Marooned!
Much attention has been focused on survival as a castaway both in movies and reality shows lately. Having had a recent experience regarding this subject, I can tell you that movies and reality shows fail to convey the array of emotions that are very much an important part of the castaway experience. Folks sitting in their living rooms in front of their TV sets or in a theater munching popcorn and guzzling soft drinks don’t experience the isolation, helplessness, hopelessness, monotony, and anguish that an actual castaway feels. Life and death often depend upon mental dexterity as much as physical prowess. I share this story not to spotlight my heroism and amazing physical endurance, but to provide a forum in which someone else might learn something that could provide a profound impact in their own lives.
To preface the story, about two miles offshore from Apollo Beach is a small spoil island called Pine Island that the locals affectionately refer to as Beer Can Island. On the weekends, it is very popular with recreational boaters and takes on a kind of carnival atmosphere. During the week however, the masses of young, useful, productive denizens are conspicuously absent and Beer Can Island takes on the persona of a remote deserted South Pacific island located right here on the East side of Tampa Bay.
It was on one of these weekdays that I dropped the sails, headed up, and dropped anchor right in the little bay on the East side of Beer Can. I was pleased that I was the only boat and person in sight. I was also pleased to have placed the anchor so that I was in no danger of going aground, yet was only two boat lengths from the beach. This was shaping up to be an awesome week.
Upon referring to the Ships Standing Orders issued by the Captain (me), when anchoring close to shore, the crew (me) is required to perform an anchor watch for the first several hours to verify a good anchor set. This is accomplished to the accompaniment of Jimmy Buffett music blasting from the cockpit speakers while the crew attempts to rehydrate following the brisk activity of getting the sails secured and the anchor down and set. Rehydration is accomplished through the use of various liquids, all of which are very unpalatable, made potable by adding copious amounts of Sailor Jerry Spiced Rum.
Anchor watch duty was almost over when I decided to go out on deck and straighten the foredeck up a bit. I’m not really clear exactly what took place, whether the boat suddenly lurched, or if the deck was struck with an eddy in the gravity field, but I found myself falling, although not toward the center of the boat. Frantically, I grabbed the un-cleated jib sheet which provided a degree of support which could only be detected with sensitive scientific instruments. I noticed how pretty the sky was just before it disappeared, being replaced by the blurry murky underwater world of Tampa Bay.
Did I mention to you folks that I am overweight, relatively inactive, and a retiree??? Luckily, I’m still a fairly strong swimmer. I came up spitting and sputtering with what I would imagine was a very surprised look on my face. With the keen situational awareness of which I am gifted, I quickly swam the four feet to the side of the boat. What now? I reached up but couldn’t even come close to reaching the deck of the boat. The smooth hull offered nothing to hold onto. I swam down the side of the hull to the familiar ladder that I had used to board the boat from many times. It was resting securely out of reach. I continued around to the stern where the dinghy is stored. From there I can use a step which is mounted on the transom to hopefully step up onto the deck. Well, a partial solution was achieved. I could reach up and grab the step! No problem, from this position I could hang onto the stern of the boat for three or four days if I needed to. It probably took my alcohol impeded mind longer than it should have to reach the conclusion that this wasn’t all that great of a solution either. I finally let go and swam completely around the boat looking, but not finding a solution of how to get my derriere back on board. By now I was getting tired and the island was beginning to beckon me. I swam till I touched ground and then slogged ashore dropping face first in the sand, half in and half out of the water.
I don’t know how long I lay there but when I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, my hair and beard had grown out and I looked just like Tom Hanks. I started assessing my situation and completed a mental list of what I needed to do. First, find a source of fresh water. Second, build a shelter. Third, create fire. And finally, find a source of food. In my spare time I’ll map out the island, gather all my resources, signal for help then locate and befriend a soccer ball.
So much for plans. What I actually did was walk around the island picking up pretty shells and sand dollars. I splashed around and played in the water. But what I spent most of the day doing was sitting in the shade of a pine tree looking at my boat anchored serenely and stately just off the beach out of reach. One thing Tom Hanks didn’t have to deal with was being confronted with a boat full of iced beverages just waiting to be consumed. A large steak was on the ready and prepared to sizzle on the rail mounted grill. All that food, television, a shower, a nice clean bunk, there it was, all in plain sight just out of reach.
Neither Tom Hanks nor those young pretty people on survivor had to worry about the humiliation and embarrassment of being rescued and answering the inevitable questions that I was faced with. My wife, my friends, even soccer balls would disassociate themselves from me. The shame would last longer than the years I had left in me. It would turn out that I would be saved from all this by my brilliant, cunning innovation and cleverness.
I saw my chance when a pontoon boat rented from MacDill Air Force Base pulled up with some partying young folks with close cropped hair. My plan materialized as I watched them playing on the beach. As they began loading up preparing to leave, I sauntered over and acting like it didn’t really matter one way or another, asked them if they would save me the swim back out to my boat by giving me a lift. They were happy to oblige, and my ordeal was over. That night I dined on fresh grilled steak and sipped my favorite adult beverage to the happy beat of island music. I can assure you though that the boarding ladder is now down, as it always is, as soon as I get anchored.
What lessons can I leave you with?
Always deploy the boarding ladder as soon as you get anchored.
Try to get marooned on an island that already has a soccer ball in residence.
Be prepared to make up a lie that will cover any ridiculous situation that you might put yourself in.
Never go out on deck with your cell phone in your pocket.
Fair winds and following seas………………Nat
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