by James Holler
For his larger meals, he had two large rocks, which were about a foot tall. He would build a fire between the rocks, and then run a stick through the fish. By laying the stick with the fish on it across the rocks, he was able to cook the fish slowly. After one side started to cook, he would turn it. It took longer to cook than in a pan, but he could cook and eat the smaller one while the big one was cooking.
John knew that he couldn't keep taking fish out of this one pool of water, and in time it would be fished out, so he spent much of his time searching for other sources of food. Today, after eating, he was going to do some searching along the beach. For now though, he needed to get the fire going. It had been days since the last rain so that meant a fire should be easy to start.
Starting a fire using just sparks took some practice, but he was pretty good at it now. He discovered a type of tree that often had loose sections of bark. After removing the bark, on the inner side, were many hair-like fibers. Taking his knife, he scraped those until he had a handful. He kept some of it stored in his hut at all times.
After cooking and eating what might be his only meal of the day, John headed for the beach. He was going to try something different today. With him, he had his newly fashioned spear, which was an improvement on his original sharpened stick. He had made a crude spearhead out of a piece of a clam shell. It wasn't perfectly shaped, but it was sharp, thanks to hours of hard work.
He stopped beneath a tree that was covered with flower blooms. Many of the blooms had fallen to the ground. Gathering up several hands full that had fallen on the ground, he stuffed them in one of his socks. He was wearing his boots. He never wore them anymore, except when he went in the water. Some of the coral was sharp enough to cut flesh, and he couldn't take a chance on getting an infection if he was injured. Boxer shorts and winter boots-now that's a fashion statement, he thought, as he approached the water's edge.
Because he had no idea what might be in it, John was afraid of the ocean. He'd seen fish of all sizes, but he knew there had to be other creatures he hadn't seen yet. He walked along the water's edge until he came to the area that formed a shallow pool. This area wasn't nearly as scary as the open water was. In some places, he could even see the bottom.
He walked along the outer edge, where the rocks were sticking up out of the water. He took several steps into the water and got into position, then reached into his sock and took out a handful of the flowers. He held them in his left hand, and his spear under his arm. He threw the flowers out onto the water and watched them float on the surface for several seconds, then some small fish started to surface, and were eating them.
Soon the activity of those fish attracted more fish. When he threw out another handful, he noticed that some bigger fish were starting to join in. He held his spear over his shoulder, and waited for just the right moment. There were many more fish here than he thought, and big one, which was about two feet long, cruised by in front of him, less than ten feet away. When another one came even closer, with one quick motion, he released his spear.
He reached and grabbed the end of his spear, which had hit the fish right in the middle of its body. The fish had lots of life left in it, and wasn't making things easy. Its violent shaking was making it slip off of the spear. John tried to ease the fish toward him, but finally, it came off. I'm not going to let it get away, he thought. He took a quick step toward the fish, to try to grab it. Out of nowhere, an open mouth about three feet wide appeared, and in one gulp, the fish was gone.
Shocked, John fell backwards and had trouble getting back to his feet. He could feel the sudden surge of adrenalin shoot through his body. His heart was pounding, and felt like it would explode from his chest. As soon as he got back on his feet, he felt like he was walking on water. He got out of the water fast. "Holy shit!" he said, expressing his relief, excitement, and fear. "I hate this place. I really hate this place." He didn't know what kind of fish it was, but he was sure he didn't want to see another one.
John still hadn't figured out how the tide worked. Some days, the edge of the water was hundreds of yards from the trees. On other days, it was as close as thirty yards. That almost worked, John thought, as he headed back home. His little hut in the jungle was his home now. He wasn't happy about it, but he worked hard to make the best out of what he had to work with. He had been to the beach enough times that he was starting to wear a path.
As he went through an area that had dense undergrowth, he noticed something move. It was one of those tiny deer that he'd seen near the pool. His constant activity there finally made them stop coming, so it had been a while since he had seen one. He thought back to the day when he could have had one, but let it go. Without hesitation, he made up his mind to try for this one.
He started to stalk it, using his standard technique. When the deer had its head down, he moved toward it. When it raised its head, he stopped. Within a few minutes, he was very close. It was standing broadside to him, and about fifteen feet away. John was a baseball pitcher during the summers in his teen years, so he was confident he could hit his mark. He would have to put a lot of force into this throw. This wasn't a fish.
John put everything he had into it, letting out a loud grunt as he flung the spear at what he hoped would be his next meal. As the point of the spear penetrated flesh, the small deer instinctively tried to leap forward. John had missed his mark badly, and could see that it wasn't a clean kill. The spear had severed the deer's spine.
As it began to thrash about with its front legs, the deer let out a sound that sounded almost like a scream. It reminded John of the time he was hunting rabbits with his father, and he shot a rabbit in the back. He never thought he would hear anything like that again. Just seconds ago, he was trying to kill the deer, but at this moment he was sorry he even hurt it. He found himself wanting to help the same animal that he had just tried to kill.
Quickly sizing up the situation, he knew that there was nothing he could do and it was no use in letting the deer suffer any longer than necessary, so he took out his knife. Kneeling next to the tiny animal, John placed the sharp blade on its neck. He could see the fear in the deer's eyes. Placing his knee on the shoulder area, to steady the frightened animal, he pressed downward and pulled outward. Again, it made that dreadful sound, as the artery in its neck was severed. Then the noise stopped, and in a few seconds, it stopped moving. The blood from its neck slowed to a trickle, instead of squirting.
John stood there for a few moments. He had hunted animals before, but right now, he didn't feel like a hunter, he felt like a killer. He couldn't allow the creature to die for no reason. He knelt next to it, and set about gutting it. He opened up the underside of the deer, and noticed that its bladder was full. He wanted to be careful not to spoil the meat by accidently cutting it.
Slowly he cut the necessary places to allow him to pull out the bladder in one piece. In one move, most of the intestines came out along with the bulging bladder. Then moving up to the chest area, he removed the heart, lungs, liver, and the rest of the organs.
He pulled the now lifeless body of the deer away from the pile of guts, disturbing several flies that were already enjoying the unexpected feast. John held up his bloody hands; the dirty work was done. The sight of them didn't make him feel any better about how this turned out.
John rose to his feet, then bent over and grabbed the dead deer by the hind legs. He picked up his spear and his knife with his other hand, and began to walk toward home. Every couple of hundred feet, his hand would tire from the weight of the deer, forcing him to stop and switch hands. He was starting to wonder if it was worth all the effort, when he finally arrived back at his hut.
Before doing anything else, he checked the fire, which was something that had become habit. He stirred the hot coals, and placed some small sticks in the middle to get a flame going. In seconds it was going again. He carefully placed three larger chunks of wood on the fire. He needed to rest a while before tackling the task of skinning his next meal.
John sat next to a tree, leaning on it. The longer he sat, the more he felt like going to sleep. I better get up, he thought. Rising more like a man twice his age, he picked up his knife and went to work skinning his dinner. Thinking he might find a use for the skin, he took extra care to keep it in one piece.
Finally separating the carcass from the skin, he examined it, then laid it on a rock and turned his attention to the meat that would be his dinner that evening. With the skill of a butcher, he separated the hind legs from the rest of the animal. He couldn't eat the whole animal, and didn't have any way to preserve it, so the rest of his kill would be waste. Not wanting to have a stinking, decaying animal close to his hut, he picked up the rest of the carcass and started walking away from his home.
On the return trip home, John was thinking about the task of cooking. It had been so long since he had red meat. He wondered if he would be able to eat both legs. The first thing John did as he arrived back, was grab his knife. He cut two sturdy straight limbs about four feet long. He sharpened one end of each, taking extra care to get a good point. He then threw about a half dozen pieces of wood on the fire. Looking to where he'd placed the legs of the deer, he was confused at first.
Where did I put the other leg, he wondered. One of them is gone. Even though he was pretty sure that he'd placed them side by side, he still started looking around him. Something got it, he thought. The thought of something out there that liked to eat meat began to weigh on John. From now on I'll have to be more careful, he thought. He picked up the remaining leg, and carefully ran one of the sharpened sticks through it.
After positioning the skewered meat across the fire, he walked over to the water. Time to get some of this blood off, he thought. He squatted beside the calm pool. Before dipping his hands in, he saw his reflection. It was like seeing a stranger. He had always kept himself clean shaven, and never allowed his hair to get long enough to cover the top of his ears. What he saw now, reminded him of some of the homeless people he used to occasionally see in the city. His hair hadn't seen a comb since he'd been here. He wasn't just filthy looking, he was scary looking, and he didn't like what he saw.
He took his right hand and swiped it across the surface of the water, so he wouldn't have to look at his reflection. He started scrubbing away at the blood with his hands, but it wasn't coming off easily. He needed soap and a scrub brush, but had neither. He thought for a few seconds, then turned around and grabbed some leaves from a bush. Wadding them up into a ball, he then used the ball of leaves to scrub at the blood. It wasn't a perfect solution, but was better than nothing. After working on it for several minutes, he decided that his hands were as clean as they were going to get. Scooping water with his cupped hands, he splashed water on his face several times.
John could already smell the meat cooking. He began to imagine what it might taste like. Turning it over so it could cook on the other side for a while, he finally had some time to unwind. He sat on the ground, then stretched out on his back. He knew he would have to resist the urge to sleep, even though he wanted to give in to it. The missing leg helped keep him awake. He found himself looking around more now, wondering what was out there.
John planned on sleeping outside tonight, because it had been a little too warm in the hut the last several nights. Now he was rethinking that plan, since there was a carnivore out there. Is it big enough to kill me, he wondered. That and other questions were going through his mind, so he sat up. Thinking about it was starting to get to him. He caught himself looking over his shoulder, worried about what was behind him. His knife was lying about four feet away. He got up on one knee, and reached out and gathered it, along with his spear. He carefully placed one on each side of him.
John had so many things going through his head but at this moment, he was just going to let his meat cook. He rose to his feet and turned the meat over again. Another fifteen or twenty minutes should do it, he thought. His stomach was already growling with anticipation. He had an idea of how to hurry things up a little.
Carrying his knife with him, he walked over to a nearby bush and cut a stick about four feet long, and as big around as his little finger. As with the larger sticks, he sharpened one end. Pulling the meat from the fire, he sliced off a thin piece about six inches long. He poked his newly-sharpened stick through it, then pulled the stick part way out, and stuck it through again. Holding it over the hottest coals, he cooked it like he used to cook hotdogs over a campfire when he was a kid. After about five minutes, he checked his work. It looked burnt on the ends, but the center looked pretty good.
Gently pulling the meat apart with his fingers, he cautiously bit into one end of the mouth-watering meat. The burnt part was crunchy and tasted burnt, but the tender meat next to it was delicious. This is better than any T-bone I ever had, he thought. After quickly downing the first piece, he repeated the process, slicing another thin hunk from the partially cooled leg. Since waking up on the beach, he couldn't recall ever having this much food. His stomach couldn't hold as much as it used to but he continued to eat, bite after bite, long after his stomach let him know he was full.
His mind turned to the deer hide. He wasn't sure what he would do with it, but it was a resource that he couldn't let go to waste. He had skinned mule deer back in Colorado, but never thought of keeping the hide. He wasn't exactly sure what to do to save it, but he knew that he had to get as much flesh off of it as he could.
He laid the skin, fur side down, on a flat rock. Holding his knife by the back of the blade, he began to scrape away any remaining flesh from the skin. He remembered hearing people talk about doing this and the only advice he could remember was scrape the hide well, and then salt it. He didn't have any salt. Without salt, this might be a waste of time, he thought. He continued the tedious job, not knowing if his effort would be rewarded. Before he was finished his wrist and forearm were aching. He stuck his knife in the ground, then got up and hung his thoroughly scraped hide across a limb in the sun.
Tired, and with a full belly, John was thinking about calling it a day. He had enough water for the next day, so there wasn't anything left that he had to get done. Gathering up his knife and his spear in one hand, and his water container in the other, he managed to grab his cooking pot with the hand that held his weapons.
He didn't care that there was probably an hour or two of sunlight left, it was time for bed. With skillful carving, many hours of labor, and some sturdy vines, he had crafted a frame that was about seven feet long, and three feet wide. On it, he had a pile of leaves, which he changed about once every two weeks. On top of the leaves, he put his coveralls, for extra padding.
On some nights, it got cool enough that he wore the coveralls for a few hours. His main concern was getting up off the ground, and his rough looking handiwork accomplished that. He placed his knife and spear in the exact place he put them every night. Next to them, he kept his bug out bag, which stayed in the hut most of the time now.
After getting everything situated, John walked over and secured his door. He hadn't used the door since a week or so after he'd built it, but tonight he was glad that he had it. Spotting a small spider slowly crawling across the floor, John squashed it with his bare foot, without hesitation. It was something he wouldn't have thought of doing just months before but now, in many ways, he was a different person.
It was as if he had been born here, destined to occupy this place, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, his old life ended, and this new one began. He was still in mourning for the loss of his old life, but was determined to give this life his full effort, at least for now. There were some days he wanted to quit, but those days don't come as often as they used to.
Climbing into bed, John let himself relax. He was so tired that his mind was unusually calm, and not working overtime as usual. Within minutes, he was asleep.
Chapter 3
John woke up early, removed his door and stepped out. The sun wasn't up yet, but it was getting light enough to see the sky
above. Checking the sky was the first thing he did each day now. He was always wondering when the next rain would come. The next thing in his daily routine was to check the fire.
He went into his hut and got some dry grass that he kept there. All he needed was a few live embers, and he could usually get it going. He probed the ashes with a stick, and found some hot ones. He placed the grass next to the fire pit, then gathered a few small twigs and sticks. Placing the grass directly on the live embers, the smoke started immediately. He blew on the grass several times, and suddenly it burst into flames. With the skill that comes from much practice, he placed increasingly larger pieces of wood until he had a raging fire going.
Even though John had enough water for the day, he liked to stay on top of his supply, so he got his pot ready to fill. Keeping hydrated, and getting as much to eat as he could, occupied most of his time. Taking his cooking pot with him, he walked over to the pool. This was a trip he had made hundreds of times, always wishing his pot was bigger. Returning with his full pot, he deftly placed it over the fire, being careful to make sure it didn't tip over. His fruit supply was getting low, so after boiling some water, he planned to look for fruit. He knew of about a half dozen trees that he visited regularly and today he was going to start with the closest.
As his water boiled, John drank some out of the supply in his plastic water container. He drank what he thought was enough to make room for the water he had on the fire. As soon as the water began to boil, he removed it from the rocks it was sitting on. While it cooled, he walked to his hut and got his knife and spear. Each move in the morning was something he did almost exactly the same way, day after day, week after week, month after month.