Page 46 of Totally Wrecked
“ARGH! FECK! POXY FECKING BOLLOCKS!”
I sit down and rub my foot. Feck, losing my shite actually makes me feel a bit better. I’m hungry and thirsty, and to be honest, I’ve got nicotine withdrawal as well. I pick up some seaweed to chew on. First practical thing I can do is collect more of this and dry it. It’s way more palatable dried than slimy, and we haven’t a fire or a pot to boil it. My nanna would boil kelp fresh from the shore of the Shannon estuary. I complained about it at the time, but I’d give anything for some boiled kelp now.
Collecting seaweed only takes ten minutes to accomplish, so I decide to look for more useful trash. At the water's edge, tangled in with the weed, I spot two more plastic bottles and some knotted pieces of fishing twine. If only I could find a hook!
Digging around, I come up with some fishing net as well. It’s more hole than net, but maybe I can make it work. As I scavenge away, I feel the skin on my face and arms prickling, so head to the shade of the trees, where Harvey is now snoring slightly.
OK, what next?
If we catch fish, we can eat it raw, sure, but a fire would be life-changing. Fire is also needed as an emergency signal—why the feck am I not trying to make fire?
What I know about wilderness fire-starting is that you can use a magnifying glass, make a bow-drill, or you can shunt a dry piece of wood up and down on another piece of wood until it makes a flame—I know that last one because of Mam.
Castawayis one of Mam’s favorite films. She made us watch it at least once a year. I close my eyes and picture the scene. Tom rubbing a piece of wood like crazy, but it doesn’t catch because the bottom piece needs a crack in it for air. That was the key.
After I’ve gathered pieces of driftwood and small twigs, I think about tinder. There isn’t any paper to be had, but I’ve plenty of cotton. Tugging at a loose thread on my tee, I unravel the whole hem until I have a few feet of cotton thread. Will that be enough?
“Hey, Harvey.”
Harvey actually stirs. “What?”
“Have you anything I can use for tinder?”
“You’re making a fire?”
“I’m going to attempt to. I know the mechanics.” I don’t tell him where I know the mechanicsfrom. “I’ve got some cotton thread from my shirt, have you anything in your pockets?” Harvey sits up and digs around, finally pulling out a damp wad of paper. “This is too damp, but I’ll put it to dry. I’ll go and collect some dry grass.”
Saints alive, it’s a miracle. Both the tinder, and Harvey being helpful!
Friction to light the tinder is going to take a long time, so I set everything up so I can be as comfortable as possible, then get to work. After only a few minutes my muscles are aching, but I don’t stop. Harvey returns with some dry grass, “And I found some fluffy feathers. Thought that might work?”
“Yeah, it might. Put it all together in a wad, and when I get some heat on this thing, gently add the tinder.”
Harvey gets on the sand beside me. “How are you going to know if you’ve got heat?”
“I guess when it starts smoking.” As I rush my arms back and forth, I can feel my body react to the word “smoking”. Fecking nicotine. When I was a kid, there was a Saturday morning cartoon that starred a Superman villain called Nick ‘O Teen, who was always pushing smoking onto innocent youths. Fecking bastard got his claws in me alright.
Harvey takes me out of my memories as he grunts in my ear. “There!”
A wisp of smoke is rising. As Harvey leans to add the tinder, I tell him to slow his roll. “Let me build up some more heat first.”
My arms blur backwards and forwards, and we both watch the column of smoke get a tiny bit thicker.
“That’s it, add just a little…”
As soon as he does, I stop rubbing and blow gently. More smoke appears.
“Come on!” Harvey hisses.
I puff out another small breath. “More tinder.”
Harvey pushes some dry grass towards the small smoking pile. I add another breath and…
Whoosh.
“Fire!” We high five. “More grass, Harvey! Then be ready with the twigs.”
I can’t believe this actually worked.
