Lost and Found

By this point, I was at the fuck-it stage of an accelerating downward spiral. The product of many sporadic decisions had landed me on the San Juan islands in the up left corner of the USA. I had a girl there. We’d met at a grocery store on the day I had planned on leaving the San Juan Islands. I had asked where the cheese was and somehow that had planted the seed for a year-long romance. By the end of that year I had grown very attached to her everlasting positivity no matter what the situation. Then, as usually happens with me at that point in a love affair, she decided it wasn’t right. And when she’d said that, I decided that it wasn’t fair for me - and I told her so too. ‘You’ll miss me, but believe that I won’t be missing you.’ I’m sure I had said something like that. I usually do. I wonder if the women ever believe it.

I knew the island too well after my year stint there and had grown bored of exploring the same old corners of the same network of islands. But, with an aching heart and a fuck-it attitude, I elected to take my old kayak farther west into the pacific than I ever dared go before. I was a decent rower by that point in my time on the Islands, but never had I ventured far out of sight of the most western land mass of the San Juan’s.

That day was different though, of course. I was rowing to prove how much fun I could have in spite of that evil woman. I needed an adventure! I needed to feel something other than heartache. So I rowed and rowed. The hours ticked by but I didn’t notice how long I’d been going until the sky began to turn pink. I looked behind me for the first time that day and saw the abyss that is the heartless Pacific. Nothing. Nothing but fiercely grey, choppy water. And now I realized the wind had been at my back all day. Rowing back east would surely be impossible now. Oh yes, I had really done it this time.

I got angry with myself and nearly was knocked into the water as I tried to turn the kayak back towards the west coast. ‘Oh, great idea Brad. Ya, just go ahead and row all day into the Pacific. What could go wrong? You absolute MORON!’ I yelled into the absent air.

The winds howled into my ears and stung my eyes with misty salt-water. With no point of reference it was difficult to tell if my hearty rows were doing much more than keeping me still in the vast Pacific. I decided then to paddle northeast with the wind pelting my right cheek. From my vague knowledge of the geography of the area, I thought that would give me at least a shot of hitting some land mass -probably Canadian. In fact, maybe I would be saved by the Canadian coast guard If I could make it to the border.

When darkness fell, I became silently hopeless. But, if I was going to die, if this really was my last feat, I was at least going to put in a world-class battle. With the north star as my guide, I rowed with all the strength I had left. And each moment, usually once every hour or so, that I hit a mental wall of pain and exhaustion, I pushed on. This was my last act on this world, and I had nothing to lose. I always found strength to not only keep rowing, but to row stubbornly harder with each passing hour.

When the first morning light finally graced me and began to warm my frigid fingers, I could see that to my right there was land. I began to cry. I wasn’t safe yet, it looked to be a very small uninhabited island, but at least now I knew I would not die by drowning. Death by drowning has long been my biggest fear. Rowing with miraculous strength I closed in on the island, determined to prove to myself that it was in fact there. I kissed the sandy beach like I was in a dramatic movie and then laid face up on the sand. The sun was now high in the sky and I bathed in the warmth until I felt myself falling asleep. I let myself drift away into dreamland and hoped I’d wake to realise this had all been a horrible dream. Hoping I’d wake up to my lady rubbing my back softly to wake me up, as she always did in our studio apartment with a view of the bay.

Someone did wake me up that afternoon, but it was not my girl. Not even close. As my eyes focused, I saw a haggard old man squatting like a catcher next to me. And… he was grinning. An awful yellow-toothed, smelly grin.

‘Come on son, let’s get you some water.’ The man grumbled. I sensed it had been a long time since he had spoken to anyone by the expression he wore when he heard the sorry tone of his own voice.

‘Yes, please - sir.’ I coughed out. Now taking inventory of my own body, I realized how fragile a state I was in. My hands were red, blistered and swollen. My lips were cracked and rough like sandpaper. When I went to stand, the man caught me as my legs gave out. Then, he hugged me.

‘You're going to be okay son, c’mon. Let me help you.’ His voice this time was smoother and calming.

We shuffled slowly off the beach and walked down a well made path a few hundred feet until the path opened up to an old barn. The frame looked to have been made decades ago with finely cut lumber, but recent patchwork had clearly been done with driftwood from the island. There was no front door, and the glass windows were all cracked.

‘It’s cozier than it looks, especially once there's a fire going… It, uh, get’s cold up here.’ The man stumbled through the sentence. ‘Here, lie down on my bed, I’ll get some lunch going. Drink this water, it’s fresh from a stream just behind the barn.’

I had to take a guess at what the man meant by ‘bed.’ There was no mattress visible. Not wanting to be rude, and not sure how long I’d be able to stand on my own, I went to the corner by the door and laid down. The water hurt as I took my first sips. My throat felt like it had been shredded by the saltwater and heavy breathing I’d endured through the night.

‘What happened out there son? You just get carried away and lost when the sun went down? You're damn lucky you found my island. There's nothing west of me until you're in the cruel east. And lord knows that’s not a place you want to go, trust me.’

‘Ya, I got carried away, I guess you could say.’ I didn’t feel like explaining myself fully. Not yet. I was having a hard time trusting this man.

‘What is your name?’ I asked

‘Charles.’ He said sharply. ‘But call me Buck. No one has called me Charles since the war.’

I stared at Buck dumbly.

‘Korea. They bother teaching ya’ll about that war in school.’ Buck said with rising tension audible in his voice.

‘Ya a bit.’ I lied. ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking…. Why are you out here...and how do you survive… and for how long have you been here?’ The questions now seemed to flood my brain. Was I even safe with this ragged old veteran?

‘I have a sailboat son. Just as soon as you say the word, I’ll take you to the mainland. Don’t you worry. I can see you are. As for me, let’s just say that in this life there are losers and there are winners. I’ve been a loser all my life. But on this island I am happy. I fish, I garden a bit, and I go to town a few times a year for other supplies. In twenty-three years there have only been occasional visitors to my island, usually arriving in a state similar to yours. I help them out, bring them to safety and they keep my little island secret safe.’

‘Okay, fine I said. That seems like a realistic story.’ I said with reservations. ‘So, basically, you're a bitter old hermit who’s given up on life. You’re going to wither away here until you die? That’s your plan?’

Buck turned from the stove he’d been cooking on to look me in the eyes for the first time. His were brown and unblinking. He stared for a minute without saying anything.

‘Ya, son. That’s the plan. Want to join? Friday is fish taco night.’ Buck said casually with a wry grin as he turned back to the stove.

‘Lunch is ready. Hope you like fish.’ Buck said.

The reality of the moment began to sink in as the salmon graced my starving belly. Here I was on an uncharted island in the Pacific with a sour Korean war vet determined to be alone. And I was at a crossroads in my own life. I had no job, $4,000 in savings (from working as a car mechanic on the San Juan's), no girlfriend, and - most troubling - no place to call home. I had no ‘back’ to go back to. I’d been a vagabond for too long to have reliable roots anywhere. I suppose it was these thoughts brooding in my head that prompted me to say, ‘You’re scared Buck. That’s why you hide away on this rock. You don’t want to die alone. No one truly does. You're just scared to stick your neck out and be let down. I can commiserate regarding that, believe me. But this is no way to live. You have a sailboat, right?’ Then I paused, realizing the harshness of both the words and delivery. I looked up now and was met by Buck’s piercing eyes. He didn’t look angry.

‘What are you saying, Son’?

‘I’m proposing a grand adventure. I have some savings. Enough for the both of us for at least a few months. You have a boat and you know how to sail it. That right?’ I said. Buck nodded in agreement.

‘Let’s leave. Let’s head west until we hit the ‘cruel’ East, as you say. C’mon, Buck. Let’s go on an adventure.

Buck stared into me. Then he began looking around at the ramshackle barn. The driftwood that had been tied onto the roof using old fishing line to stop the roof from leaking. The broken windows and muddy floor. The kitchen, which was really just a fire pit and a few rusty pans. I felt I could see the pain and loneliness that Buck had endured all these years written on his face.

‘We’ll leave at dawn.’ Buck declared, smiling broadly for the first time. ‘I’m going to make a sailor out of you son.’

At dawn the next morning we packed the sailboat with all the provisions that Buck had available, which wasn’t much. Rice, dried meats, cookware, fresh water from the stream behind the barn, and a few fishing poles. We’d be relying on those fishing poles for the majority of the Pacific crossing. I quietly hoped Buck was a better fisher than I was.

‘Son wait here, there’s just one thing I’ve got to do before we set sail.’

I watched Buck disappear on the trail to the cabin. Then in a matter of minutes, I saw a massive fireball. Buck appeared on the trail again, heading towards me - this time running and smiling.

‘Let’s get the hell outta here son. Fuck this island and fuck that barn!’