“Grab an end and weave the tarp through the top branches, quick!” shouted George. I hurriedly started tucking in the edges of the tarp up and around the insides of the branches to form a lining above our heads as I listened to shouts from Matt.
He came fully awake, jumped up shaking his hands, flapping his arms, stamping his feet, and twirling around shouting curses and acting like a crazy man. He was totally shocked and decidedly useless to us now. I kept my eyes averted, moving my hands quickly and busily tucking sections of tarp along the gaps.
Repairs completed, George pulled his rain gear out and slipped it on. I worked myself into my rain jacket and pants, and stood next to him watching the rain dance. Matt suddenly stopped, turned, and ran back inside the shelter, still cussing and sputtering, his long johns drenched and stuck to his skin, his hair pasted flat to his dripping head.
“How could you do that?” yelled Matt. “What were you thinking?” He stomped one foot, then the other, his hands balled into fists. Nobody answered. George’s face was expressionless except for a small twitch in the corner of his mouth as we looked at the drowned rat in front of us. I had no such compassion. I let back and roared with laughter. It was too funny.
As bouncing back from any crisis was one of Matt’s strong points, he began to laugh too. The three of us laughed long and hard while the rain beat down on the ground outside our meager but slightly drier shelter. Tension released, we chuckled back to normal as George took out a pair of extra clothes from his pack and tossed them to Matt.
Then the laughter halted as we came back to our present gloomy situation. Out towards the beach, the storm raged violently on, moving slowly to the east. To the west, the skies were clearing slightly; a thin line of pale white lay across the horizon gently nudging away the heavy dark clouds. It appeared the storm would pass over soon; we just had to wait it out. Lucky us. Our shared supplies were dwindling.
In good spirits, we sat down in the middle of the makeshift enclosure and searched our backpacks for breakfast. I had one sandwich, two bagels slathered with peanut butter, four trail mix bars and three bottles of water. George sorted out two baggies of smoked fish, two packs of crackers, one pack of beef jerky and four bottles of water.
Matt looked on, his shoulders slumped, head down, humbled and on his best behavior. He hoped for a handout and quickly forgave his purported ill treatment.
“Gee, George, you really came prepared. I can see that. It’s best to be prepared when you come out here, I always say. That’s the smart thing to do. You never know what might happen. You should always hope for the best and plan for the worst. That’s what a real Alaskan does, that’s good survival advice, you know.
I can see you picked up on that real quick since you’ve been here.” George looked hard at Matt, hoping his words would bounce off his forehead and back into Matt’s own head. There was always hope.
The rain subsided and white clouds appeared, allowing sun to shine down in scattered patches of yellow-white beams like spotlights from heaven. We stepped outside the branch tent and peered up at the sky. I followed a spotlight downward to the horizon. There to the left, just a speck of white shone on the water. It grew larger and larger.
“Hey, what’s that on the water?” I pointed. “Way out there about ten o’clock, past that rock pile.” The three of us took a few steps towards the shore and stared, shielding our eyes with both hands. George darted back into the shelter and returned with binoculars.
He peered through the lenses and after several minutes, silently passed them to me with a small smile. I stuck them to my face, finding the mysterious object through the magnified eyes, then smiled as well, passing the binoculars over to Matt.
“Looks like the Lone Ranger is coming to the rescue,” I said. “What do you think, Matt?”
He took the field glasses from me and peered at the boat, getting larger and more distinct. “Dang!” he shouted, still wearing the binoculars. “I think its Jerry. Yep, it’s Jerry all right. Anybody but Jerry! I’ll never hear the end of it now. What’s he doing here? I wish it were anybody else.” He threw the binoculars to the ground. “This is the pits! Dang and double dang times two!” he ranted, his arms jerking wildly about, his feet kicking clouds of sand in the air as he stomped around in a circle.
“Yo, Matt. He’s coming to save us. Get some grateful in ya and let’s pack up,” said George as he picked up the binoculars and wiped off the sand. “I’m not willing to stay on this beach any longer; I don‘t care who it is.”
“Hey to the shore, hey to the shore! You guys missing anything? Like a boat, maybe?” We could hear Jerry laughing from the open window on his boat. Matt’s boat was towing happily behind Jerry’s, looking none the worse for wear, and a mighty good sight for wet, cold, and hungry eyes. George and I waved eagerly back at Jerry.
“Hi Jerry, nice to see you. Nice to see you, for sure!” I waved rapidly back and forth with both arms, happy and relieved. Matt’s shoulders slumped with embarrassment but unmistakable relief appeared on his face.
“Saw this boat drifting past my camp, just bobbing in the water, nobody in it, and thought about you guys. Decided you could probably use a lift. Not that this boat wouldn’t have eventually made it back to you in, oh, give or take the tides and all, probably about a month. Next time, you might want to tie it to a bigger branch,” Jerry said, looking hard at Matt.
Jerry camped in a small cabin during fishing season, just over on the next island. He was a rough, salty dog kind of guy, burly, bald, and about the most sea-smart person we had ever met. Not too friendly, but he seemed to appear when you needed him. Uncanny, that. We’d encountered his kindness before, but he never explained and never accepted anything but a “thank you.”
One of the lifelong residents of this remote Alaskan island, Jerry knew the waters around Kodiak better than most. He knew about all the hidden underwater rocks that other boats invariably plowed into during low tide and he could navigate in the foggiest weather and instinctively knew when the weather would change, just in time to make for shore. Few other people we knew could read clouds, air pressure, and wind direction like Jerry. All this made for quick and drastic changes in ocean waves, bringing soupy blankets of fog and the dreaded over-the-bow whitecaps that came up out of nowhere, making many a seaworthy boat tip and dive like a duck in a whirlpool bath.
We waded out, climbed aboard and offered profusions of thanks, reimbursements for fuel, and invitations for dinner at our house at his earliest convenience, and everything else we thought he might like. He smiled briefly, accepted nothing, looked over each of us, then his eyes locked on George.
“You all okay?”
George smiled back. “Just fine.” They held eyes for a moment longer, each reading the other completely. Nodding once, Jerry turned and started the engine.
We sat quietly on the way home, each in our own thoughts. I was grateful for the rescue, although I rather enjoyed the adventure, the uppermost thought being, however, that there would not have been any enjoyment at all if we had not been prepared. I looked sideways at Matt. His face was sullen, one could say almost thoughtful. I was hoping he had learned a few lessons himself, but I wasn’t totally convinced. It seemed he was just too lucky to learn.
Some said it was better to be lucky than smart. I hoped to be a little of both. One without the other would leave little control over survival or no real enjoyment in those quirky, unpredictable events that made up life.
4 CLOSE NEIGHBORS
