"Robert's survival trainings for the first stringers are always extreme," Marcus said. "He's taken us to a desert, he's taken us to a swamp, into blizzards, into hurricanes, you name it. He believes we should not be taken by surprise if we can help it. He always allows us to take a handful of things. Normally its 5 or 6 things, and we've learned to rather work together so that someone might have a first aid kit. someone else mgiht have water, someone else might have some shrunken campfire cooking equipment, someone else might shrink some blankets or something. We've learned to work together and pick very, very wisely, and everyone has learned to make a really good swiss army knife as something that they take."
"Remember that one year that only one of us took a knife?" Marcus asked.
"Yes. The bozo lost the damned knife," Angus sighed.
"So, this one here," Marcus gestured to Angus, "improvised. He took a damned big rock and beat on the handle of a cooking pot until he broke it off at an angle, making a sharp jagged edge on the piece he broke off, and that was our knife for two days. it worked. It wasn't pretty, but it worked. And it got him some extra points in the final score.
"And that one brought us back some poisonous toadstools to eat," Angus gestured to Marcus. "I chucked them out. And he broke out in a rash that had him nonstop scratching for about five days."
"That was nigh onto miserable," Marcus said.
"Well, because you didn't tell Robert about it. Robert didn't know a stinking thing until I outted you to him."
"Well, yeah, you were right about that one. You were right," Marcus sighed. "And when we did get some real mushrooms, they were pretty tasty because of those spices you smuggled in."
"They were good, weren't they?" Angus laughed.