Van Schyndel - Becoming wild: living the primitive life on a West coast island

Copyright 2014 Nikki van Schyndel

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without prior permission of the publisher or, in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright, the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, .

Caitlin Press Inc.

8100 Alderwood Road,

Halfmoon Bay, BC V0N 1Y1

caitlin-press.com

Text and cover design by Vici Johnstone.

Edited by Audrey McClellan.

Copy edit and EPUB by Kathleen Fraser.

Cover photo copyright Vici Johnstone.

Caitlin Press Inc. acknowledges financial support from the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and from the Province of British Columbia through the British Columbia Arts Council and the Book Publishers Tax Credit.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Van Schyndel, Nikki, 1973-, author

Becoming wild : living the primitive life on a west coast island

/ Nikki van Schyndel.

ISBN 978-1-927575-39-0 (bound)

1. Van Schyndel, Nikki, 1973-. 2. Wilderness survivalBritish

ColumbiaBroughton Archipelago. 3. Women adventurersBritish

ColumbiaBiography. I. Title.

GV191.52.V36A3 2014 796.5092 C2013-908454-1

For my mother. My guardian angel on Earth.

It is only when we follow our dreams that we discover the magic within ourselves.

Unknown

Here I am in the middle of nowhere, cross-legged in front of a fire, gnawing on bear ribs and sipping dandelion coffeetesting my skills of survival. Lately Ive been asking myself, What the heck am I doing out here? But tonight, I gotta say, Thank you, Sam Gribley.

Sam Gribley is the main character in the book My Side of the Mountain, by Jean Craighead George. Sam runs away from home to survive in the wilderness with a knife, flint and steel kit, ball of twine, and pet raccoon. By the time I had eight candles on my birthday cake, Sam was my hero.

After school I would sneak off to my secret place to practise living off the land. I spent hours bending branches for bows, picking berries, capturing grasshoppers, aging perfume I had made from flower petals, and camouflaging my face with pollen, always daydreaming various survival scenarios.

MAYDAY, MAYDAY! Were going down. This is flight SA341. Do you copy, traffic control?

No response to the pilots SOS, not even a garbled voice blurred by static.

Cindy, the flight attendant in charge of me, leans over and touches my arm. Now, Nikki, dont be afraid. I know youre alone, but everything is going to be all right.

I know shes lying. Im already picturing the survival tree house I will build. I tighten the seatbelt around my teddy. Giggling, I say, Oh, dont worry about me. Ill survive.

From somewhere in the back of the plane I hear, Nikki. Nikki. Where are you? I always jolted back to reality when I heard my mother calling me in for supper.

I daydreamed about zipping down the yellow inflatable slide shown on in-flight safety cards, then bobbing around in the ocean until currents swept me onto a deserted island. Anything to get me to the wilderness.

After my ninth birthday, soon after I rode my first pony, Sam Gribley went from being the kid I aspired to be to the kid I never thought of again.

My life veered in the opposite direction. I no longer envisioned my wardrobe full of smoke-stained deerskin clothing. My fashion sense turned to Polo Ralph Lauren. Braces came off my teeth; my short tomboy hairstyle grew into long, wavy locks; and I started hanging out with popular kids at high school. I replaced the pictures of wild animals on my bedroom walls with magazine images of Guess models and favourite TV celebrities. I lived for show-jumping horses and wearing expensive clothes. Thunderbird Equestrian Centre in Langley, BC, became my second home, and its owners my extended family. I dreamed of riding in the Olympics, just like my new hero, Laura, one of my trainers.

At 18, my riding life took a dramatic turn. My trainer and I had just found my dream horse, an undiscovered jumper, the one I believed would start my career as a world-class Grand Prix rider.

I nearly burst with excitement the day my mom drove to the barn to buy her. When she returned, I greeted her at the door. Fighting tears of joy, I exclaimed, So, did we get her?

Moms eyes dropped to the floor. Well, I got a flat tire on the way to the barn.

Slightly concerned, I replied, Oh no, is everything okay?

Yes, the tow truck came and helped, but I took it as a sign from God. I decided not to buy Ivy. And I think its time you got a job.

I was devastated. In disbelief I asked, Are you serious? A sign from God? Are we religious now? I cant believe this. What do you mean, a job? I have to buy Ivy myself?

In a motherly tone she told me, Im just tired of spending so much money on horses, Nikki. Ive done my best. Im sorry. Its just time.

Crushed, but not deterred, I asked for a job at the barn, and for the first time I started feeding the horses and mucking out stalls. After two weeks I received my first paycheque. I read the small amount in the corner with disgust. I knew there was no way I was going to save enough money to buy Ivy. I felt as if a horrible joke had been played on me. I quit a few weeks later and let my Olympic dreams vanish. I had not yet learned the power of determination and hard work.

I heard my childhood dream whisper a few times as I bumbled around in college, trying to decide what I wanted to be when I grew up, but it never yelled loud enough for me to hear it until I was 29. While browsing my survival teachers bookshelf, I spotted a copy of My Side of the Mountain. With book in hand I stood frozen as memories of tree forts and wilderness adventures flashed through my mind. Bam! The thought hit me: I could become Sam Gribley.

I didnt have to wait for a plane to crash. I opted for Plan B: Pay someone to abandon me in the wilds.

On February 25, 2004, I stepped into my childhood dream, crunching ashore on a deserted, white-shell beach with a feral cat, a tiny rowboat, and a stranger I now call my best friend. I abandoned a life of pedicured toes, Thai restaurants, and diamond rings for dirty nails, roasted mice, and bear-claw necklaces. I rubbed sticks together to create fire, hunted game, harvested wild salads, and cured injuries with plants. I had become Sam Gribley.