With Thanks to 12162 Dwight Davies

To set the scene: those of us from our Class who were destined to operate aircraft came from a wide spectrum of backgrounds, including many who had never camped or even spent a night in the woods.  In view of the possibility, however remote, that our aircraft might let us down, and lead us to being stranded in the woods or at sea for a time, we were all required to undergo land and sea survival training.  So, in the summer of 1978 the Air Force initially sent us to CFSAR in CFB Edmonton to first learn those land survival skills. Part of this survival training was conducted in the foothills of the Rockies, near Hinton, Alberta, and included what was called the “single man” phase: we were all given the chance to spend several days in the deep woods, all by ourselves!

The technique for dispersing us in the woods involved us hiking along a riverbank, carrying a backpack with some supplies including a sleeping bag, but no food.  Every 200 meters or so, the Survival trainer (a crusty Sgt as I recall) would say “Mr xxxxx, make camp here” and thus drop off yet another of us.  I was “lucky” enough to be the second last guy.  An ROTP Civy U, Greg I think, scored the dubious honour of being the very last guy dropped off, after several kilometers of hiking from the parking area. 

Each of us was then expected to build a rudimentary shelter (lean-to) to reduce any rain/cold effect, etc. and get a fire going, not only for warmth and comfort, but also as a friend, essentially a security blanket type thing to help combat loneliness. Equally as important, especially that deep in the woods, was to prepare a potential signal fire down by the nearby river, which was more like a stream actually.  Given how quickly fatigue can set in, the instructors had emphasized the importance of completing all the preparations as soon as possible after the “crash” and hence not to procrastinate.  We were also supposed to be able to cook, but yeah, no one was able to catch a fish or rabbit so hunger became a major factor, making their stern warnings even more appropriate.  

The parting instructions were that every one of us was to be up early on the third day, with lean-to disassembled and dispersed; the fire completely out; and belongings packed and ready for the hike out.  This was further stressed as we would essentially have fasted for 3 days and would be ravenous, unless you count the 4 survival gummies as real sustenance. 

So, with the stage set, the curious case of the pet rocks can get underway.  On the fateful third and last morning, sure enough I was dang hungry, and hence highly motivated.  When the Sgt trooped by at the appointed hour, I was already sitting on my pack, belly rumbling, with scant evidence of my camp remaining, and the fire stone cold.  The Sgt continued on, towards Greg’s camp.  Well, many rumblings later, I mean 15 minutes or more, I could no longer contain my impatience, so left my camp and scrambled through the woods to Greg’s camp.  As I arrived I noted that his lean-to was still up, and the fire was smoking, with the Sgt stirring the coals.  I also noted Greg some distance away, dipping water from the river.  The Sgt looked up and ordered me to “get a rock!”.   Well, I was perplexed as to how a rock would help with the fire, but off I went.  I located a pretty decent one, that was within my ability to carry, and staggered back to Greg’s camp….arriving as Greg was back at the river.  The Sgt took one look and said “NO!  He’ll never carry that!”.  Aha, now I get it!

So, with some clever timing, and my more selective rock picking, the Sgt added a number of significant rocks to the bottom of Greg’s pack.

With the fire out and the camp finally cleaned up, the time came for Greg to shoulder his pack and get started on the long hike back, through every one of our camps along the way.  The Sgt first spoke to Greg, cautioning him about the effects of three days of fasting.  “This pack is going to feel like it weighs a hundred pounds; your legs will want to buckle.  Just keep a steady pace up until the parking lot, and focus on the all-you-can-eat pancake breakfast that awaits.”  With that, the Sgt and I helped Greg to shoulder this pack, and danged if it didn’t weigh something in the order of a hundred pounds!  He staggered a bit, but then commenced his slow and deliberate “death march” back to the parking lot. 

As he staggered through each camp ahead of us, with his sweating face, the next hungry waiting individual would prepare to hike out, and then would be “in-briefed” on the situation that had led to such a huge delay in our getting to breakfast, along with the remedial training currently underway.

Once we had all arrived at the parking lot, and were preparing to board the trucks to head out to breakfast, one of us approached the exhausted Greg and asked if he might have a look at his “pet rocks”.  “YOU BASTARDS!” was the response as he glared at me and the Sgt, while undoing his pack and pulling the large round specimens out!  I am not sure if this helped Greg with punctuality, but likely was a life lesson!