Marooned

I had no experience sailing a boat. In retrospect, I don’t think Billie had much either. The boat was undoubtedly the baby of her Navy SEAL husband, who was currently overseas. Billie had full use of the seventeen-foot sailboat, and we took it out on Saturdays on the big lake, weather permitting. We were capable of raising and lowering the sails, and using the small outboard motor to enter and leave the slip. With the confidence of thirty-year-old professional women, we considered ourselves indomitable.

It was September, and we knew there would be few more opportunities to take the boat out before the weather was too cold. It was clear and sunny when we set out for the lake, but a few clouds were gathering by the time we arrived at the marina. As we prepared the boat to leave the slip, an older man stopped to say “The weather’s changing. You’d better not go out today.”

Billie looked at the sky, and felt the slight breeze. “Thank you for the warning, sir. It’s looking OK at the moment,” she said. “I think we’ll go and head back if we see a change in the weather.”

The man (obviously a more experienced sailor than either of us) was not pleased with her response. “Well, if you decide to go out, don’t go too far, and come back after an hour.” He turned away, shaking his head in disgust.

We looked at each other and decided to continue as planned. The sky and the lake were both a brilliant blue, with just a few scattered clouds overhead. There was a nice breeze as we set sail, causing ripples on the water surface. Normally, we would just drop anchor in the middle of the lake to picnic and drink wine, then sail back to the marina. We always swam before the serious drinking started. Billie’s husband had impressed on her that drownings happen in pairs – the person who gets in trouble and the person who tries to help them both end up drowning. This time, because there was a better wind than usual, we aimed for the largest island on the lake. It wasn’t much of an island, several beaches on different sides, but no paths connecting them, just rocks and bushes and a few small trees. We made it to the island in less than half an hour, dropped anchor in a bay, and left the boat to swim and picnic on the shore. After our feast of roasted chicken and fresh strawberries, we sat and drank wine and talked as we stretched out in the sun.

We talked about sex. Billie always wanted to talk about sex. She had that aggressive midwestern attitude, treating everything as a challenge. I would have been terrified if I had been one of the men who caught her attention. But she was very much an old-fashioned girl – very vanilla, no exciting variations. I was much given to exploring the outer reaches of human contact, but I didn’t share that with her.

We worked for the same computer company, so we gossiped about our co-workers. We shared stories from our pasts – hers in the US, mine in the UK – as around us the air grew cooler and the clouds covered the sky.

By the time the wine was gone, the wind had started to get up, and we began to feel cold. We packed up our trash and our towels, and waded out to the boat. We raised the anchor and tried to raise the sails, but the wind was blowing straight toward the shore, and we felt the boat hit the rock beneath us. It was apparent we’d have to use the outboard to get out of the bay before we could sail back. Billie started the outboard and tried to steer out of the bay. We made no progress. We were grounded on the rock.

Having drunk my fair share of wine, I came up with a plan. I would get out into the water and push the boat off the rock as Billie fired up the engine and move the boat away from shore. Then she would stay in place using the motor while I swam out to it and climbed aboard. In my mind, this was an excellent plan, and Billie, who should have known better, agreed with me.

I pulled shoes on to my bare feet and jumped out of the boat with completely unearned confidence, going toward the end of the boat closest to the shore – the back end, to us non-sailing types. Getting a firm footing, I put my hands against the edge of the boat and prepared to push. Billie yelled “Ready?” and I told her to go ahead and start the engine.

As I pushed, the boat moved off the rocks and I lost my footing, going under the boat, next to the propeller. I was struck by an immediate understanding of why this was a terrible plan. Fortune favors the bold, so the propeller didn’t actually hit my leg. If it had, I would probably have bled out on the shore. Billie stopped the motor, the small waves that were now kicked up by the wind pushed the boat back on to the rock, and I stood in the water shivering.

It was time to come up with another plan. I apparently had unlimited confidence in my problem-solving capability. My new plan had us both going back to the shore, with shoes and beach towels, and signaling to passing boats to help us.

The rain was now spitting at us, the wind was still high, and we were cold. We were wearing swimsuits and wet shoes, and trying to keep warm by wrapping damp towels around ourselves. Our mood was still buoyant due to the significant wine consumption. At first.

We scanned the lake, but didn’t see any sails or motor boats for several minutes. The change in the weather had sent everyone back home. There were small waves on the surface of the lake, and the water had changed from clear blue to battleship gray. Finally, we saw a speedboat in the distance. That would be the lake patrol, coming to rescue us. We both jumped up and down and waved our beach towels. The speedboat gave no indication that the occupant had seen us, and continued on its way until we lost sight of it.

“Maybe they saw us and are going to notify the lake patrol. It’ll probably take them an hour to find us.” Billie had more faith in both the speedboat occupant and the lake patrol than I did. The lake patrol probably thought the lake was empty of weekend sailors by now.

We waited, gossiped some more, and continued to search for other watercraft. Whenever we caught sight of a boat, we shouted and waved our towels. The rain was starting to get heavy, and the sky was growing dark. We retreated under some trees.

No lake patrol arrived. We hadn’t seen a boat on the water for the last half hour. We were going to lose the daylight soon. I looked around in despair, and against all odds, I saw two adults and a child walking along the beach toward the far side of the island. We shouted at the tops of our voices, but the wind stole the noise and sent it in the wrong direction. We waved towels enthusiastically, continuing to shout, and eventually the man appeared to notice us. He stopped and stared, and the woman with him did the same. They still didn’t hear us. They waved and then continued on their walk away from us.

I gritted my teeth. This could be our last chance. “You stay here with the boat. I’m going to try and catch them before they leave.” Billie nodded. She was not keen to walk through the bushes and across the rocks. Neither was I, but I didn’t see a choice.

I scrambled through the shrubs and undergrowth on the uneven rocks. My wet shoes raised blisters on my feet almost immediately, but I pushed on. My shins were scratched by gorse, and I fell a couple of times, scraping my hands and knees on the rocks. I was afraid that the family would get to their boat and leave before I caught them, and they might be our last chance of rescue tonight. When I emerged on their beach, they had almost reached their speedboat. I shouted again to get their attention, and this time they stopped and waited as I approached.

“Can you please help us? My friend and I are stuck here on the island. Our sailboat is grounded on the rocks and we can’t get back out into the main body of the lake. Can you alert the lake patrol and ask them to come and tow us, please?” My words came out in a desperate rush.

The adults looked at each other, obviously suspecting I was a drug addict or some kind of criminal. They didn’t approach me or offer any assistance (a dry towel or some plastic sheeting would have been wonderful). But after a few moments of silence, the man said “Yes, we’ll let the lake patrol know.”

And then they all got into their boat and left. They left me. Didn’t even offer me a ride back to the other bay. I thanked them profusely anyway as they left. They were our last chance.

It took me some time to find my way back to Billie. I was more careful on the return trip, as I was no longer under a time crunch. The daylight was fading fast, and I had no landmarks to tell me I was going in the right direction. I just kept checking that I could see glimpses of water on my left side through the trees. When I finally reached our beach, Billie was still huddled under a tree, and she looked as drenched as I felt. Her curly blonde hair was slicked flat against her head, her eye makeup had run down her cheeks, and she was miserable. “Where have you been? I thought you’d got lost. Did you catch them?”

I sat beside her and wiped my face and my bleeding legs with the soaked towel. “I caught them just before they left. They said they’d tell the lake patrol about us. It wasn’t easy to reach them.”

Billie had taken in my state, and realized that my journey had not been a pleasant stroll. She had no comfort to offer, but her attitude softened. “OK, let’s get back on the boat. We’re not going to get any wetter than we are already, and we can clean up your cuts.”

We waded back to the boat and clambered in with more difficulty than usual. I took my shoes off once we were on board, and surveyed the state of my feet. They had blistered, the blisters had burst, and they were now bleeding. I found Band-Aids in the small medical kit, and covered the sore spots on my feet and legs. We stripped off our swimsuits and dressed in fairly dry clothes, then pulled plastic sheeting over our heads. We had a flashlight that we kept playing out across the water. Darkness had fallen completely. The water was black, the sky was black, and the rainclouds hid the moon and the stars. We could have been anywhere. The effects of the wine had pretty much worn off. We talked about how a small supply of whiskey or rum would be a good thing to have on board for emergencies.

After what seemed to be an age, but was probably less than twenty minutes, we heard a motor approaching. We flashed the light in the direction of the noise, and a very welcome light shone back at us. The lake patrol boat was alongside us in a few minutes. Of course, it was the man whose good advice we had ignored when we set out. We apologized profusely, but he seemed unimpressed.

He attached a line to our boat and ordered us to take the sails down and get into his speedboat. He wanted our boat to carry as little weight as possible. Even so, he had some difficulty pulling us off the rocky shelf and out of the bay. The load on his engine caused it to falter, and he angrily said that now his boat would need to be fixed, and we’d have to go back at half speed to keep it going.

It was a very quiet trip back to the marina. It was pitch dark, cold and wet, and there was no conversation. When we finally returned to the slip, we thanked him again for saving us. He grunted, nodded, and left in his boat. We very soberly went through the process of securing everything, still in heavy rain, but at least with the marina lights so we could see what we were doing.

We didn’t go out on the lake again that year.