My Jimmy

Barracudas are ferocious opportunistic predators. Relying on surprise and short bursts of speed, up to 36 miles per hour, they overtake their prey quickly and then bite them in half. Kinda’ wish I would have known this. 

They are snake-like in appearance with razor sharp fang teeth much like the piranha, all in different sizes set in sockets in their large powerful jaws. Like sharks, some barracudas will attack humans, although such incidents are rare. I was one of those rare incidents.

The Florida Keys, mile marker 39. Between Missouri and Bahia Honda Keys lies Ohio Key. It is also known as Sunshine Key, after a campground there that’s takes up about half of the small island. The southern half is a protected wildlife sanctuary, full of palm trees, mangroves, buttonwoods and birdwatchers. My windsurfing buds and I had been camping here every December for years. We were a motley crew for sure. Not much in common actually, save a fierce love of windsurfing, big waves and warm sunshine.

There was Dick and Donna Titsworth, yep, their real name, who were the oldest of the group. Dick built racing engines, and was probably the quietest of the group. Donna was a wonderful cook, spoiling us each night with some amazing dessert creation. They lived on Lake Erie, along with their son Jeff, a carpenter who also raced. They had another son we called Wall Street. In finance, he showed up one day at a Club BBQ wearing a suit and tie, cufflinks even! He said he surfed, but no one actually ever saw him on a board. Jerry Kasmarick and his wife Ruthie were regulars. Jerry worked for the Railroad, but seemed to be perpetually laid off. He would do all kinds of odd jobs for people, and had a talent for talking people into giving him free stuff. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he had moved into a Florida Condo of one of his customers when they came north for the summer! No charge! And he always

showed up to Ohio Key Campground without much food or equipment, joking about it as he and Ruthie settled in, asking what time was lunch!  Ken Sheldon, a Chiropractor, and his wife Anne who sold pharmaceuticals were a great couple who sometimes would bring their kids down. They always pitched their tent away from the group, being good parents and all. There was Rodney Clevenger, who owned the only windsurfing shop in town. A small man with a Hitler-like mustache that drove Jan nuts, he raced more than anyone until his heart attack at 80. Tall, handsome chick magnet Chris Bailey, another carpenter, rounded out our little band of unlikely high-wind lovin’ radical surfers.

December of 91 we all headed down to Sunshine Campground, knowing it would be the last year for many of us.

We spent our days surfing, sunning, grilling, laughing and drinking, each one of us knowing how special this really was. Some were slowing down, others moving, kids growing.

One clear, warm night the marine weather station out of Key West buzzed with an alert while we were just leaving the campfire for bed. Tropical Storm! Repeat- Tropical Storm! High Winds! Expect 40 to 50 mile an hour gusts for the Florida Keys! Wave heights 5 to 6, winds starting tomorrow at 11:00 am Eastern. Repeat- High Wind Warning!!! Near hurricane force winds possible! Hot Damn.

We got up early to begin tying things down, securing tents and equipment, checking the forecast, scarfing down breakfast, and yes, pulling on our wetsuits. We all figured we had two good hours of surfing before the storm hit. Our camping neighbors looked curiously on, as they packed up campsites and skedaddled.

The six of us rigged up our short boards quickly. No way the girls were going. I know everyone’s adrenaline was on overdrive and we nervously joked as we pulled our boards out for a water start. Dear Lord we were fast. Scary fast. I was in Heaven. However, it is super exhausting to sail in these conditions for long, so soon we were down to five. Down to four, now down to two, myself and Jerry K. I tried to maneuver close to Jerry, and when I saw his face, I knew he was done too. We headed back, exhausted and beyond thrilled. Cold beer and snacks awaited as we struggled out of our wetsuits.

Everyone hunkered down on the beach, bundled in warm blankets and ski jackets, save for me. I was just aching to do one more run out to a tiny island about a mile from our camp. It held no buildings and no people, not even a good landing spot. But no worries, I didn’t plan on staying. With this wind and the smallest sail I owned, my 2.7, I figured I’d be there and back before the big wind hit. Of course bets were made on the crazy bastard (me), to see if I could make it to the out island and back before the storm blew me to Oz.

 Holy Moley! This was wind a surfer dreams about! I figured I had maybe 30 minutes. If I had any chance of making it, it had to be on my Jimmy Lewis.

Jimmy was the premium board maker in the 1980s. Having built his first board as a teenager in his garage, his boards are the choice of champions, breaking speed records around the world. Of course I bought it used, never could afford a new one. My Jimmy is a “sinker”- a board that will sink when you stand on it. Water starts only, high wind conditions. Only highly skilled surfers would attempt to use it, and not all of them will succeed. 40 mile an hour minimum wind required. Check, check and check.

I scarfed down a beer and a handful of pretzels, grabbed Jimmy and stepped into the angry sea. I sheeted in and leaned back, not having to wait long before a gust hit the tiny sail. I pushed my front foot hard into the board and pulled the back under me with my back foot and Jimmy planed out. 

You know those cartoons where the character is going so fast their lips pull back away from their teeth and jiggle like crazy? You got the picture. I’m sure the wind and water were stinging my face, but damn, I felt nothing but pure joy. I made it to the out island with lightning speed, approaching with a plan to jibe like the pros, almost teleporting to the other side, and heading back with a few minutes to spare. Not.

See, here is the thing about wind. It’s unpredictable. Just as I was getting ready for my elegant maneuver, the wind calmed, the sail quieted, and my board sank. No worries, I was at the island’s rocky shore, standing in about three feet of water, and could feel the wind picking up again big time. I was about to lean way back and step on, grabbing onto the boom when something slammed into my lower leg, and almost knock me down into the water. Holy shit! What the fuck? I jumped up on the rocks to figure out what the hell just happened when the searing pain registered, and I looked down in horror at my torn and bleeding wetsuit. Because of my pumping adrenaline, like a soldier in battle, I didn’t feel the pain immediately. I knew in an instant what just happened.  Barracuda. The Florida Keys are full of them. I figured the sea was so churned up and murky with the big waves he thought I was a fish.

Dread washed over me as every cell in my body switched to survival mode. I was alone. I was bleeding bigtime. And I was terrified. But I could sail. I could do this. God willing, I could sail back. The hardest thing I ever did in my entire life, no shit, was stepping back into the water. I remember reading that barracuda only bite once, so hoping my guy didn’t have a bunch of buddies, I stepped in, grabbed Jimmy, lifted the sail, leaned back into the water, and said a prayer I wouldn’t faint from blood loss. I took off almost violently as the storm was nearly upon us. If this all wasn’t enough, thoughts of sharks after my bleeding leg added to my angst.

I don’t even remember how I made it back, as my friends tell me I may have been in shock when they pulled me to shore. They had been beyond worried, ready to call the coastguard. Chris was a volunteer firefighter, and took charge. They carried me to his pickup, Jan jumped in the middle, and off we headed to Fisherman’s Community Hospital on Marathon Key. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and I may have had hypothermia, but Jan, a nurse, thought it was probably shock that caused me to shake uncontrollably.  The emergency team cut my wetsuit from ankle to hip, revealing fifteen perfectly spaced puncture wounds, some as deep as two inches. I had a CT to make sure no teeth were left behind, and mercifully I had no bone damage. I needed several stiches for the large V shaped lacerations, and a tetanus shot, but otherwise happy as hell to be alive. The emergency doc told me a barracuda had killed a man off Key West, and off the coast of North Carolina! Everyone hooted and howled when we returned to camp as this was before cell phones, and they were quite worried. We all headed home the next day. Enough drama already. Jan drove home the whole way. I was no help, pain killers and all.

From then on I had a new respect, almost awe for my Jimmy Lewis. He saved my ass. I was so grateful that I decided to retire Jimmy, he earned his rest. We never sailed together again. I lovingly hung him up high in my garage, where he stayed for 20 years. I eventually sold him at a garage sale at my wife’s urging, and I regret it to this day. Sorry Jimmy.