Wrong Way Wanderers

My map & compass buddy and I were becoming the hot topic of discussion during supper hour at the local diner.  “They just walked plumb off the map – four miles and some.  Ned Hopkins found them waiting on the side of the road near his place.  What a couple of Air Force losers.  And these guys are going to be USAF Survival Instructors?”

They would be us – wannabes in training to become survival instructors, presently being chauffeured to camp in the bed of a dusty-blue Air Force truck.  We sat silent with our heads hung low. There was nothing to say anyhow.  We had screwed up big time, walking right off a topographic map, miles in the wrong direction from our intended checkpoint.
As I sat with my eyes closed, head now between my knees, I wondered our punishment.  How severe would it be?  Worst case scenario: we’d be dropped from training.  In two weeks, we could be walking circles around B-52s at a base in Podunk, South Dakota.

Back at the diner, the conversation continued.  “Those guys aren’t going to make it if you ask me.  Not a chance.  Both are going to be washouts.  Won’t see them back out here ever again … lost or found.”

Within a 50-mile radius, the word was out.  Phones were buzzing.  We had become supper discussion for homes throughout northeastern Washington State.  Our driver turned up the radio of the truck to taunt us.  The weatherman on the local AM station was veering from things meteorological and telling map and compass jokes.  I listened for the weatherman’s name.  For sure, I was going to shove a lightning bolt down his throat the first chance I got.  Three severe pot holes later the radio quit playing.

One of the five fears a person in a survival situation must deal with is fear of society and ridicule.  Every bounce of the road meant we were getting closer to camp and closer to the ridicule of superior military beings.  Smoke-cured, seasoned, high-ranking USAF Survival Instructors, part grizzly bear, part wolverine.  Nasty creatures when pissed off.  The turns were sharper now, the driver driving slower.  The woods now thicker, the road not a road.  We were entering camp.  There before my eyes loomed the wooden trestle crossing the stream, staring at me, saying, “Jeez, do I have to be any bigger to find?”  It was the checkpoint we had missed. Instead of turning left when we came upon the stream and going about 200-yards to the trestle, we had turned right, going miles in the wrong direction.

Other instructor wannabes, those that had found the checkpoint, turned to stare at us.  Their navigational prowess made them stand tall and proud.  They were the audience of a parade I didn’t want to be in.

The truck came to an abrupt halt.  A loud voice shouted, “Get out of the truck!  Now!” causing dead limbs to drop from nearby trees.  My partner and I stood up quickly, grabbed our improvised packs, and jumped to the ground, instantly realizing we were now facing another fear associated with survival: the fear of wild animals.

Four survival instructors from the Instructor Training Branch were standing at the rear of the truck, axes in hand.  Their steely glares made me shake like a Chihuahua shitting chicken bones.  “Get out your maps and show us where you are!” they shouted in perfect unison.  With trembling hands, we pulled out our maps and pointed individually to our present location.  “Now, show us where the truck picked you up at!”  Holding the map in my left hand, I pointed about 8-inches to the right of the map … into dead air.  You’d have thought I just told the funniest joke on earth.  As the instructors cavorted about us, laughing and knee-slapping for what seemed like hours, my partner and I stood fearfully in place, watching like fools.

Once the laughter subsided and each of the four instructors had taken their turn at verbally whittling us to nothing, we were dismissed.  A not-so-friendly, “Grab your packs and get out of our sight!  We’ll finish this in the morning!” echoed through the tree-tops, as my partner and I hurried to the safety of our fellow classmates.
I lay in my shelter that night unable to sleep.  Far off in the distance up on the ridges, coyotes were howling.  They, too, were probably spreading the story of our misfortune.  Tired and frustrated, I eventually drifted off to sleep.

The next morning was business as usual.  We waited for the worst, but it never came.  We were given coordinates to our next checkpoint with the rest of the instructor wannabes.  And, off we hustled in the same two-person teams.

Later that day, I discovered a hand-written note on the back of my map.  It read, “Dear Soon-to-Be Survival Instructor:  Learn and teach others from your mistake.”  It was signed, “Your survival brothers from the Instructor Training Branch.”  I cried for the first time during training for reasons other than pain.  Over six thousand map & compass miles later, I’ve never made the same mistake. And always, through my instruction, I make sure it won’t happen to my students.