On Tuesday, my hubby flew his little Citabria plane out to Cape Constantine to meet up with his friends, Jason and Joe, who were out bear hunting. When he landed, he noticed a rather large slick of oil running down the side of his plane. Not good.
The plane had just been serviced and, along with that service, came an oil change. That it was spurting oil was cause for alarm. Try as he might, Hunter couldn't get the cowling off the engine to check to see what was amiss. A few calls on the satellite phone later, my man realized he was spending the night on the beach. Up went his tent, out came his survival gear and he was set.
By then, it was well past dinner time. Hungry, Hunter tucked into a few ancient, wizened granola bars and called it a night. The next morning, before a friend flew out with tools and some extra oil, Hunter decided to crack open a MRE (Meal Ready to Eat). A MRE is a self-contained, individual field ration that was created for the US Army and is available for the average Joe to purchase. They're kinda like apocolypse food with no expiry date. Or so we all thought.
My husband came home a hurtin' unit. Not from camping on the beach but from the MRE he ate for breakfast. A quick net search revealed common terms for the MRE. They include: Mr. E, Meals Rejected by Everyone, Meals Rarely Edible and Meals Rejected by the Enemy.
Poor Hunter. Years of Boy Scout training came together in one perfect storm only to be undone by minestrone soup. Hopefully he's better by tomorrow because he's promised me jet boat lessons on the Muklung river.