I sat on the beach watching the waves roll in. I was on a small tropical island somewhere in the Pacific. I had been there, marooned, for what I calculated to be somewhere close to two years. I had survived a plane crash and washed ashore later. I was accompanied by several pieces of luggage that I found while combing the beach over the next few days. I had never been in a survival situation before and had no training for it except watching several TV shows on the subject. I remembered some of what I’d learned on these shows and the information had helped to get established on the island. I had managed to build a shelter out of raw materials, build fire, and survive on crabs and cocoanuts. Later I had been able to cobble together some fishing gear and added fish, clams, squid, and other seafood to my diet. A few excursions to the inner island had led to the discovery of a freshwater source, some naturally growing tubers that were pretty good when fire roasted, and evidence of wild ...