It seems that every day there are more natural—and unnatural—disasters to be worried about. Whether the threat is��nuclear war or rising sea levels, creating a��proper bug-out bag can give you peace of mind. We combed through ,��an online retailer that specializes in survival gear, and put together the ultimate bug-out bag for just $240.

Tact 9-in-1 Multi-Tool Shovel ($30)

To save��on space in your bag, look for tools that have multiple uses, like . A unique design lets��you attach the handle to different tools, including a hacking blade, bottle opener, saw, ax, pickax, and nail puller.��

Tact Bivvy Emergency Sleeping Bag ($20)

Made out of a reflective polyester film, ��is��bright orange to help rescuers find you. Use this alone or inside a sleeping bag to boost the temperature rating by 20 degrees.��

Backpacking Solo Bivvy Tent with Rain Fly ($80)

��is great as a backup shelter or even for a lightweight through-hike option. Weighing just 2.9 pounds, the tent is fully waterproof and packs down small enough to store in a backpack.

Folding Pocket Camping Stove ($15)

��is incredibly easy to use—simply unfold it, insert a fuel tablet, light it up, and then place your cooking pot on top. You’ll have a hot��meal in no time and you won’t have to carry the weight of traditional stove fuel.��

Stormproof Firestarter Kit with Flint & Steel ($20)

��will help you start a fire, no matter the conditions. A waterproof case��holds the magnesium slab,��a compass, a 150-decibel whistle, gel fire starter,��20 weatherproof matches, and a tin of��tinder.

Easy Power AA Rechargeable USB Batteries ($25)

Invest in , which can be recharged up to 500 times. Simply plug their USB ends into your computer, solar panel, or wall outlet, and pop them into your electronic��device once they’re done charging.

Solar Lantern Pocket Light ($25)

��packs down small enough to fit in your pocket or store easily in your bag. Using the integrated solar panels and USB ports, you can charge the lantern and any electronic device.

QuickHeat Electric Hand Warmer ($25)

��gives off between 104 and 140 degrees Fahrenheit of heat depending on which setting it’s on. It also doubles as an external battery pack to power your devices.

The post 8 Survival Items You Can Fit in a Backpack appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

Robert Young Pelton has made a career of tracking down warlords and interviewing people in the most dangerous places in the world. He’s been kidnapped in Colombia, survived an assassination attempt in Uganda, and joined the hunt for Osama Bin Laden in Afghanistan and Pakistan. ���ϳԹ��� editor Chris Keyes wanted to know how spending that much time on the edge has affected him in the long term. But the answer’s not what you’d think.

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Jason Motlagh and his crew were the first journalists in years to successfully cross the Darién Gap, a lawless, roadless jungle on the border of Colombia and Panama. Teeming with deadly snakes, drug traffickers, and antigovernment guerrillas, it has become a pathway for migrants whose desperation to reach the U.S. sends them on a perilous journey. He talks to Chris Keyes about the risks and logistics of the assignment, his motivations as a reporter, and the emotional toll of working in conflict zones.

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Medieval folks believed bathing could let the devil into you or, at the very least, make you severely ill. They were a little off the mark, but it turns out that traditional bathing is overrated for maintaining health.

Our modern habit of daily scrubbing with soaps and shampoos looks absurd by historical standards—large-scale soap production only started in the mid 19th century and the daily bath didn't really take off until the mid 20th—and some experts think it's harmful.

“Even the most simple of soaps and shampoos destroy the body's natural oils and thus the protection derived therefrom,” says Dr. John Fielder, natural hygienist and founder of the Academy of Natural Living in Australia. That protection includes guarding against disease-causing microbes and other nuisances like lice infestation.

Sebum, the skin's natural oil secretion, gives skin and hair its waterproofness, kills germs, sends moisturizing and sun-shielding vitamin E to the surface, and acts as a delivery system for antioxidants and pheromones. You could spend dozens of dollars on soaps to strip it away and several dozen more on cosmetics (most of which are crammed with toxic chemicals to boot) in a tenuous effort to replace its functions.

That's not to say cleanliness is nonessential. , 30 percent of disease and 75 percent of life years lost in developing countries are due in part to poor sanitation and “risky hygiene behavior,” and they recommend regular face and hand washing with soap, , or rubbing.

Nonetheless, what we tend to call “germs” are often good for us. “Far from being our enemies, [bacteria] are our friends, and any activity on their account is a beneficial one,” Fielder says.

Maintaining health requires both internal and external cleanliness. People who eat natural diets, live in healthy environments, and perform basic grooming techniques may be less likely to experience illness. If we reduce environmental toxins and eat predominantly raw fruits and vegetables, we have fewer reasons to expect illness.

And you're better off . Unmitigated buildup of dirt and body waste provides an ideal medium for parasites like scabies. According to Fielder, combatting that is simple and doesn't require soap or even water, as long as you regularly brush the body and hair. “Much of this grooming can occur with the nails as well as the saliva,” he says.

Ancient Romans used a similar technique, applying scented oils to the skin and removing dirt and sweat with a metal scraper called a . Fielder's own grooming method, which he has used for at least 40 years, includes exfoliating with sand and rinsing with river water.

“There is a difference between cleanliness and sterility,” Fielder explains. “In cleanliness there is bacterial activity, there is life. Without bacteria there would be no life.”

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“This is why our families work so well together. I don’t know how many moms would be so cool about seeing their kids go off on motorcycles—in Brazil!” exclaimed Martha Newell, my friend from our hometown of Missoula, Montana.

She and her family—husband Mike and sons Carson, 14, and Bowen, 17—had just arrived for a visit to Penedo, the small town in Brazil where we were living for the year. Wanting to treat our guests to something special, we’d waited for their arrival to explore the inland part of our state of Alagoas. Our town of Penedo was near the mouth of the Rio São Francisco, where it empties into the Atlantic amid sand dunes and palm trees. We'd been to those beaches but never upriver.��

So, with Martha's family, we set off on a three-day excursion up the Rio São Francisco. In the tropics, you don't need much for clothes. We got away with a daypack each. We caught a van to the bigger town of Arapiraca, then jammed into the back of a pickup truck, the only conveyance available for transport to the smallest towns. An hour and a half later, we spilled out in the riverside town of Piranhas. Picturesque, it's strung like beads up and down a couple of hillsides. This was when my husband, Peter, spontaneously contracted with eight moto-taxis, motorcycles, to take us to view the Xingo Dam.��

I’ve often thought an important requirement for good traveling companions is a matching tolerance for risk, discomfort and unpredictability, which may be one reason Peter and I manage so well. We've both spent plenty of nights sacked out on hard ground, sweating through humid, mosquito-ridden nights… and we have both imagined our child stuck in the outback, bitten by a snake, too far from the anti-venom; envisioned the dengue fever, typhoid, cholera, malaria, hepatitis A, B, and C. And together, we redrew our plans accordingly, but went ahead.

This time, Peter, a long-time canoeist, decided it would be fun to float home, downriver from the town of Piranhas to Penedo—100 miles. Few locals seemed to have done it. Before the advent of dams and cars, this once Mississippi-like river had been a main route, thick with sailboats transporting their wares from town to town. Now, it was almost empty, save for occasional fishermen in their canoes. Asking around in Piranhas, Peter found Ugo, a fisherman. A football player of a man with soft brown eyes under thick black brows, Ugo said we should leave at 5:30 in the morning if we wanted to get to Penedo before dark. He showed up at 6:00. We stepped carefully into his motorized, double-wide canoe with its canopy top. There would be nine of us, plus daypacks, squeezed in like peas in a pod. We would be there for the next nine hours, or so Ugo had said. This could be a challenge.

Ugo clearly knew the river, stone by stone. We slid past dry, knuckled hills, river water boiling around us. He steered the green and yellow craft, with its tiny propeller the size of my hand, close into steep-sided sand banks, out into the boiling middle, around copper rocks, sprouting black cormorants; going wherever he needed to make maximum use of the current.

Our 12-year-old son Skyler and Carson promptly stretched out on cushions in the bow to go back to sleep. Our 16-year-old daughter Molly read, and Bowen wove backpack pulls out of strands of plastic. We listened with a mixture of delight and distaste as Ugo imparted local lore. Such as the bit about a black snake who crawls into houses at night and finds the nipples of nursing women to suck out the milk.

“E verdade.” “It’s true.” He nodded seriously. “It happened to my wife’s mother. They killed the snake and when they cut it open it was full of milk.” I shivered.

“Cliffs,” Skyler said, scanning the riverbank a few hours later. “Look at those cliffs. They’re perfect for jumping. Can we stop? Can we?” He pointed eagerly at the sheaves of rock rising above us.��

Shortly after, Ugo pulled into a prainha. This little beach was tucked behind a set of rocks, under a tree. I threw my legs over the canoe's side and unexpectedly dropped into water up to my ribs. It turns out the river reaches depths of 90 meters in places. Skyler and Carson clambered out, shedding their shirts. Molly joined them, then Peter, then Mike, all flying off the 15-foot high rocks in ecstatic shapes—tucked, splayed, arched—before splashing into the warm current and drifting down to a landing spot.�� �� �� �� �� ��

When we re-gathered at the canoe, Ugo was whacking at a brown coconut with a large machete. It sounds ridiculous in retrospect, but we'd packed nothing for lunch and had no snacks. We'd broken rule number one for traveling with kids. Amazingly, no one had complained. Ugo drained the water, chipped off the shell, and broke the moist, white meat into pieces, which he handed to us with chunks of rapadura, dark brown, raw cane sugar. He mimed one bite of coconut, one bite of sugar, and gave it the thumbs-up. “A comida dos pescadores.” “The food of fishermen.” It was fabulous—sweet, moist, and crunchy.��

This was hour five, theoretically more than halfway.

We’d left the rocks and roiling currents behind. The small wattle and daub farms in their desiccated draws were starting to be replaced by towns. Colorful houses lined the bank like a parade leading to the ubiquitous church with flanking towers. A clutch of boys tossed a volleyball over a line strung above the water.��

By hour 10, the rolling land was subsiding and greening meadows swept away to the horizon; weeping green trees replaced scratchy scrub. Black cormorants yielded to white egrets lazily grazing with cattle. This was an hour after our projected arrival, and we wondered if we would really make it home before dark. Peter and Mike examined a map, measuring distances and calculating time passed. It looked unlikely. While our kids continued to be remarkably patient, with nothing but a few pieces of coconut and some brown sugar in their bellies and no dinner on the horizon, it was beginning to feel urgent.

“Maybe we should pull over in Propria, since there’s a bridge there and a road, and take stock of where we are,” I suggested an hour later. It was now five and it gets dark here at six, like the curtain closing on a play. And, as Bowen sensibly pointed out, we had no running lights.

Propria loomed larger, its city lights beginning to sparkle as it got dark. It was by far the biggest town we’d come across, and the first bridge we’d seen in 12 hours. Ugo headed toward shore.

There was a surprise—the Maravilhosa moored at the bank. I’d seen this double-decker, Mississippi-paddle-wheeler-like boat next to the ferry slip in Penedo. The captain, it turned out, was a friend of Ugo's. Before we knew it, Ugo was lifting our backpacks out of the canoe and handing them over to the crew of the larger boat. Told we’d be traveling the rest of the way with them, we obediently filed up the gangplank.

There was no one on board but the crew and their kids. They’d tow Ugo’s canoe behind. Inside they put out rolls and cheese, a thermos of sweet, black coffee, and beer. Our kids ran up to the top deck to watch as we passed under the bridge, then retired below decks to the hammock room to play Uno. The rest of us stayed above, surveying the oily dark river under a full moon.

We slowly zigzagged our way downriver. “How do you know where to go?” I asked the captain.

“Pratica,” he said. Practice? They were steering this huge boat, around shifting sandbars in the dark, from memory?

Peter, Mike, Martha, and I stood at the top rail, faces to the wind, and peered lazily into the dark water and shadows of overhanging trees. I marveled at the fortuitous turn of events and how often this kind of thing happens to us. A month earlier, we’d taken a similar covered canoe to the Foz, the mouth of the Rio São Francisco. There, the canoe had broken down out at the ocean, and it looked like we’d get home long after dark. We’d been saved that time by a high-tech catamaran and invited to join them for a gourmet buffet on deck. It felt like we’d jumped from backwoods Mississippi to the Riviera.

The trip to Penedo took not nine but thirteen hours. We gratefully lumbered down the gangplank and headed for an outdoor restaurant, hungry but pleased by our adventure.

There are lots of ways to travel. My mother prefers advance planning and lots of preparatory reading. My father preferred wandering on whim. There’s something to be said for both. But either way, things inevitably go awry, especially when traveling in the third world. It helps to believe; believe things will turn out all right. I think that not only changes one’s perception of the experience, but maybe what actually happens. Fred, an acquaintance, a Uruguayan professor teaching in the U.S., comes to Brazil to write because he finds there’s more inspiration in the unpredictable. I understand that. There’s something magical in not knowing. We’ve been surprised and delighted by what gets pulled out of the hat.

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It took six pairs of boots, 240 horseshoes, and 24 months for��Filipe Leite��to ride on horseback from Canada to Brazil. The cowboy traveled 10,000 miles through 10 countries to reach his home in South America, an epic journey that has earned him a spot in the��historic��,��an international association of equestrian explorers that requires its members to ride at least 1,000 continuous miles.��

We last caught up with Leite back in 2012, when he was only three states into his journey and about to cross the infamous and treacherous Million Dollar Highway in Colorado. Since then, the cowboy has snuck through jungles full of drug traffickers, ridden bulls, encountered endless bureaucratic obstacles, and experienced unending generosity on the trail. As he nears the final stretch of his journey, we asked him for an update.

OUTSIDE: Aside from countless miserable border crossings, what has been the most difficult part of the ride?
LEITE: Keeping my horses healthy. I have spent 24 hours a day, seven days a week with these animals for the past two years. As we made our way south, we created a bond only comparable to that of father and son. When I didn't have the basics to offer them, like water or a pasture to graze, it broke my heart. We crossed many countries where vets were extremely hard to find and medication for horses even more so. Keeping my animals healthy required me to work extremely hard and become a bit of a vet myself.

This Long Ride has also been full of dangers. We crossed paths with a grizzly in Montana. One of the horses (Bruiser) fell in a deep ditch in New Mexico. The other (Frenchie) was hit by a truck in Southern Mexico, and the third (Dude) walked into a cattle guard in Nicaragua—nearly breaking his leg. I remember having Dude's head on my lap after finally calming him down while he lay there with his front right hoof stuck in that cattle guard thinking I was going to lose him. These were by far the worst moments of the trip. These horses are an extension of my soul; they are my children, my heroes, my everything.

What type of schedule do you maintain to give the horses, and yourself, much-needed rest?
On a Long Ride like mine, there can be no set schedule. You must always listen to your horses and let them rest as they need it. I always try to ride no more than 30 kilometers [nearly 19 miles] daily and allow my ponies to rest for a day or two every four to five days of riding. This has been a good system for us. I have also stopped for a month at times in order to give them ample time to rest or recover from an injury.

Scariest moment of the ride?
Hearing a husband trying to kill his wife with five gunshots just outside my window in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. I will never forget her yells of desperation as the gunfire silenced her pleas.

What about the loneliest moment of the trip?
The loneliest moment of the trip was crossing a mountain in southern Wyoming. I spent several days riding without seeing another human being. It was only the horses and I, and I had an extremely hard time finding water for them. I remember coming down that mountain into a town of 25 people, swallowing my tears. I ended up staying with an elderly gentleman who lives by himself in a ranch home. It's funny how life works out. It was one of the deepest connections I made on the journey.

You've traveled through jungles infested with drug traffickers��and passed through dangerous cities. Was there ever a time you've been afraid for your life or the life of your horses?
My entrance into Honduras from Guatemala was with the protection of a major Honduran drug lord. He not only rode with me but also hosted me in his fortress for two days. His house was in a little village in the mountains and sat behind high walls and a thick metal gate. His house was a mansion with plasma TVs, a home gym, and even a small petting zoo. While trying to sleep the first night, I kept imagining the shootouts and killings happening at the hands of the drug cartels in town nearby. Needless to say, it made it hard to get some shut-eye.

You've been posting video segments throughout your journey. Tell us how you film while riding alone, edit footage, and post updates while on the trail?
Filming my Long Ride has been extremely difficult! I have to get off my horse, set up the tripod and turn on the camera, get back on, ride by the camera, then go back to stop filming and fold up the tripod—all while making sure all three horses are watched after. My girlfriend, Emma Brazier, has helped me a lot in this aspect. The moments she has traveled with me, we have been able to capture moments I couldn't otherwise. The dispatches are edited in Nashville by OutWildTV. I'm very thankful for having such an amazing group of professionals behind me. It makes all the difference.

Most of your nights are spent camping in a tent. What key items have made this possible for two years?
My Leatherman is always on my belt. Other items include a one-burner stove for preparing dinner, my tent, sleeping bag, and peanut butter. I've also been carrying Naomi's ashes. In Colorado, a gentleman who hosted me asked if I would carry his sister's ashes to Brazil with me. He told me how she loved horses and adventure and had recently passed away. He felt as if faith brought me to his home and that Naomi had to go on one last ride. I have carried Naomi's ashes all the way to Brazil and will spread them in the field where the horses will be retired.

You're trying to pass through the largest rodeo in Latin America, the Festa do Peao de Barretos. Think you'll make it?
Definitely! Because I left from the largest rodeo in Canada, the Calgary Stampede, it has always been my goal to pass through Barretos. This past year, they began sponsoring my trip and are currently building a monument of the horses and I that will be forever in the rodeo grounds for people to visit. On August 23, I will ride into the rodeo's arena as more than 50,000 people watch from the stands. I imagine it will be a very emotional moment.

What are your plans for after you arrive?
I will retire my horses at my parents' farm in Espirito Santo do Pinhal, Sao Paulo, and work on a documentary on my ride. I will also be writing a book on my two-year journey from Canada to Brazil.

Can we expect to see a Journey America documentary from your travel?
Absolutely.

Catch all of Leite's Journey America videos at and follow along as he finishes his journey at @FilipeMasetti on and .

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The perfect tent is durable, lightweight, and easy to set up. delivers on all three accounts.

The Cave is a single-piece, three-person geodesic dome that inflates in less than a minute. And no, it’s not likely to pop thanks to the exterior’s high-tenacity polyester fabric. Plus, each of the air chambers (which act like traditional tent poles) are separated, so even if one were to get punctured, The Cave would maintain its structure.

And if this is any indication, this futuristic tent is more than capable of withstanding anything your next camping trip will throw at it.

$757,

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Late last week, a young woman from Danvers, Massachusetts, tweeted something that had cyclists and non-homicidal people up in arms:

Thanks for the emoji visual, @Erikamarquis143. Unfortunately, this tweet is just the latest edition of cycling hatred spewed through social media. Take Emma Way, for example. Last year, the 21-year-old pixie-faced blonde from the UK tweeted this gem:

Way had swiped a 29-year-old with her side mirror, “sending him off the bike and into the trees where he was banged up, but wasn’t seriously injured,” . Way didn’t stop, and the cyclist only came forward to cops after Way’s tweet went viral. (He didn’t want his girlfriend to worry and .) Way repented—after local police found her tweet and she was suspended from her job.

Then there’s Keith Maddox, the 48-year-old man from Alabama who released a in which he earlier this year. Local police found his posts, too, and charged him with a misdemeanor for reckless endangerment.��

So what’s with these people? Many experts have tried to pin down just what it is about the bicycle that ignites so much rage in drivers. What creates that us-versus-them mentality that some experts have ?��

As Bath University’s traffic specialist wrote in , drivers overgeneralize cyclists’ “negative behavior and attributes—‘They all ride through red lights all the time.’” They never follow the rules! They’re always causing accidents! Those constant generalizations make it “hard to escape the conclusion that something of this sort is going on.”

But statistics tell another story. As , according to “ published in February this year by Monash University, in accidents between cyclists and motorists, the motorist was found to be at fault 87 percent of the time.” And drivers run red lights, too. Frequently. According to the , in 2012, “683 people were killed and an estimated 133,000 were injured in crashes that involved red-light running.” All of this hatred toward cyclists assumes drivers always follow the rules.��

I have another theory I’d like to add to the mix. People like to categorize other people. It makes life easier. As About.com psychology writer, , explains,

In the social categorization process, we mentally categorize people into different groups based on common characteristics. Sometimes this process occurs consciously, but for the most part social categorizations happens automatically and unconsciously…Using social categorization allows you to make decisions and establish expectations of how people will behave in certain situations very quickly, which allows you to focus on other things.

People seem to have a tough time creating new categories for things that already exist. Like cyclists. In most states, lawmakers have decided to categorize them as vehicles. This makes drivers feel violated when they see a cyclist breach an auto law. But a bike isn’t a car. Cyclists are much more nimble and have greater sensory perception on the road. The damage they can do to other people, in almost all cases, is much less than any vehicle could.��

If drivers and lawmakers were able to see cyclists as they truly are—an entirely separate category of transportation that’s neither car nor pedestrian—perhaps the hatred would subside. Creating bike lanes is a start, but there’s a long way to go before cyclists bust out of their current social category, created in a car-centric society, of a hate-worthy nuisance.

The post Cyclists: Motorists See You as Moving Targets appeared first on ���ϳԹ��� Online.

From long flights to backpacking treks, one of the ugly universal truths of travel is a condition known as stanky bottom. Toilet paper is no match for this. In fact, it often exacerbates the problem, causing chafing and other issues. When stanky bottom strikes—and strike it will—you’re going to need a little moisture and perhaps the added benefit of a pleasant scent, one reminiscent of a lavender-filled meadow in the south of France.

In short, you need some butt-wipe.

If this sounds like ad copy, it’s because the free market is lousy with all manner of moist towelettes. So which one is right for you, weary (and stanky) traveler? Let my unscientific field test be your guide.��

For the world’s most delicate asses:

These perfume-free, hypoallergenic wonders are meant for babies, but they’re great for sensitive adult derrieres too. I’ve used them on both camping and business trips and am happy to report that they’re thicker than most wipes and as gentle as advertised. I realize this makes me sound like a complete shill (and one with a sensitive backside, no less), but I don’t care—these wipes work.

For the weekend warrior:

The luxury sedan of moist towelettes come individually wrapped, are flushable and biodegradable, and contain ingredients such as chamomile, aloe, cucumber extract, and vitamin E. Honestly, I have no idea how cucumber improves the experience, but Freshends smell nice (sort of like that classic dryer-sheet scent) and get the job done. �� �� ��

For the eco-conscious traveler:

These wipes come dry and compressed, so they’re easy to pack and use. Moisten with water, and they grow like those expandable foam toys from your childhood. Though not as soft as other wipes, they’re chemical-free and all-natural, which seems like a pretty fair trade-off if you care about those things. ����

For cash-strapped backpackers, climbers, et cetera: plants, moss

We’ve all had to use a leaf before, but not all leaves are created equal, hygienically speaking. The following are nature’s finest wipes: mullein (a hairy biennial plant found the world over; be sure to go against the fuzz), sphagnum (a moss known in my native state of Wisconsin as “lumberjack toilet paper”), and bigleaf aster (the large, heart-shaped leaves of this herbaceous perennial are naturally suited to combat stanky bottom).����

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If you’re asking, “What the heck is a bug out bag?” you clearly have some work to do before the four horsemen arrive. A bug out bag is basically a fully stocked survival kit that’s ready to grab in the event of a zombie attack or other emergency. ��

While it doesn’t sound like the Yellowstone super volcano will erupt anytime soon and the walking dead are sci-fi fantasy, a bug out bag is still an important survival tool to keep in your closet, car, or office. (If you’re really paranoid, you can have a pack for all three.) Stockpiling the right gear—and learning how to use it—can mean the difference between life and death.��

I spoke with Mark Puhaly and Joel Stevens—co-owners of Forge Survival Supply and the website —to find out what should go in a bug out bag. The two survival gurus met as marines and have recently starred on television show.

Both Puhaly and Stevens made it clear that your head is the most important tool you have in a dangerous situation. “All of that stuff you buy, you need to practice with it,” says Puhaly. “You need to be proficient with it.”

It’s also important to remember that everything you pack in your bug out bag will weigh you down. “One thing that we learned in the U.S. Marine Corps is that ounces equal pounds and pounds equal pain,” says Stevens. “You need to be able to travel with your gear.” With that in mind, here are six specific buying tips when you’re putting together your first bug out bag.��

Backpack

“Look for a well made backpack,” says Stevens. “Survival is something you want to invest in.” Military packs are a good place to start, but a bag from an outdoor store is also a viable option. In addition to being durable, get a pack that will accommodate all the gear you plan to load in it. It should have at least 2,000 cubic inches of packable space, according to Stevens. Make sure it’s still comfortable when stuffed full.

Shelter

“Your first consideration is, ‘How many people are you going to need to shelter?'” says Stevens. If you plan to shelter your family, your tent or bivvy should be big enough to accommodate the group. If you’re flying solo, look for a one-person tent. Take the climate of your surrondings into account. It’s nice to be able to go light with a Gore-Tex bivvy, but that isn’t an option if you live in northern Minnesota where a four-season tent will keep you much more comfortable.

Water Filter / Bottle

“Water purification is a vital component of your bug out bag,” says Stevens. “You can go a couple days without food, but not many without water, and bad water is almost worse than no water.” When researching what kind of purification system to use, Stevens suggests looking at products such as the����that work as both a water bottle and a filter.��

Food

Puhaly suggests packing enough high-calorie, lightweight food in your bug out bag to last 72 hours. This means about 1,500 to 3,000 calories per day for each person. And keep in mind how you’re going to feed yourself after those calories run out. Stevens recommends buying a guide to the edible plants that grow around your home. Fishing line and a slingshot are also key items when it comes to food gathering. “You can do some really good small game hunting with a slingshot and its unlimited ammo,” says Stevens.

Communication

If you plan to use a cell phone, make sure you bring a solar charger. Hand-crank radios are another useful way to tune into the world around you—you can pick one up for less then $80, Puhaly says. A signal mirror, solar blanket, or bright clothing can also be used to communicate your location.

Fire

Learning how to make fire in inclement weather is a key survival skill. While a magnesium flint or magnifying glass are great reusable ways to get a fire started, it doesn’t hurt to throw a lighter in your bug out bag, too. Puhaly also suggests packing fire starters such as cotton balls soaked in Vaseline.

Safety

Always maintain situational awareness, Puhaly says. “You should have some means to defend yourself if something bad should happen,” Puhaly says. “This could be either a weapon or a trap or an early-warning system.”��

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