The Tree of Knowledge

When I wake, the sun is up, a distant glow emanating from the ceiling, and the bats are back, sleeping.

Again, I ponder what bat tastes like. I also wonder if they’re protective. If I snatch one, will the rest attack, ready to eat off my face in defense of their comrade? I’ve never been afraid of bats before, but seeing so many of them like this, hundreds of eyes watching me…it’s a little unsettling. For now, I dig into another MRE for breakfast.

My life is so simple lately.

In 1943, psychologist Abraham Maslow proposed a pyramid shaped hierarchy of human needs. The idea is, it represents everything a person needs to survive, but you can’t focus on any higher needs until the ones below it are met first. It starts with physiological, then safety, love and belonging, esteem, and finally self-actualization. So I can’t, say, ponder the fact that Jace will be dead in twenty-nine days, because I need to gather more wood for fire, so I can drink water that’s relatively free of containments.

Plant matter inside will be little to none. I’ll need to climb up, throw down as many sticks and brush as I can find, then repel back down again.

The good news about climbing up is, much like repelling, it can be done safely with just one person. No more suicidal shit from me. I’m sure Jace would approve.

It’s called a prussic knot.

You know that pull through slipknot you do when you tie a dog’s leash to a post or tie a balloon to a child’s wrist? It’s kind of like that, but tripled. You take a short piece of inelastic rope and prussic knot it to your climbing rope. On the other end you tie a loop, like a stirrup. You do it again, just a little higher, with a second piece of rope. Then a third time. The third one is where you clip in with a locking ’bineer. Safety first. The other two are for your feet.

The prussic knots, they’ll slide up if you push up on them, (or down, if you push down on them. Do not push down on them.) but if you just pull on them they stay put.

It’s funny how I’m sort of uniquely qualified for life out here, as if this was the place I was supposed to be all along. They say God has a plan for everyone. Maybe Jesus really does love me.

I empty my backpack of everything but an MRE for lunch, my (full, hooray!) canteen, gun, and repel gear, not wanting to deal with the weight of the rest.

I start by pushing up on the knot I clipped in to. Then I take the weight off my left foot, push that knot up, and put my foot back. I do the same with my right, taking the weight off, pushing the knot up, then returning my foot to the stirrup. Now I’ve moved upwards an entire half a foot.

It’s slow, oh so slow, but it’s safe, and much less exhausting then just shimmying up the rope, PE style.

I spend the day gathering sticks and brush, trekking them back to my cavern, and dropping them off the plank. I still haven’t seen anyone out here. I think they really are all dead. Eaten, no doubt. Or maybe they’re just hiding in another cavern somewhere.

When I think I’ve got enough for now, I repel back down. I move my fuel pile to one corner of my new home, and start some more water boiling. By the light of the fire, I read about edible desert plant life, excited to note a few plants I’ve already seen.

Tomorrow, I’ll go gather some of those and maybe think seriously about eating a bat. I really should start conserving the remaining MRE’s for emergencies.

I’ve got food, water, shelter, safety, and heat.

Perhaps now I can move a little higher up on the hierarchy.

Jace will be dead in twenty-nine days.