Dorothy Parker could have revised her poem Resume to serve as an abridged version of Steven Rinella’s The MeatEater Guide to Wilderness Skills and Survival. It might have read something like this:
Spiders bite you
Parasites give you cramps
Grizzlies maul you
Scorpions crawl into camps
Salamanders are toxic
Beware where rattlesnakes roam
Eating rodents will make you sick
You might as well stay home
Rinella, a backcountry hunting guide turned television personality, hosts an adventure show, MeatEater, on Netflix. He has used that platform to market a handful of books, including The MeatEater Fish and Game Cookbook, The Complete Guide to Hunting, Butchering, and Cooking Wild Game, and Meat Eater: Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter.
Survival is the theme of his latest outing, and that means figuring out how to de-taint tainted water while dying of thirst, or if starving, it means learning how to kill off the tularemia lurking in the innards of the bunny you’ve trapped — or the trichinosis in a wolverine or skunk. The quick takeaway: Everything in the wild will kill you or make you sick, even if you kill it first.
But you can be prepared. Rinella’s “Basic Survival Kit” includes a fire-starting kit, a water purification system, DEET insect repellent swabs, a SureFire Minimus headlamp and emergency backup light, 25 feet of 3 mm utility cord (and 25 feet more of the 5 mm sort), four zip ties, a compass, a whistle, a little mirror, dental floss, a toothbrush, toothpaste, Uncle Bill’s Sliver Gripper precision tweezers (the author is fond of making brand shoutouts), a Fisher Bullet Space Pen, super glue, a titanium camp spoon, wet wipes, batteries, and a “0.5-ounce tin of Dermatone Lips’n Face Protection Creme” (we’re talking survival here, people). One is even encouraged to include a Work Sharp knife sharpener, though the basic kit doesn’t seem to include a knife.
It’s reminiscent of the kit William Boot assembled for his trip to the fictional African country of Ishmaelia in Evelyn Waugh’s Scoop: A collapsible canoe, a pump and water sterilizer, an astrolabe, “a camp operating table and set of surgical instruments,” and “a Christmas hamper complete with Santa Claus costume” were just a fraction of the things sold to Waugh’s gullible, dim hero.
But Boot had nothing on the MeatEater. Rinella suggests another half-dozen items as “Extra Shit for your Basic Kit” and then three dozen more in his “Official Oh-Shit Jury Rig Kit.” And he hasn’t even started to include clothes, a tent, or a sleeping bag.
It’s hard to take the book’s advice too seriously, and not just because Rinella endorses cannibalism should circumstances demand it. After all, “the outdoor lifestyle trains people to understand life and death,” he explains. (Another reason to stay home.) There’s also the book’s sloppiness: For example, a paragraph about “Fish-Related Hazards” on page 122 is repeated almost word for word on page 187 under the heading “Fish Spines and Puncture Wounds.”
The book’s advice on how to identify edible mushrooms and differentiate them from the poisonous sort is downright irresponsible. The drawing of a chanterelle isn’t going to guarantee you won’t mistakenly eat a jack-o’-lantern, not that the author would consider himself to blame. There is this disclaimer on the guide’s copyright page: “This book contains general information relating to wilderness skills and survival. It is not intended to serve as a diagnosis tool, a guide to safely identifying wild edibles or to replace the advice and care of a doctor or other professional. The author and publisher expressly disclaim responsibility for any adverse effects that may result from the use or application of the information contained in this book.”
Nothing in the MeatEater’s guide has led me to change my mind about exploring the great outdoors. I remain in Fran Lebowitz’s camp. She once wrote a two-column comparison of nature and art. Nature means eating roots and berries. Art means linguine with clam sauce. For Lebowitz, nature means your own two feet, while art means your own two Bentleys.
If nature means eating a rat on a stick, I’ll take civilization.
Eric Felten is the James Beard Award-winning author of How’s Your Drink?
