While waiting for an oil change, I pawed through the usual grimy reading material - back issues of The Taoist Purgatorial Review, Elephantiasis for Dummies, and some 1999 meeting lists for Quilters Anonymous.
My hand hovered over the OSHA Hazardous Waste Guide until I spotted a pamphlet on survival techniques. Survival, huh? As in running out of organic cat litter? Or when your hair stylist moves to LA to work for Howie Mandel?
Nope. The article bypassed such tragedies, and focused on muddling through the everyday bear or shark attack.
Experts agree that unless you're certain the bear has gone vegan, it's best to avoid eye contact, lie face down and play dead. A bear will target the head, so we're to cover it with our arms. Not the bear, our head! Haha, fooled me too.
They also say to spread your legs so the bear will have a harder time flipping you over. Cover your head? Spread your legs? You gotta love such twisted humor. Pause now while I jot a memo: Wear babushka. And no more hiking in tight skirts!
But we already know this stuff. Remember the countless mornings we were rousted from bed by Mom or Pop? Or by the head psych nurse? We played dead!! And when the teacher scanned the class for a fresh victim to do long division at the chalkboard? Yup. Rigor mortis extraordinaire.
The article also advised against startling a bear. How? Wear a bell! Wait, that can't be right. There's an old joke…"Good news, we found bells from the lost hiker. Bad news, we found them in bear poop."
I suspect other instruments might be more effective than silly bells. Ever hear of an attack on a hiker playing an accordion? A tuba? Okay, then.
Even when not wearing taffeta shorts, could we be quiet enough to startle an animal with such keen hearing and smell? Maybe this whole bell thing is simply proper hiking etiquette to inform predators that (ting-a-ling-a-ling) dinner is served! Couldn't hurt, though, to slap a Sierra Club sticker on the old backpack, and send out thoughts of acid reflux.
Could we protect our tasty noggins with the hairstyles of yesteryear? If guys slathered on that "greasy kid stuff" before hitting the trail, they might slide out of a bear's mouth, slick as a watermelon seed.
And we ladies could tease up a righteously bouffant 1963 'do and hairspray the hell out of it. That's right, think Tootsie Pops® in hiking boots. To get to the delicious, chewy center on top, a bear must first penetrate the crunchy coating!
Rule of thumb? The higher the bear alert, the higher the hair. Gosh, this could work. I've started "high hair" hiking and so far…no attacks! But the constant chattering in my head is irksome. Man, I'm going to be really ticked if squirrels are nesting up there.
Sharks are different than bears in that we have found accordions in their stomachs. They'll eat anything. Supposedly, we can repel a shark by hitting its nose.
Why do I not envision the Seniors Water Ballet class as helpful with this maneuver? No, sweetie, if thy toes tickle the tonsils of a 20-foot Great White, I invite thee to skip the nose be-bop, and get ugly.
Dragged underwater, one survivor clawed into the gills and ripped out handfuls of shark stuffing. Then he gouged out the shark's eye! Apparently, this is considered rude dinner behavior in some shark circles, because the critter sped away in a sullen snit.
Some of us, though, risk tossing our cookies while poking at a sliver. I say we opt for creative camouflage. Look for my new line of swimwear with dangling rubber legs. And bells, just in case.
Well, that's my report on survival. What? You're off to spend five hours with the grandkids at Chuck E. Cheese?
Good luck, friend. Punch a nose or play dead - it's your call.
Copyright © 2008 Mary Tompsett
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