Fresh Men, Salt Water: A Harrowing Tale of Twenty Freshmen in the Chesapeake Bay

Jesse Gray, Yahoo! Contributor Network
Jun 12, 2007 "Share your voice on Yahoo! websites. Start Here."

It was a typical August day in Virginia, which, as anyone who lives there will tell you, doesn't mean jack squat. Snow in April, hail in May, heat waves in December; the hapless weathermen don't even try anymore. Let us say then that it was a stereotypical southern August day in Virginia: too hot for Satan and so darn humid you practically needed gills to breathe.

A charter bus turned off a main road onto a dirt path littered with bits of gravel. Twenty-three pairs of bright eager eyes gazed out of the oversized windows as the rustic scenery passed by at a leisurely fifteen miles an hour. It wasn't long before tree branches began scraping the windows and the rutted, uneven earth began playing havoc with the suspension.

This bit of action only stirred the excitement of the occupants of the bus, with the exception of the driver who was swearing under his breath. Who were these intrepid adventurers? There were twenty college freshmen-the Charter class of The Leadership Program at Ambiguous University-Millie, the newly-appointed director of the program, Boyardee the Housing Director, and his daughter Prius who was a junior in high school.

Only two weeks earlier these leadership students met each other for the first time at an orientation seminar and were given the details about their first endeavor together as members of the program. Actually, "details" is a horrible exaggeration. They were simply told that they were going on a three-day, three-night sailing trip on the Chesapeake Bay. The purpose of the trip was to bond them together and establish the foundation for what would hopefully be lasting relationships. As a bonus, two credit hours would be awarded at the end of the trip, making for one less elective they'd have to cope with later on. They were told to pack light and practical and to prepare themselves for a grand adventure.

The naïve and trusting students had no reason to suspect that the word "grand" in this case meant something other than wonderful and pleasant, and so they happily signed the six pages of multi-colored waiver forms that were given to them. They left the college on Thursday and would arrive back Sunday afternoon, just in time for the start of the semester on Monday. Bubbling with excitement, they'd passed the time on the trip getting to know each other and listening to Millie talk about what the future held for them once they got back to campus.

The bus finally reached a clearing and the group piled out and loitered on the damp lawn while everyone got their belongings. The air conditioning of the bus was immediately missed as everyone began sweating like pigs, attracting flies and mosquitoes like they were freshdung instead of freshmen. They remained in high spirits however as they looked around for a dock or a boat or a bay. Finally deciding their guides would come find them, they sat down and waited.

It was only a few minutes before the guides arrived. They looked like typical outdoor specialists: scruffy, rugged, weathered, lean and confident. There were three of them, two men and a woman. The youngest was named Darth Sadist. He had graduated college not long ago and decided to throw his youthful vigor into taming the great outdoors. The woman was a bit older than he was and her name was Rosie. Lastly was Satchel, a wiry old salt who had clearly been in the sun for most of his life; in fact it looked like he'd never been out of it. His skin had the texture of worn leather and his tan was so dark that it nearly brought to question his ethnic background; his green eyes and bristling mustache were the only indications that he was in fact a Caucasian.

Once the introductions were made and Millie turned over the waiver forms, the three guides told everyone to gather 'round on the grass and put their bags in front of them. Once this was done, Darth Sadist gave everyone a Ziploc bag and told them to put their toothbrushes, toothpaste, and whatever else they could fit inside-which was practically nothing. The students balked; surely he didn't want them to leave behind their soap, deodorant, light snacks, change of clothes, pillows and sleeping bags!

Darth Sadist shared a laugh with his fellow guides. Of course not! ...They could bring extra undergarments and put them in a waterproof bag that would be stashed below. Food and bedding would be provided; soap and deodorant were forbidden because they attracted bugs. This was the first indication of trouble, and had those students had any sense, they would have tossed their little Ziploc bags in Darth Sadist's face, snatched their waiver forms and piled back on the bus. But of course, they didn't have any such sense.

One student, Doppler, had particular issues with not being able to bring his deodorant along. Doppler had the demeanor of one who was shy, but once he got riled he reacted in a rather quirky way. He was quite fond of the weather and in fact proved to be nearly as accurate with his predictions as the professionals on TV. However, unlike the professionals on TV you could not turn him off; you got an update on the slightest weather change free of charge several times an hour.

Doppler offered a mild, quirky protest to going three days without a deodorizer, but once it was explained that if everyone reeked they'd eventually get used to the smell, he quieted down and cast his eyes skyward to see what he'd missed during his brief stand of defiance.

Only one other student seemed severely troubled by the turn of events, and she was doing everything she could to cram six makeup kits into her Ziploc bag. Her name was Mary Kay and she had the posture and disposition of a model. She wasn't tall, but she was petite to the point of dainty. Her features were delicate and her voice soft. It was quite possible she was beautiful naturally, but with over thirty-one types of glamour products expertly applied to her face, no one knew for sure. She offered no real verbal protest, just a look of horrified disgust and an, "are you kidding me?" look at her fellow adventurers. But with some encouragement she accepted her fate and focused her energy on managing the storage space she had.

What perplexed her the most was why they had to pack so light in the first place. After all, there had to be plenty of storage space in the yacht, right? Apparently in her mind there was no other boat capable of sailing on the water, and with this many people the yacht would have to be one of great size and luxury. Though none of the other students exactly envisioned a yacht as their vessel, they shared her bewilderment as they stowed their "unessential" gear back on the bus and followed Darth Sadist and his compatriots into the woods to the dock. It was to be a three-day journey. They were going to have to sleep on the boat. It would have to be big enough for them to lie down and move around in relative comfort. The guides knew the headcount in advance and surely had prepared accordingly.

Twilight was only an hour away when they emerged from the woods and saw the bay. But the grand body of water wasn't what held their attention; it was the dock right in front of them and the two dinky boats that were moored where their yacht should have been. Some shook their heads in disbelief while others laughed and waited for the guides to say, "Just kidding!" and fetch the real boats. But the guides weren't kidding, though they were definitely amused. One by one the students were brutally struck upside the head by disillusionment and many of them sank to their knees and wept. Even Millie, who had been in on the planning, had not expected such a cruel fate to greet them at the waters' edge.

Technically, they were sailboats. They floated on the surface of the water and they had tall masts in the middle that seemed more-or-less able to handle a sail. They looked old enough to have been lifeboats on Noah's Ark and they seemed certain to sink once a human of any size climbed aboard. They were made completely of wood with only the faintest hint of paint remaining on the outer hull. However, it wasn't the tremendous sink-ability of the boat that concerned everyone, it was the size.

The boats were approximately twenty-three feet from bow to stern with a seven-foot beam at their widest point. There were four broad boards that connected port to starboard and an extra triangle platform with a mysterious hole in it at the very front of the bow. It wasn't a bad size for seven or eight people to cruise the bay for an afternoon, but that wasn't the scenario. Counting the guides, there were a total of twenty-six people scheduled to make the voyage; that would be thirteen people on each boat with about two feet of personal space each. There was no "below deck" to speak of, there was simply "the space under the boards", and that was taken up by provisions, clothing bags and sleeping mats.

Mary Kay looked like she might pass out at any moment and everyone else was right behind her. Millie smiled politely and asked if they were sure they had the right boats. Satchel assured her they did. Mary Kay passed out. Eager to appear tough and able, no one really complained. There was, however, a lot of bitter joking about running away, abandoning ship, flogging the guides and curling into a fetal position for the duration of the voyage. The later joke was taken a step further when someone pointed out that there wasn't enough room on the boat to curl into a fetal position.

The guides gathered their now-less-than-enthusiastic crew around on the dock and went over boat safety. They went over basics that every sailor should know before going out on the ocean. Humans can't breathe water. If you fall overboard, don't chalk it up to fate and wait to drown; call out for help. The water is in perpetual motion, therefore the boat will also be in perpetual motion so watch your step and hold on to stuff when walking. If your clothes get wet you won't like it so stay dry. Drink lots of water, just not from the ocean. Your urine should be clear and copious. If it's not, drink more water.

After that useful briefing, the guides handed out official water bottles and instructed everyone to make sure theirs was full at all times. College students love free things, especially if they're going to be useful. The bottles weren't anything to write home to mom about, but they were new and free. Everyone obediently filled up and took a few gulps to get started on the path to being clear and copious.

At this point the sun had sunk to the horizon and was casting out its amber beams as a warning that darkness would soon follow. The guides told everyone to bring their stuff on board and get ready to cast off. The group divided into two with Darth Sadist, Satchel and Millie taking ten students and Rosie and Boyardee taking eleven students. Once onboard with their Ziploc bags safely stowed, the students were taught the basics of sailing as well as the names for the different fixtures on the boat. Most interesting was "the head"-the nautical name for a toilet. The head turned out to be that mysterious hole in the front of the boat with a blue bucket beneath it. Anyone wishing to expel solid waste would simply climb to the front of the boat (where the view was breathtaking), drop their pants and pop a squat over the hole. As for anyone wishing to urinate-and with everyone drinking an abundance of water there would be a lot of that going on-they only had to turn away from the boat, grab a line for support and let fly into the churning waters. It would be a little trickier for the women who would have to more-or-less lean back over the water in a careful crouch, but Rosie assured them it would become second nature within a day. The sea, they explained, was a shameless mistress who didn't care a rusty lanyard for modesty. Having thus properly mortified their audience, the guides decreed that it was time to put out to sea.

But alas, there was no wind! Undaunted, the guides instructed their victims to retrieve the oars from "below deck". Sure enough, there were eight oars in each boat. They were nearly seven feet long and as thick as a man's arm; apparently they'd been crafted prior to the invention of sandpaper because they were rough and coarse with only the slightest tapering at the end to allow a hand to grab onto. Eight spry volunteers on each boat took up the oars like slaves on a Viking ship and began syncing their strokes. The other students learned to use the rudder and other miscellaneous navigational items on the boat. After about twenty minutes of exertion, the rower's spryness gave way to fatigue and blisters and three of them were relieved.

It wasn't long after this that the rain began. It started lightly enough, the first random drops giving the sailors barely enough time to properly prepare before the main storm hit. First the guides introduced everyone to their raingear, which was essentially a bright yellow plastic jacket with a hood and a matching set of pants. This proved to be perfectly counterproductive because while the sheer plastic protected the wearer from outside water, it trapped a great deal of body heat which in turn produced sweat. So either way, everyone was going to get soaked. Some opted to try the jackets but no one attempted to put on the pants. Once everyone was either sweating or exposed to the weather, the guides gave instructions on how to make the ships weatherproof. Ultimately it involved about fifteen minutes of rigorous confusion, a great deal of rope and knots, and a large, cumbersome tarp.

The tarp was erected just in time and everyone huddled under it as the rain hit full-force. They were practically sitting on top of each other with no room to move and scarcely enough space to breathe. They looked at each other, each one wondering why, after all that work, their back-ends were still getting soaked. Apparently the tarp was only designed to cover heads and upper torsos; equally apparent was the disappointing fact that the guides felt this shoddy protection was adequate. So now not only were they hot from the humidity and those blasted jackets, they got the added bonus of sharing body heat beneath an ineffective shelter!

After a brief, canned lecture on teamwork and how the quasi-shelter could have gone up faster with more indians and fewer chiefs, the guides asked if there were any questions. One student, Lanks, ventured to ask when they were going to head back to shore for the night; the boats obviously weren't big enough to accommodate any type of sleeping arrangement.

Lanks was a tall, thin reed of a man who wore a Boy Scout scarf on his head like a bandana. Over the years he had grown accustomed to being the comedic relief even when he didn't intend to be, and so it was in this case. Darth Sadist laughed, smiled at everyone and said they would all be sleeping on the boats. Immediately someone asked how that was physically possible. Satchel explained that the oars doubled as bedding and would cover the gaps between the boards. Once the oars were in place, everyone would lay their mats on top and sleep on those.

At this point, genuine animosity began to stir within the hearts and minds of the hapless freshmen, but none of them had the energy to do anything except put up a bold front and pretend like they weren't fazed by the news.

After less than an hour the rain stopped and the rowing resumed. Night fell and stars filled the sky, providing a pleasant sight for anyone with the strength to lift their head. Not long after, the guides declared that it was time to bunk up for the night and the preparations were made. The anchor was cast, the soggy oars were laid across the boat and everyone staked a spot and laid out their mats. Darth Sadist and Satchel claimed nearly the entire front third of the boat, leaving just enough room for everyone else to lie on their sides, alternating head-to-toe to buy a little extra room. Apart from being unable to roll over, having their noses buried in someone else's feet and using their damp raingear as makeshift pillows, the students also suffered the discomfort of having the oars pressing against their shoulders. As it turns out, "bedding" and "mats" were also two terms that had been used rather loosely. At little more than half-an-inch thick, these five-foot long pieces of foam provided all the comfort and padding of a quilted paper towel. Added to all this was the fact that the humidity was still in full swing, helping to complete the most inhospitable sleeping conditions known to man.

Then, just before everyone attempted to fall asleep, Darth Sadist announced that in a real sailing scenario at sea, there would always be two watchmen at the stern to make sure the boat didn't drift. They would work in three hour shifts and wake the next pair once their stint was up. A drowsy minded student pointed out that they had dropped anchor already and asked if that wasn't enough to prevent drifting. The diabolical Satchel said they would be fools to rely on the anchor and that they needed watchmen to be sure the anchor held. Darth Sadist then paired everyone off and assigned those pairs to shifts. The couple with the first shift awkwardly got to their feet and carefully tip-toed their way to the back of the boat where they sat and began their dull vigil.

As it turned out, nearly everyone managed to fall asleep just before it was their turn to take the watch. At two in the morning, the final couple was roused; Doogie and Grits drowsily made their way to the back of the boat. Grits was a rather attractive gal who played soccer for the college. She had a domesticated look about her that was deceptive, for she was nothing of the kind. In fact, four years later, in the months immediately following her graduation from AU, she hiked the entire Appalachian Trail from Florida to Maine. Doogie was an exceptionally smart and rather athletic individual who would go on to be valedictorian of his class and graduate from medical school four years after that. Unfortunately, at two in the morning Doogie wasn't particularly athletic or coherent, and a faulty step sent him plunging between the oars. One leg hit the bottom of the boat, the other leg bent at the knee and came crashing down on Giggles' head.

Giggles was a little ball of energy who had a boisterous laugh and cheerful disposition-even after she saw the boat. She had already managed to forge a very tight friendship with Rewind, another energetic gal, and the two were able to carry on entire conversations that were comprised of nothing but movie quotes. Their favorites so far had been excerpts from Encino Man, an older comedy starring Brendan Frasier.

Either Giggles was sound asleep or knocked unconscious by the blow because she didn't make a sound or move a muscle when her head was crushed beneath Doogie's knee. After whispering an apology and checking Giggles for a pulse, Doogie finished his trek to the back of the boat and met up with Grits. The two struck up a conversation and managed to stay awake until the end of their shift.

At five o'clock in the morning, Satchel stood up, stretched and looked at the sky. The sun was near to rising but had yet to cast any significant light onto that part of the world. Doogie and Grits watched him pull a whistle from around his neck, put it to his lips, take a long deep breath and blow. The shrill, ungodly screech awakened everyone on both boats, eliciting startled cries and a chorus of moans from the bedraggled sleepers. There had been no mention of an alarm, and certainly no warning that they would be up before the sun! They had officially gone to sleep at nine, which meant that the most sleep anyone had gotten was about five hours.

In spite of this fact, an annoyingly chipper Darth Sadist roused them from their "beds" with the announcement that it was time for their morning showers. This news was particularly welcomed by Beachball who had gotten soaked the night before and was thrilled at the prospect of a nice hot bath. Beachball was a laid-back chap who could have easily passed for a surfer from the West Coast. He was neither a surfer nor was he from the West Coast, but he loved the beach dearly and enjoyed a rousing game of volleyball when he could find the competition. He had taken the sailing situation as well as anyone could have, and did his best to offer encouragement to those in low spirits.

There were few low spirits to be found now however, as everyone had heard the rumors about a shower and had quickly risen and stowed their "mats". Once everyone was up and attentive, the guides casually said that they weren't going to shore for showers and baths-they were going to take them right there. The sinister meaning behind his words was lost on the group, and Beachball and his companions merely stared at the guides as if they hadn't said anything at all. Rosie clarified by telling everyone to take a swim. This command also failed to register for a long while. Finally a rumble of protest began somewhere and was taken up by everyone in the group. While the prior night had been hot and muggy, the morning was quite cool; without the warmth of the sun there was absolutely no motivation to jump into cold salt water.

Darth Sadist said that everyone was going to take a morning dip to get clean and if no one got in they'd start tossing people off the boat. At this point no one knew whether he was joking or not and everyone looked at each other with great trepidation. Finally, Beachball boldly stepped forth. He took off his shoes, socks and shirt, and got up on the end of the boat. Holding onto one of the lines for balance, he leaned over the edge and with a nervous smile jumped overboard.

The air was pierced by a startled cry that sounded like it came from a panicked eight-year-old girl. This cry was immediately followed by a splash, and when Beachball regained the surface he sputtered something about jellyfish. He'd seen them the instant before he hit the water and with no way to save himself, opted for cry of alarm. Everyone rushed to the side of the boat and peered down into the dark waters. Sure enough, there were jellyfish...scores of them. Big ones, small ones, naughty ones, nice ones; the entire boat was surrounded by the gelatinous creatures. As soon as someone thought they saw a clear spot, a closer look showed at least two or three jellyfish ten feet or so below the surface.

The guides said of course there were jellyfish. Sure they stung a little if you made contact with the tentacles, but everyone would get used to it eventually. As if on cue, Beachball let out a startled cry (more manly this time) as he got stung across his shins. At this point, several of the students decided their comrade would not suffer alone and took the plunge themselves. Others, like Mary Kay, took more convincing, but eventually everyone was in the water. Yelps of pain and moans abounded as practically everyone was kissed by a jellyfish, but the guides were right: they started getting used to it. They still felt it, but it didn't bother them as much.

Satchel suggested that now would be the perfect time to relieve themselves, particularly if they still didn't feel comfortable doing it off the side of the boat. Slowly and casually everyone started to spread out, casting suspicious glances at their peers. Some, like Giggles, embraced the freedom and made no secret of the fact that she was warming the frigid water around her. Gradually everyone started to get comfortable with the fact that there was jellyfish and human waste in the water and they started swimming around, happy to have the room to stretch out for the first time since the previous evening.

After ten minutes or so things seemed to get even better as Rosie announced it was time for breakfast. The dip had hardly been refreshing, but by now everyone was wide awake and so were their appetites. They clamored back on board the boats and found seats to dry off. A few tried to use their towels but most of them air dried while the guides explained how the food preparations would go. For every meal, two people on each boat would have mess duty; that is they would be in charge of preparing and distributing the planned cuisine. However, since this was the first meal of the trip and there wasn't a whole lot of preparation needed, the guides would handle breakfast this time.

First they distributed old plastic bowls that had long since lost their original color, and then they passed around a water bottle containing metal spoons; these too were ancient and looked like they'd fallen victim to a garbage disposal several times during their decades of service. With cruddy bowl and maligned spoon in hand, everyone eagerly awaited the succulent nourishment to use them on.

Darth Sadist and Satchel pulled out what looked like a kitty litter container from the bowels of the boat while Rosie retrieved a small bucket. As she opened the lid, she announced that breakfast would consist of plain yogurt and granola. A look of universal bewilderment crossed the faces of the students, for few of them knew that plain yogurt even existed, let alone that it could count as one half of a meal. Sure enough, the small bucket contained granola and the kitty litter box was filled to the top with a white creamy substance that had the appearance and texture of yogurt.

Taking a spare spoon from the water bottle, Satchel began unceremoniously scooping the goop into the student's bowls. One...two...three tablespoons and then on to the next one. Rosie followed behind with her bucket o' granola, scooping out a handful and dumping it on top of the yogurt. Though skeptical, everyone dug in hungrily and made short work of their portions. In classic Oliver Twist style they held up their empty bowls and begged for more, their eyes imploring while hunger ravished their bellies.

One more tablespoon of yogurt and another handful of granola constituted the second and final helping. The plain yogurt turned out to be vanilla, and the granola was actually quite hearty, so it was with great disappointment that there wasn't more to go around. Darth Sadist encouraged them to keep drinking water, especially now that they had food in their stomachs.

When the last person was finished, it was time to wash the dishes. Satchel leaned over the side, dunked his bowl in, swished sea water around inside it with his hand and shook it out to get the majority of the water off. He did the same thing with his spoon before tossing it back in the water bottle. The kids looked at him like he had lost his mind. This was the very same water they'd just spent the morning peeing in! This was the same water that was infested with jellyfish, algae, bacteria and a cornucopia of aquatic fecal matter!

But there it was. 'Doing the dishes' consisted of washing everything in the ocean and then putting it all back in a collective pile to be randomly redistributed at lunchtime. Everyone followed suit, albeit with marked disgust. The shock was starting to wear off and they were beginning to accept the fact that this trip was going to take them down a dark path they'd much rather never have set foot on. The two credit hours they had originally thought were such a great deal now seemed to be a very inadequate compensation.

What kept them going? What allowed them to take all this in stride? They were fledgling friends suffering together, and no one was going to be the one to suggest they give up and throw in the towel. This was the first true test of their independence and ability to cope without mom or dad anywhere in the picture. They all had something to prove to themselves and to each other: that they had what it took to see this journey through to its completion. ...They were also stubborn and really had no idea what they were refusing to throw the towel in on, not to mention that short of a brutal and literal mutiny they had no way of ending the trip any sooner than the guides desired.

After breakfast cleanup, the guides had them rowing for about an hour or so to get out away from land and into ripe sailing conditions. The sun had come out and was drying clothes and cooking skin as the students either navigated or rowed.

Finally the big moment arrived. The guides ordered for the sail to be unfurled, and then began the long explanation of how the rigging worked, the principle of harnessing wind, and how to jib and tack. Some of the smarter kids like Doogie watched and learned in fascination while others like Lanks quickly grew bored and decided they'd leave the sailing part up to guys like Doogie. The announcement that everyone would take a turn as captain forced him to pay more attention, but he lacked the understanding of complex quantum statistics needed to fully comprehend the intricacies of jibbing.

Eventually the training ended and everyone took up their sailing positions, happy to be stowing the oars. Beachball, Zelda and Doogie were the first captains/navigators, mostly because no one else volunteered. The guides said they would soon begin sailing exercises to see how well the concepts were learned, and no one wanted the pressure of performing. Doogie, however, had a competitive streak and loved a challenge-as did Beachball-and Zelda was Doogie's female counterpart. She had great intelligence and a quiet charisma, although she was very capable of breaking out the proverbial "spit, fire, and vinegar" when she needed to. Additionally it was mostly her encouragement that had kept Mary Kay's spirits up through the whole ordeal thus far.

(It is important to note that from here on, only the adventures of one boat will be recounted. While there were great feats, defeats and triumphs had by the hearty Boyardee, Rosie and their dashing crew, those tales have long since been lost in the labyrinth of time and so cannot be retold here.)

With three capable captains at the helm, the sail was soon full and the boat was cutting its way along at a comfortable ten knots. The guides found endless opportunities to offer correction, which was both welcome and annoying at the same time. Satchel took on a fatherly disposition towards Millie and the students while Darth Sadist, still full of the follies of youth, resorted to dry humor, quips, and a fervent attempt at "cool" while giving his particular brand of guidance.

Doogie was beginning to develop something akin to dislike for the sarcastic young guide, not for the reasons mentioned above-though those certainly didn't help-but because of Darth Sadist's apparent growing fondness towards Grits. Unbeknownst even to himself, Doogie was in the process of crushing on Grits and he didn't appreciate Sadist's showboating and antics. The guide was on a power trip and poor Doogie was just along for the ride. To his chagrin, he even found himself the target of the guide's jokes! And so began an unspoken rivalry for Grits' affections that would last for the duration of the trip.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the boat, another rivalry was in full swing inside of Lanks: the battle between digestion and regurgitation. Not long after the group got underway, Lanks had begun to feel queasy in the stomach and not all that great elsewhere. At first he hypothesized that it was the combination of plain yogurt, a hot sun, and the physical exertion of rowing that was to blame. But as the ship rose and fell in sync with the waves, it began to dawn on him that he might in fact be seasick. After all, he got carsick if he sat in the back of a van and he couldn't ride the Teacups at Disney World without becoming violently ill. In retrospect, he realized it was foolish to think he would be exempt from seasickness, but his time for regret was short-lived.

Moments later, Lanks was spilling his guts to the shameless mistress. Eyes squeezed shut in agony, he couldn't see the distorted reflection of himself in the greenish muck below him. The pungent smell of the sea, mixed with his knowledge that it had become the world's largest toilet only encouraged the evacuation of his breakfast.

One...two...three tablespoons of yogurt...and then the granola. Oh yes, and then the seventeen gallons of water he'd managed to gulp down at Darth Sadists behest. Soon there was a lapse in the action and Lanks sat motionless, hoping that if he didn't move he would be okay. Suddenly he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and weakly he looked up to see Snuggles smiling empathetically at him. Snuggles was a sweet gal who grew up about an hour from AU. A psychology major, she had a heart for children with special needs and Lanks would make perfect practice. She had a great deal of patience and compassion as well, and though she'd been quiet and reserved on the trip thus far, she was the first to step out and come to Lanks' aid.

She asked him how he was feeling as she rubbed his back, and he mumbled something about being wretched. Borrowing his bandanna, she dipped it in the ocean and pressed it against his forehead in an attempt to cool him off. Concern registered on the faces of everyone on board...with the exception of the guides. Darth Sadist told him to drink more water and man his sailing post while Satchel added that there was nothing they could do for him.

Millie, knowing her own propensity for getting seasick, had some Dramamine with her and offered it to Lanks. Darth Sadist said that wouldn't work because Lanks couldn't keep anything down; the Dramamine would have to wait until they pulled closer to shore and stopped that evening for dinner.

During this brief exchange, Lanks had gone back over the side at least half a dozen more times, only now he had nothing left to give and could only suffer through the motions of dry heaves. This devastating display of human suffering stirred the heart of the benevolent guide who poured Lanks some more water, tossed him a package of Saltines and told him to eat, drink, and jib. Lanks summoned up enough strength to glare at his tormentor for a moment before returning to his upchuck position.

When he thought the sickness had passed, Lanks sat up and took hold of his line, ready to leap into action when there was a wind change. Unfortunately, his stomach turned before the wind did and he finally resigned himself to a day of misery. Snuggles had to stay at her post, but at every opportunity she would tend to her sickly companion. At some point, in a state of delirium, Lanks dubbed them "Puke Pals"; Snuggles gently told him it was best if he didn't talk so much.

After a few hours the wind died down and Darth Sadist announced they'd have to row until lunchtime. The sail was taken down, the transition was made, and everyone took up their oars. Snuggles stayed by Lanks and fed him crackers, then moments later rubbed his back as he sent those crackers into the sea. His disposition didn't exempt him from rowing however, and it wasn't long before Darth Sadist commanded him to relieve one of the rowers. Lanks staggered to his position and got about three strokes in before he had to retire. The guides continued prodding him, telling him he had to pull his weight on the boat. It was then that Beachball stepped in and said he'd go for an extra shift; he waved Lanks out of the way, picked up the oar and put his back into it. Though this act of selflessness was frowned upon by the guides, Lanks was immensely grateful.

By the time they stopped for lunch, everyone had taken an extra shift for their ailing companion and there was not one word of complaint.

The much-anticipated noontime feeding consisted of peanut butter and jelly and water. There was enough bread for everyone to have two sandwiches, which was more than enough; everyone's stomach seemed to have shrunk quite a bit since they put out to sea.

After eating their fill, the students laid back and relaxed, comparing their jellyfish stings and sunburns. Some, like Grits, were worse off than others as they had welts on top of sunburned skin. All in all though, spirits were surprisingly high and the two boats were brought together briefly to allow for the exchange of stories and tribulations.

All too soon the break came to an end and the guides said it was time to set sail again. Happy to be leaving the oars below deck, the students got to work with the rigging and within five minutes were ready to get underway.

While some had developed a fondness for the open sea, many were finding the routine of tack-and-jib to be monotonous. The guides had a cure for that, however...a little fellow named Bastillo. Bastillo was a large red rubber ball with a crude face painted on it in permanent marker. Everyone took to Bastillo instantly: the women loved him, the men wanted to be him. But shortly after introducing Bastillo to everyone, Darth Sadist tied an iron pot to him and tossed him overboard. Sadist explained that Bastillo "fell" overboard and needed to be rescued. In order to do that, the students had to appoint a captain and use their sailing skills to go back and save the hapless Bastillo. Oh yes, and the only catch was, they couldn't speak to each other at all.

Doogie was everyone's first choice for captain, and he began using an array of hand signals in an attempt to communicate his orders. Soon enough everyone got the hang of sailing silently, and without much ado they were sailing back towards Bastillo. Negotiating the currents and wind in addition to making minute adjustments proved to be more of a challenge however, and it took nearly fifteen minutes before Bastillo was brought safely onboard.

The guides asked what the students learned through this exercise, and most of them said that it was frustrating to not be able to talk; a few made a noble attempt to work "the value of teamwork" into it, but the effort was half-hearted. All of them agreed that they were happy it was over with and that their beloved Bastillo was safe. Five minutes later, however, Bastillo went overboard again.

More silent sailing, more frustration, more quiet torment. Lanks, of course, was absolutely loving the abrupt direction changes and choppy water, rolling with the waves as he fervently prayed for death to find him. But soon enough the students found a rhythm and managed to once again save Bastillo from a watery grave. Their love for him was beginning to sour though, and after the fifth rescue half of them wanted to let the peril-prone sphere drown-the other half wanted to skewer him with the snag hook. Bastillo suffered neither fate, but at six o'clock when the guides decided it was time to lower the sail and cook dinner, the poor air-headed sailor had no friends at all.

Dinner that night was an interesting version of macaroni and cheese that was hungrily wolfed down by everyone on board. Having put in to calm waters, the guides let Lanks take the Dramamine, and in twenty minutes his stomach was howling for food. He had three helpings and felt great; seasickness would not plague him again for the rest of the trip.

With their stomachs full, the temperature down, and a beautiful sunset happening right before their eyes, the students actually experienced a moment of bliss. They were weary, yes, but they were victorious sailors. They had conquered verbal communication, fickle winds, and stupid crimson balls. They were feeling confidant and ready to take on whatever the guides had to throw at them next. Apparently they'd forgotten about the arduous task of sleep. Safe to say that once the oars were laid out and they were transformed into sardines for the duration of the night (until they were awakened to take watch) their confidence sank to the bottom of the bay. Fortunately for them, the next day held no grotesque surprises, though it was not without its share of drama.

Up at five, in the water, stung by jellyfish, back on board, meager breakfast, row for a time, hoist the sail-it was hardly routine, but there was something of a resigned attitude among the students that made it seem normal. It wasn't until late morning when the first unusual thing happened.

Millie and Mary Kay were the first to notice that they were being solicited by bugs, not unlike those that had harassed them in the clearing two evenings ago. It wasn't long before everyone became aware of this plague, as a veritable swarm came from nowhere and seemed to settle on the boat. The guides immediately called for everyone to stop what they were doing. Satchel leaned against the mast while Darth Sadist crossed his arms and glared down into the eyes of the freshmen.

One of them had disobeyed.

Bugs in these numbers wouldn't venture so far from land unless they were beckoned to...and the only way they could be beckoned to was with perfume, cologne or deodorant. The first thing the students did was sniff the air, and it was then that they realized Rosie had been right. None of them had properly bathed or put on any kind of deodorizer in days, yet not one of them smelled the rank odor that had to be permeating the air around the boat. But then...slowly...they did catch a scent. It wasn't the horrid reek of B-O, but rather the pleasant aroma of a formidable deodorant.

Whether Darth Sadist was descended from some type of canine, or whether his nose had been augmented by years of living in a sea of filth and a boat of odor, he seemed to find an invisible trail in the air. He sniffed, his eyes closed in concentration, his mouth open to allow his taste buds to enhance his senses further. Satchel kept a wary eye out, making sure no one dove over the side or showed any obvious signs of guilt. It only took a minute before Sadist moved to the middle of the boat and lingered over Mary Kay and Doppler. He took a mighty sniff, his eyes shot open and he pointed an accusatory finger at...Doppler!

Of course Doppler made a plea of not-guilty, but when he saw Darth Sadist would not be swayed he resorted to a quirky protest much akin to the one he presented back on land. Apparently he'd forgotten the uselessness of such an action and it wasn't long before Sadist put out his hand and demanded the forbidden cargo. With a quirky squirm and a gleam in his eyes that betrayed a temporary loss of sanity, Doppler produced his travel-sized canister of Speed Stick ('Iceberg Chill') and surrendered it to the guide. Whatever became of that deodorant, nobody knows for it seemed to vanish into thin air. Satchel relaxed and said for that to be a warning to everyone, though everyone knew there could be no punishment to back that up. What would he do? Make the guilty party row for six hours in a day? Dunk him in the ocean at five in the morning and let him be assaulted by jellyfish?

Regardless of the lack of punishment, no other deodorant cases surfaced-though that was not the last bit of quirkiness to come out of Doppler that day.

It hadn't taken much time at all for most everyone to get used to rallying themselves to the side of the boat, grabbing some rigging, and relieving themselves in front of their companions. With the amount of water they were pressed to drink, shyness couldn't last long, as most everyone was heeding the call of nature three to four times an hour. Of course the men had the decency to look away whenever a lady was taking her turn, and the level of trust was so high that the ladies never doubted their privacy.

As for the head, amazingly enough no one had need of its services for the entire voyage-with one exception. On one occasion, Millie, of all people, her digestive tract working slower than others, was in great need of the bucket. Though the guides protested the delay, everyone stopped sailing and exerted a great deal of effort to fortify the head with a small auxiliary sail and their sleeping mats; it was for their benefit as well as Millie's. Unfortunately they could only cover their side of the boat, so for a few brief moments Millie sat upon her throne at the front of the boat, looking out over the great bay like a queen...and fervently praying no other boats were nearby. Fortunately for her, none did.

All that to say, bathroom "breaks" were quite commonplace on the voyage at this point, and needs were accommodated without ceremony. So it was that shortly after lunch, Beachball felt the call. He stood up and began making his way towards the back of the boat. This usually wouldn't have been necessary, but the wind was blowing rather strong at the time; had he gone where he stood, most of the boat would have gotten a liberal spritzing of liquid sunshine that just might have dampened the fabric of friendship that was being woven between Beachball and his fellow freshmen.

On his trek, it became necessary for Beachball to stand on the very edge of the boat and shuffle along, occasionally holding onto the rigging as he went. Suddenly, the boat was jarred by choppy water, and Beachball was sent hurtling violently forward then backward. In a last-ditch effort to avoid becoming Bastillo-incarnate, he frantically reached out, his hands grasping wildly for something to hold onto. At first his fingers found naught but air, but then his left hand struck something hard and hairy. A split second later his right hand found a line and he clung to it, saving himself from an untimely dip.

After taking a second to steady himself, he looked down and saw Doppler staring up at him wide-eyed and holding the side of his head. It was a quirky look comprised of both alarm and fury, and Beachball realized the hard, hairy object he'd stuck in the midst of his frantic flailing was the side of Doppler's head.

It might have been pent-up aggression from having his deodorant torn from him earlier that day; it might have been suppressed rage from a similar trespass much earlier in his life. It could also have been a natural reaction that simply sprang out from his general quirkiness. Whatever the reason, Doppler stood up and glared at Beachball. His lips were pursed, his eyes bulging, his expression very much like that of a five-year-old child who had, at just that moment, been told there was no Santa Claus.

Beachball began to express his sincerest apologies for the accident, but before he could get out half the sentence Doppler gave him a violent two-handed shove that sent him flying off the boat and into the water. Everyone was surprised by this, though none more so than Beachball. There was a great deal of commotion as the guides tried to both calm and chastise the still wide-eyed Doppler, while Millie and the students turned around and went back for Beachball who had recovered from his shock and was swimming towards the boat.

Needless to say there was a twinge of animosity on the boat after that. Beachball was the easy-going sort as I told you, but being brutally shoved off a boat was enough to ruffle even his feathers. Though apologies were given and Beachball forgave Doppler, tension remained high until just before lunch when yet another bit of unforeseen calamity hit.

After a bit more sailing, the guides ordered their sun-kissed crews to head for shore. Everyone got excited at the prospect of standing on solid ground again until Darth Sadist informed them that they weren't going on the shore...at least not yet; their purpose in coming close to land was to engage in yet another navigational exercise.

The tide was out and so there was naught but four or five feet of water between the keel of the boats and the sandy bottom of the bay. This change didn't seem like a very big deal until the inevitable 'catch' came along. As luck would have it, the floor of the bay this close to land was terribly uneven. Veritable dunes that nearly broke the surface of the water rose up everywhere, and any spot of sand that didn't have a dune was gradually building to one.

The student's task was to navigate the extraordinarily narrow channels of water that the boat could pass over without becoming grounded. Failure meant that several-if not all-the students would have to get out and push the boat free. At the time, such a fate didn't sound too bad, as many of the students would rather have pushed the boat than sail it at that point anyway. Even so, it was the first and only time that anyone besides the guides thought the boats were too big, and everyone did their best to make a clear path through the shallows.

That of course, would not be their fate. After fifteen minutes of successful navigation and a few close calls, the boat was severely and assuredly grounded on a rather sly dune that had somehow managed to sneak up behind them. Initially there were three students who got off the boat to push, but soon another three had to join them. It turned out that the sandy bottom was more of the quicksand variety and every time anyone took a step their foot got sucked deep into the clingy floor and they had a devil of a time pulling it out again. Doogie was the only one who attempted to traverse the treacherous terrain with footwear, and he quickly lost his. But he staunchly refused to give them up, and after a good deal of toil managed to locate and retrieve them. He explained that they were his brother's water shoes, and since they'd been loaned to him in good faith, he had no intention of leaving them behind.

After some futile attempts to dislodge the keel, two more volunteers joined the fray. All told, it took eight students nearly half an hour to finally wrest the ship from the muck. Between the blazing hot sun directly overhead, the hindrance of the quicksand, and the lack of handholds on the boat, everyone's energy was sorely depleted after this chore.

But that was not the interesting part.

A couple hours later, the students discovered that the guides were sailing them straight for a small rock island. When they were asked about it, the guides admitted they would be stopping very close to the rocks for lunch and that anyone who wanted to stand on solid ground again was more than welcome to swim to the island. The boats were anchored about one hundred yards from the stony shore, and after lunch nearly everyone decided to make a break for land. Grits went first and made the trek in short time with little trouble. Beachball too made the trip, as did Zelda and other students from the second boat.

Doogie stayed back talking to Lanks for a bit while his food settled, and then he too decided to brave the water. It might be unfair to say that he was motivated by Grits, though then again it might be inaccurate to say otherwise. In any case, Doogie executed a very tidy swan dive off the side of the boat and began swimming. He had only gone about forty yards when suddenly he started having difficulties. His arms grew weary and his legs felt like they were rapidly turning into jelly. What was worse, he was actually being pulled under by the weight of his brother's wet shoes! Not only that, but his brother had bigger feet than he did, so it took an even greater effort to keep the shoes on while he kicked. He nobly tried to keep swimming, but he was still very fatigued from his efforts earlier in the day and his legs were quickly becoming more of a liability than an asset.

Doogie would later say that in his mind he knew the shoes would be the death of him, but he simply could not bring himself to kick them off. Water entered his mouth and nose as he fought to maintain buoyancy, while through his mind flashed haunting pictures of his brother's disappointed face when he discovered Doogie had lost his wet shoes.

There is no doubt that Doogie would have been lost to the sea in another twenty seconds had it not been for Satchel.

Giggles and Rewind had decided to stay on the boat to continue their merry movie-quote-conversation, and it was Giggles who noticed Doogie floundering forty yards away. At first she thought he was just moving slowly forward, but then she realized he was moving very slowly downward. Her startled cry alerted Satchel who immediately stood up in the boat and peered anxiously into the water.

By this time Doogie had turned around and was making a last desperate attempt to reach the boat, though it was obvious he was going to miss his mark by about thirty-nine yards. Without a word, without a thought, Satchel flew into action. Off came his glasses and their strap. Off came his floppy, saggy hat. Off came his faded t-shirt with the witty sailing slogan on the back. Off came his deck shoes.

...Off came his short shorts.

Yes indeed. In the blink of an eye, the wiry old Satchel was standing half-naked on the edge of the boat, clad only in a pair of cotton tighty-whities that shimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. The air was filled with startled shrieks of panic as Satchel dove into the water and sprinted towards Doogie. As for how many shrieks of panic were due to Doogie's plight and how many were due to Satchel's abbreviated wardrobe, no one really knows. Had Doogie's mouth not been full of water, he might have shrieked with panic too-and he would have been right to do so. It is not everyday that one is simultaneously beset by both the peril of drowning and the peril of being rescued by a human prune that, for all intents and purposes, is completely in the buff.

Unhindered by clothing, the uncannily swift Satchel reached Doogie in seconds, put him in some kind of rescue-hold and slowly brought him back to the boat. Aside from being mildly waterlogged, Doogie was fine and made a fast recovery. Satchel was fine too, although he didn't get any congratulatory high-fives or thankful hugs-at least not until he had once again regained some semblance of modesty. Everyone realized that he had done a very heroic thing, and that disrobing had given him additional speed and flexibility. All the same, most wished he had at least kept his shorts on and just swam a little slower.

Oddly enough that episode was more uplifting than one might be inclined to think, and because no one was hurt it didn't take very long for it to also become humorous. Even Doogie was able to laugh to some degree, though he abandoned any hope of making a good impression on Grits.

For the first time there was a tangible feeling of camaraderie betwixt the guides and the students, and the latter decided the former wasn't so bad after all and might just possibly be trustworthy. You might be thinking it was rather late in the journey for such sentiments, but you'll soon discover that it was in fact too early.

The students were quite relaxed and their guard was down as they lowered the sails on a very interesting-and not altogether horrible-day. They still had about three hours or so of daylight left, but the air was cooling nicely and everyone was looking forward to a warm dinner and a peaceful night stretched out on the oars. This was to be their last night on the open sea; tomorrow they would make for the base camp and bid farewell forever to the wretched dinghies.

The guides had them drop anchor about two hundred yards from a beach, and afterwards everyone started making dinner preparations. However, nothing they did prepared them for what was about to happen. First, the guides told them not to retrieve the tubs of food or the spoon bottle or the weathered bowls. Initially this excited some of the students because they thought the guides had a 'special meal' planned for their last night together. In a way that was true.

Darth Sadist stood up and called for everyone's attention. Once he had this, he gave them all the sad news that they had just encountered a devastating storm that sunk their boats. He paused, and everyone looked at each other with the same befuddled expressions that they had when they first saw the little boats moored at the dock. Clearly the guide had drank too much water! The boats were fine, they were fine-albeit very hungry. What was this nonsense about a shipwreck?

Satchel stood next to his cohort and added that the only things that survived from the boats were the sleeping mats, the raingear, and the tarp. Rosie pointed to the little beach and said that they were shipwrecked on that island and had to fend for themselves through the night until the rescue boats arrived.

The students knew better than to think the guides were joking, but they also couldn't believe they were serious either. The general consensus was that role playing was all well and good, but that they should be pretending to be culinary experts, not the beleaguered crew of the Minnow.

Instead of waiting for disillusionment to ripple through the students, Darth Sadist decided to pound it over their heads like a sledgehammer: They were no longer welcome on the boats. They were to grab their sleeping mats and raingear immediately and start wading to the beach. They would spend the night under whatever shelter they could construct using the tarp, and they were not to leave the beach; the tide was coming in and there was no time to waste if they wanted to reach the shore without swimming. No dinner, no fire. The guides would remain in the boats and pick them all up in the morning. The longer they delayed leaving the boat, the longer it would take the guides to retrieve them the following day.

All anyone could think about was food. It had been a long day and lunch was almost seven hours behind them. The thought of going to bed without dinner was bad enough, let alone that they'd have to traverse more jellyfish-infested water before they went to sleep.

But there was nothing for it. The guides had spoken, and there would be no negotiation. Not one scrap of food was given, though there was plenty of begging. One by one the students hoisted their mats and raingear over their heads and jumped feet first into the water. Dejectedly they marched, staggering and stumbling in the shifting quicksand while Bastillo laughed quietly behind them. Eventually they all made it to shore, and not long after began making a thorough analysis of their situation.

The beach was crap. The ground consisted of that nasty gray sand that reeks of kelp, seaweed, and salt, and it was littered with small sharp rocks, shells, dead remains of aquatic life, and a few pieces of driftwood. The sand got a little lighter further from the water, but there was only about a ten-foot-wide strip of it before the sand grass. Perhaps 'sand grass' isn't the technical term for it, but it is an accurate description. It looked like small brown stalks of corn without the corn. It came up about waist-high and the stalks (or stems) were as rigid as reeds. Whatever the vegetation was, it wasn't edible and it certainly wasn't anything anyone wanted to walk through; Doppler ventured only a few steps into it and got two sandspurs in his feet for his trouble.

With twilight less than two hours away, all twenty-three 'stranded' sailors put their heads together and tried to come up with a way to make the tarp into a shelter. There were many ideas, and they generally fell into two categories. The first category was made up of great ideas that couldn't be realized with the materials at hand, and the second category consisted of bad ideas that couldn't be realized with the materials at hand.

Suffice to say, there were no materials at hand. The longest piece of driftwood was about the length of a baseball bat and every other piece was about half that size. Soon small quarrels broke out in the ranks and there was a great deal of hushing and ordering and negating and regretting. More than once someone mourned the absence of cocoanuts on the island (if in fact it was an island), for with those mere fuzzy spheres they could have constructed a radio, a set of headphones, a small dormitory, and a primitive George Foreman Grill-not to mention recreate one of the most memorable scenes from 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail'.

Beachball soon tired of the whole mess and excused himself from the fray, taking with him several others of a like mind. Not long after, they'd somehow managed to put together a very primitive game of baseball on the beach; the piece of driftwood that was as long as a baseball bat was used as one, the larger seashells made decent enough bases, and the vacant shell of a horseshoe crab served as a ball.

It was crude and pathetic, but it served its purpose in giving them a bit of recreation, as well as the illusion that they were having fun. Not everyone participated though. Some were still fervently trying to design a shelter, some stared at the boats anchored far away and prayed for a real shipwreck, while still others just explored the beach in an aimless roam. Zelda sat on her mat and rubbed her feet as hard as she could; for some reason they were very cold after her trek through the water and they refused to warm up. Mary Kay, Rewind, Millie and Giggles soon took notice of this, sat down next to Zelda, and did their best to help her regain her circulation.

Before anyone knew it, twilight was upon them. Boyardee and some other students had managed to erect a magnificent shelter that stood nearly two feet off the ground at its highest point and had enough floor space to accommodate twenty people-provided they packed in like sardines. Beachball's makeshift baseball game was called on account of the fact that the horseshoe crab shell had been utterly destroyed and no longer had enough mass to carry it through the air. The players retired and made their way over to the group that had gathered around Zelda who still had no feeling in her feet. There was a great deal of concern about her condition, and it was decided that she should probably seek treatment with the guides.

Everyone looked out to the horizon and saw the silhouettes of the boats and the guides far off in the distance. They could see an orange light radiating from somewhere in the hull of one of the boats, and a few students swore there was a fire going. Though this idea sounded preposterous, almost everyone caught a whiff of grilled steaks in the air. Whether it was their imaginations or not, no one found out for sure; the guides would say nothing about their night alone in the boats.

The students tried to shout at the guides, but they were either too far away to hear or they were simply ignoring them. In any case, it would be impossible to fully convey Zelda's situation from land; someone would have to go out to the boat.

Beachball stood up, his face set and grim, and declared that it would be a much smarter idea to have someone carry Zelda back to the boat so that she could get treatment faster. There was no telling how bad her condition was, and unless the guides were willing to row to shore she'd have to get herself to the boats somehow. When the question was put forth who would do the carrying, Beachball didn't hesitate. It was his idea; he would be the one to bear Zelda to safety.

There were some mild protests and additional offers, but Beachball's mind was made up. Soon he was marching towards the waterline with Zelda cradled in his arms. One bold stride at a time, he waded into the shallows, taking care to keep Zelda's feet out of the water. But with each step he took the water rose a little more until soon it was past his waist. It was quickly becoming obvious-at least to everyone on shore-that the inescapable laws of physics were going to usurp Beachball's efforts; for though he had the heart of a hero, he had the height of a jockey. Even if he possessed the endurance to carry Zelda the whole distance, he would walk the last thirty yards or so with his head completely beneath the water.

But before any complex laws of mass displacement could take effect, the elementary law of gravity kicked in and put an abrupt end to Beachball's noble quest. He staggered a bit, regained his balance, took another step, teetered for a moment and then toppled headfirst into the water. Luckily he had the presence of mind to release Zelda before he took his plunge, saving her from getting her hair wet. Her feet, however, were completely immersed as she did her best to stand while Beachball recovered. Wet and shivering, the two sprinted as fast as they could back to the shore where everyone with an extra layer of clothing offered it as a towel.

While the two dried off, Boyardee said they'd have to use body heat to keep Zelda's feet warm. Millie encouraged everyone to turn in for the night and there were no protests. They made for the "shelter", laid out their mats to form a communal floor, and piled inside. Boyardee had Zelda put her feet on his stomach, and then he wrapped his arms around them. The students crammed and squirmed and wriggled and strove to fit under the tarp, but in the end not everyone would fit.

Beachball and Lanks didn't even try to go inside, opting instead to spend the night outside wrapped in their raingear. Then, not long after everyone settled in, Doogie left the shelter and joined his two solitary comrades. He said it was far too crowded inside and that his vacated spot would allow some students to actually lie on the mats instead of on top of each other. Besides, apart from the tarp's meager protection from the wind, the shelter was a complete sham; from the outside it looked pitiful, if not altogether miserable.

So the three men stood on the beach under a full moon and talked long of many things; then they checked the time and realized they would be talking of many more things ere the sun rose again. They discussed their chances of getting any rest that night, but their mats had been donated to the "shelter", and so their only choice for bedding was the wondrous sand already described for you.

Beachball spoke of his home and his family and Doogie recounted his harrowing rescue from earlier that day. Lanks said a great deal about nothing, and all three had strong opinions about their guides and questions as to whether they would have gone on the trip had they known what it would be like. Surprisingly enough, the consensus turned out to be an affirmative, although Lanks added he would have definitely doped up on Dramamine before he got within a mile of the water.

The three continued to talk and gaze at the splendor of the sky until Lanks lay down and inexplicably managed to fall asleep. Both Beachball and Doogie tried their luck at lapsing into merciful bliss, but sleep evaded them and they ended up talking until dawn. They witnessed the sunrise in all its glory and waited patiently for the rest of their friends to awake.

Lanks was up next, and while he was pleased to discover he had gotten some sleep, he was horrified to find that sand mites had decided that his naval was prime real estate. Somehow his stomach had been exposed during the night, and it was covered with little red welts that formed a large donut around his bellybutton. The welts itched a little, but compared to the other plagues Lanks had encountered on the trip, they were nothing to take any note of.

Boyardee awoke a hero, as his body heat had indeed cured Zelda's hypothermia and allowed her to get a somewhat peaceful sleep. Not surprisingly there were very few who actually slept well; most were happy to have gotten two or three solid hours of uninterrupted slumber. Though famished and weary, everyone was in a fairly good mood as they waited for their esteemed guides to rise and bring the boats closer to shore. In the end there was still some wading involved, but no one complained; it was better than the five o'clock bath they'd taken the past two mornings.

The trip to the base camp was uneventful, and happily involved more sailing than rowing. The guides' attitudes towards the students seemed to have changed overnight, much like the attitude of a harsh drill instructor changes once his soldiers are through boot camp. They served an ample breakfast that lifted everyone's spirits, and then took some time to discuss the many lessons learned over the past few days.

Finally, the wondrous moment arrived when the docks came into sight. The sail was lowered for the last time, and everyone rowed with great vigor and enthusiasm towards dry land. There was a half-day of activities left, but none of them involved the boat-or so they thought.

Once they'd successfully docked and tied off the lines, everyone prepared to disembark. However, the guides stopped them with one last chore: to empty and clean the boats. The students were in too good of a mood to be upset and quickly set about their task. It proved to be much more work than they had originally thought, and the light at the end of the tunnel, once so close, seemed to once again fade into the distance. They scrubbed the hulls, they washed the sails, they rinsed the masts, and they cleaned out the coolers and kitty litter boxes.

After over an hour of toil, the boats were deemed clean and the group was finally allowed to go ashore. The students and guides exchanged goodbyes and thank-yous along with handshakes and smiles; goodwill seemed to come much easier during the parting, and a few students even found themselves saddened to be bidding farewell to their lovable tormentors. These sentiments were short-lived however, as everyone spotted a porti-potty not fifty yards from the docks.

Apparently their failure to use the head had been more of a psychological aversion than a physical one, because everyone instantly realized they were in dire need of relief. There was a mad and awkward dash to the plastic shrine of sanitation salvation. Most everyone had sea legs, so running on solid ground was a disorienting and foreign sensation; it would be nearly two days before they could walk or even stand properly again.

Regardless of this handicap, they made their way as best they could and formed a line. There is no need to go into any kind of further detail on this point, other than to say it proved to be a long, hot, exhaustive process for most of the students. Fortunately for them, the porti-potty visit was the last truly trying event of the day. Sure there were other activities that challenged their team working abilities and helped bond them together even more (if such a thing was possible), but none of it held a candle to what they'd come through.

The only task that gave any of them trouble was something called the Pamper Pole. The Pamper Pole was a twenty-foot-tall wooden post about a foot in diameter with large metal staples driven into it that formed something of a ladder. At the very top of the pole was loosely fixed a wooden plate approximately fourteen inches in diameter and half-an-inch thick. A piece of rope hung ten feet away from the branch of a nearby tree, and the object was to climb the pole, stand on the wooden plate, and jump out and touch the rope. Of course there was a safety harness and helmet involved, but it was still a daunting task-particularly for those with a fear of heights. In the end, everyone managed to stand up on the pole and most everyone was able to touch the rope. Some achieved this with more speed and less tears than others, but there was no condescension or shame.

Then at last, after a decent meal and some picture taking, it was time to head for home. They climbed aboard the charter bus that had dropped them off a lifetime ago and sank into the heavenly soft cushions of the seats. Initially there was very little talking, save for the driver muttering miserably under his breath. Though the students were oblivious to their palpable stench, the unfortunate driver was very much aware of it, and could only think about the fierce cleaning he'd have to give his beloved bus.

Millie made a few announcements using the bus' microphone and handed out Certificates of Completion. She congratulated everyone for making it through the ordeal-especially those who had expected to have spent the past three days sailing comfortably in a yacht. She then left the microphone open to anyone who wanted to say a few words, but everyone was too weary and comfortable to get up. Well...nearly everyone.

Doppler, who had taken a seat at the front of the bus, stood up and asked Millie if he could recite a song that he felt was appropriate to the occasion. Though reluctance was practically seeping from her pores, Millie agreed. Doppler said the song was called 'The Power of One' and that he had learned it long ago in an organization he had been a part of. He announced that there were three verses, and he would be singing all of them. Then, as if that wasn't joy enough, he revealed that there was actually sign-language to accompany the words and that he would be performing those as well. After recruiting Millie to hold the microphone for him, Doppler faced his audience with a quirky expression on his face and began his recital.

It was more of a poem than a song, and though it is impossible to accurately recount the lyrics in all their splendor, here is a brief recounting of some of them:

Like a lone daffodil growing bold in the sun,