During a miserable 6-week climbing expedition to peaks above the Chilean fjords, violent storms sometimes trapped us with little to eat in cold, dripping snow caves.  At our hungriest, we rationed freeze-dried eggs and triple brewed tea bags off the floor.


Pickings were better at sea level.  Once, we spotted a fishing boat and traded a bottle of pisco for some shellfish gathered by a SCUBA diver.  But there was a deadly Red Tide.  “How do you know these are safe?” we asked.

“We have a laboratory!” exclaimed the captain proudly.  Inside his filthy wheelhouse was a big tin can containing three mice.  “We feed them the mussels and if they die, we go home.”


Another time we caught our own fish, which no one has yet been able to identify for me.  It might have been endangered.

In both cases, though, little matter.  When you’re hungry, you eat what’s there!

 

 

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