the top of rock outcropping, where he sits cross-legged, high above the others. A Kodak moment as his eyeglasses reflect the day’s last light. With a huge smile, he shouts, “Let’s order pizzas! New York-style! I’ll buy!”

Alvin, sitting on the ground below, reaches over and picks up a two-foot long chunk of fallen limb and hurls it at Gabe, hitting him squarely in the chest and knocking him off the boulder. On his way down onto several smaller rocks below, Gabe gashes his head above the right eye. Blood gushes, running across his face. His glasses shattered and broken. His right arm bent in an unnatural angle as he lays hollering for help, head-below-feet on the rocks.

Tim and Ryan run to Gabe’s rescue. As they maneuver him to a better position, a blood-curdling scream echoes through the woods, standing my feathers up like a pecker in a house full of naked ladies.  Oral evidence that the group had been presented with a broken arm on Day One.

“We need to call 911, now!” screams Ryan.

“Forget calling 911,” declares Alvin. “Bobby, the Mr. Asshole Survival Guy, made us leave our phones back at the car … wherever that is. We don’t even have a first aid kit.”

“Piss off, fat boy!” Bobby curtly responds. “If you wouldn’t have beaned small fry, he wouldn’t be over there busted up and bleeding. You guys get him fixed up. I’ll make a fire.”

Darkness is upon them. A steady rain begins falling at 2010. Thunder and flashes of lightning toy with their heads. Temperatures are in the low 50’s, with a 10-20 mph wind from the north. The fire never happens. Bobby’s odds at making fire-by-friction are the same as winning the Mega Millions lottery. There will be no source of heat or source of light tonight. Their clothes will remain wet. Their morale low as whale shit.

The group huddles under a pine tree, its sparsely-needled limbs leaking like a seive. It is the best shelter they could devise. They are soaked and shivering. Arguments are replaced with silence. Gabe’s forehead wound leaks blood. An ER doctor would have recommended sutures. Gabe’s right arm dangles at his side, unsplinted. A long night is before the men. But, if they did anything right this night, they stayed together.

Day Two.  The light of a new day brings amicable discussions focused on two important questions:  1)  Which direction is the car?;  and, 2)  Should they drink the stream water?

Five men point and guess five different directions to the car. Gabe doesn’t point. He is blind as a bat without functioning eyewear. All then proceed to kneel down in various opportune places and drink the stream dry. There was a suggestion last evening of drinking rain water, but they decided rain water was contaminated due to nuclear radiation. They much preferred the pukes and runny shits to glowing in the dark.

All now agree and understand the intended week-long adventure is over and that Gabe needs serious medical help. A group decision is made to walk out, staying together at all times. They will try their best to follow Day One’s footprints.

Gathering their soggy bodies, the men depart the meadow and head back up the ravine. It is slow going, especially for Gabe. Injured and unable to see, he holds onto Ryan as they navigate the wet and slippery rocks. One didn’t have to be Kit Carson to find the place where the men entered the ravine. A wide path void of leaves riddles the hillside, from bottom to top. Climbing with a brief pause here and there, using supple trees as hand-holds, they finally emerge at the top. The men turn and spin and look at the ground in all directions. Yesterday’s footprints are nowhere to be seen. A lone deer looks up from her grazing, not more than fifty feet away.

“Hey, there’s breakfast, Bobby!” smirks Alvin. “Go run it down and stab it with your knife, tough guy!” Bobby shakes his head and offers no reply. He stands distant from the group with head down, his thoughts his alone.

“It’s that way,” Tim says excitedly. He points in the direction of a small rise. “I’m sure of it!” Hearing Tim’s revelation, the deer pops its head, raises its tail, and bolts into the thick brush. Alvin watches the deer go, hundreds of fur-covered cheeseburgers vanishing into the woods.

Bobby, the wind gone from his sails, concedes his role as point man. Tim, taking the lead, guides the group up a slight hill and through a stand of small oak trees. After a full morning of travel, they take a well-earned rest, plopping down near the edge of a small clearing.

“We’re never going to make it back!” Ryan exclaims. “We’re freaking lost in the middle of nowhere!”

“Chill, dude,” Tim says calmly. “Everything will be alright. We’d better get up and get going, though, before we get stiff and lock up.” The men stand and begin brushing debris from their soggy clothing. Fifty yards behind them, a piece of pink tape flutters in the breeze.

“Hey guys,” Alvin exclaims. “I feel really bad for clobbering Gabe. Honest. It was me that ruined our trip. I’m sorry. Really sorry. Okay? But I got a feeling we’re getting closer to the car. Maybe that deer back there was a good luck omen. You know, like one of those Indian spirits. Besides, gotta be civilization near ‘cause of that pink piece of tape hangin’ ...”

“Pink tape! Where?” shouts Gabe.

“Back there a ways, hanging from a branch,“ Alvin answers. “Didn’t you see it?”

“Funny, jerk face,” Gabe replies. “You trashed my glasses. Remember? Right after you gashed my head and just before you broke my arm. We need to go to the tape. Now! It’s our ticket out of here.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” inquires Bobby. “ You sure you don’t have some brain damage. Pink ribbon, my ass. Get a grip, little man!”

“C’mon guys. Seriously, we need to backtrack. Get us to the tape, Alvin!” commands Gabe using his best leader voice, enhanced by his battle-wounded, soldier-like appearance. His once-white underwear, cut and wrapped tight around his head, stained with seeping blood, provides combat realism. Alvin quickly heads in the direction of the tape. The others run to keep up.

“There it is!” Alvin yells excitedly. “Twenty feet ahead! Holy shit! For sure! Look!” For a minute, one would have thought he’d sighted Bigfoot. Alvin stands next to the hanging tape, grinning ear-to-ear. He shines in the spotlight. He’s finally done something worthy.

Last but not least, Gabe catches up to the others. After taking a minute to regain his breath, he provides explanation and evidence that he is indeed of his right mind. “Proud gentlemen gathered before me, lend me your ears as I pay honor to this pink piece of dangling tape. It is of my own glorious finding and concoction. But, more importantly, I must give credit where credit is due. My dear thanks to the Brothers Grimm, Hansel, and the golden-haired Gretel. In particular, I would like to …”

“Gabe, enough already,” chides Bobby.  “What in the Sam Hill does that pink tape got to do with us?”

“It’s our ticket out of here!” Gabe hollers. “C’mon, give me a break. I was fresh out of breadcrumbs. Guys, look around ‘cause I can’t see shit. Not sure which direction, but there’s a trail of hanging tape leading from this one. You find that trail and we’ll be eating a glorious New York-style pizza … right after you guys get me to a hospital.”

Looking off to his left, Ryan spots the trail of tape. “Bobby,” he says. “You want to lead?”

“No way. Take the point and get us out of here,” Bobby declares without hesitation.

Two hours later they are at their car. Pandemonium reigns. They whoop and holler and dance, cutting a rug on the grass near the vehicle. Happy as hell to be safe and out of the woods.

Gabe forgoes the dancing and shouting. He stands silent in the middle of the road, his left arm held high, his fist tightly balled. A triumphant smile spreads across his blood-smeared face. Looking deep into the woods, he is feeling no pain. His injuries numbed by helping others. (end of report) *** CLASSIFIED ***

After reading this report, I sat in my office utterly amazed. Definitely glad to have a bluebird for a friend. Picking up my notebook, I scanned the pages looking for Bobby’s phone number. After ten pokes and three rings, Bobby answered.

“Dude, this is Byron. The survival guy down in Florida. You called me a couple of months ago.”

“Oh, yeah, I remember,” Bobby said.  “You’re the guy who told me to buy some common sense.”

“Exactly,” I said. “Good memory. Hopefully you haven’t bought any yet because now the common sense is free. Soon as Gabe’s right arm heals, why don’t you and your friends join me for a four-day survival course. My equipment list this time, including a roll of pink tape.”

“Really?  That would be terrific!” Bobby exclaimed. “By the way, what are you? Some kind of wilderness spook? How’d you know about Gabe’s arm? And, the pink tape?”

“Well, dude. Let’s just say a little bird told me,” I answered with a smile.