Saltwater isn’t just “dirty water.” It’s water with a salt load your body can’t process without paying a fee in more water.
Your kidneys can only concentrate urine to a certain level. When you drink seawater (around 3.5% salt), you force your body to pull water out of your cells and bloodstream to flush that salt back out.
That’s why the old rule is accurate: saltwater makes dehydration worse. It can also trigger vomiting and diarrhea, which compounds fluid loss fast.
Brackish water (river mouths, mangroves, tidal flats) is less salty than seawater, but it’s still often salty enough to start the same downward spiral.
If you want a credible reference point, the U.S. Geological Survey has a straightforward overview of desalination principles and why salt removal is a different problem than filtering silt: USGS desalination basics.
Brackish water is the classic confidence trap because it doesn’t always taste like the ocean.
After rain, a tidal creek can look and smell “fresh enough,” especially if you’re hot and desperate. But tides push salt upstream, and storm surge can salt the land for miles.
In practical terms, assume any low-elevation water near the coast is suspect unless you can confirm it’s upstream of tidal influence.
Use environmental indicators as a quick screening tool:
From a field perspective, your plan should be to find true fresh water first (rain catch, seep, spring, upstream tributary). Desalination is possible, but it’s slow, equipment-dependent, and energy-hungry.
Quick reality check: If your only water is brackish/salt, your priorities are (1) reduce sweat losses, (2) build/operate a still or distiller, (3) signal and move toward known fresh sources when conditions allow.
You’ve got the “why” behind the problem. Now you need to recognize it early, before thirst turns into bad decisions.
Most people wait too long because they’re looking for dramatic symptoms.
In real training and real field problems, dehydration usually shows up as performance failure: your pace drops, decision-making gets sloppy, and you start making “easy” mistakes.
Use this as a practical split between early and late signs:
Early signs (correctable if you act):
Later signs (problem is accelerating):
If you want a clean checklist-style reference, the CDC overview is useful for symptoms and risk factors: CDC guidance on dehydration. Use it like a sanity check, not a diagnosis tool.
You’ll hear “take tiny sips of seawater to take the edge off.” Don’t.
Even small amounts add salt you must excrete, and the math doesn’t favor you. It’s a short-term comfort move that creates a bigger problem later.
Another bad idea is alcohol for warmth. Alcohol dilates blood vessels and increases heat loss. It also impairs judgment and can worsen dehydration.
On the other end, don’t force huge volumes of plain water if you’re sweating heavily and not eating. Over-drinking without electrolytes can contribute to hyponatremia.
The fix isn’t “drink less.” It’s replace fluids and salts in balance, using food and smart electrolyte strategies.
Once you accept the water in front of you is a trap, the next move is to slow your losses and pick the highest-payoff water plan.
Before you start building anything, slow the problem down.
In military terms, you’re buying time and reducing your casualty rate (your own body). Get into shade, cover skin, and reduce unnecessary movement.
If you’re on open shoreline, wind and sun will strip moisture from you faster than you think. A simple windbreak and shade can be worth more water than you’ll produce from a poorly built still.
This is where smart site choice matters. Even if you’re not pitching a tent, the same principles apply: drainage, wind direction, and overhead hazards.
Use the mindset from shelter site selection and camp layout to pick a location that keeps you cooler and lets your system run uninterrupted.
Don’t jump straight to “desalinate” just because you see an ocean.
Run a quick triage and pick the option that gives the most water for the least sweat:
If you have a container and any chance of rain, set up catchment immediately. Even a short squall can fill a bottle.
Distillation is a tool, not a plan A.
Field rule: Any plan that burns more water (sweat) than it produces is a plan you cancel or modify.
If you’re going to build a solar still, do it with realistic expectations. That mindset keeps you from wasting daylight and energy.
A solar still is controlled evaporation and condensation.
You heat a wet source (brackish water, plant material, damp soil), evaporate water vapor, and capture the condensate on plastic so it drips into a cup.
It’s simple physics, but execution matters. Your still needs:
Place it where sunlight is strong for the longest window. If you tuck it into shade because it “feels cooler,” you cut output.
You can create your own shade next to the still while leaving the plastic fully exposed.
Solar stills are notoriously oversold.
In real conditions, a single survival still might produce a few ounces to maybe a liter per day if everything is ideal and you build it well.
If conditions are cloudy, humid, or you have poor soil moisture, you might get almost nothing.
That doesn’t make it useless. It means you treat it as a supplement and you scale by building multiple stills if you have plastic and daylight.
Here’s the honest math: if you need 2-3 liters/day to function in heat, you’re not going to hit that with one improvised still. The value is keeping you out of the “no water at all” zone while you signal, rest, and plan movement.
Now that the concept is clear, this is the classic build. It works-but only if you build it tight and leave it alone.
You need plastic sheeting (clear is ideal), a container/cup, and ideally a drinking tube so you can sip without opening the system.
You also need something to weigh down the plastic at the center (a small rock).
The most common failure is a loose seal. If vapor leaks, you lose output.
The second failure is a pit that’s too wide and shallow, which reduces heat concentration and makes sealing harder.
Aim for a pit roughly 3 feet across and 18-24 inches deep if soil allows.
Put your cup in the center and keep brackish water or wet material around it, not inside it.
Use this like an SOP. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.
After setup, leave it alone.
Opening the still to “check” it repeatedly is how you lose the tiny amount it’s producing.
When you can’t dig (or shouldn’t), you’re not out of options. These variations trade efficiency for speed and lower effort.
If the ground is rocky, roots are dense, or you’re too depleted to dig, build above-ground.
You can create a mini “greenhouse” over a container of brackish water and capture condensate on plastic.
One effective version is a tilted plastic sheet over a dark container placed in the sun. Put a clean catch container at the low edge.
The water evaporates, condenses on the underside of the plastic, and runs down into the catch.
It’s not as efficient as a well-built pit still in some conditions, but it’s quicker and less labor-intensive. In survival terms, speed matters when you’re already behind on hydration.
Bagging leafy branches with clear plastic can produce water from plant transpiration.
It works, but output varies wildly by plant species, temperature, and humidity. Treat it as a “bonus” source, not your main plan.
The key is selecting living, sun-exposed foliage and sealing the bag tightly around the branch.
Put a small pebble at the bottom corner to form a drip point, then collect with a tube or carefully pour.
Don’t strip a plant bare. Harvesting too aggressively kills the branch and reduces output.
Also remember: in salty coastal zones, many plants are salt-tolerant and may yield low-quality output. Test taste cautiously, and prioritize distillation if the condensate tastes off.
If solar is slow or unreliable, heat-based distillation is your next lever. It costs fuel, but it can beat waiting on the sun.
Distillation is the straightforward solution: boil the source water, capture steam, and condense it into a clean container.
Salt and most contaminants stay behind.
If you have a lidded pot, you can improvise a basic still:
Steam condenses on the lid and drips into the cup. You’re making distilled water.
The tradeoff is fuel: you are converting heat into water slowly, and you must keep the fire controlled.
If you want better reliability in wet weather, being competent with fire is non-negotiable. The skills in all-weather firecraft for rain and snow translate directly to running a distillation setup.
A condenser (tube/coil) increases output because it cools steam efficiently.
If you have metal tubing (or can improvise with copper line from a vehicle kit), you can route steam from a sealed pot into a coil cooled by seawater or wet cloth.
This is closer to a “real still,” but it introduces hazards.
Sealing the lid poorly can vent steam (lost water) and risk burns. Using unknown plastics near heat can off-gas chemicals.
If you do build a condenser system, use metal and keep all plastic well away from heat.
Route the output into a clean container and protect it from salt spray and sand.
At this stage, the difference between success and wasted effort is process. Treat water production like a task you’ll run for hours, not a quick hack.
A rolling boil looks productive, but it can waste fuel and increase risk of splashing saltwater into your catch container.
A steady simmer produces consistent steam with less turbulence. It’s also easier to maintain without constant babysitting.
Set your stove or fire so you can maintain the same output without frequent adjustment.
If you’re using open fire, build a stable platform for your pot and keep your fuel staged.
This is also where many people burn themselves. Steam burns are nasty because they transfer heat fast.
Treat steam like an invisible hazard zone: hands away from lid gaps, face back when checking, and don’t lean over the pot.
In the field, cross-contamination happens when you get sloppy.
A little brine splashed into your catch water ruins the entire cycle. You need separation and discipline, even if you’re tired.
Set up a clear workflow:
A few practical habits that help: