Santa Clara

I looked at the sunset beaming on the horizon in the distance. The treacherous waves crashed against the large boulders afar. I could feel my hands slowly become clammy over the thought that nightfall was coming. My whole body tensed up with nerves like never before.  

Captain Russell spoke, "Ole’ Pacific sure is wild tonight, ain’t it?”  

“Indeed. Are you sure we should be going out to the island? The radar on the boat said there was a storm up north towards there. I don’t think we will even get out of here.” 

Russell gives me a big-bellied laugh and points to his beloved boat. Cathy is plastered on the right side and faces us in enormous crimson-red letters. I remember the faint memory of Russell hand-painting her name. I would watch him on a wooden stool I propped up myself on the docks here at Green Bay Marina. My favorite detail was the loop on the letter “y.” He curved his hand with precision like he had the wheel when he prowled these waters. Now, I looked at it with fear as I imagined those letters as blood rushing over the side of the boat.  

“Cathy is unwavering, my boy. She could handle the power of a thousand 12-foot waves if she wanted. Have you never been out on the Pacific? These waters can be brutal even on the calmest of days.”  

I avoided his question and adjusted my Outback boating hat. My wife came over and kissed me on the cheek while she handed me my leather briefcase bag and camera. She took a step back and I admired her beautiful emerald eyes. They were calming enough that I could get lost in them so that I didn’t have to look back at the deep blue of the sea any longer. Unfortunately, Russell broke my gaze.  

“C’mon, lovebird! We’ve got bigger fish to fry.” He untied the bow line attached to the dock cleat and the spring lines near the bow. Then, he strolled into the wheelhouse to prepare the engine. Russel was an impatient man, so I always knew it was time to go once he went into the wheelhouse. He would never call for me twice.  

I pushed the dock stair ladder away from the boat as I climbed in. The boat smoothly rumbled beneath me, but somehow, I was still startled, as if it was the loudest noise in the world.  

I sat towards the front of the vessel while Russell finally set off into deeper waters. I was still frightened by it all beneath me. I thought about how Russell and I were quite the hysterical mix. Growing up, Russell had a passion for the sea that he’s cruising on for life now. Meanwhile, I was a land-loving kid a few years younger than him who enjoyed hunting animals merely as a hobby. Now, I am a self-employed hunter with a wildlife license in my name.  

Five years ago, I went out to do unauthorized big-game hunting on the island of Santa Clara. Russell’s only job on the secret mission was to take me out every quarter of the year to hunt. The news claims there is a ravenous black bear out somewhere on the island. It’s unexplained as to how it ended up in Santa Clara.  

There’s a former prison at the top of the hill on the island. Residents of Green Bay have allegedly discussed that a group of fishers illegally caged the animal and set it loose for prisoner escapees. However, the island has been closed for nearly ten years now.  

I will say that there’s a reason Santa Clara is now forbidden unless you are working with the authorities...  

It all started with a couple of teenagers who came back from the island. Two were found dead, and the other came back with an arm gnawed right off. Then, I found out another story from officials where a man fishing off the island was nothing but remains when they found him. That specific incident happened once the island was closed off to visitors. I remember my wife saying it was karma for lurking somewhere you shouldn’t have been. That’s when I started my visits to the island.  

Of course, I found her words to be cruel in such tragic times like that. It made me even more determined to hunt the black bear after what it did to those kids. Even though no one has truly seen it, I know one thing for sure... that monster came from hell.  

Through all my failures, I did not fear the beast of the unknown. I would set countless traps in the early morning hours when the dew drops were ripe. In the evenings, I would creep around different trails I’d marked with my feet from earlier hunts like a sly snake with a rifle in my hands.  

I always heard the heavy paw of the bear and the rustling near the rich, green Fern-leaf ironwoods that grew plentiful and wide just like they did on the nearby island of Santa Catalina. Oh, that rustling! I couldn’t wait to hear the rustling any longer when the bear would be slain.  

I knew that tonight it would happen. Then, I’d take a mighty shot with my camera and smile with a pearly white grin after my kill. I can imagine the picture now.  

“We’re here. You best get a move on,” said Russell in a low, raspy tone. He cut the engine and started hoisting the anchor. He moved towards the rear of the boat to pull out the stair ladder.

Russell only spoke in that tone of voice when he was scared or upset. He’s usually always confident and quick to tease until we reach the island. Sometimes, I find it amusing how he makes fun of me for fear of the water, but he’ll back down for a black bear. He certainly doesn’t think of me as only “boy” or “lovebird” here, as he calls me anywhere else. Instead, he considers me a loony.  

“I’ve got two flashlights in my leather bag and an emergency kit. I doubt anything will happen, but they are there for you. I also packed your peanuts in there while you sit comfy.” I sneered at him with a smile. The joke left him wide-eyed like a deer in headlights.  

“Don’t make me pray to the Lord for a selfish sin of my own. Leaving you here for your demise sounds like a good idea right now.”  

I snickered only for a moment until we finally walked to the back rear of the boat. The swim was only half a mile to the shore. I had done this swim countless times, yet I was still irked by it no matter what. Russell knew earlier that I was aware of just how dangerous the Pacific was. The two-to-three-foot waves could mean death to any amateur swimmer here, especially with the storm just nearby. For a man who feared the sea, I was strong, and I was fast. A phenomenon of pure adrenaline within my swim strokes is what gets me to shore.  

I nodded and looked back at Russell, and then I leaped in. It’s the shock of the freezing water that always hits me first. It feels like razors cutting into my body. I open my eyes and see only pitch black in front of me. I don’t even try to give myself room to think of any sea monsters that could be ready to attack below.  

I shot back to the surface and dipped my head in the water as I repeatedly heard the words prancing around in my head like a chant.  

Stroke!  

Stroke!  

Stroke, you bloke!  

I know I’ve reached shore once I can feel my kneecaps scratch the sand. It’s never a pleasant feeling, but an awfully reassuring one. Next, I do this maneuver I call the “baby walk.” It’s somewhat of a half crawl, half walk like a baby trying to learn their first steps. I found myself exceptionally out of breath, even more than I ever have this time. 

My clothes are completely drenched, which adds extra weight to my body that I almost pummel to the ground. I trudge along in the dry sand on the beach while I try to control my breathing. I curse under my breath as I blame the storm for my loss of athleticism.  

The walk feels almost like a hike to the east Fern-leaf ironwood that marks the beginning of the first of four trails I’ve marked in all cardinal-facing directions of the island. They all wrap around and meet at the top of the hill where the dormant prison is.   

I always have a strategic plan that I go by each time I hunt. I get my rifle hidden deep within the hull of the Fern leaf on the east. I have hidden weaponry scattered around the island for safekeeping since I fear my rifles will rust after these swims.  

I move towards the west and south end after I’ve got what I need. I head straight north to the prison after. Nothing ever stops me from this routine since I know to only stay on the route.

Generally, black bears are best to hunt around early mornings or evenings. They are usually hunting for food themselves around those times each day. This is when I blame the storm once more for setting me back.  

I scope my way to the tree where I stretch my arm in for my rifle. Nothing. I reach more into the tree to see if I planted it farther up. My hand is only met with the silky feel of an intricately spun spider web from within. I take my hand and wipe it on my shirt a few times. How could this be?  

I am certain that I remember each place where I have bestowed my weapons! My skin grows hot as a surge of frustration moves through me. I know that I am very meticulous so the possibility that I have misplaced my rifle isn’t exactly the first thought. I curse only in my mind just to keep myself quiet. My only course of action is to move towards the head of the trail. The east trail is always steepest, so I make my way up the ascent like a march during a soft ballad.  

I envision the rifle buried in the soil just below a patch of shrubbery at the start of the west trail. My heart is set on getting up the hill swiftly where I can dig for my rifle in hopes it will be there. There’s no way it could not be.  

-  

It feels like a fortnight has passed since the start of the trail. I start to wonder how Russell is doing back on the boat. I imagine him either holding the flashlight cowardly or babbling about how long I’ve been gone to Cathy. The scenarios come to a halt, and I stop in my tracks when I hear the rustling behind me. There’s this intense feeling that the black bear has set its eyes on me, and I know it. I feel almost a sense of powerlessness without a weapon at my defense.  

I hear something slowly work towards me while I’m in the open. I started to think quickly of an escape plan like the prisoners the Green Bay residents talked about. The trails only lead me uphill, and I refuse to find myself at the top dueling a bear with my hands. I can only do what I don’t want to do and go off the marked trails. I bolt off to the left of the trail and can hear it on my tail.  

There are not many fatalities that happen within the United States, due to a black bear. I know that I could never outrun one, but I seem to differentiate the heavy set of pairs behind me now. I am not being chased by a black bear. The footsteps catch up with me no matter the rate at which I run. The strike of something hits my ankle and I stumble to the ground like a wildebeest under the teeth of a lion.  

I am nearly dazed from the fall, and I try to focus back on the face in front of me. I lead my line of vision to a man’s chin under a flashlight. I recognize it as the spare I thought I had given to Russell. The realization hits me that I unknowingly left it with the other supplies on the island. The disheveled man drops the flashlight at my feet, and I grasp for it to shine it on the rest of my perpetrator.  

He morbidly stands almost like a zombie. He is slightly hunched over with a wickedly carnivorous smile and dark eyes. His shirt and trousers were nearly in tatters! The skin of his hands was stained with blood and soil... from the rifle.  

I knew I couldn’t give up so easily. I could not fight a bear since it was painfully obvious who would win. For a human, it is every man for himself, and only one shall win in the end. I pulled myself up from the ground and I heard something unleash from above. In an instant, a net larger than the entirety of my body engulfed me. I heard shuffling and grunts as I fought tooth and nail to get out of the net that fell on top of me.

My strength was no match for the madman and the trap of his own. I was sealed tight in a thick rope that constrained my body. At last, I could not move, nor could I even breathe with how tight the rope bound my limbs, torso, and throat. The man grabbed me tightly by the ankles and began to pull as he heaved me back up to the trail. My throat became hoarse as my shouts echoed off into the wilderness in hopes that Russell would come for me in the night. 

He never did.