Lessons In Survival

Deep in the mountains, Ben Stubbs sleeps in a log, eats spinifex and learns how to start a fire without matches.

One of the most important survival tools in the Australian bush is a condom. The bigger the better.

I have pages of survival notes from my instructor, Lee, yet if I were in a real emergency, the usefulness of a condom would be the first thing I’d remember.

I am with four other “survivor” students on High n Wild’s weekend survival course in the Blue Mountains. The Greater Blue Mountains region is larger than the Netherlands, so it makes sense to have a few survival techniques up my sleeve in case I wander down the wrong side of a mountain one day.

From Katoomba, we head west through the scooped green gorges that fall away to the forest floor hundreds of metres below. We drive further into the bush, past dirt bikes and weekend four-wheel-drivers. Our destination is Deep Pass, a flat area below the canyons on the edge of the Wollemi wilderness region. It is an unusual scenario: we are deliberately getting lost, to learn what to do if we get lost by accident.

We pull up and Lee hands each of us a helmet and a harness. “I’ll explain later,” he grins.

We shoulder our 20-kilogram packs and head into Deep Pass, swapping paltry survival stories of wet matches and stubbed toes. The afternoon is spent sorting through our equipment and analysing the possible uses. While High n Wild has all the gear we need, everyone has brought as much of their own equipment as possible so Lee can help us compile a survival inventory.

Inflatable sleeping mats can double as floating splints if someone breaks a leg, for example. Make-up mirrors are invaluable as signalling devices. Lee tells us that everything from rucksacks to sleeping bags should be fluorescent and colourful.

“Camouflage is for the army,” he advises. “In the bush, you want to be as bright and as visible as possible.”

For our first activity, we head into the bush to find food. Below the mustard-yellow cliffs, Lee points out a selection of edible plants. The white base of spinifex grass is bitter but suitable for eating; “snotty gobbles” are small bush apples that look like little lychees and are pleasantly sweet. Lee’s overriding advice, though, is not to eat bush food.

“You can survive 30 days without food if you are well hydrated, so concentrate on finding water,” he says. “You’ll only last a maximum of three days without anything to drink.”

I have visions of being stranded like Tom Hanks in Cast Away and learning all the tricks of survival. But Lee points out that the key to bush survival is preparation. We have an EPIRB (Emergency Position-Indicating Radio Beacon) that will transmit our location to Australian Search and Rescue if we get into trouble. Lee’s office has a copy of our itinerary and knows when we plan to return. And all the gear capable of keeping us warm is thoroughly waterproofed.

Our next task is to find shelter for the night and there are no tents or cabins nearby. We wander past a wombat hole that’s about a metre wide. “If there’s a bushfire, crawling inside a wombat hole, feet first, is an option,” Lee says. He sees me raise my eyebrows and responds. “You’ll survive a night with a wombat before a bushfire.”

As we search for accommodation, Lee shows me a neat navigational trick: he points the 12 on his analogue watch towards the sun. North will be halfway between the 12 and the hour hand, which is at 3pm. I double-check with a compass and find that 1.30pm is, indeed, north.

Lee scours the rocks for overhangs and caves that might provide shelter with minimum effort. He scotches my plans to build a fortress, pointing out that if you’re lost, hungry and cold, you need safe shelter as quickly as possible without embarking on a search for building materials.

The others decide to bunk down for the night beneath an overhanging sandstone cliff. I insist on roughing it. Another option, we’re told, is inside fallen logs, so I head across the creek to find my bed for the night. I see the hollowed remains of a huge fallen tree and scoop out the spiders to make room for my pack. I crawl inside, my mat and sleeping bag curving perfectly. I don’t admit to the others that it feels slightly claustrophobic and inhospitable.

As the light fades, we learn how to start a fire without matches. Striking a knife against a flint, we try to direct the sparks into little birds’ nests we’ve built from grass and twigs. Then we try our luck using the Aboriginal technique of rubbing two pieces of soft wood together to create sparks. It’s not as easy as it looks; after 45 minutes of rubbing my palms raw, the only thing in danger of igniting is my temper. “Cowboys build big fires and stand far away and Indians build small fires and huddle close,” Lee jokes. After dinner, the others roll out their sleeping bags near the fire Lee successfully started earlier. Behind us on the rock walls are faded Aboriginal paintings depicting the animals and original inhabitants of the area. As they settle, I wander off to find my log.

Inside, it’s impenetrably dark. I eventually drift off but sleep fitfully, woken by the sound of animal footfalls and birds.

I’m awake before the sun rises and head back to the others. The first task is to find water for the billy – and here ensues our most important lesson. Use whatever vessel and means available to collect water: a tarpaulin during a rain shower to funnel water into a bottle, or cotton clothing placed over shrubs overnight to collect dew.

We use makeshift filters of cotton and charcoal for creek water and Lee explains the condom trick. “Nothing is more useful as a water carrier than a condom. It takes up virtually no space and will allow you to store more than a litre to use later.” In really desperate situations, you can drink your urine to stay hydrated.

Lee entrusts me to lead the group out of Deep Pass without a map. I check my watch for our direction and walk straight into a tangle of blooming wattles. I remember to read the landscape and head upstream. Only now does Lee reveal why we’ve been lugging the helmet and harness with our gear. Before us is the entrance to a canyon that is 30 metres high, only a body length wide in some parts and filled with water.

With my pack waterproofed with garbage bags, I stride into the water, beginning our ascent of the canyon. For more than an hour, I lead the group up and over a succession of waterfalls and along overgrown bush paths towards our van at the top of Deep Pass.

In some sections, there is nothing but a smooth wall of moss and water so we clip our harnesses in to the ropes that High n Wild set up earlier and slowly clamber up through the flow without slipping. We reach the overhanging lip of the canyon and in one final burst of energy, yank ourselves up the slippery fissure using a knotted rope left hanging from the ledge. We’re drenched, exhausted – and we’ve survived.

I’ve learnt how to start a fire without matches. I can navigate with my watch. And in case of emergencies, I know I should always have a condom or two in my wallet when I go bush.

Ben Stubbs travelled courtesy of Tourism NSW.

FAST FACTS

Getting there

Katoomba is about 90 minutes’ drive from Sydney. Follow the Great Western Highway or take a western line train from Central station to Katoomba.

High n Wild’s weekend bush survival course costs $349 a person. This includes transport from Katoomba and all food and survival instruction for the two days. There are also bush-tucker walks and courses on navigation. See www.highandwild.com.au.

[Via SMH.Com]