Salt Run

Having hard time finding a good place to drop the hook in Salt Run, nearby St. Augustine, we settled in a place between marker and mooring balls somewhat distant to the shore. It took awhile to land our inflatable beach toy with two of us in it, but we spent the rest of the day in town teeming with life, enjoying it immensely. It was so hot we had to hide in a Cathedral to catch a breath. We also had a great time to share some good conversation with each other and we felt a bit closer as a result. After such great time in the town we decided to spend the next day on the beach. Our famous lack of planning cost us some good long walk to the state beach only to separate and loose each other for the rest of the day. This was when things got sour. The day wasn’t nearly as nice as the one before. It was overcast and sure enough, skies broke open pouring a tantrum of rain over my head. Nowhere to hide I was soaked immediately. I had a suspicion that Johannes is wet already as well. I made my way back to the place where we left our little pontoon. After few hours of walk completely soaked, wet and grumpy I was waiting for my friend to show up. There was no sign of him.

Johannes wasn't in a peachy mood either. He made to the Ocean and seeing big waves crashing the shore couldn’t resist and went swimming. It was raining already anyway. After couple of minutes he got tossed by a wave like a rug doll and hurt his back. That scared him a bit. Since the beach was the place we were hoping to get to he was expecting his skipper to find and join him there. I guess he waited in vain.

Meanwhile I was still on the shore, sitting on our little pontoon getting really, really cold. My lips were blue and my body was getting spasms of shivers that were getting unbearable. I took off my wet t-shirt and tried to walk around, exercise a little to warm up. I was really cold and really annoyed. It was getting dark, the tidal current was picking up and I kept looking at our sailboat from the shore. The innocent outing to the beach was turning into a trip to the land of hypothermia. I am getting cold again just thinking about it. On the boat dry clothes and food were awaiting so finally I made up my mind and against raising current made to our boat, safe at last. I strip down, dry myself off and put some dry clothes still shivering uncontrollably. Finally I wrapped myself in a blanket nibbling on some food worrying about Johannes. I tried to picture myself talking to his mom: “By the by, your little German boy was killed in action. I don’t know where he is. I wasn’t paying attention.” But then again I didn’t speak any German so it would have to be something much simpler: “Johannes – no good,” thoughtful pause here, let it sink in and then: “Johannes kaput.” Then I would gently hang up and run to another country changing my name to… Wait a minute; my name is so… original already. How do you change “Wiszniowski” to make it more difficult - I couldn’t come up with any ideas.

I heard some calls coming from the shore. It was Johannes at last. No doubt about it, even though you can’t hear much against the noise of wind and splashes of water. I shouted back twice: “I am coming!!!” and looked with disgust into a wet and cold night and jumped into our beach pontoon praying I won’t be blown to Cuba just yet. When I got to the shore after considerable effort, there was no sign of Johannes. Yet I knew her was there just a minute ago, so I was calling him up and waited ashore, tired, wet and cold again wondering what has gotten into this boy. I walked around and checked out the other landing place we were using before. No sign of the bugger. It was pitch black around me, yet I still saw red when I heard Johannes calling me again, from the sailboat this time, turning his flashlight on, blinking happily into the night. I made back to the boat against the current and against the wind by sheer rage and desperation. I was going to drop this kid to the airport the next day. Let his German parents go insane. Why me? So here we were: me Johannes and stolen canoe. Johannes didn’t hear me calling back, assumed is all up to him, went to the nearby boat ramp, found somebody’s canoe and decided it’s his only chance to return to our sailboat. We were so wound up that night we couldn’t even speak to each other without screaming. So we both made of stubborn stock just shut up and went to bed. Well, you have a Polak and German sharing a small cabin on a 25 foot sloop in the extraordinary circumstances, what do you expect: communication?

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