Bear Grylls – Man v Wild in Scarborough
Not since my time with the Special Forces in the jungles of Borneo have I found myself filled with such trepidation. In this episode of Man v Wild I will be parachuted onto the Scarborough Sea Front where you will see me trying to fend off some wild Geordies, dodge the minefields of dogshit and fight with seagulls for chips.
It’s important when making a beach landing to avoid sandcastles as the little flags are prone to poke you in the most unwelcome of places, similarly irate fathers and crying children can really sap your will to survive. As you can see, I’ve managed to land well away from the sunbathers so the crew and I are going to build a fire. Not only does the fire provide much needed warmth but it also lifts your morale.
I’ve gathered some chip forks, dry seaweed and a discarded beach towel. I’ll use the forks for tinder and attempt to light the towel and seaweed using an ancient technique which involves hollowing out a piece of driftwood and spinning a thin piece of wood between my hands...........
It’s been half an hour and my hands are red raw. A crowd of Speedo wearing Geordies have gathered. I can’t understand what they are saying but from their body language I would say that they are probably dangerous.
One of the crew has produced a Zippo and a box of firelighters and I am hurriedly fashioning a makeshift torch from a piece of driftwood and strips of cloth from my fleece. My pulse rate has doubled and I can feel the adrenalin surging. I have to think quick, one false move and I could be in big trouble, I’m flailing the barely lit torch which is spewing out black smoke and the Geordies seem bemused. Out of my peripheral vision I spy a means of escape, it’s risky but when you’re stranded it could mean life or death.
The crew have dispersed and left me, so I’m on the handy cam....there made it.....giddy up....The thing about donkeys is that they can be stubborn, I don’t like doing this but drastic times call for drastic measures........whoa.......that did the trick......I didn’t realise they go this fast....I’m struggling to hang on.....its thrown me........wow that’s something you don’t see everyday, the once docile Dennis is now galloping towards the surf with its tail on fire, bells jangling like some demented Morris Dancer. Luckily for me Dennis has distracted the Geordies so I can make my escape.
I found the crew cowering by a winkle stall, Steve the Producer has soiled himself and the Cameraman is shaking like a shitting dog......Bloody Civvies.
We’re heading up town now and must stay alert; we all lost our shoes during the fracas on the beach and must now try to make some. When you’re trying to survive you have to be resourceful and use what you find around you. I’ve found a couple of polystyrene fish and chip cartons that I’m lashing to my feet with para cord. Not only will they protect me from the elements but the salt and vinegar will help disinfect the grazes I sustained earlier.
One of the things I was taught whilst training to be in the Special Forces was covert observation. This is essential when trying to get behind enemy lines. In order to show you some of the techniques, we’re going to infiltrate a Working Men’s Club.
Right we’re in; it’s dark and oppressive so we’re switching to night vision. I’m doing what’s known as the leopard crawl, careful Steve I’ve just burnt my arse on that radiator. A Royal Marine friend of mine stayed for 2 weeks living under the floorboards of a house in Serbia eating woodlice and shitting in a carrier bag. Having said that he wasn’t actually on duty, he went there on holiday....
We’ve got to keep perfectly still; a sneeze, cough or even heavy breathing could blow our cover and we’d then have to fight our way out. I’m just going to listen to what’s going on.
“Get your dibbers and your dabbers ready .......eyes down for a full house.....Kelly’s eye number one.....
OK I’m going to try to get nearer to the bar, these Bingo players can turn nasty. A Para friend of mine was in a situation like this, he was deep behind enemy lines in North Africa playing Bingo and his local guide made a false call.....my mate lost a testicle and the guide was hung by the Tuaregs.
“Eight O blind 80......Six and three 63.......”
I’m fully trained and under no circumstances should you try this at home, I’m going to impersonate a local and attempt to get a round of beer in for myself and the crew. Ey up barman! ‘Ows thee doin me old cocker? Giz a pint o’t best bitter and two lager shandies tha knows me laddie...’ere’s a guinea.....get thasell one an all.....
“Six and.....thr........Lager chuffin shandy?”
Right lads, lets go, go go go, split up I’ll meet you at the hotel. Even with months of training I can still make a faux pas......no one drinks lager shandy in a Working Men’s Club, I might have got away with lager and a dash of lemonade! I’ve been rumbled so I’m going to extract myself via the lounge roof, if I can just get the grappling iron out of my rucksack and hook it round the fruit machine on the landing. My heart is racing once again, I’m being pelted with pie and peas and without body armour each pea feels like a baton round.
OK I’m on the balcony, reminds me of the Iranian Embassy siege, some friends of mine in the SAS were there and they loved it. I’ve still got some Para cord left so I can make a rope to abseil into the beer garden......
In the next episode......Will Bear get to the hotel? Will the crew be there? Will Bear get the Newcastle Brown Ale sponsorship deal?
Watch this space..........
Some Geordies have spotted me and have raised the alarm, got to keep my head and look for a route out of here.... Phew that must have been at least a 10ft drop! I’m going to have to leave the para cord behind if I want to avoid the now posturing Geordies. No, too late, they are in my face. My Special Forces training included a basic grasp of foreign languages, just enough to get by, so I’m going to try and appease them.
Howay canny lads! Hadaway man woman man dinnae gi me any o ya shite and that. OOF! A big one has just chinned me. Toon Army! Toon Army! Brilliant they’ve joined in and have formed a circle and started hugging one another. I’m beating a hasty retreat, need to find my bearings now......Here’s a tree and there’s moss growing up one side of it so that must be North, oh what’s this? There’s a sign nailed to it, it says North Bay that way. My training is now kicking in and yet again the adrenalin is keeping me alert to danger.
The body can survive for weeks without food but only a couple of days without water so I must rehydrate. Another trick I picked up in the Special Forces was how to make a dew trap, you dig a pit and wee into it, place a plastic cover over it and let the sun condense the liquid into fresh water. This looks a likely place by this hydrant. I’ll use my ice axe to dig down and use the lining from my rucksack as a cover. Shit! I’ve hit a water main, I’ll just fill my water bottle and clear off before I get collared by the council.
I’m starting to feel hunger pangs now, I am getting weak and dizzy so my blood sugar level must be getting low. The body burns twice as many calories when being chased by Geordies so I’m going to fuel up. All seaweed around the British Isles is edible so I’m off back to the shoreline to try my luck.
Whoooa! I’ve just tripped on a discarded ice cream, that could have been nasty, break a leg out here and you may as well give up. I’ve rolled my trouser legs up and have mugged a small Geordie and stolen her bucket and spade. I’m trying once again to blend in, not easy when you’re slim and good looking and carrying a two foot camera.
OK, I can see some bladder wrack and what’s this? A pile of chips, a clumsy child must have dropped these whilst trying to light a cigarette or take a swig from a bottle of cider. OOOF! Squawk! The seagulls have spotted the chips, they’re circling above me so I’m going to swing my rucksack over my head with one arm and gather the chips with the free hand.....easier said than done....An old Special Forces friend of mine tried to fend off some Turkey Vultures during the Falklands conflict, while he was swatting at them with his webbing belt, a King Penguin stole his compo rations.
Right I’m covered in bird shit, it’s in my hair, on my rucksack and all over the camera. I’m leaving the chips, perhaps I can get some seaweed. No, they’ve devoured the chips and are still slotting me. I’m going to have to leave the seaweed......Aaaaarrgghhh! Where did that come from? I’ve been has bitten on the arse by Dennis the Donkey, that really smarts.....Gotta muster the last bit of energy I have left and get back to the hotel..........TAXI!!!!
Thanks, STT good of you to take the time and comment. I think the consensus is that it's too long so I will endeavour to remedy that. Just glad a few people like it.
