My heart is pounding so hard my neck is hurting. Suddenly the shoreline makes a sharp turn to the left. The inlet completely disappears into the black oblivion of the night. “O Lord . . . now what?”
Into the distant night I think I see a large log spanning the part of the inlet. It appears to be at least a dozen feet high or even higher. I clamber toward it descending, knowing I will have to climb up to it again to cross.
Crawling with unexplainable power and energy, I unsuspectingly place my hands on seaweed. In an instant I slip, my legs twist and I take a sickening plunge back into the black, cold sea once again. The shock of the cold water both startles and scares me.
With lungs already bursting and bronchial tubes aching, I noisily suck in a huge amount of air as I feel the icy coldness of the water slam my body back into the ugly reality that I so recently had escaped. Thankfully it is shallow. My feet hit bottom. With all my energy and whatever power my broken body has left, I thrust my legs downward and lunge forward toward the log and rocks ahead. I scale them like a water-logged cat scurrying back onto the cold, clammy reality called land.
“Don’t stop . . . keep moving.” My mantra has changed from “Just do it” to “Don’t stop; keep moving.” I know I must find help, or I will die.
I continue to pull my aching body toward the large log spanning the gap. I again climb the rocks to reach the level I need to cross what now looks like a gorge or ravine. Chest pounding and muscles aching, I look across. Wow. What a dilemma. If I slip, it is certain death; if I go to the left, I have no idea where I will go.
I make a decision. “That’s it. I’m going across.” I check the log for stability and dryness. To my delight, it is very dry. Thanks to God for the dry summer. I was afraid that it would be like so much of this majestic coastline — wet and slippery.
I straddle the log, knowing that my legs and balance would not be able to keep me upright if I tried to stand. Reaching forward I pull my bottom across the log. Reach, pull, reach, pull, reach, pull. I actually traverse very rapidly. Sliding down onto the rocks on the far side, I know I am getting close.
The terrain changes a little now. Barely, through the dark, I can see arching rock formations that reach up into a forested area. Further ahead I can see the dim glow of the light I have been searching for. Help. Safety. Warmth.
Don’t stop; keep moving.
Again I try to stand up and my legs, although still unsteady, work better now. I balance precariously on the arching rock formation and begin to trek in the right direction. Feeling the rock through my stocking feet is interesting. Almost comforting. I feel the softness of the thick sock, and yet I am able to grip firmly through them.
Nearing the end of the rock formation I step on some slippery portion and skid onto my knees. As I careen down the rock on my knees, I clutch hold of crevices with my fingers and I marvel that my fingernails remain intact. Finally I stop the slide and again begin crawling. Up over the rock and into some vegetation. Leafy, low-lying vegetation with leaves like those of a vine. I become quite cautious here, suspecting that there could be many crevices hidden in the rock. I don’t want to put my hand unexpectantly into a deep hole and snap my wrist or my arm.
Slowly I make my way to higher ground and I think I can stand safely without falling, so I stand. I begin a lumbering gate toward the light. A cabin or home is looming into view through the trees and I know I am almost to the promised land. Tree trunk to tree trunk, I grasp each tree with my outstretched hands for stability.
Behind me, without warning, the roar of the coast guard hovercraft echoes through the night as the vessel whips by the shoreline I had just negotiated.
“Too late, guys, but thanks; I’ll be seeing you soon, I’m sure.”
I continue my lumbering gate, looking ahead into the black night. Again, as suddenly as I began to move I am halted. I have walked face first into a black wire fence. I am stumped. I look left: As far as I can see the fence continues into the blackness of night. I look up: The fence is at least nine feet tall and is topped with barbed wire. “Why, I ask, does someone need a fence of this magnitude on such a remote island location?” I look to the right: The fence appears to go back down over the rocks, out over the ocean.
I was not to be stopped.
I grab hold of the fence and begin my descent back toward the water. Like a spider, I cling to the fence and inch my way out over the water to its end. Hanging some sixty feet in the air, I see that the fence does a 90° turn paralleling the shoreline. I know that if I slip or let go I will plummet to my death on the rocks below. Carefully I traverse the end and precariously keep clinging and reaching.
Several hundred feet ahead I see a staircase. Inch by inch I edge my way along the fence, hands grasping in desperation and toes seeking a sure foothold in the chain-link fence. Finally, I’m there. Cautiously I transfer my weight onto the railings of the staircase and gingerly climb over. My left leg is still throbbing from the aftereffects of the cramp. Laboriously, I climb the stairs that have the appearance of rising out of the sea.
Land. Again. Up the embankment and now toward the home.
I am on the porch now, filthy, wet, bloody and cold. I walk weakly around the home and find myself, although breathing hard, unable to call for help. I circle the house searching for a door. Finally I find the front door and ring the doorbell. Twice.
No answer. I can’t believe it. Lights on, windows open, car in the driveway, no answer. I contemplate kicking in a window or a door. I assess this idea briefly and think about my chances of bleeding to death if I slice an artery. I press on. I know that there are other homes close by. I know I will get help.
Onto the driveway and out toward the road. Good grief, a huge gate now! Thankfully the gate is built of large timbers with ample gaps for handholds and footholds. My left leg is throbbing from the cramp. I am careful, after I scale the gate, as I lower myself from what I guess to be at least a twelve-foot-high arch. “Man, of all the homes on Mayne Island, I have to happen upon Fort Knox.”