Captain Pike's Ship Log II

Chapter 6 -- Camping out

It was late in August, and very warm and humid. There had been the budding of a plan in Anthony's mind which he had kept well trimmed back, much like the way that a bonsai tree's roots are trimmed to affect miniaturization. He now allowed this concept to sprout unmolested. It was a natural progression; the extension of a train of thought which was already gaining much momentum.

It was nearly noon by the time he coasted away from the beach and paddled out from shore. This was the way that he would begin a swim when there were people occupying the shore where he entered the ocean. Granted, his handmade "surfboard" attracted some attention, but this was all it was to onlookers: just a weird surfboard. They never seemed to question why he would go surfing when there were no waves. Once he got sufficiently far from shore, he would simply roll off, clip on his tether, and began a slow powerful churning out to sea. The cool ocean water felt wonderful tickling against the sides of his body. He would begin by thinking of nothing but the refinement of his stroke: stretching far ahead, pulling powerfully back, pulling the sea behind him, streamlining, ever stretching and streamlining. His breathing becoming integrally woven to his stroke, effortlessly, calmly, firmly -- in this manner of self hypnosis, he could lose all track of time. The little chain of outer islands seemed to come quickly today. This had been a typical stopping place. Anthony could remember reaching these three islands finally after having turned back many times in the past, being mindful of his energy, wanting to save enough for the return trip. Not today. Today they flew past his right side, the water immediately feeling cooler, almost darker somehow. "Tonight," he thought, "I will spend the night at sea".

Hours passed, still he swam on. It came to him, all at once: it had been fear, not fatigue, that had always turned him back in the past. Nobody ever just kept swimming. No more than people just kept walking. But people walked, hiked, with a backpack, with a backpack and sleeping bag, sometimes. They hiked, and then camped in the woods, for days at a time. So why couldn't he swim, and "camp out"? He smiled in the water -- he had known, subconsciously all along, that this day would come. Reviewing as he swam, he went through the inventory of items stored in the barge. He had plenty of food, and water. He had that wetsuit, just in case, he could always wear that if it got cold. What else? He didn't have a compass. That would be one thing, navigation. He had learned over the summer to keep his path straight -- not to veer off in a wide arc as he used to do when he first began swimming in the open ocean. But the current, the current couldn't be sensed but it could move you off course. With longer distances, this could be a concern. Anthony had had the experience, over and over, of winding up northward of where he'd gone in. Always northward. This happened most if he had spent much of his time off shore, significantly offshore. So he would compensate. He would intentionally turn somewhat south. His plan was to lie adrift and sleep, and then return in the morning. But what would happen if he drifted too far during the night? As soon as the sun came up, he would swim away from the sunrise, back towards the mainland. If he were translated significantly north or south, it would be okay, he would reach the mainland eventually. His mother was away for the weekend. He could get home before she would worry.

Another thing he hadn't brought was a watch, he really had no idea of the time. It must've been quite late in the afternoon by the time he stopped. Treading lightly, with his arms on the barge, Anthony felt a twinge of fear. There wasn't a thing in sight in any direction. He was really in the open sea now.

Suddenly, a chill ran through him. There was a little swell in the ocean, such that, periodically, he couldn't see very far in one direction. A tingle ran up his spine. He felt he was being watched. He twisted around. Nothing. He rolled clumsily aboard the barge, in an odd panic. He sat upright in its center. He shivered. He hadn't been aware of the wind that had come up. Why would he? You don't notice the wind while swimming. Goose flesh appeared on his arm. He reached to a forward compartment and drew out a dry towel. Placing this around his shoulders, he opened a package of sandwiches. The food tasted really delicious -- he was famished. He forced himself to stop and wait some time after having devoured one sandwich. He had eaten it in no time at all.

Sitting aboard his barge wearing the towel, he noticed an alarming development. The sea directly on his right was completely flat, a slight wake could clearly be seen sweeping past his bow. He was drifting! He was being blown along, and, at a pretty good clip, by the looks of things. How long had he been sitting this way? In his trials close to the shoreline, the barge had trailed obediently behind him, even in a moderate breeze. Without his body upright sitting on it, it's windage had been minimal. His body, draped in a towel, effectively had become a sail. Of course! What would happen, during the night? This thought bothered him. There was some cloud cover to the west and the sky, painted pink and orange, would soon betray the day, giving rise to night at sea.

Anthony had become aware of a rising discontent that had overtaken his serenity ever since he stopped swimming. An urge, leaping in him, insisted on his racing back towards land at top speed. Up until this point, the sea had given Anthony nothing but a tremendous calm. Now, he was clearly rattled and miles from dry land. He shut his eyes, felt the gentle rising and falling of the sea. Soon, his breathing corresponded to this rhythm. He opened his eyes to a magnificent panoramic sunset, possessing nearly all the colors he'd ever seen. Even the darkened sky to the east was involved: the firmament appeared as a cobalt blue bowl having been stained by a multitude of syrupy, iridescent colors, the last of which now drained out. Anthony again felt calm and returned the towel and bag of remaining sandwiches to their respective compartments. He decided to begin the swim home.

He needed to design a simple sea anchor device which when deployed would prevent a mild wind from moving him great distances over the open water. This could be a partially submerged cross shaped apparatus which would resist being pulled through the water. A simple underwater box kite came to mind. He would swim home now and work on the design immediately.

He attached his tether and swung his legs over the side. Just then, a large black fin sliced stealthily alongside, not more than 20 feet away. Anthony froze. His eyes tracked it passing by until it dipped below the surface a few yards past his barge. The sound of his heartbeat rasped in his throat as he breathed. His mind was deluged with a cavalcade of imagined scenarios; everything from gory to the absurd. Within less than a second, he imagined a score of horrific things like his mother having coffee silently with a neighbor after his funeral, a funeral which had finally come after a long and sleepless search for his body up and down the highway only to end with the discovery of his bloated and bitten carcass; to a vivid image of a writhing shark, twisting in a bloody frenzy, the nictitating membranes of its eyes closed off for protection, it's toothy jaws efficiently protruding from a muscular mandible.

The human mind has been used to build bridges and cure cancer but when turned inward and fueled with fear, it can be its owner's worst enemy. Anthony breathed. He wondered what he looked like from underneath. He had read about how snorkelers could appear like foundering seals to a hungry shark. He was sitting on a long, roughly square, hopefully strange smelling, nonedible thing. He was in their world now. He tried to keep himself from imagining something swimming underneath of him, bumping up at him.

The darkness was falling. If he didn't begin to swim soon, he could conceivably lose his ability to reckon the correct direction. He had had enough experience to swim a straight track for at least a couple of miles -- during the day. How much of this ability had relied on an unconscious knowledge of the sun's position?

He slid into the water. What better way to go, than to be eaten by a shark? An old fisherman friend of his father had once posed this question. At the time, it seemed a noble thing for a fishermen to suggest. But now, he could think of lots of better ways to die. Not the least of which was old-age! Swimming was his only mantra. He had to try now, or forever be floating frozen, petrified. Further, any amount of head-way he could make now with the sun's failing light still visible would be head-way made in the right direction. He began a slow comfortable stroke.

Something was wrong! He stopped up short. The familiar bump of his sled against his heel was missing. He spun around suddenly -- he was all alone -- the barge was missing! He swam back towards where it seemed as though he had come from. Again, he heard his father's voice. It was as though the words were coming out of the mists upon the sea: when you're lost in the woods, stay put, you'll be found. But what if you're lost in the water? He tried to tread himself higher in the water to look around. Suddenly, a crazy thought came. He swam downward, beneath the surface. A little further, he told himself, he felt pressure in his ears. Suddenly, he turned around and looked up at the ocean's mirrored surface. There was the barge. A darkened rectangle against a slightly lighter and undulating frame. It was quite close, but translated to the north. He burst upward, grasping the barge as he broke the surface. He rested his head there momentarily. He began to cry. The barge felt to him now like a favorite stuffed elephant, steadfastly guarding the gates of his childhood nightmares. How had this happened? Somehow the clip on the end of the barge's painter had failed to stay fastened to the belt containing its hook. He crawled awkwardly aboard the barge and fell instantly to sleep.