Marooned With Ed Stafford -

By midday, we found a discarded plastic bottle washed up with the tide—a treasure in this green hell. Ed didn't see trash; he saw a tool. With a practiced hand, he sliced the bottle in two, reversing the spout to create a makeshift fish trap.

The humid air of the Philippine jungle felt like a thick, wet blanket. Beside me, Ed Stafford adjusted the tripod of his camera, his skin already a map of red insect bites and sun-scratched exhaustion. We had been on this limestone island for four days with nothing but the clothes on our backs—well, technically less for Ed, who famously prefers the "naked" start. Marooned with Ed Stafford

"First rule, mate," Ed muttered, his eyes scanning the rocky shoreline. "If you don't find water, the jungle wins in forty-eight hours." By midday, we found a discarded plastic bottle