Shipwreck

The eight women greeted each other on the dock, some with smiles, some with hugs, and some with nervous chatter. They were to spend the next week together in a log cabin on an island in Minnesota learning camping and canoeing skills. After introductions and a light supper, they prepared for an early bedtime, as most were exhausted from the 8-hour drive. At midnight the camp director burst through the dormitory door saying, “Get up! Get up! We’re going for a moonlight paddle!” Did it matter to her that the group had received no instruction in canoe paddling? No, apparently it did not. She felt that the alumnae would be able to shoulder those duties. As they jumped (or rather stepped gingerly) into the canoes in the dark, lightning was flashing on the far eastern horizon. Did the camp director see it? Yes, apparently she did. She thought to herself, “Thunderstorms never come from the east. That storm must be heading away from us.” The moon was a waning gibbous, meaning it was past its prime as a full moon yet still provided plenty of light. It reflected beautifully off the dark waters, joining the starlight in illuminating the night.
“Where are we going?” asked the lady in the stern of one canoe. After all, she was tasked with steering the canoe with the most people and the heaviest load. The camp director replied, “We are just traveling around this island and coming home again.” One of the ladies, the oldest in the group, and one of two kayakers, said to the leader, “I’m not going around the island. I’m going back.” Did the leader care that the group was splitting up? No, apparently she did not. She felt that the kayaker would be fine heading back by herself. As the rest of the group rounded the eastern end of the island, one of the ladies asked, “What is that noise? It sounds like a train. Can you hear trains from this lake?” “Yes,” replied the leader. “You can sometimes hear trains here, but the tracks are in the west not the east. I wonder what that noise is?” Was she worried? No, apparently she was not. The sound got louder and louder until it drowned out all the shouting, and then the storm hit. A wall of rain attacked the boats. A fierce wind blew the canoes sideways and off course. The rain totally obstructed the view and it was like paddling in a wet and windy closet. The icy fingers of eight terrified ladies grabbed the gunwales as they tried to maintain balance in the huge waves. Not long after, three vessels were washed up on rocks as the waves kept pounding them. No one knew where they were. Were they near the cabin? Were they near the island they were circumventing? Were they stuck on rocks in the middle of the lake? Or were they on the mainland somewhere else? One canoe took on a huge wave and dumped its cargo into the frigid water, and the other canoe followed closely behind. It was a shipwreck, literally, with everyone trying to rescue themselves, get a foothold on the rocks, hold on to their paddles and lifejackets, yell at their neighbors, make a plan, and do something with the boats.
Finally all the boats were pulled up on the rocks and everyone was accounted for, except for the second kayak. The lady who had headed back early amazingly landed on the same rocks as the rest of the group. At this point the rain had died down a bit along with the wind and the leader could see recognize where they were. The choices were: 1) to get back in the water and swim across the bay to the cabin, or 2) walk through the woods in the dark around the bay back to the cabin. The leader wanted to swim, but no one else was anxious to re-enter the water. Actually, there was a third option: as the group began to walk through the woods, one of the ladies, in fact the oldest one, said she couldn’t go on because she was shaking too badly. She sat down on the ground and her friend joined her. The leader promised to return with the boat to pick them up. The remaining five campers continued to traipse through the woods sharing three flashlights. People continually knocked shins on downed logs, stepped into holes, bumped into trees, or were poked by branches. Approximately 2 hours later they reached the cabin, exhausted and cold. The four campers stripped off their wet clothes and dived into their sleeping bags while the leader headed for the boat to motor across the bay to find the two ladies sitting in the woods. The motorboat was full of rainwater, so she had to bail first. Then the motor wouldn’t start, so she had to row it across the bay in the dark. When she got to the other side, she swept her flashlight back and forth until she found the two ladies-in-waiting. They stumbled into the boat, getting wet all over again in the process. After getting shuttled back to the cabin, they joined the first four in their bunkbeds. By then it was 3 a.m. The leader prepared to head out once more to look for the eighth member of the group, the missing kayaker. As she was leaving the cabin, she said, “I’m going to look for Jackie. You all go to sleep.” At that moment a voice came from the other room. “I’m in bed!” She had found her way back to the cabin and missed all the excitement. That was the end of the activities for that night. The next day all the canoes, kayaks, life jackets, and paddles were retrieved from across the bay. The camp director was chastened, humbled, and embarrassed. Did she care? Yes, she did. A disaster was averted but a lesson was learned. She is no longer a camp director.