and the boat used to be. We turned our heads at the same time back towards the boat, which we could just barely see as it drifted farther and farther out to sea. Judging by the direction it was heading, figuring in the tides and wind current, the boat should reach Russia in about two days.
“George! We gotta get down there now!” yelled Matt. “That’s my boat headed out there! Run, George!” The three of us scrambled back down the hillside, dodging trees, leaping logs and stumps, and running as fast as we could down, down, down to the shore. The faster we ran, the more we stumbled, fell, and got back up and ran again. Branches, bushes, and thorns tore at our clothes and painfully scratched bare skin, until finally we reached the shore.
Standing together, with our hands up to our brows and heaving great gulps of air back into our lungs, we watched anxiously as the boat, dragging the line and with the branch still attached, rode the outgoing tide, slowly but surely, in the direction of Russia.
“Go, George, go! Get out there now! Swim out to the boat, quick, before it gets out of the channel!” Matt flapped his arms up and down and stomped back and forth in anxious fits. We both turned to Matt, blinked our eyes a couple of times, trying to decide if he was serious. Apparently, he was. He kept shouting and pointing and finally pushed George on the shoulder. “Go get the boat, go get the boat, George!”
Now, despite being an expert swimmer back in high school, neither George nor anybody in his right mind would swim out there to catch that boat. The boat was now at least two hundred yards from the beach. And this was Kodiak. By the time a person swam half that distance without protective suit and gear, he would be hypothermic from the frigid thirty-four-degree water and then die, sink to the bottom, and become crab food.
“No way, Matt, I’m not doing that. You go for it, if you think you can make it. I’ll watch from here,” said George.
“Me? Are you crazy? I can’t even swim, let alone get that far!” Matt stammered and stomped his feet while George and I exchanged a look of raised eyebrows.
The fact that he couldn’t swim was a big surprise. He claimed to be the big fishing king of Kodiak, said he wrestled bears with his bare hands, caught more fish than anyone on earth, and swum with the whales since he was a kid. So he claimed. Jeez. Great. Just spiffy. Lesson number 985: when people brag so much that they can do stuff, you can pretty well figure that they can’t do it at all.
George and I turned around and started back up towards the edge of the woods. We stopped at a large pale log, worn clean and smooth from years of weathering saltwater tides and harsh winter storms. We sat down, opened our backpacks and took out sandwiches and water. Matt finally noticed we weren’t still standing next him and trudged back up the sandy beach and stopped in front of us.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
George looked up as he chewed, swallowed, then answered. “Eatin’ lunch.”
Several seconds passed before Matt brought himself to ask. “Got anything for me?”
“Where’s your pack, Matt?”
“On the boat. I guess I forgot it.” Matt sighed.
“Bummer.”
We continued chewing our thick slices of whole wheat bread stuffed with ham and pepper jack cheese, my favorite. Matt’s head twitched from George to me and back to George trying to figure out which of us would be the generous one, who would be the easiest to talk out of a sandwich. We leisurely finished eating and stuffed the wrappers back in the packs.
Matt’s hangdog face was getting pathetic but George stalled a bit longer, enjoying the moment. He fiddled with his boot cuffs, then smoothed out his shirtsleeves, then repositioned his ball cap. Finally, he fumbled around inside his pack and pulled out another sandwich.
“Here.” George held out the sandwich to Matt. “You won’t be any good to us if you starve to death out here. Eat it and let’s get going.”
Matt grabbed the sandwich, tore off the plastic wrap, and took two large bites. “Going where?” Matt garbled from one side of his mouth, most of the sandwich still in his cheek.
“Well, I don’t know about you, Matt, but I’m planning on making camp.” George stood up and hoisted the pack onto his shoulders.
“Making camp? Why are you doing that? The boat will come back; all we have to do is wait for the next tide.”
“OK, you wait for the next tide, we’re gonna make camp. It’s getting cold and the sun will be gone in about two hours.” It was Matt’s turn to blink his eyes, caught between his usual cockiness about everything being just peachy, and wondering if it really was.
George quickly scanned the area, and then moved toward a clump of trees. The roots of a huge fallen tree stuck out over the sand. “This’ll do. Gather some of those big branches over there and start stacking them up next to this stump.”
I reached around to the pack stuck to my back, pulled out a pair of gloves from the side pouch, and slipped them on. I walked into the woods, grabbed two long spruce branches off the ground—conveniently discarded by the friendly giant trees—and dragged them over to the stump.
George brought over more branches and together we began stacking them up around the dead tree roots. Weaving the more pliable branches, we tucked them around and over the top of the roots, making a basket-like shelter. Then we placed more branches over the sand inside the shelter. Next, we gathered deadwood and stacked it next to the stump until we had enough to start a fire.
George reached in his backpack and pulled out a small yellow waterproof container. He unsnapped the lid and took out one match and one small roll of twine. He carefully laid the twine next to a few dried leaves and tiny twigs and pine needles. He scratched the tip of the match with his thumbnail and moved it around the small gathering of kindling. With the expertise of a seasoned camper, he gently placed larger sticks, a few at a time, in teepee fashion around the tiny blaze. When those caught, he strategically placed more sticks and then a couple of small branches.
The fire was going strong when Matt showed up. Already knowing the answer, George asked anyway.
“Did your boat show up?”
Matt shook his head with a frown. “No, not yet, but it’ll show up anytime now.” His frown quickly changed to his goofy, optimistic grin that by now had become annoying.
I was only mildly concerned at the time, since we had enough food and survival items to last a couple of days. But who knew how long we would be out here. Still, if all else failed, someone would call the Coast Guard. We’d left word with our friend Jim about where we were going, always a wise thing to do when traveling anywhere, but even more so around Kodiak. There were so many hazards that could happen, it was best to be prepared.
I began to wonder if Matt had already forgotten everything he’d learned about Kodiak, or if he’d ever known anything in the first place. Maybe he just didn’t care. Probably the latter, since somehow things always worked out for him. Personally, I couldn’t leave that much to luck, but he’d managed to get by on it for years. Some people are like that.
It was close to midnight by now and darkness was coming on fast as we began setting up sleeping supplies. Matt watched with apparent curiosity and then sauntered over with his happy grin.
“Say, you guys, this little hooch looks real cozy. What side do I get?”
We glanced at each other, thinking the same thing. Should we let him in? He didn’t help build it, he didn’t come prepared and now he wanted to share our stuff. Jeez. George slowly turned to Matt.
“Gee, Matt, I don’t know. There’s really only enough room for us. You might want to try that tree stump a bit farther down the beach,” said George, gesturing vaguely to the left of our camp.
“Ah, come on, there’s plenty of room for all of us, I won’t take up much room. Look, see? I’ll just lie over on this side.” He walked over the sleeping bags and pulled one over to a corner, leaving a gap. His head bumped