Parked far out
- The stove flares in a two-foot kitchen. Propane plus a cramped galley plus a loose sleeve — burns are the van-dweller injury. Cool it right, cover it right, and know which burns end the boondock and start the drive.
- “What’s your location?” You sliced your hand breaking down camp, it needs more than your kit, and the road you’re on has a number only the BLM knows. Coordinates off your phone, landmarks, meeting the ambulance partway — the call itself is a skill.
- The rig two sites down. The guy you waved at yesterday is gray, sweating, and calling it indigestion. Out here the first wave of EMS is whoever’s parked closest — today that’s you.
Rainy-day reading order
Ordered for life at the end of a numbered road:
- Bleeding, Wounds & Burns — the galley curriculum — burns, knife slips, and dressing both from a small kit
- Patient Assessment — be useful at a stranger’s door: introduction, consent, gloves, and a system
- Medical Emergencies — chest pain, sugar crashes, and known conditions a long way from your doctor
- Evacuation — the where-am-I problem: coordinates, road numbers, and meeting EMS partway
- Kits & Preparation — the kit that lives in the van, and the check-in habit for living alone on purpose
Then pressure-test it
Interactive scenarios — one decision at a time, tempting mistakes included, debrief at the end:
- It’s Not Indigestion — the neighbor’s chest pain, and the call he doesn’t want made
- Two Go, One Stays — getting help to a spot with no address while the phone dies
- Cool First — desert boondocking heat, cooled where it happens
The certification question, honestly. “Wilderness First Aid” isn’t a regulated credential. No government body defines what a WFA card means — it means whatever the company that printed it says it means. What counts in front of a patient is whether you can do the work. This course teaches the work, free, and issues a record of completion — not a certificate, and we won’t pretend otherwise. No one checks a card at a BLM boundary. If a seasonal gig — camp host, campground crew, trail work — requires a provider’s card, take that class and arrive already fluent; this keeps you sharp between seasons. If nobody requires you to hold a card, what you need are the skills, not the laminate.
Camp-chair questions
How do I tell 911 where I am when the road has no name?
Your phone’s GPS works without cell signal — pull the coordinates from any map app and read them slowly, twice. Add the road number if the BLM signed it, the last landmark a driver would recognize, and offer to meet the ambulance partway at something findable. The call itself is a skill; practice it before the day it matters.
Which burns can I handle in the van?
First, cool it: cool (not ice-cold) running water for a solid 10–20 minutes — the one move that limits how deep a burn goes, and it still helps up to a few hours after. Then cover it clean and loose. What ends the boondock: burns to the face, hands, feet, genitals, or across a joint; anything bigger than a few palm-areas; and any burn that looks waxy or barely hurts, because deep burns kill their own nerves.
I travel solo. What’s the one habit that matters most?
The check-in. One person always knows where you’re parked and when you’ll ping next, and the gap is short enough that a search starts while it can still help. Boring and automatic beats elaborate and skipped — a dead-simple routine outperforms gear you never configured.
What this is
Fifteen lessons, a 40-question knowledge check, sixteen practice scenarios, a printable field reference card, and a kit checklist. Free, no account, nothing recorded about you, source on GitHub. It teaches decision-making, not hands-on skill — practice the hands-on parts on a real, padded, complaining friend.
Other far-from-town neighbors: hunters & anglers · off-grid homesteaders & self-reliance folks · ranchers, farmers & rural landowners