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the fun, no fun in the trip-the adventure begins when the plan fails. The communication system on the trail is basic: one loud hoot is a catch-up locator, hoot back until the missing party catches up. Two hoots mean full stop and wait. Three's an emergency. Think quick hoots, like redneck owls urging on a "Freebi rd" encore. Duct-taped in five regions (primitive art), we walk into another night. How much more can we take? Alas, at midnight we're led to a mammoth fire, heated sweet tea and a banana banquet: one each, the best banana I ever tasted. The reunion with our gear certifies the end of Impact. Relieved, the group shares compelling campfire reflections that are monitored by passing an only-the· holder·speaks 'talking stick.' First, we drew straws to see who would slit the throat. We approached the black sheep (unbeknownst to us in advance, acquired from a local organic farm) which was leashed to a tree. The animal seemed innocent and afraid. We kneeled around and petted him. Breck prefaced what happened next with a prayer. We laid the sheep down on his side and tried to comfort the welling sense of tension. The recent college grad was briefed on the painless method of cleanly cutting the throat so the animal would feel no pain and die quickly. We all had two hands on the animal as it struggled momentarily and felt life leave him. His blood drained into a bucket that was set in a hole in the ground to later be combined with all other parts and consumed along with them. Cathy took over. Highlight confessions included: " I thought the instructors were smirking sadist ica lly at us," "Is this wilderness S&M? ..... "I was thinking guide revenge that would require my entering a church using the emergency entrance." We took a vote- a right-wing militia we're not. Guide mutinies, and hunting for a tavern, are vetoed. Then we slipped into a swallow·your-tongue-tired slumber. A few of us decided that it was time to rely on each other and beat the co ld by sleeping within spooning range. Outback lessons of survival over ego. STAY THE COURSE, CURSE THE STAYS Reunited with poncho, blanket and add itional clothing, we enjoy a few day's rest. By th is point, a half-cup of oatmealish veggie mush and you're bloated. Workshops continue on flintnapping (cracking off a piece of obsidian rock to create a cutting edge), munching dandelion 'greens (yellow part too), knots and making anima'l traRs. (By the way, obsidian is 500 times sharper than a 'standard surgical scalpel and obsidian is used for eye surgery because it cuts so cleanly it leaves no scar). We learn of a dozen ways to transform a poncho into a tent. We learn to va lue a sharp kn ife . We learn to expend fewer calories finding our food than we gain from eating it-not as easy as it sounds, but a key equation your life would depend on in the real life outdoor supermarket. We're now handy at stone·grinding oats and barley into flour for breakfast cereal and bread ashcakes-it smells wonderful, the reborn pilgrims are smilin g. She cut behind both Achilles' tendons, wove a rope through both holes and used a makeshift pulley connected to a tree branch to hoist the sheep a few feet off the ground. The group took turns removing hide and cutting open the belly with a flint-nap rock razor until the organs spilled out into a basket like lava coming over a knoll. While removing the organs, Breck demonstrated lung activity by blowing up the lungs balloon-style via the esophagus. When we cut open the stomach, the smell triggered my delayed dry heave response. We skinn ed, gutted and dismembered the entire sheep, then transported various parts to different workstations to utilize everything. Enter: diced-organ stew. Up to this point, our course had been a predominantly vegetarian outing, and there was no mention of the sheep in any of the co urse literature. Ironically, on the course application-which requires an OK from your doctor regarding your physical ability to handle this cha llenge-they ask you to list allergies. I had written only "detest liver." Still in starve mode from Impact phase, most of the group didn't second-guess ingesting organs-after all, what be hot dogs and sausages? Alas, hunger is the premier condiment. They made us wait until night for campfire meat kebabs-mutton chunks cooked on sticks over open fire at 9,000 feet. I know it won't be long before red river-birch leaf, wild violet garnish, and gooseberry salad are hip at Dean & Deluca. Breck tells us "Consumers, never knowing where their food comes from, are out of touch with the circle of life." Think about your next burger. But it's not all about veggies ... Next, in simple terms, we killed, dissected and ate a sheep-the whole thing. Before I go any further, this survival school has nothing to do with any cult. Sheep seem to turn up in occult sacrifice tales-no relation here. Obviously, all meat that humans everywhere consume has been killed at some point, albeit not usually in the consumers' presence, but usually inhumanely. The BOSS sheep kill was conducted as humanely as possible- and that confession comes from a nonhunter whose primary link to the food chain is the corner deli. My pre-BOSS culinary misadventures had included eating dog in China, pig brain in Yugoslavia and Thai fast food (ch icken I had to run after to catch) . And British coagulated plasma: blood pudding. My squeamish confrontation in Utah brought me one step closer to becoming a full-time vegetarian. Eating meat you've seen blinking and breathing is something every carnivore should experience. The next day, we cooked sheep meat and vegetables in a steam pit for a feast-an experience on par with Thanksgiving. I'm not exaggerating when I emphasize that we utilized every part of the animal. The hide becomes a cloak, the bones become tools, fishhooks and jewelry-right down to fashioning the scrotum sack into a purse. Not a man opted to take the ball bag home as memento. One of our staples becomes sheep jerky, made by dangling strips of raw sheep meat on a rack baking in the sun. On a 1,500 ca lorie-per-day diet (riva ling a Snickers bar and fat stack of Pringles combo or a pint of high-tech ice cream) it all tastes good, even the spongy vegetable protein (TVP).