I woke up to a loud and constant pounding that I soon realized was
all inside my head. I began to wonder what the hell I drank last night to
cause all the commotion inside my skull, and then memories of the storm
and rescue came flooding in like someone had opened up a dam to my
brain. I recalled the distress signal I received on my radio, battling the storm to get to the sinking boat, getting everyone safely to my boat, going back
for the dog, and finally the terrified and beautiful face I watched as Isank into the Atlantic and lost consciousness.
"Jess!" I yelled as I bolted upright.
My eyes were immediately assaulted by bright, white light, and my head started up its protesting again loud and clear. The pain was centered around the back of my skull, so I reached up to inspect what I assumed to be an injury and cringed at the simple touch of my own hand.
"Fuck," I hissed. I eased up on the groping and could feel a baseball size lump on the back of my head, along with a good two-inch gash. The motion combined with the pain was enough to send me to my knees, and the contents of my stomach spewed violently out of my body.
I spent the next several minutes projectile vomiting all over until
eventually I was just dry heaving and shaking to my core. I collapsed a few
feet away from all the remnants, and for the first time, my eyes really took in my surroundings.
I was lying on the whitest sand beach I'd ever laid eyes on, and the ocean caressing the shore was a crystal blue unlike anything I could have ever imagined. It seemed so calm and peaceful, and it was hard to imagine it was the same ocean that had tried to kill me just a few short hours earlier.
As I watched the sun continue to slowly peek more out of the eastern horizon,I couldn't help but think about Jess and her family. Did they make it out of the storm and to safety? Would I ever see any of them again? I
thought about Jess' beautiful face as exhaustion got the best of me, and I slid back into unconsciousness.
The next time I woke up, the sun was directly above me, which told me I'd already lost half the day. Or possibly even a full day. Which wasn't good. In survival scenarios, time was a luxury few could afford. I'd learned that during my time with the Coast Guard. So,I knew I was going to have to force myself to get up, take in my surroundings, and figure out what to do next.
Easier said than done with a major concussion, though.
I spent several minutes drumming up the strength. Then I slowly sat up, and I gave myself plenty of time so I didn't trigger another vomiting
episode, though I didn't know what I could have left in my stomach to purge.
At that thought, my stomach growled like a rabid beast at its lack of contents, and the need for food and water became dire. Out of instinct, I
patted my pockets in search of my phone, but to no avail. It was long gone, probably shark bait by now. I wasn't surprised it wasn't in my pocket, but my small measure of hope dwindled and died out upon my realization that it was gone forever.
Oh well. No use crying about it now.
I stood up against the protests of my battered body and started taking in my surroundings. As far as I could see, there were no signs of civilization to be found. This pristine beach had been undisturbed by anyone but me.
There was no trampled down pathway leading to the inner island, no distant sounds of traffic or human commotion of any kind. This island was empty, deserted, and primitive.
I was utterly alone.
My heart started pounding, my mouth got even drier than I thought was possible, and my hands started to shake again. No,I couldn't let myself do this. I had to focus,I had to persevere, I had to survive. I was only
twenty-eight years old,I had too much life ahead of me to die on this beach
and become fish and bird food. I started thinking about the things I hadn't done, what Istill wanted out of my life. I'd been having a lot of fun having incredible sex with gorgeous women, working out and building up a killer body, spending my inheritance traveling the world, basically just doing
whatever I wanted.
But none of it had substance. I wanted a home,I wanted real love, I wanted children,I wanted happily ever after.
All of which couldn't happen on a deserted fucking island.
"Oh, for fuck's sake, Ben!" I growled at myself in an effort to clear my head. "Get your shit together, man. Now is not the time to go all girly fairytale bullshit. You're a rescue swimmer in the Coast Guard, you know how to survive, and on top of that, you have seen Castaway a thousand fucking times, man! You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die. Here."
I yelled some more just to fill the empty beach with my voice, but I eventually ran out of breath by the end. As I stood there panting, Istared out across the ocean, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.
I would not let this situation get the best of me. My father and
grandfather had taught me everything they knew about sailing before they died, and I was not going to waste that knowledge.
Now was the time to prove I could survive.
I decided the best place to start was taking inventory of what I'd
managed to hold on to after falling off the boat. I was still wearing the
ridiculous bright orange poncho, so Islipped it off my head and laid it on the ground in front of me. I could easily fashion that into some kind of
bladder to hold water. Next,I pulled all my clothes, socks, and boots off. It was important Ilet them dry in the sun before making my way across the island. I'd already decided I would stay on the beach one more night before seeing what the rest of this place had in store for me.
While pulling my belt off,I realized my father's utility knife that he'd given to me before he died had managed to stay attached, and a
renewed sense of hope flooded through my body.
"Oh,fuck yeah," I breathed in relief as I inspected the tool. Along
with a three-inch blade I kept impeccably sharp, there was a corkscrew, a serrated edged blade, a can opener, needle-nose pliers, and an honest to god flint.
At that moment, I was glad to be the only one on this island. This way, nobody witnessed me dancing around like an idiot, in nothing but my boxer briefs, celebrating and practically worshipping a utility knife.
My little impromptu dance tired me out more than it should have, though, and I still needed to gather firewood and locate a source of clean drinking water. I was pretty sure I wasn't going to find perfectly chilled
bottles of Dasani waiting for me anywhere, so I wanted to get the fire going first in case I needed to boil water to drink. I would also have to figure out something that could hold the water while I boiled it, but first things first, the fire.
I located an abundance of dried out driftwood without having to stray too far from where I'd decided to make camp. I also found a level and
shaded alcove set among several dozens of palm trees about twenty yards from the water. There was some dry sea grass beneath the palm trees, and a few stones scattered here and there that I could probably use to make a fire pit. This was likely the best I was going to do for today. The skies were
clear as far as I could see in every direction, so I wasn't worried about more coverage than the trees would provide for one night.
Istacked some smaller pieces of wood I found into a small teepee shape and gathered some dry seagrass to use as kindling. I also gathered
large stones to put around the fire to help contain it, since I didn't need to risk setting the whole damn island on fire. Thanks to the flint on my utility knife,I had the fire up and going in no time. It roared to lifelike it was just waiting for my permission and quickly latched onto the driftwood.
"Now, that's a pretty sight," I sighed as I held my pruney and sand covered hands over the fire. The temperature wasn't exactly cold on this
tropical beach, but I knew having a fire would drastically improve my attitude and comfort levels, especially at night.
I waited several minutes for the big flames to diedown a good bit, and then I decided it was time to search for water. So, Islipped my boots over my feet, tucked the laces in, and thought about how hilarious I had to look in nothing but underwear and boots.
"Oh well, at least there isn't anyone around to snap a picture and post it to their Instagram," I chuckled to myself. "That's one thing I have going for me right now."
I made my way into the grove of palm trees surrounding my camp. Just a few feet in, the ground was littered with ripe coconuts that had fallen from the trees. They were the answer to my most pressing needs: food and water. I gathered as many as I could in the orange poncho and returned to the alcove where I'd made camp.
"Brother bought a coconut, he bought it for a dime," I started to sing, overjoyed at finding sustenance so quickly. "His sister had another one she paid it for a lime. She put the lime in the coconut, she drank 'em bot' up!"
Yep, I'd definitely lost my mind.
The fire was burning hot and low, and I set the coconuts I'd gathered down and decided to go back for a few more, just in case. I definitely knew
I didn't want to make that trip once the sun went down, regardless of how close it was. Nope,I definitely wanted to be close to the fire once darkness set in.
As I was gathering my second load,I noticed something peculiar on the ground a few yards away from where I was standing.
I frowned and took a step closer. "What the fuck?" Imuttered.
It looked like a footprint of a small woman or child.
My heart began racing at the prospect of there actually being
civilization somewhere on this island. Maybe I wasn't stranded after all. I raced over to take a better look at the footprint and see if I could find more of them.
As I approached,I noticed signs that someone had definitely been there. My tracking skills were decent since I'd spent many vacations
tracking large game with my father and grandfather. We'd traveled all over the country hunting moose, elk, bears, and deer, so I squatted down and
could easily discern the direction in which the person who left the footprint had gone. There were a few broken branches on the northside of some of the brush and a disturbed mound of a decaying palm tree that had fallen
over possibly a decade ago. I extended my vision past those markings and was sure I could make out more and follow them with ease.
"Now is not the time, man," I muttered to myself after some thought. "Tomorrow after you've had water, food, and rest."
Still,I focused my attention on the footprint to see what else I could figure out about my fellow island inhabitants, but then something drew me up short,and I did a double take.
"H-holy shit," Istuttered, "is that, wait, is that a webbed foot?"
My heartskid to a halt inside my chest as I moved around erratically to try to find a new angle that didn't have me hallucinating about webbed feet, but there was no way to deny it.
This was not a human footprint.
But that was crazy. Right?
"Damnit, Ben, you total freakazoid." Ishook my head at myself.
"Some kid probably just had one of those flippers on their feet. Quit being so damn ridiculous."
I was convinced this was all a combination of hitting my head too hard and the sun going down, which left little light to see with. On top of that,I was severely dehydrated and starving. There was no way that was a
webbed footprint. My mind was playing tricks on me, and I couldn't afford to waste time on some elaborate fantasy about webbed feet.
So,I gathered up my poncho and coconuts and made my way back to the campfire. It was still going strong, but I added a few more logs just to be safe. I was desperate to get rid of the chill that had decided to roost in
my bones after my trip into the palm forest.
Islid off my boots and set them next to the fire to continue drying
out, along with my socks and pants. My white undershirt and long sleeve shirt had gotten dry in the sun, and I was grateful to pull the latter on. I then began to use a nearby rock and large shell to help dig a shallow basin in the sandy dirt.
When I was satisfied with the depth of the hole,I took the ever-useful poncho and lined the basin with it. Then I found rocks to anchor the sides down so the poncho would stay put. I'd decided to crack the coconuts over the improvised sink so I didn't risk losing any of the precious water inside of them. For the first few coconuts, I just used the corkscrew and a big rock to drill small holes in the top so I could drink the water straight from the
source.
"Oh yeah," I groaned in satisfaction as the sweet, lukewarm liquid slid down my throat. I'd never tasted anything so miraculous, so amazing.
After opening and drinking four coconuts like that, my stomach
started to protest at the onslaught of liquid, and I thought it would be best to slowdown a bit. I found a big rock with a decisive point on the top and
positioned it on the shallower end of the poncho lined basin so I could bash coconuts against it, and the liquid would run to the deeper end.
I picked up the first coconut, aimed the point for the weakest part of the shell, and whacked it against my improvised hammer. Three hearty
whacks later, the shell split open, the water flowed into the deep collection area of the basin, and I had two halves of the shell full of meaty coconut.
Iscooped both sides out, shoveled them into my mouth, forgot
chewing was a thing, and immediately started choking. I coughed and
gasped for several minutes as my life flashed before my eyes for the second time in a twenty-four-hour period.
This shit was getting really old.
Once I could breathe again with only limited gasping and wheezing, I proceeded to crack open another coconut with as much ease as the last. This time,I took rational bites of the hearty flesh and made sure to chew slowly and thoroughly. I worked for the better part of an hour cracking coconuts
and slowly munching on them as I did so. By the time I was done,I had probably a gallon of coconut water at my disposal and a huge pile of
coconut shells and meat to sustain me. I'd managed to keep my mind
diligently on my work and not allowed it to wander, but as soon as I didn't have anything to keep my mind occupied,I started thinking about that damn footprint again.
"Benjamin Ross Whitfield," I growled as I rifled my hair, "there is no motherfucking Swamp Thing looking Creature from the Black Lagoon
stalking you on this island. Chill the hell out, dude!"
My admonishment of myself got me moving again. This time, I
picked up a few of the bigger coconut shell halves and walked to the beach with them. I filled them with ocean water, walked back, and sat them on a big flat rock I'd pulled from the fire. I hoped this would heat up the water without setting the shells on fire. I repeated the trip two more times, and I was satisfied I had enough salt water for what I needed to do next.
I sat down next to the fire and pulled my shirt off. There was no
sense in getting it wet again. I grabbed my white undershirt and used my
utility knife to cut the bottom third of the shirt off. Then I dipped it in the
slightly steaming shell of salt water and placed the warm rag onto the cut on the back of my head.
"Aw, hell," I hissed and gritted my teeth, "that fucking stings!"
I repeated the process over and over until I couldn't feel anymore sand and dirt in the gash and the water ran clean. I had to admit to myself
that despite the stinging, it did feel much better. There was less pressure on my head, and the swelling had gone down some. It would probably be smart to repeat the cleansing at least once, if not twice, each day.