A Mayo challenge to survive two weeks eating only what nature provides

COUNTRY FILE

WHEN I asked for something that goes from 0 to 240 in just a few seconds I hadn't meant a set of bathroom scales.

That's an old joke, but one which somehow applies. A friend – and I use the term loosely – had read my recent article on foraging and was unimpressed.

"It's free food you're after is it? Anything as long as it's free…cheapskate."

She jabbed a finger into my well padded winter midriff and while the ripples were subsiding I considered how best to answer.

"Come on, now. I don't know why folks go to the shops so much. After all, the countryside is full of food, if only you know where to look. Why, I'd say a person could live quite happily on what he found at the roadside."

"Roadkill? Ha! Only you would resort to that!" She gave me a sharp glance. "There's a dead badger at the bottom of the hill. I expect you know about it already."

To be honest, I hadn't really entertained the notion of dining on things found dead at the side of the road, although if we were pushed into it I suppose it might be an option.

But no, as I did my best to explain, there are plenty of edible plants to be found, and even now, in the middle of winter, it ought not be too difficult to sustain oneself.

As well as dandelions (every part of which can be eaten) and the growing tips of brambles, there are always a few stinging nettles growing in hidden corners and even a few wild mushrooms in the woods.

Add a few fish (trout are still off the menu until the proper season for them commences on February 15 on Lough Mask, but perch and even pike are out there somewhere) and I should be able to meet my protein requirements.

There would have to be rules. To begin with, how long should an experiment in self-reliance last?

"How about an afternoon, between lunch and a late supper?"

My suggestion was met with derision. "You're supposed to be a survivor. Show us how it's done. Anybody could stick it out for two hours. Two weeks is more like it."

I consider a whole fortnight without bread and beer to be over-long. "One day at a time," I suggested. "And if things get really tough I have to be able to get to the shop."

Could I venture into the garden and harvest whatever might be left growing? That was a sticky point, but clever negotiating on my part brought me that allowance.

There ought to be a few carrots there somewhere, and as I have already planted this year's garlic I could always go and dig them out again, even if it did feel just a little like cheating.

How about driving? After all, it is at the coast where food can be most easily obtained. I did my best to argue that every second day I should make the 50-mile round trip to Bertra, where I could stock up on cockles and whatever else the sea provided.

In the end we settled on a single trip, and this to be only when I was feeling so hungry as to be ready to quit.

Apart from that everything was straightforward. There could be no marauding attacks on cattle herds or flocks of sheep, and no raiding the neighbour's chicken run, stealing eggs or apples, and certainly no cheating with bags of doughnuts or cream cakes.

So there we have it. Could a man survive two weeks of an Irish winter, eating only what nature provides?

The final thing to be settled is the start date.

Not tomorrow. We shall see.