

WhaleQuest!

The Further Adventures of Jeep Muldoon

By

Matt Musson

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Matt Musson on Smashwords

WhaleQuest!

The Further Adventures of Jeep Muldoon

Dedicated to some of my best childhood friends: Henry, Dinky, Jeff, Mortimer, Homer, Freddie and Charlie. And, to Bertrand R. Brinley, the man who brought them to life.

Copyright © 2010, 2011 by Matt Musson

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Chapter 1 – Whale of an Impact

ERRRRRUUUUUUMMMMMMM!

Thirteen year old Charlie Sinclair gunned the outboard engine and torpedoed our Zodiac at the blow hole geyser spouting just ahead.

The approach was critical and Charlie handled it with a light touch.

We wanted to get in close but we sure wanted to avoid those massive tail flukes crashing down with enough force to smash a real boat. One good whack from the whale's appendage and our little inflatable would pop like a party balloon. And, from this part of Port Royal Sound, it was a long swim to anywhere dry.

"Right!" Thor Munson yelled above the outboard's whine.

Thor raised his hand and made a chopping motion towards the city bus sized creature, while Charlie skated the Zodiac across the surface like a giant water bug. As we squirted in towards the whale, Thor yelled above the din.

"Hand me the spear!"

Up to this point, Toby Trundle and I lay across from each other, draped over the inflated pontoons - praying. With reluctance, we released our death grips and began the maneuver we practiced before in calmer waters.

We'd just gotten the aluminum shaft joined to the razor sharp broad head, when the boat hit a larger swell. Suddenly, we dipped and shot over the wave and the Zodiac grabbed some sick air as it launched over the crest. The little Evinrude screamed as the airborne propeller pushed against nothing.

EEERRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE!!!!

CRUMP.

The inflatable thumped down hard onto the surface and Toby, and I went flying. Our bright orange safety helmets cushioned the blow as our heads cracked together. We tumbled to the deck, but did not lose our grip on the assembled whaling spear. Somehow we managed to keep the razor sharp edges from slicing through the rubber pontoon walls.

Meanwhile, Thor held tight to the bow rope. Bright sunlight flashed off his aviator glasses and long blonde locks whipped in the wind, curled at the end by the salty spray. Like a Viking Captain Ahab, Thor was totally absorbed in our quarry. He did not even look back at us. He just maintained his harpooner's stance and reached over his shoulder with an empty hand. Toby and I struggled but managed to horse the pole into it.

"Up three feet and over two," Thor commanded.

Charlie complied without hesitation and got Thor into perfect striking range.

Toby and I flopped around with the constant lurching and jumping, but Thor stuck to his position like a barnacle. With his free hand, he grasped the pole below the lethal cutting head. If the whale held his position for a few more seconds Thor would attack.

"Here goes nothin'," Thor yelled above the outboard.

Like a striking cobra, Thor plunged the spear deep into the mess of gill net and rope that trailed from the giant creature's mouth. The durable synthetic material was snagged full of buoys and weights that draped around the whale like a deadly harness. It created drag and snagged objects around him and impeded his normal behaviors like swimming, feeding, and just plain breathing.

It was killing the whale. Slowly.

Incredibly, Thor let go of the bow rope and used both hands to guide the weapon as he hacked and jabbed into netting. The blade sliced through nylon like a buzz saw, but the ropes were thick and jumbled. He jerked and thrust and gradually the net began to part.

Thor slashed with a grunt and an entire section of tangled fishing gear floated loose.

Toby, Charlie and I gave a spontaneous cheer as a third of the netting and plastic floats sloughed away from the creature.

But, the massive leviathan was an intelligent being. He knew he was being pursued, and he knew something significant had taken place. And, I guess he just plain had enough of our pesky little inflatable with its noisy engine.

Just as Thor thrust the blade at another snarl of netting, the giant creature snorted a massive plume of water. He sucked in a deep breath and quicker than you would think possible, the giant fish imposter disappeared beneath the dark emerald waves.

We were stunned.

For a few seconds we continued in a straight line. Four sets of eyes scouring the sea, waiting for him to surface. He had to be around here somewhere. A forty ton creature just doesn't disappear!

But, in our case, he had.

Thor took the pole in one hand and made circling motion with the other. Charlie put the Zodiac into a search pattern and powered down the motor. With the slower speed, Toby and I sat up as high as we could without letting go of the sides.

Still nothing.

Finally, in desperation, Thor drew his finger across his neck in a 'cut it' motion. Charlie killed the engine.

Suddenly... there was quiet.

The silence was deafening after the scream of our little outboard. It took us a minute to adjust to the soft swishing of waves and gulls crying in the distance.

But, there was no sign or sound of the great beast. Our eyes strained at the horizon for a tell tale blow. Our ears ached for a splash or splatter. Unfortunately, we were alone.

"Damn!" said Thor. "Damn, damn, damnitall! I had him. A couple more seconds and he would have been free. Why did he have to dive? I just needed one more good shot!"

"He didn't know that," replied Toby, taking up for our giant friend. "He didn't realize we were trying to help him. For all he knew we were Japanese whalers out for some blubber sushi."

"I know," agreed Thor dejectedly. "It's just that I had him. After all those weeks of planning, training, and tracking... not to mention the money and he slipped right through my fingers."

"But you got part of it," said Toby looking on the bright side. "And, the important thing is that it worked. Our plan really actually worked. Levi doesn't have to die. We can save him."

Toby continued, "Sure he's not completely free but, we proved it can be done, and that we can do it. We just need another crack at the big guy!"

I knew that Toby was trying to cheer up Thor. But, I also realized he was right. We had proven our plan was workable.

And, I for one never really thought it could be done.

************

It had been little more than a month, since we spotted the story of the entangled whale on a Scuba website about the Florida Keys. And, I'll admit that I was a little dubious when our Club's Chief Scientist, Bogdon Peabody suggested a rescue attempt.

I mean we've had some amazing adventures. We have hijacked Santa's Christmas parade, recovered a Pharaoh's death mask, and ambushed a team of US Navy Seals. But, we are still just going into the 8th grade. An operation of this size and scope was beyond a lot of middle schoolers.

We debated the idea for days before we put it to an official club vote. And, of all the Rangers, I was the last holdout.

It would be difficult. It might even be dangerous. And, most of all, I guess I really did not believe we could do it. Why take the chance?

However, the night before the vote, I had this weird, terrifying nightmare. I was a whale making my way up the Atlantic coast. But, I was entangled. And, the nets were slowly tightening their grip.

The pod moved on sleek and free, while I struggled and labored, falling farther and farther behind. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep. Each day I got weaker. Each night, it got harder to swim, to eat, to breathe.

Then came the day when the net snagged on a rocky outcrop, and I did not have the strength to pull free. I struggled and yanked and the nylon tore deep into my flesh. I was trapped below the surface, looking up at the sun and the distant blue sky.

Stuck.

Sinking.

Drowning.

I bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath. My heart was racing. My hands were trembling. And, I was totally committed to the rescue.

Days blurred with the feverish activity that followed. Bogdon and Toby charted the migration of the whale and projected his arrival off the coast of South Carolina. Charlie rented a boat slip and storage unit on Town Lake. We bought the Zodiac through our PayPal account and had it delivered there. Then, for 12 days straight we practically lived on the water, rehearsing for the real thing.

It did not take long to work out who was manning the inflatable. Charlie had a natural flair for guiding the little craft and Thor inherited Viking sea legs and a steady hand, so he took the bow.

The middle of the boat was up for grabs, and we tried all different combinations. But, ultimately it came down to the distribution of mass.

Toby and I are roughly the same size and weight, while Freddie's a squirt, Bogdon's a lightweight and Shad is 'hefty'. Therefore, to keep the boat level, Toby and I got the job with Bog as an alternate.

Oh. The other reason I was chosen is for my locating skills. I am kind of like human sonar when it comes to tracking the poor tangled creature.

You see, my name's Jeep Muldoon. And, I find things.

I could tell you more about my locating skills. But, right now I was busy trying to find the whale.

************

We scoured the troughs and crests of the dark jade swells, hoping for some sight or sign of our target.

"How about it Jeep?" asked Charlie. "Are you getting anything from our big friend?"

"Oh he's still close by," I replied. "He may not be coming to the surface... but, he hasn't gone far."

Charlie considered our situation for a second. Then, he made an executive decision.

"Thor, we need to deploy the tracker," ordered Charlie. "He's liable to make a run for it, and it's a great big ocean out there."

Thor did not protest the order. He just dropped his shoulders and exhaled. He was clearly disheartened by the change in strategy. We had come a long way to give up now.

Thor gingerly handed me the spear. With the boat stationary, it was an easy job to dismantle it. I carefully pulled off the cutting head and placed it into a flat storage case tied to the starboard pontoon. After all, you can't be too careful with a razor sharp blade in an inflatable boat.

As I was stowing the spear, Toby was undoing the Velcro straps on a short green bazooka-like tube on the inside of the port pontoon. He pulled the tube free and passed it up front to Thor. Then, from a rubberized sea bag, Toby removed a foot long silver missile. Once more, he reached in and pulled out a piece that looked like a six inch aluminum spider. Working quickly, he screwed the eight legged grappling device onto the missile's nosecone. Then, he popped open a compartment on the tail and inserted the battery pack. When Toby snapped the battery compartment shut, two red LED lights came on indicating that the missile was broadcasting.

"We're on the air," Toby announced to the boat.

At the bow of the Zodiac, Thor screwed a compressed air tank onto a short metal hose coming off the back of the bazooka. When he test fired the trigger there was a satisfying SSHHWWISSH.

Thor turned the front end of his weapon around so Toby could carefully load in the projectile.

Toby gingerly inserted the missile. "You're good to go!"

Thor turned the tube back towards the bow. "I'm hot," he said. "Just find me a target."

Thor took his position at the nose of the Zodiac looking like a Junior Rambo with the world's largest paintball gun. In reality, it was a compressed air T-Shirt cannon, we adapted for our special purpose. It was designed to shoot give-a-way T-shirts into the crowd at sporting events.

When Thor hit the trigger again, it would shoot our homing projectile, wherever he was aiming. When the missile hit, the grappling clamp on the front would close. Hopefully, it would attach itself to the netting dragged by our 40 ton friend.

"Keep your eyes open," I ordered. "I can hear him down there."

"Which way?" demanded Thor.

"I don't know," I replied defensively. "It's like he's all around us."

I closed my eyes and concentrated. He was definitely there but his direction was hard to pin down.

"I think... I think he's circling," I announced.

I listened even harder.

"He's getting closer... he's getting closer..."

Suddenly, I opened my eyes and yelled!

"HANG ON!"

The water beside us began to bubble and froth. Below the waves something gigantic rocketed towards the surface, and I remember a fleeting glimpse of huge smiling face!

In that final second I looked up, and there stood Thor like an ancient Norse warrior on the Zodiac's bow.

The last thing I recall was a satisfying SSHHWWISSH as a 20 foot head smashed into the side of our little rubber boat.

************

Chapter 2 – Regrouping

Four pairs of feet dangled over the side of the overturned Zodiac as we waited for the ancient chase boat 'racing' to our rescue. In this race she was the tortoise and not the hare. The white wooden hull of the S.S. Resolve cut through the jade green ocean waves looking like something the Skipper and Gilligan should be crewing. Her teakwood cabin gleamed in the afternoon sun, as the worn-out cruiser made her best possible speed: just faster than a brisk walk.

I wondered if we should start a game of twenty questions to kill time while we waited for our salvation.

But, finally Captain Paul maneuvered the Resolve close along side, and the salty old timer made a perfect downwind approach. Bogdon Peabody, our be speckled chief scientist, stood on the bow, with the trade winds ruffling his mousy brown hair. Bog did not even break a sweat tossing over the life preserver with the rope attached.

Charlie took the rope and fastened it to the opposite side of our inflatable, and we shifted to the edge nearest the cabin cruiser. When Captain Paul put his vessel into reverse, the slack came out of the rope and the cord yanked the far side of the Zodiac straight into the air. For a second, the inflatable was perpendicular to the sea. Then, it flopped over on its bottom with a THUMP. Of course, we slid into the water but the Zodiac was righted when we bobbed back to the surface.

I kicked my feet and pushed up onto the near side pontoon. The boat was rising and falling with the small swells and I waited for the perfect wave to ease back over the rubber wall.

Meanwhile, club member Shad McReynolds leaned his considerable frame over the Resolve's railing, and offered a few words of encouragement.

"You guys are lucky," Shad called above the drumming of the Resolve's engines. "They used to have a real problem with alligators out here in the Sound. The big lizards nested in the swamps around Parris Island and came out into Port Royal to feed."

Shad had our attention now, and he continued, "but, now they've pretty much quit coming out this far."

"I'm glad to hear that," I replied earnestly. "I'd hate to be hanging off the boat and have a big gator come by and tickle my toes."

"That's true," joked Toby, who was dangling beside me. "That could ruin your whole day."

"How did the locals get the alligators to stop feeding in the Sound?" I asked.

"Oh, the locals didn't stop 'em," said Shad matter-of-factly. "The Sharks ate 'em all."

If you've never seen four boys jump completely out of the water and into the center of a boat, in one coordinated leap, you should have been there that day. It was a sight to behold.

************

We returned to the docks in Beaufort, South Carolina for a post mission debriefing. We went over what went right and what went wrong and, we came to two simple conclusions; the operation had been a partial success, but we were not going to get another chance at our whale in Port Royal Sound.

We had spooked the big guy, and he had gone Moby Dick on us. We would not get near him again until he had some time to cool off.

We called On*Star and got an update on the position of the tracking missile. It confirmed our suspicions. The whale was heading north. The On*Star people must have wondered why our 'car' was swimming up the Atlantic seaboard but, they did not ask.

We pulled the On*Star device out of a wrecked Chevy Malibu in a junkyard outside of Lenoir. Toby, Charlie and Bogdon made some adjustments to the electronics and created the waterproof missile housing. The club paid for service, which included satellite tracking, for a full year. It would allow us to plot our next intercept, where we could completely free the creature.

Right now, it was time to head home to Granite Falls.

We paid Captain Paul well for a week of his experience and labor, and the use of the Resolve. Charlie used a club debit card to transfer funds to the Graydon Paul School of Sailing. If anyone checked, the transaction would appear reasonable. After all, even our families believed we were down here for a week of sailing lessons.

The next morning, the good Captain delivered us to the Greyhound bus terminal with our luggage in his rusted brown Suburban. As we hopped out of the vehicle he asked us what we were going to do with the Zodiac. He was surprised and very pleased when our club president Charlie Sinclair told him he could have it if he wanted it.

Of course this had always been part of our plan. We did not want Captain Paul to tell anyone about our whale rescue attempt. We had broken maybe a dozen federal laws just by being that close to an endangered Marine Mammal. At the very least, the Feds would take away the Captain's new Zodiac if he ran his mouth about our expedition.

It was a long bus trip home and we stopped in every Podunk town in South Carolina before we got into Charlotte. We changed busses in the Queen City after a brief but pleasant layover.

Our parents almost did not let us got to 'Sailing School' because there were worried about us kids being on our own in the Charlotte Greyhound Terminal. They were afraid some unsavory characters might be hanging out there. But, we had a great time in the bus terminal. Bus stations are way more fun than airports! No one ever talks to anyone in airports. But, in bus stations people will tell you their whole life story.

This guy I sat next to in Charlotte told me he had eaten SpaghettiOs for lunch every day for the past six years. He even had a can in his pocket that he offered to share with me.

You won't meet people like that in an airport.

Anyway, we made it back into Granite Falls just as the summer sun was setting. I was tired and looking forward to sleeping in my own bed. It had been a long trip.

We got off the bus at our stop, just out front of the Granite Drug Center and made plans to meet at the primary club house the following day.

I dragged on home and said hello to Mom, Dad, and Jenny the pest.

The fact that I was home from the sea got Dad yelling out commands like 'Raise the Mainsail', 'Prepare to Come About', 'Jibe Ho' and things like that. But, I was too tired to join in. I just handed out the souvenir sailing t-shirts that Toby bought as part of our cover story and, then I went on upstairs and crawled into my own bed.

That night, I did not dream of whales, or drowning, or boat crashes or of dark green ocean waves.

************

Chapter 3 – Me and My Secret

Grandpa Gus says a secret is like a slimy eel. The tighter you try to grasp it, the more likely it is to squirt right out of your fingers. And, you always get bit as it wiggles free.

I have learned the hard way that Grandpa Gus is absolutely right. Heck, even when I am successful at keeping my secret, I can still end up getting bit.

My preschool teacher was convinced I was a junior kleptomaniac because I could find anything she misplaced. She thought I was hiding the stuff from her and told my folks I had 'issues'. As a matter of fact, she suggested 'medication might be in order.'

(Geez! You try to be helpful and people want to pump you full of Ritalin. )

So, I learned pretty young how to keep a low profile. Even when Grandpa Gus would take me around Granite Falls to practice my locating skills, we always had some sort of cover story about what we were doing: bird watching, collecting bugs for a science project, etc. And, if someone saw me unearthing a silver dollar or picking up a lost wedding band, Grandpa Gus would always say, "That's my grandson, Jeep. He's got the sharpest eyes in the county. He can spot anything!"

That usually satisfied any bystanders. After all, it was a lot more believable saying my grandson finds things with his sharp eyesight than saying my grandson hears gold and silver, and gemstones call out to him.

Whenever I located something good, I learned to just casually lean over and pick it up. Sometimes, I pretended to be tying my shoe laces. So, I was rarely noticed. And, if someone did suspect something, I learned to act dumb and answer any direct question with a question of my own.

That is how Grandpa Gus and I kept my secret from the world. And, it worked pretty well, until I was in fifth grade and went to Boy Scout Camp. Even then, I am sure I could have remained under cover and undetected, if Freddie Dunkleberger had not gone and lost his Mercury Dime.

************

It was mid-July and we were finishing up a week of camping and hiking in the forested foothills of the Western Carolina. We even set a Scout Camp record for the High Rope Course, which we lorded over those twerps from Troop 6 in the next campsite over. Just because they were from the big city of Gastonia, they acted like they were hot snot. (The third time they jumped ahead of us in line at the mess hall, we started calling them 'Troop 666'.)

We had a great week of scouting and being boys. But Saturday finally came and we were packing up to go home, when suddenly little Freddie Dunkleberger choked on his neckerchief.

"It's gone!" Freddie shouted in a panic. "There's a hole in my pocket and it's gone!"

"What's gone?" Shad snickered. "Did you lose your mind?"

Freddie pulled the pockets of his khaki shorts inside out. He stuck his finger through the hole in right side flap.

"My Mercury Dime is gone," Freddie moaned and his face looked sick. "It was there last night but, now it's disappeared."

Charlie Sinclair tried to calm our little friend.

"It's bound to be around here somewhere. Check your tent, your bedroll, and your backpack. Hopefully it dropped into one of those."

"Yeah, don't worry, Freddie" Toby reassured him. "We'll help you find it."

The whole troop dutifully pitched in and we carefully combed through Freddie's stuff. But, there was no sign of the coin.

"It's not here," Freddie groaned as he flopped down beside his bedroll. He leaned over and covered his little face with his hands. "It's lost forever."

The poor guy looked like he was about to cry and, we all felt bad for him. But, I wondered if he was over doing it a bit.

"What's the big deal?" I whispered to Toby and Bogdon. "I mean it was just a dime. Okay it was a Mercury Dime, but it was still just ten cents."

Toby shook his head. "It was his Dad's."

That's when I felt really stupid. I knew Freddie's dad died on 9/11. And, my stomach flip flopped as I thought how I would feel in Freddie's place.

"When did you last see the dime?" Bogdon asked. "Maybe we can find it if we all chip in and scour the campsite?"

Freddie looked out from between his fingers.

"It was in my pocket last night. I remember having it when we made the campfire."

"Well that's good," Toby encouraged. "Except for breakfast at the mess hall, we've been in camp the entire morning. It's bound to be around here somewhere."

"Alright Troop," Charlie ordered, naturally taking charge. "Everyone front and center. We are going to form a skirmish line and sweep the area. We are going to find that dime!"

We all wanted to help, so we lined up, spread an arm's length apart, and began methodically sweeping the camp like a lawn mower trimming a field of tall grass.

On the first run through, I whipped out my buck knife and flipped open the blade. Leaning over, I dug a dirty and well worn quarter from beneath the pea gravel path. On the second sweep I pulled a couple of dimes from under the leaves bunched up beside the outhouse, but they were both Roosevelt ten cent pieces. On the last sweep, I turned over a large flat piece of shale. Out scampered a couple of beetles and some kind of nasty segmented creature with a hundred legs on each side. Brushing away old pine straw revealed a 1957 Franklin half dollar.

I wiped away the dirt sticking to the coin and blew on it. As I held the fifty cent piece up to get a better view of old Ben, I realized the rest of the guys were staring at me.

"Neat, huh?" I said weakly. "It's from 1957."

A distrustful question followed.

"How'd you do that?" Shad asked suspiciously.

"Do what?" I retorted.

"How did you find that fifty cent piece?"

"Sharp eyesight," I explained. "It runs in the family."

With that response, I tried to change the subject. "Come on guys. We aren't done yet."

I dropped the coin in my pocket with the others, brushed my hands off, and said, "Daylights burning and we have a dime to find."

But, I was the only one who moved.

"I don't think so," said Toby.

"What do you mean?" I queried.

"I mean, I don't think you spotted a half dollar buried in pine straw under a piece of shale."

"Well, how else would I have found it?" I asked trying to put him on the defensive.

"Probably the same way you found that quarter under the gravel and the dimes in the leaf pile."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

That's when Bogden made an observation in his definitive scientific manner. "I believe you have some sort of Meta human ability. Somehow you knew those coins were there."

I looked around. The guys had me penned in and they were insisting on a response. Even the pained expression on Freddie's face was replaced by a look that was inquiring, if not downright demanding.

"You guys are crazy," I scoffed. "What? Am I Superman? Do you think I have x-ray vision?"

"No," said Thor matter-of-factly. "It's not x-ray vision. Because, then you would have known those coins were not Freddie's Mercury Dime before you dug them up. You did not know what they were, until you uncovered them. But, clearly you have the ability to locate coins that cannot be observed by the naked eye."

"And, not just coins," Charlie added thoughtfully. "Remember the other day on our hike? You were the guy who found those two arrow heads."

"They were just sitting beside the trail," I countered.

"Not both of them," Toby corrected me. "I remember you reached under a clump of grass when you picked up that black one."

He had me there and I did not know what to do. I had let my guard down and gotten caught. Now, my tricks had failed me and I was stuck in a circle of determined faces. I was not going to talk my way out of this.

Should I come clean I wondered? Should I admit that Grandpa Gus was a well driller who always found water? Or, that Grandpa Charlie was a legendary prospector of gold and precious gems? Would they accept that it was genetically innate for me to find things? Or, would they just think I was a freak? I was more than a little scared at how they might react to the truth. (Well, at least they weren't carrying pitch forks and torches.)

"What do you want me to say?" I asked.

Little Freddie walked over and put his hand on my arm.

"I don't care how you do it," he said softly. "Can you find Dad's dime?"

Well what was I supposed to do? Say no?

I looked into Freddie's pleading eyes.

"I'll try," I replied.

And the smile returned to Freddie's face for the first time since he realized the coin was gone.

"What can we do to help?" he asked.

"Take these," I said and I dropped my coins into his hand. Then I ordered, "You guys all need to stand back across the trail. You have way too silver in your pockets. That kind of interference is making it hard for me to hear something the size of a dime."

Someone, I think it was Charlie, questioned, "Hear a dime?"

But, the guys did what I asked and moved to the other side of the gravel track away from the center of camp. From there they watched as once more I swept the area. But, this time I walked alone.

The first thing I turned up was a badly tarnished silver neckerchief slide buried in an old rain trench that protected some ancient camper's tent. Following that I found two more quarters. Then, I dug up a couple more Roosevelt ten cent pieces.

Finally, I heard a particularly weak call from a gulley beside the woods. Searching through the wash and gravel, I dug until at last I turned over a Mercury Dime.

"Viola!" I proclaimed victoriously. While my stunned troop mates watched on, I brushed the dirt away. "A Mercury Dime!"

I walked over and deposited the coin into Freddie Dunkleberger's outstretched hand.

The guys all crossed the trail divider and slapped me on the back. With this dose of success, they no longer treated me like a leper. Once again, I was part of the gang.

Suddenly.

"That's not it," Freddie announced.

"What! What do you mean?" I erupted. "It's a Mercury Dime!"

"Yes. It is a Mercury Dime. But it's not MY mercury dime. It's a 1942-D Mercury Dime. My Dad's was a 1945-S. It was the last year the coin was struck. In 1946, the year after he died, President Roosevelt was put on the front. So, it's not the one."

I could not believe what I was hearing. I walked over and flopped down by the fire pit.

"Doesn't that just beat all?" I huffed. "You wanted a Mercury Dime and I found you a Mercury Dime. Now it turns out to be the wrong damn dime. Well, Crapola!"

I was at the end of my rope. Not only had I not saved the day, I had revealed my secret to everyone in the troop and I had no idea what to do now. I just sat and stared into the remains of last night's farewell campfire, feeling pretty stupid. In fact, I felt like a complete failure.

Surprisingly, it was big Shad MacReynolds who came over to console me.

"Hey, Jeep. Look on the bright side."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"Well, you just found a 1942-D Mercury Dime. On the Discovery Channel they said its worth about $300 dollars."

I looked over at the big guy. "Where do you get that stuff?"

Shad shrugged. "It's kind of a gift I have. I remember word for word everything I have ever seen on TV."

"Every word?" I asked incredulously.

"Every word since I was two."

"Well, why haven't you said something before?" asked his best friend Freddie.

"I don't know," Shad replied. "I guess I was afraid you guys would think I was a freak. Plus, I sure don't want my teachers to find out. Then, they will expect me to perform above grade level on everything. You know how they are?"

"Yeah, teachers," we all agreed.

Eventually Bogdon's scientific curiosity got the best of him.

"So, were you guys born with these abilities? Or, were you struck by lightning or something?"

I smiled.

"I don't know about Shad, but I fell into a vat of radioactive waste... while I was being attacked by a werewolf."

"Is that right?" Charlie snickered.

"Yeah," I chuckled. "It probably would have killed me if I wasn't wearing the power ring I got from the alien saucer."

Charlie turned to Shad. "Did you have a supernatural experience as well?"

"Naw, there is no big mystery to me. I was born this way. In fact, my Dad had the same ability. I remember him repeating every word the final air combat scene from TOPGUN without missing a beat."

"Really?" asked Bogdon. "When was that?"

"As he was loading me into the escape rocket," Shad grinned. "Just before my home planet was destroyed when our red sun went nova."

Bogdon covered his face with his hand and shook his head.

"Nobody respects science anymore," he grumbled.

Freddie laughed. "Well, I for one think it's great. With Dr. Documentary and the Dime Finder Man, our troop has its own resident geeks."

"Speak for yourself, Mini-Me," I shot back.

Freddie ignored my objection. "And let's not forget the others," he said, pointing at Bogdon, Thor and Toby. "There's Brainiac, the Thunder god and Empathy Guy. In fact, we should form our own super hero league."

"Hey, what about me?" Charlie complained.

"You're right," Freddie agreed. "We can't forget our resident Lady-killer. Or, is it Dr. Suave?"

"LadyKiller is just fine," Charlie nodded, happy to be included in the League.

So, together, we sat around the pit full of yesterday's ashes and laughed and joked and carried on.

I don't know how, but we became a circle of friends that day. And, our friendship was so tangible I could feel the weight of it like an iron chain binding us together. We sat there bonding until it came time to leave. Our Scout trip was over – almost.

As I got up and moved away from the fire, I became aware of a surprising silence. It was like when the wind quits blowing. You don't realize you even heard the breeze until it stops.

Wondering if I was mistaken, I walked back to the fire pit.

No. There it was again. It was for real.

"Hey Bog," I asked. "Lend me your multi-tool for a second?"

"Sure thing," he replied, slipping the piece of shiny Gerber steel off the belt on his khaki shorts. He tossed it over.

I caught it in the air and flipped open the pliers. Then, I picked up a half charred pine log lying just inside the rock circle.

As the guys watched, I dug into the ash pile and scraped a deep hole. Leaning over I blew away some of the remaining soot, and I saw a small red coal glow suddenly brighter. Just beside it, I spotted my target.

Reaching gingerly into the warm embers, I used the pliers to remove a 1945-S Mercury Dime. It must have dropped into the fire pit the night before when Freddie was tossing in wood.

"Thar she blows!" I proclaimed. And, with a flourish, I held up the dime clamped firmly inside the pliers. Acting out of instinct, Freddie stretched out his open palm.

I opened the pliers and dropped the scorching hot coin onto the poor guy's skin.

"Yowee!" Freddie yelled, laughing as he bounced the blistering piece of metal from hand to hand like a hot potato. Toby reached over a plastic cup and Freddie dropped the dime into it.

Freddie smiled broadly for a minute. But then his smile died and he got serious.

"That is twice now that dime has come out of the fire."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"It was my Father's dime," he explained. "It was in his pocket on September 11th \- at the Pentagon."

Sitting close to the fire pit in the middle of a hot July day, a chill ran through me. I realized that a ten cent piece might be the most important treasure I would ever find.

************

Chapter 4 – Plan Two

Our first day back from South Carolina, we all had stuff to catch up on. We mowed the lawns, cleaned our bathrooms and generally sweated through a week's worth of undone chores. The unlucky ones like me had a nice heart to heart with our evil little sisters.

In my case it went something like this:

"Hey, Jenny. Guess who I saw vacationing in South Carolina? Give up? It was Santa Claus. That's right. Jolly old St. Nick was walking Rudolph down the beach on a leash. By the way, he said you are on his naughty list. And, you're never getting anything again unless you agree to be my chore slave for a month. So, you can start by dusting my room and throwing my dirty clothes down the laundry chute."

"And remember", I added. "Santa's watching!"

Anyway, I did not get to the primary club house until after lunch. The primary club house (PC for short) was built in a huge white oak tree behind Freddie's grandparents' house. The tree house was originally built by Freddy's grandfather and Father. We took it over a few years back. Of course, we remodeled the place a little: new paint, new shingles, replaced rotten boards, added a wireless Internet router, and stuff like that.

When I scampered up the rope ladder and through the opening in the floor, the rest of the guys were already there.

Toby, Charlie and Bogdon were going over a spreadsheet on Toby's laptop. Since Toby is the club's treasurer, I figured they were reviewing our finances. I knew our trip to South Carolina had cost a lot of money. Judging from the look on Toby's face – we were running short.

This is probably a good time to clarify how we can afford things like a high tech tree houses and whale saving expeditions.

As I explained earlier, I am Jeep Muldoon and I find things. Because of my inherited gift, along with Grandpa Gus' training program, I am always finding rare coins and jewelry and even gold nuggets and gemstones in the ground. With help from my Ranger friends, we recover these valuables. If we know who the stuff belongs to, we give it back. We EBay enough stuff to pay the club's expenses and the rest we lock away the antique bank safe in our hidden clubhouse: the bat cave.

I should also mention I live in the small town of Granite Falls in the mountains of North Carolina where I go to Granite Falls Middle School with my friends: Charlie Sinclair, Thor Munson, Bogdon Peabody, Toby Trundle, Freddie Dunkleberger and big Shad McReynolds. We are 'Company A of the Granite Falls Rangers' – a science club that solves mysteries and has adventures.

I have written down some of our other adventures. You may have read them already. Once we found the ancient ruby tipped 'Arrow that Would Not Miss' and made friends with a Cherokee Medicine Man. One time we solved the Mystery of Merlin's Magic and saved Granite Fall's only miniature golf course. And, once, we built our own radio controlled giant 'Thunderbird' that attracted bird watchers from all over the world - and two genuine Thunderbirds - to our little town.

Who would have believed those adventures would turn out to be small potatoes compared to saving one measly, little forty-ton whale?

Anyway, we had a lot of money in the bank before we mounted our mission to save Levi, (short for leviathan, the name we gave to our Zodiac smashing friend.) Of course, the inflatable was expensive and so was the week's worth of Captain Paul's time, along with the rent for his boat. And, the T-shirt cannon cost a bunch more than you would think.

When Toby and Charlie got through adding up our spending it turned out our whale saving trip cost us about $28,000.

Now, we were flat broke. We had less than $1500 in the club treasury.

"Okay guys," said Charlie. "If we want to make another stab at saving Levi, we need to sell something big. And, it has to be something we can unload fast. We can't afford to wait a month to get the cash. The question is: What should it be?"

Toby explained, "we have several high value objects in the safe: the 7 ½ lb gold nugget, the 92 carat Red Emerald, a dozen US gold coins and the stock certificate for one share of the Tabulating Machine Company dated 1912."

"We also have Captain McNeely's commission papers and his Texas Ranger Badge," Freddie suggested.

"No!" Bogdon interrupted."We are not selling McNeely's stuff."

But Shad McReynolds persisted. "Hey, some rich Texan might pay a lot of money for the personal effects of the greatest Texas Ranger of all time. After all, those papers appointed McNeely as a Ranger Captain and made him head of Company A."

"I don't care," said Bogdon. "That stuff is part of the Granite Falls Rangers now. It was the first really important thing we ever found together. It's the reason we are 'the Rangers'."

"It stays," Bogdon proclaimed.

That kind of assertiveness was out of character for Bogdon. Maybe that is the reason we just let the subject drop.

So, we turned our attention to things we could sell without starting a club revolution.

We figured there was $50,000 worth of pure gold in the giant nugget we dug up down by the river. There was a gold smelter in South Carolina that would be glad to give us that much for it. But, collectors will pay a premium price for a premium nugget specimen. Ours might sell at auction for a hundred thousand bucks, or even more!

Of course, an auction would attract lots of attention. And, then we would probably end up on the Today Show answering a lot of stupid Matt Lauer questions.

"Yeah Matt. We dug it out of the ground, and we were real happy."

After Matt Lauer, we would probably have to answer of a lot of questions from our parents as well, which is never a good thing.

The 7 ½ lb gold nugget was a possibility. But, it was not our first choice.

The Red Emerald is a double terminated red Beryl crystal we unearthed in a local mica mine. If it was green, it would be an Emerald. However, ours is red, so we call it a Red Emerald.

No one anywhere has ever found a gem quality Red Emerald as big as ours, ever. Consequently, we had no idea what it was worth. Was it worth $50,000 or $5 million? Who can say? But, it might take months just to find a buyer. And, we did not have that kind of time.

The one share of stock from the Tabulating Machine Company came from a junk shop in Hickory. It was hidden in a secret compartment in an old wooden roll top desk. Last Spring I found the hiding place because I heard a 2 carat diamond tie tac that was inside next to it.

Shad recognized the company from a Discovery channel documentary on computers. It was signed by some fellow named Herman Hollerith that Shad told us was an old time inventor guy. Apparently, Hollerith was the Bill Gates of our Great Grandparents' Generation.

We bought the secretary and gave it to Goodwill. We kept the stock and the tie tac.

The Tabulating Machine Company became IBM about 1912. That one share would have converted to at least 5 shares of IBM stock at the time. Over the years, the IBM stock divided over and over as the company grew. Today, we could exchange if for thousands of shares of IBM, maybe a million dollars worth. But, once again we would attract a lot of attention.

So, in the end, we decided to sell our gold coins for a quick hit. Coins are easy to move. Dealers like to pay cash and are very discrete. It would allow us to keep a low profile. We would probably would not get half of what they would fetch at auction – but the advantages were overwhelming: no Matt Lauer, no IRS agents and especially - no parents. Plus, it was not like they cost us anything anyway.

After deciding how to obtain more funds, we turned our attention back to saving our whale.

Bogdon had projected the migration pattern for the creature. He estimated the big guy would be off of North Carolina Outer Banks in two weeks. That did not leave us much time, so we divided up our tasks and got busy.

Toby and Bogdon were charged with tracking the whale. Twice a day, every morning and every evening they called On*Star and got the whale's location. They used this information to update a map that was displayed on the club's secure website.

Shad and Freddie volunteered to be in charge of selling the coins. Shad's Mom drove the pair into Charlotte where they attended this summer's Carolina Coin Show.

Those two horse traders outdid themselves!

They found a guy in Charlotte who absolutely had to have our 400 cent gold ($4) coin. The buyer even raided his grandfather's safety deposit box and came back with twenty-five thousand in hard, cold cash.

It's always a pleasure doing business with a fellow who knows what he wants!

Also, our $3 dollar gold Indian Princess sold for $6000. (It was a quality coin and a proof only year.) So, Freddie and Shad gathered up the $31,000 and our 10 unsold gold coins and called it a day.

**************

Thor, Charlie and I were responsible for locating a place to stay at the beach. So, we immediately began combing the Internet for different 'educational' opportunities. We followed up with phone calls to camps and institutions all up and down coastal North Carolina.

We almost talked ourselves into an internship with the Duke University Marine Lab in Morehead City. Unfortunately, it would have meant a full month away from home, and we did not think our parents would go for that.

But then, we got a huge unexpected break when the Ecology Camp on the Cape Lookout National Seashore had a last minute cancellation.

A group of students from the ritzy Country Day High School in Raleigh couldn't make it. Their chaperone / science teacher was bitten by a rabid chipmunk during an PETA sponsored Anti-Fur rally in Chapel Hill. Thanks to infected little Alvin, we were able to snag the Camp for the exact session we needed!

Meanwhile, Toby, Bogdon and Charlie were developing a new and safer way to free the whale. The Harpoon spear method proved a little risky with the high strung creature. So, they created some new projectiles for our t-shirt cannon. The metal bug-like creatures was designed to attach to the trailing ropes and netting. Utilizing two clamping hands, they crawled their way up the tangled mess until they got to the whale's mouth. At that point, a saw arm popped out and cut the nets off short.

After practicing at Town Lake, the guys determined the t-shirt cannon had an effective range of about 30 yards with these 'bugs'. Plus, if they missed, the bugs would float to the surface where they could be recovered and reused.

The final pre-mission task involved finding a suitable chauffeur for the trip. We needed someone responsible enough to pass muster with the parents, but loose enough not to cramp our style.

We hoped that Thor's sister Hildegrund could be persuaded with a hefty cash payment. Hildegrund was a graduate zoology student at NC State. And, she headed up our trip into the mountains last summer when we came face to face with the legendary Wampus Cat.

Unfortunately, Hildegrund had already committed to teach a summer school zoology class. It was a makeup course for the basketball team. If she backed out now, the University Booster Club would probably hang her in effigy.

The good news is that Hildegrund recommended a fellow grad student for the opportunity.

"He's perfect," She explained. "All the girls love him and the guys like him too. He's top of the class and a first rate researcher. And, he's also a bit of a water rat. His name's Donnie Gee and he's looking for some beach time this summer."

Charlie got on the phone and offered Donnie Gee, a free week at Cape Lookout and $1000 cash. Donnie was onboard faster than you can say 'hang ten'.

The final step of our plan was the one that required the most skill and subtlety. We had to convince our parents to let us spend another whole week away from home. And, we had to do it fast.

Luckily, we could make a pretty persuasive argument about the educational value of our trip. And, since it was all expenses paid – (at least as far as our parents knew) - it was a great deal. Most of us got approval right away.

However, some club members had to resort to carping and complaining for permission. But, after a week of continuous 'world class' whining – the holdout parents changed their minds. In fact, they actually began to look forward to a peaceful week without their irritating offspring.

Just nine days after our first attempt to free the whale, we packed up our equipment and met Donnie in the town square. He had picked up a big white 'Church Van' the night before at a rental place in Chapel Hill. It was easy for us to reserve and prepay for the van with our debit cards. But, it required Donnie's driver's license to get Hertz to let the van leave the parking lot.

Donnie got up early that Friday morning and drove 200 miles to get us. The fact that he got to Granite Falls before lunch meant that he did not believe in wasting time on the road. That sounded good to us. If we were going to be successful in our quest, we could not afford to waste time on the road.

************

Chapter 5 – A Trip to the Beach

We said good bye to our families and loaded up the van with piles of gear, footlockers, duffle bags, etc. Donnie already had his surf board lashed to the top. We lifted our kayaks up there as well and bungeed them down tight.

With the van piled up like a refugee express, we hit the road just after midday. We made it almost ten miles before we came to a Subway Sandwich Shop near Hickory. By that time, Shad was hungry and Freddie had to use the john.

(We told him to go before we left, but he never listens.)

After a half hour of emptying and refilling, we returned to the road once again.

The cabin of the van was stuffed with pillows and sleeping bags. In addition, Bogdon brought his portable DVD player and loaded up Lord of the Rings. (With Bogdon in command it's a pretty safe bet he'll put in Lord of the Rings or any movie starring Amanda Bynes.) Charlie was playing with his Game Boy. Thor was napping. Toby was working Sudoku's. And, I was rereading my old paperback copy of The Mad Scientists' Club.

This was a road trip – Ranger Style!

***********

It was late afternoon when Donnie pulled our van off the highway and into the KFC parking lot in Jacksonville, North Carolina. We slid the doors open and scampered outside to stretch our legs that had stiffened during the lengthy journey.

Bathed in sunshine and humidity, we were assaulted by the 'smell of the sea'!

Although, technically speaking, it's not really the smell of the sea. It's the smell of the rotting vegetation in swamps and canals where the sea and land interact. And, we were still miles from the Ocean. Regardless, it was an exotic and wonderful smell for a group of mountain boys like us. It was the smell of adventure and in this particular case it smelled like whale freedom.

Of course, in addition to the 'smell of the sea', we were also treated to the smell of 'the Colonel's 11 different herbs and spices' from the adjacent Fried Chickenary. The odor of chicken reminded us of how hungry traveling can make you. We had not eaten anything for almost 300 miles!

Lucky for us, this KFC had an open buffet and a serve yourself soda dispenser. We descended on the restaurant like a swarm of locusts – leaving devastation and piles of chicken bones in our wake.

Following our early dinner, we checked into a pair of rooms at a small motel not far from the entrance to the Marine Corp base at Camp Lejeune. This was especially convenient because we had a date to be at the Camp the next morning. We started our trip to the beach a day early so we could make a stop here in Jacksonville for the Annual Marine Corp Mud Run. And, on Saturday morning the Rangers were planning to show the Marine Corps how to play in the muck!

With our temporary headquarters established, we set out in buddy groups to explore the neighborhood around the base.

WOW!

Jacksonville has more pawn shops, tattoo parlors and military surplus stores than you can shake a stick at! And, every few minutes, a Cobra gunship or a Harrier Jump jet comes rocketing over at treetop level.

We were not in Kansas (or Granite Falls) anymore.

I bought a keychain made from a real 30 caliber machine gun bullet, picked up some lense cleaner and a new strap for my night vision gear and watched a young Marine get 'Semper Fidelis' permanently inked onto his right shoulder.

This place was better than Six-Flags!

Charlie, who is always on the prowl, and Thor, ran into a female Marine recruiter at the shopping center across from the motel. Charlie sweet talked her out of seven of those booney hats that recruiters give away to hot prospects. The only condition was that we wear them in the race tomorrow.

Apparently, the young Lieutenant was an attractive single blond. According to Thor, 'Don Juan' Charlie Sinclair told her we were sophomores in High School and that he was currently 'between girlfriends'. Thor said it was painful to watch Charlie get blown off, but he was sure smiling when he told us about it later at the motel. We all agreed that when Charlie Sinclair gets shot down – the boy goes down in flames!

Jacksonville was turning out to be a really wild place, but it was hot. And the humidity was so thick you could stuff a pillow with it. So, Toby and I wandered back to the motel, thinking we would cool off in the pool. But, before we hit the water, we ran into Bogdon, Shad and Freddie in the parking lot talking to another team preparing for the mud run.

This other group of runners was made up of Marines who had lost legs in combat in Iraq and Afghanistan . They competed with prosthetic limbs and called themselves 'Some Assembly Required'. They had run competitively in a number of important races like the Boston and Marine Corps Marathons. But this was their first mud run. So, like a NASCAR team before a big race, they were trying to determine the best set up for the upcoming competition.

They had a number of high-tech bionic limbs to choose from, but the discussion was centering on what type of 'foot' was best suited to run in the mud. Their standard running foot was a carbon fiber strip that was shaped kind of like the letter c. On the bottom they could glue different rubber tread patterns for traction in different environments. At the top, the foot was attached to a special shock absorber built into the prosthesis.

However, this usual foot would be too narrow for the mud here at Camp Lejeune. It would sink down in the swampy earth and slow the runners down.

Bogdon was intrigued by the technology involved. He pondered out loud about the merits of different foot options for tomorrow's race.

"The problem," explained Bogdon. "Is that your standard design concentrates too much pressure for this course. You want something that spreads the pressure out and lowers the total pounds per square inch, kind of like a snowshoe, only for mud."

Bog picked a prototype foot that looked something like a ping pong paddle.

"This design would certainly spread the pressure across the muddy surface. But, if it sinks into the muck, pulling your foot out will be next to impossible. And, sludge will build up on top. After the first obstacle you would certainly be carrying extra weight."

"If we just had a couple of days for testing," Bogdon wished, "I'm sure we could figure out a design that is optimal for this environment."

Freddie interrupted.

"Ah... Bog. I can tell you right now what the optimal mud design should be. It's obvious."

"What do you mean?" said Bogdon, surprised to have his scientific authority challenged. "You can't just pull a design out of thin air, Freddie. Something like this takes thought and a lot of trial and error."

"Come on, Bogdon," said Freddie."The answer is right in front of your face."

Freddie pointed over to a little brackish water creek that ran beside the motel. There was a tall white shorebird meandering along the muddy flats hunting for marsh crabs.

"Look at that big crane over there. He's already done your testing for you. If you're looking for a foot that can handle the mud – just look at what he is using."

Of course, Freddie was correct. After all, a billion shore birds can't all be wrong. But, I don't remember another time I saw someone completely outthink Bogdon Peabody.

************

Chapter 6 – Race Day

We were up early the next morning and did some serious carbo-loading down at the Internation House of Pancakes. Their all you can eat pancake breakfast was just the ticket. I think Shad actually had sparks flying from his knife and fork!

However, Club President, Charlie Sinclair cut him off after just fifteen pancakes. Shad protested but we reminded him that the pancakes might not taste as good coming up as going down.

Following breakfast we pulled out of the IHOP parking lot and headed over to the base. It was kind of neat being stopped at the gate by MP's with automatic weapons. They got us out of the van and opened the hood and used a mirror on a stick to look underneath.

There weren't any bombs, so they let us come on in. We drove over to the parking lot beside the parade grounds and found a space right up front.

The heat and humidity slammed us again as we piled out of the air conditioned van. Camp Lejeune is essentially a great big swamp, which comes in handy if you are practicing amphibious maneuvers. But, I sure understand why people spend summer up in the mountains to escape these temperatures.

Donnie wandered over to the bleachers while the rest of us checked in for the race. We had already sent in our entry forms and money. So, all we had to do was pick up the race numbers to pin to our shirts and get the small computer timing chips that we attached to our socks.

In addition to our new booney hats, Toby Trundle had some t-shirts printed up just for the occasion. They were white, of course, to better show off mud stains. On the front was printed 'Company A – Granite Falls Rangers.' On the back were the words 'Rangers Lead the Way!' We could not wait to change into them and take our postions.

The crowd swelled quickly. There were several thousand participants and at least that many more spectators were there to cheer and laugh. We saw runners of every shape and size including all kinds of costumed contestants. There were several runners dressed as pigs and one group of women wore prom dresses and tiaras with their running shoes.

In addition, lining up for the race were plenty of young close cropped Marines togged up in fatigues, jungle boots and combat packs. Their faces were broken by streaks of camouflage green and brown. A few sported Mohawks. And, although they smiled and joked – there was something inherently deadly in their demeanor. These guys were not playing. They were the real deal.

As the start time approached, we were hot and excited and anxious to wallow in some mud! When they called 'runners to the starting line', we scooted up to take our positions. We were ready to go and impatient for the starting gun. But, we had one more surprise in store.

From behind the administration building a jeep came driving toward the assembly. And, when I say it was a jeep, I mean it was a genuine WWII G503 Willys 4X4: a real jeep and not some Hummer wannabe.

The olive drab vehicle pulled out in front of the crowd and stopped in the middle of race course. Out stepped 'The Gunny'!

Looking like he came straight from a training detail, The Gunny sported a vintage Marine uniform with a genuine Drill Instructor hat.

He was here to give us a little pre-race pep talk, and did not need a microphone to address the crowd. His unaided Marine drill instructor's voice rang out across the parade ground with authority.

"Shut your pie holes, ladies! Just because you are on a Marine base, it does not mean that you are on the bus."

The crowd got instantly quiet. And, more than a few racers snapped to attention as the Gunny began to address the troops.

"Now, back in the Old Corp, we trained recruits to go to Vietnam. And, for you pukes that are too young to remember, that meant one thing: mud! In Vietnam we lived in mud. We walked in mud. We slept in mud. We ate mud. We bathed in mud. We didn't like it. But, when Uncle Sam called, by God we did the best we could."

"Now I'm no big hero. I got hit heading for the bunkers the same as most of my guys. But... I belonged to a Corp full of heroes!"

The Gunny paused for a second and then continued.

"I want you numb nuts to remember one thing while you are running through the mud here today. Marines die. That's what we're here for. But, the Corp will live forever.

That is why Marines are immortal!"

Despite the sweat, I could feel the goose bumps rising on my arms.

"For some of you poor unlucky civilians, this is as close as you will ever come to being Marines. So, today on this race course, I want you to run like Marines. I want you to crawl and slither on your bellies like Marines. I want you to be Marines in your heart!"

His words echoed across the marsh and embedded themselves in my memory.

"And you teams remember: Marines never leave a man behind! You are not finished until every man in your team is finished."

The Gunny scowled across the crowd and it was like he was looking through each and every one of us. Then, slowly his face broke into a huge smile.

"Go out there today, get muddy, and make me proud."

Then, the Gunny snapped to attention and saluted the crowd.

"Semper Fi!" he shouted.

From across the assembled ranks of Marines and 'Marines for a day' came the thundering reply.

"HOOAHH!"

************

As the Gunny pulled his jeep to the side of the race course, I heard a voice over my shoulder say, "Hello Charlie."

We turned around to find it was the cute Marine recruiter who gave us the hats. She looked very fetching in her running clothes with pixie blond hair poking out from under a green Marine Corp cap.

"Hi, Lieutenant," Charlie responded with a big smile. "How do you like the boonies?"

"They look good," said the Lieutenant smiling back."They're very manly."

That is when I realized that this pretty young woman was actually flirting with Charlie. And, I wanted to bury my head in some mud! I knew Charlie would never be able to let it go.

"What do you say, Lieutenant?" Charlie inquired. "How about a little kiss for luck?"

No! I thought. I can't stand it. Someone please shoot the starter's gun!

"I'll tell you what, Charlie," said the flirty recruiter."If you can beat me to the finish line – you'll get your kiss."

"That's a bet," Charlie replied, grinning hugely.

He leaned into the rest of us and gloated. "What can I say fellas? It's a gift."

"Yeah, but you still have to beat her," said Thor.

Charlie just scoffed in reply.

Then the moment we were waiting for finally came. We heard the crack of the starter's gun and like an overfilled puddle two thousand runners began flowing out across the line.

"Pace yourselves guys," yelled Thor. "It's only a 5K – but covered in the mud it's still going to be a long race!"

We could not run at first. We were penned in by bodies everywhere. For a few seconds we walked, before we were finally able to break into a jog.

The course was basically a 5K square. The first leg was a large ½ K turn to the right that lined up on a drainage ditch that was almost a full kilometer long. For the Mud Run, the Marine Corp had pumped water out of a nearby canal and flooded this section about twelve inches deep. The water slowed us down some, but the bottom was mostly grass, so we were not sinking in. Plus, the crowd had begun to spread out. We finally had running room!

In front of me, an old guy danced into the water and started splashing around. I could swear he was crooning 'Singing in the Rain' as I passed him on my right.

On my left, one of those Prom gown girls came shooting down the canal. With her hands she held the skirt high above the water and made surprisingly good time.

"Just wait till that dress gets waterlogged," Toby observed. "She'll be carrying an extra sixty pounds, by the time she gets to the finish line."

We made it to the end of the canal, and I was puffing pretty hard. The entire team was staying together at a good clip. But, we still had a long way to go.

"Hurry up, Guys!" Charlie pleaded. "Just put one foot in front of the other."

Of course, Charlie had more than just mud on his mind.

When the drainage ditch met the canal, we took a left and the water got noticeably deeper. It was probably three feet in some places. And, for the first time we were squishing into muck on the bottom. After a few yards of deeper water, we weren't really running anymore. We were sloshing and slogging at a quick walk.

After 100 yards we hit a sandy bank crossing where we exited from the canal back onto dry land. For fifty yards we ran along dripping and squishing water out of our running shoes.

By the time we hit the first mud pit, there was some separation in our team. Of course Charlie and Thor were out front, they were the natural athletes.

Toby, Bogdon and I were the middle of the pack. We were huffing along, but still moving at a respectable pace.

Behind us, but gaining, was little Freddie. Freddie's a good athlete too. But, he lost a lot of time in the canal. The rest of us could slog through the 3 foot deep water, but it hit Freddie chest high. He had to swim it.

Last but not least, big Shad McReynolds brought up the rear. Shad has never been very fast. But, he runs like a tank. You better stay out of his way once he gets moving!

The mud obstacles were crawling pits. You had to get down on your knees and elbows and crawl under the overhead barbed wire. However, for this race, the sharp wire was replaced with plastic streamers and flags. This meant you could stand up going through the obstacle. Even so, Marine DI's were stationed on either side. If you did stand up – they ran you back to the start and made you go through again.

The funny thing about the crawl pit is that when Shad hit the mud – he did not slow down at all! He shot through like some kind of huge mud lizard. I saw several Marine Instructors staring open mouthed and pointing. They were awed by Shad's slithering ability.

We came out of the mud pit bunched closer together, the mud coating us like thick coffee colored paint. As we glistened like wet chocolate soldiers in the early morning sun, we laughed and pointed at each other as we spit the mud from our lips. We spontaneously gathered up and threw our hands in.

"RANGERS LEAD THE WAY!" we shouted and hi fived the circle.

"I feel like I just discovered practical plasma fusion!" Bogdon grinned as he wiped mud from his glasses.

"Yeah? Well, let's fuse our butts down the road," Charlie replied. "I have a date at the finish line!"

So, we all took a deep breath and returned to the race.

From here we followed a curving path about a hundred yards to Mt. Suribachi. Mt. Suribachi was a twenty foot tall pile of dirt deposited in the middle of this flat coastal plain. It was named for the mountain on Iwo Jima where Marines made the historic flag raising in WWII.

Mt. Suribachi was here to torment tired racers. Twenty feet does not seem that high – but the angle was almost straight up. Plus when you got to the flat summit there were three walls that had to be scaled before you could come down on the other side.

Since plenty of other dripping runners beat us up Suribachi, the path up the side was muddy and slick. Thor led us up to the hillside and then dropped back to the tail end, so he could help anyone who had a climbing problem.

"Stay low," ordered Thor. "Keep your feet moving! Jab your hands into the dirt to keep from slipping!"

We hit the incline running and our momentum took us about half way up. Then we were forced to scratch our way to the top while our soaking wet running shoes kept trying to slide us back down to the bottom. I was almost to the summit when my right foot slipped, and I quickly jammed it back into the mud. Unfortunately, I stepped on Bogdon's hand.

"Youch!" yelled poor Bog as he lost his handhold and slid all the way down the muddy trail on his belly.

Going down, Bogdon looked like little Ralphie slipping down Santa's slide in A Christmas Story. (Come to think of it, they both wear the same type of glasses.)

When Bog hit the bottom, Thor was there to help. He got Bogdon to jog back about thirty feet and get a running start. This time, Bog made it right to the top and did not get stepped on. Thor followed close behind pushing Bogdon anytime he looked like he might slip again.

Now that we were on the summit, we had to scale the three walls. We had spent some time studying this situation and came up with a system. We let Shad get to the wall first. Then he turned around in front and took his position. One by one, Bogdon, Toby, Freddie and I ran up and put our right foot into Shad's cupped hands and were launched over the top. Since Shad is as strong as an ox he tossed some of us higher than we needed to go!

Once the four of us were over, Shad moved back and let Thor and Charlie take position. Charlie stood on his hands and knees with Thor behind him against the wall. Shad then stepped up on Charlie's back and crawled up onto Thor's shoulders. From there he was able lean over the top of the wall and flop over.

After Shad crossed the wall, Toby, and I lifted Bogdon up close to the top. When Charlie and Thor hit their side of the wall running, their momentum carried them up most of the way. And, at the crest, they were able to grab Bogdon's hand and pull themselves across.

The first wall was a little tricky. However, we got the hang of our process by the second wall. And, the third was like going over a garden gate!

The trail down Mt. Suribachi was as steep as the one going up. It was also soggy and muddy. So, we let nature take its course and slid down the muddy trail on our butts. It was quick, and it was fun!

Oh, I should mention that we saw our amputee friends on Mt. Suribachi. With their improvised three pronged crane feet they passed us like we were standing still. However, their trailing man did slow down long enough to high five Freddie before he went shooting past. Their feet were designed for mud – but those prongs were better than climbing spikes going up and down that big pile of dirt.

Coming off Suribachi we hit another shallow canal. This time we crossed it instead of following it for any distance. At that point we caught up with that Prom queen. Her sagging dress was a soaking sheet of mud. It probably weighed as much as she did. When she came to the second canal she just flopped down into it and started agitating like a washing machine. She was trying to get some of the heavy layers off her dress.

She gave us a side handed Prom queen wave as we plodded by.

Running along the bank we paralleled the canal for about fifty yards. Then we reached another crossing area and started over. The going was easier because they had rope guides strung across. However, those sneaky Marines also put an extra deep trench right in the middle. We were moving along in about two feet of water when we hit the deep spot and suddenly glubbed under.

If you held onto the rope it was easy enough to pull on across. If you lost your grip, you had to swim. There were several leatherneck lifeguards standing by just in case.

We were about four kilometers into the race and the last kilometer was a straight shot to the finish line. It was good trail all the way – until you hit the largest mud pit right at the end. That last straight section may have been the hardest part of the race – because we pushed ourselves while we carried a ton of temporary water weight gain.

The final mud pit stretched over one hundred feet. It had a sand and gravel approach that morphed into light brown slime. It was two feet deep and built for crawling.

I was laughing like a hyena when I splashed into that muck. After all, the finish line was in sight and mud is what we came for!

Once more, Shad was the last Ranger into the pit. However, in this hundred foot monster – 'Shad the Mud Machine' put on a dazzling display! Participants and observers yelled encouragement as he hydroplaned through.

As Shad came out the other side, he raised up out of the muddy water in triumph. All seven Rangers clasped hands and we crossed the finish line together.

Rangers don't leave a man behind either.

We all finished, but Shad was definitely the big dog – or at least the mud puppy of the hour. I heard him shout above the crowd.

"I'm Shadrack McReynolds of the Granite Falls Rangers. I'm half boy and half alligator. And, I can eat a horse!"

Onlookers circled round congratulating him. And, the Gunny himself came over to congratulate our muck covered teammate. Photographers snapped picture after picture of the two "mud brothers" shaking hands. Shad and the Gunny appeared in newspapers across the country the next day!

Of course, after Shad's triumph – the second most important issue was: where did the pretty Lieutenant finish the race. A hopeful Charlie Sinclair was looking through the waves of contestants crossing behind us when he was tapped on the shoulder.

Sure enough, it was his betting partner, and she had beat him across the line.

"I'm afraid you lost, Charlie," said the Lieutenant, who somehow managed to look even cuter with a little mud streak across the side of her cheek.

"Best two out of three?" asked Charlie hopefully.

"Not today, Romeo. You lost fair and square. But I will give you this. You ran a good race."

"Well," responded Charlie. "How about a kiss for old time's sake? Comrades in arms and all that sort of thing?"

The pretty racer laughed.

"Charlie Sinclair, there is just something about you a girl can't resist."

"Really?" Charlie perked up.

"Really," replied the Lieutenant.

Then she changed her voice into this really sexy tone! I believe they call it Sultry!

"Close your eyes and pucker up big boy."

(She said it in a way that made me want to get in line behind him.)

With a huge smile on his face, Charlie did exactly what he was told. He closed his eyes and stuck out his puckered lips.

The Lieutenant reached into the Marine Corp cap and pulled out a handful of mud. Then she lovingly smeared Romeo Charlie Sinclair across the lips with it.

For a second, Charlie actually thought he was getting kissed. But, then he tasted the mud.

"Awww Man!" he complained, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Don't worry Charlie," said the Lieutenant. "I'll give you a real kiss."

"You will?" said Charlie.

"Absolutely," she assured him. "Just come back and see me when you turn eighteen!"

She turned around and walked away, leaving a beaming smile on Charlie Sinclair's muddied face. Just before she blended into the crowd – she turned and blew him a smooch.

Charlie reached up and caught it in his hand.

"Oh yeah," said Charlie, his confidence returning. "She wants me."

The Rangers finished in the top quarter of all the teams that competed. Thanks to Shad we also took home the Commandant's Special Ribbon for Mud. So, we were very pleased with our performance.

Oh, and Some Assembly Required (our stork footed friends) finished third place overall in their very first mud run. Their 'disability' could not stop those bionic Marines anymore than one of those wall obstacles on Mt. Suribachi.

Finally, Charlie Sinclair's betting partner was the top female finisher – for the third year in a row. The poor boy never had a chance.

It had been a memorable race. But, now we had a date with a garden hose and the hotel swimming pool!

***********

After the Mud Run, we stopped by the motel to clean up and change. We threw our muddy race clothes into washing machines in the hotel laundry room, took a quick shower and then hit the pool for a final cleansing. We could have stayed and played longer, but we were anxious to get out to the island.

Why hang out in a motel pool when the entire Atlantic Ocean beckoned?

************

Chapter 7 – Cape Lookout at Last

We checked out of the little motel, stuffed our belongings into the van and retook our seats with Donnie in the command position. Donnie powered up the engine, and before long we were shooting up the coastline for the last 60 miles of our trip.

We could have gone straight up highway 24 to Morehead City, but Donnie insisted on taking the scenic beach route. Turning off the highway in Swansboro and driving along the back bays, we crossed a giant bridge over the inner coastal canal.

We were finally here - on the barrier islands of North Carolina!

The islands are like ribbons of sand paralleling the coastline and separating the Atlantic from the back bays and sounds. Crossing that big bridge made it official. We were at the beach!

We traveled up Emerald Isle, using the route that bisected the island lengthwise. On one side of the road were colorful wooden houses, resting on giant telephone pole stilts that overlooked the Ocean. On the other side were equally colorful wooden houses, on more giant telephone pole stilts, that overlooked the Sound.

The houses were painted in a rainbow of Caribbean colors: light blues, aqua greens, various shades of peach and buttery yellows. The road was lined with blooming Oleander bushes and crushed shell driveways. The entire land mass was only a few feet above sea level, with occasional small rises that allowed us glimpses of the green, blue and aquamarine waters of the cold Atlantic Ocean.

Just beyond the pastel strip of houses the waves washed into shore, the same way they had done when the first white men came here 500 years ago. For that matter these waves would have been familiar to the first red men who arrived 10,000 years earlier.

The land changes but the sea remains the same. Familiar waves would be breaking on these shores long after we were just a memory.

The exotic sights and smells were like a tonic to boys from the deep forest. Our faces were plastered to the windows as we made the twenty five mile drive up the long skinny island. We soaked in the sights of seagulls, sand and saltwater, and did not want to miss a second. But, we were also anxious to speed through to our final destination. We yearned to get out there and start drinking in our vacation adventure like a cold glass of sweet tea on a scorching Carolina afternoon.

After forty minutes of tantalizing glimpses, we reached the town of Atlantic Beach and crossed over another even larger bridge back to the mainland and Morehead City. We were back on the highway now – but at this point the highway morphed into a city street with stoplights, regular houses, and strip center edges.

We crawled through Morehead City and finally reached the largest bridge yet. It stretched over the deepwater port and across to Radio Island. From the top of this bridge, we looked down on a gargantuan black cargo ship the size of two football fields. Seemingly endless conveyor streams of shredded wood chips were being dumped into the cavernous holds of the immense vessel that would carry them halfway across the planet.

Coming off the bridge we made good time driving along a built up causeway. We passed several public fishing spots and strained to see if anybody was catching. But, Donnie was back up to 55 MPH and our intrusions were too brief to be satisfying.

We crossed a genuine drawbridge and found ourselves in Beaufort, NC. Unlike Beaufort, SC renowned for yummy homemade ice cream, Beaufort, NC is known for its creamy handmade fudge.

Speaking of fudge, Shad begged Donnie to pull over long enough to pick up two or three pans full – but his pleas fell upon deaf ears. Donnie was in a hurry to get to Cape Lookout. He said he knew of a seafood buffet on Harkers Island that was worth waiting for. So, we moved on past Beaufort without a single taste of creamy chocolate goodness.

Within minutes we drove west out of town and headed inland into the rural North Carolina. This area was more sparsely populated and the road was lined with flat fields and pastures that were backed by forests of tall spindly pines. Before long we turned Northeast onto the road to Cape Lookout and crossed over to Harkers Island. The island was full of swamp grass, pine trees and canals. We spotted scattered single story houses and mobile homes nestled among the trees.

Finally, the land narrowed, and we could see the waters of Core Sound. A few minutes later, Donnie pulled into the shell graveled parking lot of the 'The Admiral's Treasure' and stopped. We wasted no time hopping out of the cool van into the intense sunshine and shimmering heat of the summer afternoon.

Inside, food and air conditioning beckoned to us. But even though we were sweating and hungry, we stopped to survey our final destination, appearing just above the horizon. Our sandals crunched old oyster coverings as we angled for a better view of the Cape.

"Look!" exclaimed Freddie."It's the lighthouse!"

And, sure enough, across several miles of the Sound we spotted a flashing light that was barely visible in daytime. It rotated slowly just above the water.

The ocean wind freshened and renewed us with the salty air of excitement. We breathed in deeply the perfume of the sea and stood transfixed on Cape Lookout in the distance.

Finally, without saying a word, we turned back to the parking lot and walked into the cool darkness and enticing seafood smells of the restaurant.

****************

Donnie was right about the Admiral's Treasure. It was terrific. We ate fried seafood and low country vegetables like the Russians were at the county line.

We had no idea what the food was going to be like at Ecology Camp. We just hoped it was better than at Sailing Camp. Captain Paul's Sailing Camp was lots of fun, but the food was awful. Charlie decided the old cook got his recipes out of Soldier of Fortune magazine. But, Freddie defended the old guy and said at least all the lumps in the gravy were bite-sized.

Anyway, our late lunch at Harkers Island was spectacular. The scallops and shrimp were memorable and the yellow squash casserole was outstanding. And, I ate three of those stuffed crabs. You know the ones that are fried in the crab shell and look like they're staring at you?

And, Shad had to throw water on his fork just to keep it from overheating!

Lunch was washed down with plenty of cold iced tea and fresh squeezed lemonade. And, it was topped it off with homemade lemon pie with a Ritz cracker crust. When our waitress brought Shad a second piece of meringue topped heaven, he actually began to tear up. (Although he claimed the tears were from a lemon juice squirt he got while doctoring his beverage.)

After lunch we drove the last few blocks up to Pamlico Jack's Marina and arranged to catch a boat over to Cape Lookout. There are no bridges to the National Seashore but there are plenty of independent ferry operators. But, we are not talking about large car carrying ferries. Pamlico Jack's ferry was an open flat boat with two outboard engines. The vessel was about the same length and width as our Van.

The Coast Guard approved the ferryboat to hold eighteen passengers. But, with seven Rangers, Donnie and the Ferryman, there was just enough room for all the stuff we brought with us. While Donnie parked the Van in the long term boat storage area, the skipper helped us arrange our footlockers, kayaks and gear so that the weight was distributed evenly. That way we weren't listing to one side or the other.

The day was full of wind and there were plenty of small white caps in the sound. However, it did not keep our skipper from making a high speed dash to the Cape. It was a bumpy, spray filled three mile trip. But, we did not mind getting a little wet. It just meant that our journey was finally coming to an end.

Cape Lookout National Seashore consists of ribbon thin barrier islands. On one side of each island are the relatively calm waters of Core Sound. On the other side are the pounding waves of the Atlantic.

The Cape area where we were staying is the hook-like Southern end of a 12 mile sandy strip called Core Banks. If you think of Cape Lookout as a twelve mile long J shape, the ecology camp was housed in a converted Coast Guard station that was built near the bottom of the J's curve. The famous light house is up the back of the J about two miles north.

We came up on the island from the Sound side and the ferryman put us in at the old Coast Guard dock. He helped us throw our stuff up onto the weathered wood planks. We thanked our boatman for his time. Then, he cast off, backed out and floored it back to Harkers Island.

Like Grandpa Gus always says, "Taxi drivers don't make money saying goodbye."

No one was at the dock to meet us, but we did not expect there to be. We knew we could follow the gravel road from the dock about ¾ of a mile to the Coast Guard station. So, we piled our extra gear, including our footlockers, under some brush near the end of the dock. We chained our kayaks to pilings a the foot of the pier. Then we grabbed everything we could carry and started off down the road.

Our leisurely lunch and the boat ride over had taken up the hottest part of the day, although the sun still shone heavy as we packed across the Island. Though there was plenty of thicket, there wasn't much shade.

The vegetation was short and windblown. The grass was high and there were lots of cedars and scrub oaks that were more like bushes than trees. When they got about four feet tall the wind seemed to blow them to a stop. Almost all the branches pointed away from the ocean and the constant sea breezes.

We came around a turn in the path and found ourselves at the old Coast Guard Quarters where the ecology camp was now located. It looked like a neat place. I saw a basketball court, a windmill generating electricity and several solar panels. There was a separate four door garage building and through an open door I spotted some balloon tire beach bikes.

The main building was a square wooden two story, with a odd little third floor observation tower sticking up from the wood shingled roof.

We hurried up to the house, excited to finally arrive. I guess we probably looked pretty scraggly because as we approached the white picket fence a young woman in oversized shorts and an enormous straw hat walked out of the building and shut the gate in front of us!

"Who are you?" she demanded."What are you doing here?"

I was kind of surprised by this confrontation. She acted like the sheriff of Cape Lookout. Come to think of it, we'd been treated better by the MP's at Camp Lejeune.

But, I answered for our group anyway.

"We're the Granite Falls Rangers, Ma'am. We're here for the ecology camp."

"You're wrong;" she indicted. "Country Day High School from Raleigh is supposed to be here this session."

I felt like I'd been slapped in the face by her rebuttal. But, I tried to remain calm.

"Uh... Country Day had to cancel. Their chaperone had an unfortunate accident. But, we talked to Ms. Tappen at the Maritime Museum. She said we could have their spot."

Instead of the apology I was expecting, we received an unfriendly tirade.

"Great!" she replied sarcastically. "That's just great!"

She began to rant.

"I'm only the Director of Programs around here. But, they never tell me anything. Now, I've prepared a week's worth of upper level science lessons for an accelerated High School class, and I am stuck with elementary school boys!"

"Excuse me," Donnie interrupted, putting down his surfboard. "These boys are in middle school. And, they are paying customers! I am sorry that you were not informed of the change. But, I hardly think it's necessary to be so inhospitable!"

She ignored Donnie's comments.

"Well," said the woman."I guess there's no way I can fix it now."

She harrumphed.

"I'll just have to dumb everything down for surfer boy and the seven dwarves."

She turned to us and without so much as a smile; she began her canned welcome speech.

"I am Pam Rockhart, Director of Programs for the Cape Lookout Ecology Camp."

The welcome lecture went on for several minutes and it was not very welcoming. It basically boiled down to her conclusion that we were all piggy little consumers who gave no thought to our impact on the world around us. And, it was her job to raise our consciousness so that hopefully someday we would care about the natural world a fraction as much as she did.

She was not just rude, she was condescending as well. I decided to beat the Christmas rush and start resenting her right away.

She finally led us into the main building and showed us our barracks room. We dropped our stuff and picked out our beds. Then she pointed out the bathroom we were going to share.

"How's the water?" asked Freddie.

"It's very high quality," Pam retorted. "We have a freshwater lens. I'll explain what that is later. Hopefully, some of you boys will be able to grasp the concept."

"A Freshwater lens?" Shad replied. "That's a pool of freshwater that congregates below a barrier island and floats above the seawater aquifer. The lens is a semi-circular structure below the island although the thickest part is not in the center but displaces towards the less salty lagoon side."

Shad achieved exactly what he was hoping for. He shut the wicked witch down cold. After a few jaw dropping seconds she acknowledged him.

"Yeah," Pam stuttered. "Uh... Yeah. Something like that."

Then, Ms. Rockhart beat a hasty retreat and we all gave Shad the high sign as she left the room.

"What a pain!" Freddie exclaimed. "That woman could make the crows bring back last year's corn!"

"She's mean alright," Charlie agreed. "But, we just have to stay out of her way for a week. Remember the mission."

We dropped our stuff and walked outside together. Keeping an eye out for Miss Camp Nazi, we headed back to the dock for the rest of our equipment.

************

Just after dark, Freddie and Shad went outside to call On*Star and get an update on our whale's position. But, within minutes they scrambled back inside, in a panic!

"No bars!" Freddie cried."I am not getting any bars! There is no cell phone coverage!"

"Try climbing up the tower," Toby suggested. "From up there you are bound to get some reception."

So, like two blind mice, Freddie and Shad scampered up the stairs. But, it was not long before they hickory dickory docked back down (And the clock had not even struck one.)

"Nothing up there, either!" Shad reported. "What is the deal?"

About that time, evil Pam walked by.

"No cell phone at night," she explained without even slowing down.

"What do you mean no cell phone at night?" Shad demanded at the back of her head.

Pam stopped. Then she turned around and responded too precisely.

"I mean there's no cell phone coverage out here at night. Am I speaking slowly enough for you? The closest tower is in Beaufort. During the day we usually get good coverage. But once the sun goes down, forget about it."

Pam walked off without saying another word, leaving Shad and Freddie in dither.

They were quite unhappy about the lack of bars. And, they complained incessantly until I gave up and went to bed.

I was unsympathetic. To me, a lack of cell phone coverage was just one of the hardships of living in an island paradise.

Besides, bright and early the next morning, the bars returned.

************

Chapter 8 – Cape Lookout Day 1

On our first morning at the Cape, we met Miss Mynah, the camp's part-time cook. She was a sturdy little woman who supplemented her retirement income making breakfast, lunch and dinner for the different week long inhabitants of the ecology camp. Although she lived on Harkers Island, she caught the ferry across to the Cape Lookout each morning and traveled home every night.

She was a quiet lady, a bit on the shy side. Fit and trim from a life of physical labor, she had well kept short curls and I got the impression that she earned each one of her many gray hairs.

Ms. Mynah was feminine in a motherly fashion. But, she radiated an inner strength and toughness that must have developed over a lifetime of living in the difficult and often poor low country villages. She was also quick with a smile and very pleasant and she definitely enjoyed the fact we appreciated her food.

Most importantly, she could really cook!

That first breakfast we ate was a simple but hardy meal of bacon, eggs and biscuits. The eggs were fresh and fluffy. The bacon was crisp without being carbonized. And her biscuits were warm and light and flaky.

Shad lavished praise upon our camp chef, "Miss Mynah, these biscuits are so good I could slap my grandma."

Ms. Mynah did not say anything in reply. But, she did smile and look pleased.

After breakfast we went into a small meeting room for a presentation by Pam Rockhart about Cape Lookout and its flora and fauna.

The presentation lasted about an hour. Ms. Rockhart appeared knowledgeable. And, she passed out a number of specimens for us to hold and touch.

During the speech, we decided to find out if she knew as much as she thought she knew. So, Bogdon and Toby peppered her with some tough questions. To our surprise she got the answers right. We decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, and accept her scientific grounding.

After the presentation, we moved outside for some hands on experiments. Ms. Rockhart brought out an electronic salinometer, which is an instrument that measures the salt content in water. It passes a small electric current through the sample and measures how well the water conducts electricity. The higher the salt content, the better the water conducts.

We walked over to the ocean side of the island to begin our sampling process. Donnie was already there and waxing his surf board by the beach.

"Hey guys, look at this!" said Donnie.

He walked over and held out a delicate helmet shaped object. It was the size of a large lemon with a thin fragile shell ringed in grooves. It had a light brown checkered pattern over a white background. It was perfect – not a chip or a scratch anywhere.

"It's a Scotch Bonnet," said Toby. "It's the state sea shell of North Carolina."

"That's an excellent specimen," Pam Rockhart observed."It's very rare to find an intact Scotch Bonnet."

"I know," replied Donnie. "I've been looking for one all my life. I've found lots of pieces, but never a complete shell. I'll treasure this one forever."

Donnie reached over and took Pam's hand. She was clearly surprised by his forwardness, but she allowed him to glide her fingers over the shell.

"Feel this, "he said."Feel the delicate smoothness. Feel the sensual curves. Great artists could not sculpt something as beautiful as this little shell."

Between them, they held the Scotch Bonnet and Pam whispered, "It's lovely."

Suddenly Pam shook her head and drew away from Donnie. She turned her complete focus back to us.

"Okay campers," she barked. "I need you guys to dig down into the sand until you hit the water table. We're going to test these samples with our salinometer."

Donnie smiled to himself, stuck the scotch bonnet in the pocket of his swimsuit and walked back to his board.

For the next half hour, Thor manned the shovel while Charlie and I scooped sand out with buckets. Together, we began making holes in the beach. As we reached a depth of three or four feet, water started to pool up in the bottom.

Bogdon and Toby each grabbed one of Freddie's legs and lowered him into holes with a plastic cup in his hands. With this unusual technique, we gathered the water. Then Shad tested the liquid by dipping the salinometer's microphone-like sampler into it. The sampler was linked to a handheld device that gave a reading on a small display screen.

The salinometer showed that the water we were extracting less than 100 yards from the ocean was quite drinkable.

Ms. Rockhart explained to us how rainwater collected under the island and floated in a pool above an underlying saltwater table. Because the fresh water was lighter it floated on top of a heavier saltwater layer. This was the freshwater Lens that Shad described upon our arrival.

We had fun during the exercise, so Shad and Bogdon refrained from interrupting and correcting Ms. Rockhart.

In the end we taste tested the water. And, this evolved into a giant water fight. Cups of fresh water escalated into buckets full of ocean water. And, Pam Rockhart even threw some herself, after she had the equipment safely put away.

While we were digging, Donnie surfed the small breakers coming into the island. The surf was not great, but Donnie had enough skill to handle the short lifespan of these little waves.

As we dried off and cleaned up from our salinometer experiments a group of day tourists came walking down the beach in front of us. As they got closer, we saw the group was an extended family: Grandma and Grandpa, a couple of Moms and Dads and some miscellaneous teenagers. Trailing behind the group was a young girl probably five or six years of age sporting a bright pink plaster cast that covered her entire left shoulder down to the wrist.

I was only watching out of the corner of my eye, but I noticed Donnie catch a wave into shore. He landed beside the youngster. Then he picked up his board and talked to the girl as they both walked down the beach.

Suddenly, I heard the little girl squeal. I looked over just in time to see her bend over and pick up something with her good arm. She examined it closely. She held it up to the sun. And, then she took off after the rest of her family.

I could hear her yelling."Grandma! Grandpa! Come look at this neat seashell I found!"

As the little girl ran off holding up the Scotch Bonnet, Donnie turned and walked back into the surf.

I don't know if the other guys realized what happened. But, I caught Pam Rockhart watching closely. I could tell by the look in her eyes, she understood exactly what had just taken place.

************

We returned to the Camp for a quick lunch and then spent a free afternoon swimming and splashing in the blue waters of the Atlantic. Donnie even gave us some surfing lessons, but only Thor and Freddie managed to stand up on the moving board.

About dusk, we barefooted back down the sandy path to the center. Ms. Mynah had a wonderful spaghetti dinner waiting. We wolfed down the food, and afterwards we helped clean up the kitchen.

It was full dark when we climbed up to a balcony perch on the third floor tower. From on high, we watched ocean waves roll in under a million points of light. You could hardly see the sky between all those stars. And, every fifteen seconds a flash from the Lighthouse illuminated the night.

Although it was still early, eyelids were already drooping. I guess the mixture of sun and saltwater with a heavy Italian dinner was stimulating the sleep centers in our brains. One by one we climbed down from the tower and trailed off to bed.

************

Chapter 9 – Cape Lookout Day 2

One of the perks of vacation is that you can sleep as late as you want. You don't have to get up for school or for chores, or even to deal with a little sister's unwelcome intrusions. You can just lie in bed and seize the day.

That is exactly what I was doing on our second morning at the Cape. I was dozing in and out, savoring the cool sea breezes humming through the window screens and eavesdropping on some Bobwhite quail, conversing in the distance.

And, I was thinking deep thoughts.

Was today the day I would catch the big one? What we were having for breakfast? Do vegetarians eat animal crackers?

But, as I reflected on the mysteries of the Universe, I became aware of a commotion outside. When I heard the words 'Sea Monster', I decided it was time to launch. I threw on shorts, a t-shirt and sandals, and flip flopped into the sunshine.

Most of the guys were sitting down at a picnic table eating fruit loops from plastic bowls. A red faced Freddie Dunkleberger was hopping up and down and recounting a story that was a little hard to swallow.

"There I was," he said."I was beach combing the Sound side of the Island, just north of the Coast Guard dock, when I suddenly came face to face a terrifying creature! I'm telling you guys, it was a genuine Sea Monster!"

Freddie paused for effect.

"You say you were on the Sound?" asked Shad.

"That's right. Just north of the dock."

"Well then technically you discovered a Sound Monster," Shad corrected.

Freddie was not amused and he reached out an frogged Shad on the arm.

"Are you sure it wasn't just a porpoise?" Bogdon inquired. "They feed in the back bays this time of the morning."

"No," said Freddie."It was a Monster. It had a head with a neck. Porpoises don't have necks."

"For that matter," Freddie explained, "It was not even a fish. It was more like some weird half fish and half man creature. It reminded me of the Gillman from that old movie 'The Creature of the Black Lagoon.' "

"Come on Freddie," said Bogdon."The Gillman? Don't you think that sounds a bit ridiculous?"

"What?" asked Freddie in disbelief. "Aren't you Mr. Crypto Zoologist? Aren't you going to go spend life tracking down monsters and legends? If any of the guys should believe me it should be you, Bogdon."

"Well," replied Bogdon, "I think there's a difference between creatures of folklore and legend and creatures from old black and white Sci-Fi movies."

At that point Charlie stepped in to avoid any hard feelings.

"Okay Freddie. What exactly did this thing look like? Tell us what you saw in detail."

Freddie gave us the details.

"I only glimpsed it for a minute. I thought I heard a fish jump, so I looked up from the sand and across the water. That's when I saw it. This enormous head was sticking up straight out of the bay. It had patchy black skin with two large sunken eyes that stared at me like I was breakfast. I yelped. And, the creature started moving towards me. He was huge and his enormous fins broke the surface of the water and left a wake. I turned and ran. That's probably the only reason why I made it back alive."

"You think it was going to eat you?" asked Thor.

"I don't know," said Freddie."But, I wasn't about to stand around and find out."

"So," Bogdon inquired."Did it have a blow hole?"

"Nope," replied Freddie.

"How about fangs or teeth?"

"Nope. No fangs. No teeth," said Freddie.

"What about tentacles?" asked Bog?

"Well, come to think of it," said Freddie."The creature may have had tentacles hanging down from its mouth. But they were small and worm-like."

"Could it have been a seal?" asked Charlie. "I've read they get blown down here by storms on occasion."

"Look," explained Freddie a little put out. "I know a seal when I see one. This was no seal," he declared. "In fact, it was not like any creature I've ever seen. It was weird and unearthly. You might even say it was alien."

"An Aquatic Alien?" I asked.

"Yeah. That's it," Freddie agreed.

"Congratulations," said Bogdon. "You've just boarded the express train to Nuttier than a Fruitcake-ville"

We all had a good laugh, except for Freddie of course. It was clear to the little guy that he wasn't going to win over this batch of skeptics.

He did not say anything more about the Alien Aquatic Gillman Sound Monster. He just frogged Bogdon on the arm, kicked Shad in the shin (not very effectively given he was wearing flip flops) and stormed off in a little Freddie huff.

We let him go and figured the whole episode would blow over.

************

We spent the second afternoon at Cape Lookout, experimenting with a piece of equipment called a hydrophone. It is like a microphone that you lower in the water to eavesdrop on the fish. Sound actually travels easily through water. In fact, the speed of sound is almost four times faster in water than in air.

Pam Rockhart marched us down to the Coast Guard pier at high tide when there was plenty of water under the dock. She gave us her 'The Living Ocean' speech. Afterwards we took turns dipping the hydrophone into the Sound and trying to identify what came out of the speaker sitting on the dock.

Boy, fish are really noisy!

They grunt and squawk and burp. And, at one point we heard a pod of dolphins in the distance and those guys can squeak like nobody's business.

Of course, Bogdon and Shad got into an argument about dolphin communication and tried to translate the speech patterns that we picked up.

Shad claimed the dolphins were warning away another pod from their fishing grounds. Bogdon claimed they were calling other members of their own pod together for a fish round up.

"You're both wrong!" claimed Freddie. "I learned dolphin from a cousin of mine who's a mermaid."

"Oh yeah?" said Shad skeptically. "Then what did that last guy just say?"

"That's easy," Freddie responded. "He asked: Why did the dolphin cross the road?"

Of course, the Rangers were too familiar with Freddie's awful jokes to respond. So, the pour little guy danced at the end of the pier and did everything but stand on his head and hold his breath to get someone to inquire.

Finally, in a moment of weakness, Pam let Freddie off the hook. She spoke before we could stop her.

"I give up. Why did the dolphin cross the road?"

Freddie smiled with satisfaction and pounced on the unsuspecting victim.

"Why, to get to the other tide! Of course."

Everyone groaned.

"Why didn't someone warm me?" Pam questioned. "That's the worst joke I've heard all year."

"Oh my gosh," groaned Bogdon. " Now, you've really done it. You have issued a challenge. He'll spend the entire week trying to top that joke with something worse."

"No I won't," Freddie objected.

"No?" asked Toby.

"Absolutely not. In fact, I think I am going to quit telling jokes and become a singer."

We eyed him skeptically.

"But, for my first song, I don't know whether to sing: 'Salmon Chanted Evening' or 'I Cod Have Danced All Night'."

Shad could not resist jumping in.

"How about something from 'Fiddler Crab on the Roof' or 'The Flounder Music'?

Together they effectively ended our lesson and we all ran for cover. As I left with my hands over my ears I could still make out Shad and Freddie harmonizing on Madonna's classic hit: 'Like a Sturgeon'.

************

Chapter 10 – Cape Lookout Day 3

On our third morning at Cape Lookout, Shad MacReynolds woke up sick as a dog!

Whatever bug laid the big guy low, was about as nasty as I have ever seen. Shad never did anything half hearted. And, when he got sick, boy he got really sick!

The poor guy suffered from a high fever, chills, vomiting and diarrhea. He laid in bed moaning and alternated between shivering and sweating. Occasionally he made a dash for the bathroom. In his lucid moments, he claimed to have come down with some lethal combination of Swine Flu and Malaria.

None of us had any idea what to do for the poor guy. After every trip to the john, Bogdon would follow behind, hold his nose and dowse the room down with a germ lethal dose of Lysol spray. Of course, that did not help Shad any. But, we hoped it would protect the rest of us for from following a similar path.

And, Pam Rockhart and Donnie were not any better at providing comfort or relief to our friend. They were older and bigger but equally useless when it came to nursing sick patients.

Luckily, our good hearted cook, Ms. Mynah took charge of mothering the poor sick Ranger. When she arrived that morning and found Shad ill, she dispatched Donnie on the next ferry back to Harkers Island to pick up sick bed supplies and medicines. While Donnie was making the passage, Miss Mynah comforted Shad with cold compresses and soothing words.

Once Donnie returned, Miss M. began attacking the virus with a regimented schedule of Advil, Tylenol and ginger ale. When enough medicine got into Shad's system to break his fever, he managed to drift off to sleep. But, like an angel of mercy, Miss Mynah never left his side.

We chipped in on the kitchen detail, allowing Miss Mynah to devote herself to full time nursing. That meant having cold cereal and donuts for breakfast and sandwiches and Fritos for lunch. But, we felt it was the least we could do.

With Shad sleeping and Miss M. doctoring him, the rest of us continued our ecology studies. We felt guilty about leaving our sick friend. But, we also realized that he was in good hands. Besides, the best way to avoid coming down with the same illness was to stay outside in the clean salt air and germ killing UV Rays.

We spent the afternoon surveying the shore bird population along the Atlantic side of the island. Toby who has always been a bird watching enthusiast identified over twenty different types of avian residents as we hiked a mile up the beach and a mile back down. He was pretty excited about the exercise.

I, on the other hand, was not thrilled with the task. I guess I don't have the discriminating eye necessary to appreciate shore birds.

Don't get me wrong, back home in the mountains I can tell a cardinal from a blue bird from a yellow bellied sapsucker, just as well as the next guy. However, here at the beach the birds are not exactly distinctive. They are all gray, and white and black. They all have long legs and big feet. And, they all have long curved bills. I can tell a pelican from a sea gull. But, when it comes to terms, plovers and skimmers – they all look the same to me.

And, I was not the only one having trouble. I was paired up with Freddie, and we had a wax pencil and a laminated field guide. Each time we saw a bird we carefully examined the pictures of gray and black and white specimens on the card. Then we flipped a coin and marked one off.

Late in the afternoon, we returned to camp to find Shad sitting up sipping Ginger Ale and nibbling on Saltine crackers. He was not going to be running marathons any time soon. But, it appeared that our friend would survive.

Miss Mynah left Shad's side long enough to mix up a chicken and rice casserole and put it in the oven. She had us make a salad and some garlic bread to round out the meal. Once dinner was set, Miss Mynah took a ferry across to her home on Harkers Island where she picked up some more doctoring supplies and an overnight bag. She returned that evening, and she set up a small infirmary in an unused room off the back. She made up a bed there for Shad, and we moved a large easy chair into the corner of the room to make her more comfortable. Miss Mynah spent the entire night in the chair next to Shad, making sure that he got his Tylenol on schedule and administering ginger ale and even a little chicken broth.

************

Chapter 11 – Cape Lookout Day 4

The next morning, Shad woke up without a fever. He was still a little weak. However, he was definitely making progress. For lunch he ate some homemade mashed potatoes and asked for half of a second helping.

We knew right then that Shad was definitely on the mend.

Another notable event took place that fourth morning at the beach. Freddie took off well before dawn. Loaded down with night vision goggles, our best telephoto digital camera and the hydrophone, he was determined to get hard evidence of his 'Sound Monster'.

He did not even stop for breakfast. His quest took precedence over common things like hunger and thirst.

We were just finishing up our bacon, eggs and biscuits when Freddie came jogging into the camp yelling, "I've got him! I've got him!"

The poor kid looked like a pack mule with gear that probably weighed as much as he did. He was almost comical as he struggled into camp. But, there was nothing funny about the serious look in his eyes.

He slowed down and walked the final steps over to our assembly.

"I got him," Freddie said. "I got the Sound Monster on film. So scoff all you want, non-believers. I have hard evidence you can't just reject this time. I have definite proof of the creature's existence."

"They'll probably want to name it after me," Freddie assured us, taking the pose of a great explorer.

"Okay," said Toby. "Show us your evidence of this alien fish man."

Freddie slid the strap off his shoulder and handed the digital camera over to Charlie.

"Mr. President," he said with a bow.

"What am I looking at?" asked Charlie.

"There's a three shot sequence," replied Freddie. "I took them just as the creature submerged."

"Okay," said Charlie."Picture one looks like some black driftwood sitting on the water."

"That's the top of the Sound Creature's head," Freddie explained in triumph. "He was trying to go under, but I caught him before he could completely disappear."

"And, these next two?" asked Charlie. "They're pictures of rings on the surface of the water."

"That's right," Freddie proclaimed. "Genuine water disturbances left by the elusive 'Dunkleberger Beast'."

"Who shall we call first?" Freddie continued. "Should we call the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet?"

"Who cares?" he finally decided. "We'll call 'em both. They can fight over me.

Does anybody know how old you have to be to win the Nobel Prize?" Freddie asked no one in particular.

"Uh, Freddie you may be getting ahead of yourself," said Toby gently. "It looks to me like you have a picture of a black thing on the water and two waves."

"Yeah," Freddie agreed. "What of it?"

"I'm not sure this constitutes definitive proof."

"It could be definitive proof that Freddie needs to stay out of the sun." (I made this comment on behalf of Shad McReynolds who would normally have said it, but was out sick.)

"Let me get this straight. You guys don't believe my photographic evidence?"

"No," replied Charlie. "You're going to have to do better than that."

"Well, It's a good thing I'm one step ahead of you," Freddie replied confidently.

For a second he struggled to lift the hydrophone recorder up onto the table, but he finally got it. Then, like a prosecuting attorney nailing the coffin, Freddie hit the play button.

We did not hear anything at first except some waves swishing and a boat propeller in the distance. I was just opening my mouth with another wisecrack when all of a sudden it began playing an odd song. Although, it was not really a song but a series of chirping sounds.

" Chiree... Chiree... Chiree... Chiree."

"What the heck is that?" I asked.

"It's not a porpoise," Bogdon stated. "And, it's not echo locating."

"It's not a croaker or a grunt fish," added Charlie. "It's too high pitched."

"I'm telling you guys, it's the sound of the Sound Monster," Freddie proclaimed.

I looked into the skeptical eyes of my friends. But, this was evidence that we could not explain away.

************

Bottle green waves break around the hook at Cape Lookout, before they slide off into the calmer waters of the Sound. When the wind is low, they melt into lake-like ripples punctuated by the occasional wake of some pleasure boater rocketing through the cut between the Cape and Shackleford Banks to the North.

Perpendicular to the ocean and the Sound is a three mile sandy spit where the tide washes up spectacular shells and flotsam from across the globe. The gentle wave action is enough to deposit these treasures while often leaving them intact for the lucky beachcomber.

At low tide, the ocean floor drops off like a shell covered hillside. The water deepens quickly – going from clear to green to a startling sapphire blue in just yards. And, the deep channel has a clarity perfect for shore diving and a sharp fall off that beckons the fisherman anxious to fish deep from shore.

On the afternoon of our fourth day at Camp, we made a half mile trek to an area called 'the hook' to visit some abandoned World War II gun mounts. The mounts were cement and stone bases for coastal shore batteries that protected this important shipping channel from German U-boats that once stalked the area.

Unfortunately, because the end of the island has subsided over the last 60 years, even at low tide the mounts are below the water line. And, even though we were hopeful that I would be able to locate some neat wartime relics, the place was picked clean long ago.

After a brief and fruitless search, we followed the shoreline for about a mile, heading toward the sound. When we passed a rock jetty we hit a 1/2 mile stretch of beach that is the finest fishing, diving and shell collecting area on the Island. Here we began finding conch and whelk shells by the bushel. Some were the size of thermos bottles. Most had holes and cracks of drill marks from the variety of predators that feast on the shell dwellers. However, about one out of every ten was collectable quality.

Pam Rockhart supplied us each with colorful net bags like grocery stores sell oranges and onions in. Before long our shell bags grew fat and heavy.

Eventually, Donnie staked out a sunny sandy spot above the waterline. He carefully removed his Ray bans and set them on a colorful beach towel. Then, he geared up with a jet black mask, a snorkel and swim fins. Keeping a sharp lookout for hotrod boaters, Donnie pushed out into the crystal waters. Swimming along the surface, breathing through his snorkel, Donnie made his way toward the channel. His orange net bag was wrapped around his wrist. It was still empty. But, it would not be for long.

Thor, Charlie and I threw down our shell bags and changed into our diving gear as well. The water was so clear that we could not wait to see what was out there. We weren't about to let Donnie have all the fun!

As we pushed ourselves out toward the blue water, we saw Donnie's flippered feet point straight up as he dove for the bottom.

What was he after?

I kicked into the water and swam over to see what was going on. Even though I remained at the surface breathing through my snorkel, the water was so clear I could see Donnie twenty feet below approaching a clump of seaweed and rocks along the silt covered bottom. He was following a thin trail across the mud. Then he stopped and picked a large shell off of the bottom and put it into his bag. He looked up toward the surface, smiled and waved. He had an amazing ability to hold his breath. For, even though he'd been under for a while, he made a leisurely trip back up the surface.

Donnie blew out his snorkel, took a deep breath and dove again. This time I was right behind him.

I followed Donnie to the bottom where he picked up more tracks. The water had a refreshing chill at this depth. And, the pressure clogged my head until I held my nose and blew to equalize it.

Donnie followed the path and at the end of the trail, I saw him pick up a whelk shell. These tracks were snail trails! The shelled creatures were traveling across the mud leaving tracks like garden snails make in the early morning. Only in this case, the whelks were 50 times larger.

As Donnie put the whelk into his orange bag, I realized that Thor and Charlie were swimming up behind me. Together, we made our way back to the surface for a quick breath. Then we dove back down to the bottom for a kind of undersea Easter egg hunt.

For the next 10 minutes, we were diving and hunting. Sometimes we followed trails that ended abruptly with no whelk at the end. Where'd he go?

But, soon each Ranger surfaced with a large live Whelk. Since we left our bags on the sand, we swam back to the beach to drop off our prizes.

When we got to the shallows, we removed our fins and carried them as we walked back to our starting spot. The tide had pushed us almost 100 yards down the beach.

"What you got there?" Freddie asked as we ambled up.

"Live whelks," answered Charlie. "We followed their slime trails in the mud out in the channel."

"Look at the size of these guys," Thor added. "And, the shells are perfect. They're not drilled or cracked or anything."

Freddie, Toby and Bogdon were waiting with some treasures of their own.

"Look what we found," said Freddie, pointing to Toby's shell bag.

Gingerly, Toby lifted the bag. He opened it carefully. The fruit bag was red on the outside, but from inside, he pulled out two perfect purple and yellow starfish as big as my hand.

"Cool," I said. "Where did you find those?"

"They were down the beach a ways. The must have just washed up as the tide went out."

"Show them what you found, Bogdon," Freddie prodded.

Bogdon opened up his yellow fruit bag and pulled out a plastic coke bottle. He displayed it to us like it was some great discovery. But, I had seen plenty of plastic coke bottles in my time. As a matter of fact I was just about to say 'Big Deal', when I examined it more closely. This coke bottle was different from any I had ever found. The markings were all in Japanese.

It wasn't just trash. It was international trash!

He passed the bottle around and we each admired it. Freddie held it to his lips and pretended to drink while Bogdon calculated the distance the bottle must have floated to get here from Japan.

Suddenly, we heard a voice yelling in the distance.

We looked around and saw that Donnie swimming back toward our makeshift camp. About fifty yards down the beach, he was treading water out in the channel. He still masked face was rising above the surface, and he was calling out.

"Guys. Come quick. I need help!"

We had no idea what the emergency was, but we did not hesitate. We dropped our shell bags in a bunch and ran down the beach toward him. It did not take long for us to close the distance. As we reached the beach in front of him, he disappeared back beneath the water.

My mask was hanging down around my neck, so I yanked it up over my face. Thor snapped his mask in place beside me. Charlie had left his mask back at the beach, so he jumped in without it. Thor and I jumped in right behind.

I did not stop to get a good seal and the stupid mask filled with water as I swam out toward Donnie. So, even though the water was clear, I could not really see what was going on. I just followed behind Charlie and Thor as we dove down to the bottom.

However, as we closed in, I could make out Donnie on the bottom. And, beside him was some dark shape that looked like it was biting his hand!

Oh no, I thought. Donnie's being attacked by a Shark!

I choked and almost had to surface. But, that forced me to put my hands up and adjust my mask. I was trembling as I blew out the water and looked back over.

It wasn't a shark. Thank God!

It was a turtle.

And, the turtle was wrapped up in something. Some kind of plastic curled around his head, trapping the poor guy.

Donnie was trying to help the entangled creature. He was wrestling it into the shallows where the obstruction could be removed.

The turtle was enormous. His barnacled green shell was close to three feet long and almost as wide. Even with three more joining, it was a titanic struggle to free him. One at a time, we shared off going to the surface for more air and then dove back down to help.

Finally, we got the creature aimed toward land and let him do the work. His big flippers pushed to get away from us, but they propelled him directly where we wanted him to go.

Boy, this guy was strong! But, when he got into about two feet of water, we had him.

Toby, Freddie and Bogdon were waiting in the waist deep water, and they pitched in to help us wrestle huge turtle out of the water. Pam was there as well and her face was wrinkled with concern.

"What is it? What's going on?" she asked.

Donnie pulled off his mask as he replied.

"It's a turtle. And, he has something caught over his head. He can't open his mouth. If we can't get it off, he'll starve to death."

With three of us on each side, we lifted the creature up while Bogdon reached down and tried to unwrap whatever was on his head. Turtle fins, (which are a whole lot sharper than you would think) were flapping back and forth and scratching the heck out of our unprotected stomachs. But, we held on for all we were worth.

Bracing the creature's head with his left hand, Bogdon finally yanked a clear plastic covering off with his right.

"Got it!" he declared.

"Are you sure?" Donnie asked.

"I think so." Bog suddenly he yanked back his left hand.

"Yeow!" he yelled, shaking the hand up and down. "That ungrateful son of a gun bit me!"

"Then his mouth must be clear," observed Donnie. "Let him down gently."

We struggled to lower the turtle back in to the shallows without dropping him like a stone. When he hit the water, he took like a rocket!

His fins flipped above the surface like wings until he finally made his way to the deeper channel and submerged.

Within seconds, he was gone. He didn't even stay around to say thanks.

As Mr. Turtle headed for deep water, Pam and Donnie examined Bogdon's hand. Sure enough the turtle had ripped the skin and Bog was bleeding freely. But, no bones were broken and the cut was not large enough or deep enough to require stitches. It was nothing a couple of band aids could not handle. Bogdon wrapped it up in his t-shirt until the bleeding stopped.

"What the heck was that thing on his head?" I asked.

Bogdon held up his unhurt left hand. He still had the plastic trash in his fingers.

"It's one of those plastic ring things that holds a six pack of soda cans together," Bogdon explained. "He managed to get two of the rings over his head, and they were so tight he was stuck."

"How in the world did that happen?"

Pam enlightened us. "Turtles like to eat jelly fish. Floating in the water, the ring probably looked like one that had already had a few bites chomped out of it."

"He probably thought it was an easy lunch," Donnie added.

"It happens all the time," Toby said. "Turtles, birds, seals. They all get into these plastic rings – or plastic grocery bags – and they die."

"Well, 'Litter Kills'" said Charlie. "But... not today!"

"That's right," agreed Pam. "You guys saved our shelled friend from a painful death. You should be proud of yourselves."

"I know I am," said Bogdon, holding up his t-shirt wrapped hand. "I was bitten saving an endangered sea turtle. That's pretty daring stuff for a laboratory scientist like me. I'm going to have to write some postcards home."

He added thoughtfully, "I wonder where I can buy a Crocodile Hunter hat?"

As Bogdon pondered his new macho status, Donnie put his mask back on and slipped into the water. A minute or two later he returned with his fruit bag full of whelks. Most were the size of one liter water bottles. A few were even larger.

"Here they are," he announced, holding up the bag.

"Those are nice shells," said Toby. "But they still have the whelks inside."

"It's the whelks I'm after," said Donnie. "You guys can have the shells."

"What are you going to do with the whelks?" Toby asked.

"I have not decided yet. Maybe Scungilli Pomodoro or perhaps a Bahamian Conch Salad."

"You're going to eat them?" Pam asked incredulously.

"No," Donnie replied. "We're going to eat them."

Then Donnie removed his diving mask and switched back into his Ray bans.

************

Dinner that evening was a lot of fun. Oh, I guess it was also tasted pretty good, too.

All this time in the salt air helped sharpen our appetites to a razor edge. But, mostly it was fun, because we got to use the rusty old Weber grill and cook our own hamburgers and hotdogs while we watched Donnie and Pam go at it.

Shad was feeling much better. He was sat at the wooden picnic tables with us and swapped jokes. Meanwhile, the rest of the gang manned the Bar-B-Q grill.

Our homemade results varied widely. Some items came off the grill half cooked and cold in the center while others came out crunchy carbonized chunks. But, most stuff came off the trusty old Weber flame kissed and surprisingly tasty.

Miss Mynah provided side dishes of potato salad, baked beans and a delicious homemade banana pudding filled with vanilla wafers and topped with tiny marshmallows. She also made a special baked potato just for Shad and his still sensitive stomach.

But, the hit of the evening was the Bahamian conch salad Donnie put together using the fresh Whelks.

With a very sharp knife, some rubber gloves, newspaper and a screwdriver, Donnie removed the whelks from their shells. After watching the process closely, I learned one thing. The best way to clean a batch of whelks is to have someone else clean them for you!

However, in no time Donnie had the creatures out of the shell and into a large stainless steel bowl where he rinsed and rinsed them, attempting to remove any lingering sand or shell bits.

Next he took a sharp knife and cut away the big white muscled 'foot' from the innards. Discarding the unidentifiable pieces, he sliced the feet into quarter inch strips and then into smaller chunks.

Donnie added the chunked whelk to chopped red onion, fresh tomato, avocado, garlic, salt, cilantro, a little jalapeno, a dash of EVO and plenty of lime juice. He stirred this concoction together and let it marinate and chill for an hour in the refrigerator.

When the salad was ready, Donnie brought it out with a flourish – and a bag of chips.

Of course, we all tried the whelk just to prove we were macho guys. But, we were surprised to find the chewy shellfish salsa was cool and refreshing. And, it sure was great on a tortilla chip!

The whelk appetizer disappeared quickly as we worked on grilling the rest of our supper. Shad even nibbled a bit on a Frito, while Pam Rockhart came back for seconds.

"This whelk salad is excellent," Pam applauded as she shoveled another chip full into her mouth.

"You're a man of many talents," she crunched.

"Babysitter, turtle rescuer, master chief. What do you do in the off season?"

"Oh, a little of this and a little of that," Donnie replied smugly.

Bogdon butted in. "He's working on a PHD in Animal Science at NC State."

"Oh? A man of letters as well? Maybe I underestimated you, Mr. Gee."

"Don't forget that I'm also working to perfect my sliding 360 and backside rail grab," Donnie replied, striking his best surfer pose.

Pam chuckled. "Well, I don't know if you are a surfing Chef or an academician that really cooks – but I want to thank you for what you did for that turtle today. You and the boys saved that poor creature's life. And, I for one am grateful."

"De nada," Donnie replied. "I like to do what I can for endangered species. It would be a shame if the turtles disappeared from Cape Lookout."

"Yes," Pam agreed sadly. "There was a time when hundreds, maybe even thousands of turtles nested on this one twelve mile stretch. Now, we get maybe fifty nesting turtles a year."

"What happened to them all?" asked Freddie.

"Well, habitat was lost to coastal building. Some died from pollution or litter – like what almost happened to our hard shelled friend today. But, in most cases they were just plain eaten. They were slow and easy to catch and supplied a lot of meat. And, turtle eggs were highly prized by bakeries because they add moistness to cakes and breads."

"That's true," agreed Donnie thoughtfully. "The burden of the poor turtle is that he tastes even better than whelk. At least to me."

Pause.

"What do you mean – at least to me?" Pam inquired. "Surely you have never eaten Turtle?"

"Well, not wild turtle," Donnie replied defensively. "But, I had farm raised turtle a couple of years ago when I visited Grand Cayman in the British West Indies. They have a place down there called the Turtle Farm where they raise turtles. Half of the turtles are released into the waters off the island to augment the remaining wild turtle population. In order to support the release program, they butcher the other half and sell turtle meat."

"But... you ate TURTLE!" Pam said incredulously.

Miss Mynah tried to soften the resolution.

"To tell the truth, Honey, I ate turtle as a little girl growing up in this area. Most people around here did."

"That's different," Pam replied. "I am sure you did not realize the turtle was in danger of extinction. But, Doctor Surf Boy here knows full well the threat sea turtles are facing worldwide!"

"That's right, I do!" Donnie said, raising his voice to match. "That's why I supported the recovery effort in Grand Cayman by buying and eating turtle. You might not approve. But, that money I paid for turtle steaks went to support the turtle population. The net result is there are more turtles in the sea precisely because I ate some!"

Pam did not have a reply for Donnie's statement. You could see the fury in her eyes. But, she obviously could not think of a good logical reply.

That's when I opened my big mouth.

"I want to know something," I said. "What exactly does turtle taste like? Does it taste like chicken?"

Pam and Donnie were still face to face in a silent confrontation. Donnie kept up his gaze as he replied to my question.

"No," replied Donnie. "Turtle does not taste like chicken."

He continued, "Turtle is darker and more succulent. Turtle tastes like a cross between Bald Eagle and Spotted Owl."

For a moment there was silence as the pressure built up. Even so, we all knew - like an old steam boiler, it had to blow.

"Arrgghhh!!!" yelled Pam Rockhart. She was so mad; she could not find the words.

Finally, she stomped off. Over her shoulder she barked, "You blonde butthead!"

The screen door to the kitchen slammed with authority as Pam left our little dinner party and went back inside.

When I turned back from the slamming door, I was surprised and confused. Donnie was grinning from ear to ear.

***********

Chapter 12 – Cape Lookout Day 5

We were up early that morning. It was earlier than I wanted to be up. And, I am sure it was earlier than we needed to be up. But, Freddie was anxious to show us his Sound Monster. After hearing the mysterious hydrophone recordings, Thor suggested we could use the hydrophone to track back to the origin and settle the gill man question once and for all.

The plan was simple. Freddie would walk the shoreline carrying photographic equipment, while the rest of us paddled up the Sound. Bogdon and I shared the two man kayak. I was in the back steering and Bog took the forward position using the hydrophone as a direction finder. Charlie, Thor and Toby manned individual kayaks beside us.

We planned on using our night vision equipment, but dawn slipped up on us before we got into the water. So, we left that equipment in a footlocker at the dock.

Dawn on Cape Lookout was a spiritual event. The gray skies receded as orange sunlight crept across deep green waves capped with salty white frosting. Cotton candy clouds tinged in pink and purple stretched across the horizon. Early morning shorebirds scattered along the beach while flocks of ducks, terns and black scooters hunted the Back Bay for food. Sea oats and cattails waved in the cool morning breeze that was almost chilly. A few bird calls rose above the wind. Just out in the channel, mullet scattered, as some unseen predator slashed into the school and caused a jumping frenzy.

Grandpa Gus always says, "God's a little closer in a house beside the sea." On this particular morning, it was a true statement.

Caught up in the calm beauty of this island, we launched our kayaks soundlessly. And, each command and inquiry came out as a whisper. We even paddled quietly as we made our way in a large half circle like cowboys on horseback fanning out behind the herd. Charlie and Thor were inshore to our right and Toby took position on our left farther into the sound. Bogdon sat in the front of our two man kayak dangling the hydrophone into the water. Since he was wearing headphones, we communicated using hand signals, so we would not interfere with Bogdon's audio search.

Trailing up the channel, we were about halfway to the light house, when suddenly Bog put his hand up to the headphones. I stopped paddling and held my breath. I watched closely as he changed the position of the hydrophone and pinned down the exact direction of whatever he was hearing.

Bogdon looked up and motioned toward the shoreline. Then he cupped his left hand over the headphone and pointed with the fingers on his outstretched right.

I gave a short quiet whistle to get the attention of the group. I motioned for us to turn toward the shore and start making our way in. Toby shifted in closer, while Thor and Charlie spread out.

We closed in about halfway to the shore when Bogdon looked back and gave me a halt sign. In turn, I motioned at the rest of the guys to slowly close in on us.

Bog reached back into the kayak and pulled out a piece of PVC pipe. We'd installed mirrors at each end of the white plastic tube and made an underwater periscope. I watched intently as Bogdon lowered the periscope and began methodically scanning the area to our right.

I used my paddle to steady the boat. However, I was mainly trying to look over Bogdon's shoulder. Of course it was impossible for two people to peer through the scope simultaneously, but I tried. I really wished we had two periscopes.

About that time, a huge dark head popped up about three feet from the opposite side of the kayak.

I let out a startled yelp and jumped backwards. Bogdon looked around with a scowl, shushing like an offended librarian. Then he spotted the head, too.

Now I will swear to my dying day it was Bogdon who caused the kayak to flip over that morning, but it could have been me. The next thing I knew I was upside down in the dark waters of the sound. And, forget all that stuff you've heard about righting a kayak and not falling out. Maybe that works for Eskimos, but Bogdon and I plopped right out along with the all our gear. Luckily, we had worked our way into waters that were only about four feet deep.

The other Rangers probably thought we'd been grabbed by the Gillman as we came up choking and spitting. And, I know they thought we'd lost our minds completely when we pulled ourselves across the upside down kayak, laughing like hyenas.

The big Manatee beside us took it all in stride. The inquisitive fellow just kind of stared at us with that large cow face. Algae grew along his skin and gave him the patchy appearance that Freddie described. In addition, he had two sunken black eyes – but the wormy tentacles turned out to be whiskers growing from the big fellow's cheeks.

The other Rangers came barreling in to our rescue and that was too much for the shy creature. He dipped back down below the surface and swam off a few feet.

"What's going on? What's happening?" yelled Freddie from the shoreline. He waded out into the water halfway between us and the island.

"It's okay," I shouted. "Your Sound Monster is nibbling sea weed right over there." I pointed a few yards to my left.

"It's a Manatee," Bogdon called. "I've read they come up as far as Virginia. But, I still think this visit is quite rare."

Hearing the creature was a Manatee, the other three kayakers relaxed and slowed their cavalry charge to a quiet glide. They maneuvered in for a closer look at the creature.

Freddie waded back ashore and threw off his tennis shoes and his t-shirt and dropped his backpack. He grabbed a pair of diving goggles and waded back out into the water. With a swish, he splashed out into the chilly sound waters and swam over.

The Manatee was busy feeding, and he tried to ignore us as he finished up his breakfast. But, as soon as Freddie approached, the big sea cow turned and welcomed him with a smile and some excited chirping. He was a big boy, ten feet long and maybe 1000 lbs. Yet he glided through the water with astonishing grace.

Little four foot, 80 lb Freddie ignored the chill in the early morning water and swam with his 'discovery' for over half an hour. Together they played like old friends, following the leader and gliding through the shallows until the dawn turned into a full fledged day.

Finally, the sea cow stuck his head above the water and surveyed the rest of us once more. Then, he huffed, took a deep breath and disappeared below the waves.

It was just as well. Freddie's lips had turned blue from mild hypothermia. It was time for him to get out of the water and warm up.

Bogdon and I were also soaked from our tipping as well as from diving to the bottom to recover our equipment. We decided we had enough kayaking for the morning. So, we shouldered the paddle, the hydrophone and the periscope and let Thor tie the empty kayak to the back of his. Walking single file behind Freddie, Bogdon and I made our way down the Sound side beach and back to the Ecology Camp pathway.

"That was pretty amazing," Bogdon said to Freddie as we made our way along. "But, I don't think the Nobel committee is going to be quite as impressed as we were."

"Yeah. That Nobel Prize may have to wait," I agreed.

"That's okay," replied Freddie, smiling. "I made a new friend, today. And, I've never felt more like an otter in my entire life."

Last year when we located the ancient Cherokee treasure 'The Arrow That Would Not Miss', a friendly medicine man revealed our spirit animals to each of us. Freddie's spirit animal is the otter. And today, he really felt it. If Oprah were here, she'd say that swimming with the manatee helped Freddie get in touch with his "inner otter".

And, it's not hard to understand how an otter and a manatee would become fast friends. Somehow, Freddie and the giant sea cow had a spiritual connection. I don't know how. But, I think that was the reason the Manatee appeared to Freddie in the first place. Freddie Dunkleberger and the Manatee were kindred souls.

Returning to the Eco Camp, we dried off, warmed up and enjoyed another hardy breakfast, before readying ourselves for our field trip of the day.

**************

The Cape Lookout Lighthouse lorded over the island throughout our stay. It looked down on us, just as it had looked down for a century and a half over Nazi U-Boats, hurricanes and more than a few latter day pirates. By day, black and white diamonds thrust into the Northern sky. And, each night brought repetitive flashes – crashing out against the darkness four times a minute until dawn.

The Lighthouse stood proudly as Master in protective silence, mutely promising both safety and adventure. And, on this bright morning we would finally take her up on that offer.

Later, the morning as our Manatee hunt, we mounted some beach bikes and caravanned up the island. At the appointed spot, we turned across towards the calm Sound waters, where the lighthouse rested. With the Atlantic at our backs, we followed an angled trail. The stunted maritime forest and scrub thicket gave way to a sandy clearing dotted with spindly longleaf pines.

It's funny how moving towards the lighthouse you can't tell how far or near it really is. There is nothing on a barrier island to compare it with. There's no perspective that allows you to comprehend its height until you arrive at the base. For the last quarter mile, I believed it was just a few steps further.

We finally reached our destination and were awed as the lighthouse crown reflected golden rays of morning sun. We dismounted and chained our bicycles by feel \- without even lowering our eyes.

The grounds were almost devoid of people. It was too early for most day trippers who would grab a ferry across to the island and not show up until almost noon. Although, there were a handful of private boat owners wandering the neighborhood, seeking directions to a good fishing spot or some other closely guarded secret.

We hiked the final steps to the lonely keepers' quarters located beside the old brick tower. Painstakingly restored, the whitewashed wooden structure stood proudly beside its lofty companion. New white paint covered its age like a cosmetic, but its ancientness was betrayed by the weathered bricks of its double chimneys.

The top floor remains private living for the current keeper, while the bottom is populated with Park Service displays and a small gift shop. Since the Coast Guard automated Cape Lookout four decades ago, the keeper's job has shrunk to that of tour guide and caretaker.

We stepped up onto the covered front porch, and I noticed the wood timbers were hand hewed. Each one was an individual - with a slightly different length and width. They came from a time before giant timber mills regulated wood to the sameness of precision manufacture and assembly line equivalence.

We wandered through the center doorway into the house and found the keeper occupying a tall stool behind a wooden counter covered with souvenirs and pamphlets. A stack of bumper stickers trumpeted Cape Lookout National Seashore as "America's Least Visited National Park."

The keeper spotted us as we sauntered inside. He immediately recognized Ms. Rockhart and welcomed her with a smile.

"Hello, Pam," he said, rising up from his stool and making his way from behind the counter. Is this your latest bunch of ecologists?"

"Yes, Mr. Tusdale. This is my most recent group. But, I better warn you. These fellas are a cut above average. They're middle school scientists from Granite Falls North Carolina. They call themselves the Granite Falls Rangers."

"Well, that's a impressive name. But, they look like just the kind of cutthroats and scallywags to live up to it."

He held out his hand and introduced himself.

"I'm Chairman Tusdale, the Lighthouse keeper for Cape Lookout. But, you fellas can call me Tizzy."

He shook hands all around, and as we introduced ourselves, I evaluated our host.

His face was tanned and his skin was deeply cured by the Carolina sun and the salty ocean wind. He was slightly below average height with a neatly trimmed white beard that covered his cheeks from side to side. With a rounded frame and beaming smile, he might have resembled Santa Claus, but his carriage was more a salty veteran sailor than a jolly old elf. He wore leather deck shoes, khaki shorts and a light cotton shirt unbuttoned at the top where an abundance of graying chest hair curled outward. His face was wrinkled from squinting in the sun and smiling. And, I could not help thinking he looked like that Hemingway guy we talked about in English class.

Toby was curious. "What are you chairman of Mr. Tusdale?"

Our host's grin grew even larger.

"Well, I was a banker in Nebraska for thirty five years – but I was never chairman of anything – except my own name."

"I don't understand," Toby responded.

"My given name is Chairman," the old fellow explained. "You see, my Father was a Nebraskan sodbuster who believed that the right name could help a person along in life. So, he gave each of his four children a moniker that he hoped would encourage us to a lifetime of achievement. He named me Chairman Tusdale. I have three siblings: Judge Tusdale, Colonel Tusdale and Senator Tusdale."

"Did it work?" asked Toby. "Did you live up to those names?"

Tizzy laughed. "Well, I was a bank president, but I never made it to chairman. My brother Colonel was a lawyer and my Brother Judge became a doctor."

"What about Senator Tusdale?" I asked.

"She's been in the Nebraska legislature for 20 years. But, ironically, she's serves in the House and not the Senate!"

We all chuckled.

"Enough about me," said our host. "Let's talk about why you fellows are here."

Tizzy walked us all outside and began a speech about the Lighthouse.

"The Cape Lookout Lighthouse is 169 feet tall. It was built in 1859 to herald the dangerous 14 mile long Lookout Shoals. This part of North Carolina juts out into the Atlantic Ocean towards the Gulf Stream. Vessels sailing up the Eastern Seaboard hitch a ride on the Gulf Stream which is like a river of ocean currents that flow northward about 3 or 4 miles per hour. But, if ships come along here at night or in a fog, they can run aground on the outstretched shoals before they even realize where they are. The Carolina shores are so dangerous, they are called the 'Graveyard of the Atlantic'. A lighthouse was desperately needed to warn those unsuspecting vessels."

He continued.

"Several smaller lighthouses have stood upon this spot. The first one was erected in 1812. But, the current tower was built in 1859. And, when her 1st order Fresnel lens was installed, her kerosene lantern light could be seen for 19 miles. She was a technological miracle of her day."

Hearing the words 'technological miracle' our Bogdon Peabody perked right up.

"Why do you say she was a technological miracle?" Bogdon asked. "I understand she was tall, and she had a light on top, but how was that high tech?"

Tizzy's eyes twinkled.

"I am glad you asked that. You see, the Fresnel Lens was the pinnacle of 19th century optical science. If consisted of hundreds of prisms encased in brass that caught light and focused it into four concentrated beams, one for each point of the compass. Light came off the lantern flame in a full 360 degree circle. Each of the four sides of the lens caught 90 degrees of light and used prisms to bend them together into an arc of around 15 degrees. The focused light shot out like a 19th century laser beam for 19 miles before it dissipated."

"Wow!" said Bogdon. "That is amazing technology for the time."

"Oh, but that's not all," Tizzy continued. "The lens and entire 4000 lb internal structure of the lighthouse rotated. And, that was 50 years before electric motors and gasoline engines were common place."

"How did they do that?" I ask. "How did they rotate two tons without an engine or a motor?"

"It was a giant clockwork," Tizzy explained. "And, every two hours the light keeper walked up 203 cast iron steps to wind the springs."

"Amazing!" declared Bogdon. "It must have had huge springs!"

"It didn't need huge springs," Tizzy corrected. "The two ton clock was suspended by an almost frictionless rotation circle that was as much a marvel as her lens."

"Frictionless rotation? You mean like magnetic levitation?"

"In 1859?" asked Tizzy.

"That's true," admitted Bog. "Magnetic levitation would require superconducting magnets and liquid nitrogen. Both of which were unknown in the 19th century."

"Well, what did they use?" I asked. "How did they do it?"

"They floated it," Tizzy said triumphantly. "The entire assembly floated frictionless in a ring of quicksilver."

"You mean liquid Mercury? Like in a thermometer?" asked Toby.

"That's right. Like in a thermometer."

"What an elegant solution," marveled Bogdon. "It would have been frictionless and would have required just a small push to rotate. You were right, Tizzy. It was a technological wonder."

Tizzy's smile broadened.

"In 1972 the Coast Guard installed the rotating aircraft beacons that are in the tower today. The quartz halogen lamps burn brighter and the rotating motors don't have to be wound like clocks."

"But, that's just raw power," noted Bogdon. "It's newer but not nearly as efficient or as graceful compared to the original technology."

Tizzy shook his head in proud agreement.

"Pam was right about you guys. They are a cut above our average visitors. In fact, I believe I like you fellas."

Tizzy paused, raise his hand and inquired.

"Which of you Rangers wants to climb 200 steps to the top of the tower?"

Pam answered for us before we could.

"Can we do that?" she asked. "I thought the tower was only open one day a year."

"That's normally true," agreed Tizzy, pulling something out of his pocket. "But I know the fellow who has the key."

Tizzy held up a small circle of rope. On one side, the cord ran through an unpainted cork. On the other was a shiny silver key.

*************

It seemed like the rotating stairwell went on forever. Around and around we went inside the giant cylinder. And, it was stuffy and dark with only a handful of windows to illuminate our 169 foot climb. But, as we moved higher and higher, our excitement level rose higher too. Then, finally, we climbed out onto the observation deck and into bright sunshine and cool sea breezes.

That was the day I found out what it really meant to be 'On Top of the World.'

Gazing out on the clear morning – I could see 19 miles in every direction! Azure skies reached from horizon to horizon. Across the emerald water, we saw giant cargo ships passing along the edge. Small coastal villages, swamps and waterways filled in miles and miles of Carolina low country to the north and west.

Looking almost straight down, we could distinguish sailboats, cabin cruisers and even jet skis transiting the inner coastal canal and across the sound. Just up the island a group of wild banker ponies grazed freely through the brushy scrub, as they had done 150 years before the American Revolution.

"Wow!" Freddie exclaimed, overcome by the vista."This is outstanding! Why, we could spot our whale real easy from up here!"

The words were hardly out of his mouth before he realized what he'd done. Charlie frogged his arm and the rest of us gave him dirty "don't spill the beans" glances.

"Uh... I mean... uh... If we had a whale." Freddie said trying to recover. "But what would a bunch of guys from the mountains be doing with a whale?" he asked, looking even stupider!

Freddie finally got smart enough to shut his mouth. With his lips closed tightly he still looked stupid. But, at least he no longer sounded that way.

I scouted the observation deck. Lucky for us, Tizzy and Pam were on the other side trying to answer one of Bogdon's questions about the curvature of the Earth. I don't think they heard the outburst.

However, from the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of surfer blonde hair and Ray Ban frames disappearing around the catwalk.

*************

Returning home from our visit to the Light House, we found a note from Miss Mynah. It explained she had gone into town for groceries. But, she left a pile of sandwich makings in the ice box and bread on the well worn Formica counter.

We were responsible for making our own noon day meal.

Of course, you don't have to call us twice when it comes to food. We attacked the sandwich pile like Sherman marching through Georgia. And, our scorched earth policy was equally as ruthless when it came to devouring chips and pretzels.

There were a variety of lunchmeats and spreads available, along with three fresh loaves of bread: two 'Sunbeam' white and one whole grain. So, we sat right to our task.

For about ten minutes we munched deliberately and without restraint. Then Donnie walked into the kitchen drying his hair.

"Hey Donnie! Check this out," said Shad, holding up a Dagwood masterpiece, containing four layers of lunchmeat and five slices of bread.

"Well, I guess your stomach is finally getting back to normal?" Donnie replied jokingly.

"It sure is. And, I have a lot to make up for."

Donnie leaned into the pile and began assembling items necessary for his own sandwich.

"Can someone pass me the bread?" he asked.

Since I was pulling out the last two pieces of the first bag of Sunbeam, I told him. "If you want white bread, you'll have to start the next loaf."

Donnie reached across and picked up the fresh white bread and began untwisting the plastic tie.

"Peanut butter?" he inquired.

Thor pushed over a giant unopened jar of Peter Pan.

Excitement began to creep into Donnie's voice as he request the final ingredient.

"Jelly?"

"I think there's a new jar of grape in the cabinet," Pam answered matter of factly.

Donnie picked up the peanut butter in one hand, and the bread in the other. He strode with purpose over to the cabinet and opened the door. Putting the Peter Pan on the counter, Donnie pulled an unopened jar of Welch's from the lower shelf.

"Eureka!" Donnie exclaimed, taking us by surprise. "It's a Virgin Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich! I can't believe it. This is my lucky day!"

He broke loose a dance move there on the kitchen floor.

By now we were staring at Donnie like, he'd been out in the sun too long.

Charlie gingerly requested an explanation. "What, may I ask, is a Virgin Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich?"

"You don't know about the VPB&J?"

"It's sounds like something inappropriate for younger audiences," suggested Pam.

"Oh! Get your mind out of the gutter," Donnie reproached.

He turned back to Charlie.

"A virgin peanut butter and jelly sandwich is a culinary equivalent of hitting the lottery," he explained. "On rare and unexpected occasions, time and space come into synch. And, the tumblers of the Universe align in sandwich precision."

Donnie flashed his arms in circles like a mystic.

"First, a fresh loaf of premium white sandwich bread is unwrapped. And, from out of that plastic covering the two freshest slices of soft white goodness are removed. No following slices will be as soft or give out that fresh baked aroma like these first two pieces. With those two pristine slices you have the first essential pillar of the Virgin PB&J."

Donnie removed two slices of bread and laid them out like treasure upon his plate.

"Next," he explained, moving onto the PB, "comes the second required portion: the unopened jar of Peter Pan. As you twist open that plastic cover and pull back the silver wrapping – you senses are overcome by the perfume of roasted peanuts! Since that jar left Virginia, still warm from the factory, the peanuty goodness has been restrained. But, now it's ready to explode across some discerning palate. The top layer of the spread has been infused with a peanuty goodness. When you dip your knife into the golden peanut paste for the very first time – this super saturated surface layer is removed from the lesser substance below."

Donnie spun loose the red plastic top. With a firm and deliberate pull, he removed the silver cover. Then, Donnie thrust his knife into the peanut butter and removed a large glob which he subsequently spread lovingly across one slice of bread.

"Finally, from purple concord orbs harvested at their flavor filled peak of ripeness, the good folks at Welch's somehow create a jam that is so crowded with condensed grape essence that it is has been unequalled by jellies selling at three times the price. And as we remove the cover for the very first time – the zenith of grapiness overwhelms us. Because the Welch's people fill the top of their jars with inert gasses – the grape jelly inside has been protected by the ravages of oxidation. After this first scoop is removed – oxygen will begin crystallizing the sugars and blunting the flavors below. But now – at this premier opening – the jelly is at a peak that it will never reach again."

Donnie removed a knife full of purple fortune and spread it across the remaining naked slice.

"So, with this triangle of ingredients at their unrivaled apex, one single Virgin Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich can be created."

Picking up peanut butter covered bread in his right hand and the jelly covered bread in his left, he lifted the two slices up in front and gently mashed them together.

"There you have it, gentlemen and lady! It is the envy of all its bread covered brethren. It is the single most majestic sandwich – since the ancient Jewish sage, Hillel the Elder, placed Paschal lamb and bitter herbs between two Matzo crackers. It can never be surpassed. And, it will not be equaled again until, on some far distant day – the culinary pendulum of providence swings round once again to favor some other fortunate mortal."

Donnie finished his monologue and raised high the plated virgin peanut butter and jelly sandwich in his right hand.

It was the most amazing ode to lunch food that I had ever witnessed. I did not know whether to applaud Donnie – or to fight him for his sandwich. Luckily, for me, and for all of us present, Donnie lay down his plate and picked up a fresh knife. With precision he trimmed the crust from his creation. Then, he carefully divided the sandwich into 9 equal parts. Walking around the room, he presented each one of us with the plate and handed over a small piece of his treasure.

When we had all been served, (seven rangers, Pam and Donnie), he raised his small square and proposed a toast.

"To good friends," Donnie said. "To world peace and true love."

Not ever having toasted with a sandwich before – I went ahead and tossed the piece into my mouth. And, as I bit into the morsel, a water balloon of flavor exploded across my tongue.

Peanut butter! Grape Jelly! Fresh soft white bread! It really was the greatest sandwich I have ever tasted.

I looked around the room at the blissful faces of my fellow rangers. Shad was obviously on cloud nine.

That's when I realized that Donnie had not yet eaten his piece. Instead, holding it out between two fingers he delicately placed it into the surprised mouth of Pam Rockhart.

Without thinking, Pam responded like a bride sharing wedding cake. She placed her small section on Donnie's waiting tongue.

As I grow older, I know I will often think back on this day when I tasted my first virgin Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. And each time I reminisce, I will remember that look – the one that passed between Pam and Donnie when they shared a bit of sticky magic.

**************

After lunch, we relaxed and passed the heat of the afternoon on the observation balcony that pushed up from the center's main building. Armed with root beer, high power binoculars and a telescope Charlie brought from home, we sat up there scanning the nearby ocean just 'to see what we could see.'

Gazing out across the water, we did not spot any whales, manatees or wayward fur seals. However, we did have a great time watching a pod of bottlenose dolphin playfully rolling down the island towards the Cape. Directly, in front of us, the dolphin surrounded a tremendous school of herring called menhaden, consuming minute plant life just off the beach. The densely packed menhaden turned the green waters into a muddy brown ameba flowing fifty yards in each direction. The dolphins expertly circled the school, like they were cowboying a herd of Texas Longhorns.

Occasionally they slashed and cut into the center, gobbling up herring at will. After half an hour, the grinning, gray finned cowpokes got their fill of fish and meandered on down the island.

Across the sound and on the far shore, we spotted giant menacing thunderheads crawling our way. The clouds, energized by hot afternoon sun and feeding on moist ocean breezes, billowed up like heaps of lumpy mashed potatoes five miles high. Their ivoried cauliflower tops were streaked with reflected yellow sunlight and spilled over into the high altitude blue. Down towards the center, off white vegetable gave way to smoky clusters of lumpy charcoal. At its base, the squall was rooted in dark and sinister angles that released curtains of black precipitation to drown the far horizon. Occasional detonations of lightning peaked through the curtains, but thundered rumbles were silenced by the distance.

We executed three root beer six packs roosting in our lookout's perch, and kept watch on the tempest making it's slow and steady crawl towards our position.

Around eight bells, we grabbed our chance between the heat of the day and the approaching weather. Scampering downstairs, we geared up and assaulted the beach.

Using surf poles and three ounce pyramid weights, we fed the fish little mole crabs called sand fleas that we dug up on the beach. The fishing was excellent and for over an hour, we landed a steady stream of bluefish and croaker, punctuated with an occasional yellow finned pompano.

Eventually, someone (in this case Freddie) felt compelled to drop a handful of sand and live mole crabs down the back of someone else's (Charlie's) swimsuit.

Charlie dashed out into water up to his waist, so he could pull down his suit and wash out the sand and the sea creatures. Of course he threatened to retaliate against little Freddie, but Shad admonished him not to be so 'crabby'.

Before long, sunshine gave way to shade and thunder began to rumble in. Strong breezes kicked up and started sand blasting our tender places. Intimidating crackles of lightning, followed by rolling crescendos of thunder, convinced us to reel in our lines and head to the house.

We'd just made it back to the Center and were lining up to wash off in the outdoor shower when the skies opened up and made queuing a moot point. A moving wall of plump raindrops engulfed us as we stood washing the sand off our bodies. Water began to hit us in buckets and sheets and within seconds, we were soaked once again.

There is something ancient and powerful about standing against nature as she pounds you with rain and almost solid currents of air. A summer squall not only reveals awesome power, it inspires a feeling of smallness. The native creatures of our barrier island have sense enough to head for shelter and higher ground when the storms roll in. Eventually a nearby lightning strike encouraged us to do the same.

The sweaty summer afternoon gave way to a damp and windy evening that was downright cold. Miss Mynah helped us fight the chill with warm food and a pot full of homemade vegetable soup. The rain drummed the windows all through dinner and through the World Monopoly Championship we played afterwards.

Rain was still falling steady when I crawled between the covers that night, exhausted from a long day of exploration and discovery. I settled into a cozy nest of circled sheets and piled bed spread and offered up my regular evening prayers.

Like I did every night, I asked God to watch over my family and my friends and keep us all safe and help us to succeed in our mission to save Levi. But tonight, I felt the need to add special thanks. I thanked Him for the chance just to be here - on this exciting and beautiful island \- accompanied by my best friends in the whole world.

Then, safe and warm, I closed my eyes and slept through storm and wind and rain; right through till dawn broke fresh and clear on a brand new day.

************

Chapter 13 – Cape Lookout Day 6

First thing each morning, Freddie and Bogdon called On*Star for an update on our whale's position. We did not need to maintain our webpage tracker anymore. But, we did update a genuine foldable paper map of the Eastern seaboard. Bogdon highlighted the track of our big friend with a navy colored sharpie, so we could keep up with Levi at a glance.

It was Freddie's job to fold the paper diagram back into a square small enough to slide into its manila envelope home which was covered front and back with the declaration: Rangers - Confidential Materials – Eyes Only.

The reason it takes a two man team to handle this simple daily task is because Bogdon Peabody could not accurately fold a map if his life depended on it! Somewhere in Bogdon's DNA encryptions there is a vacant protein sequence where the map folding gene should appear. (And, if you think he's bad with a map – you should see him try and wrap a Christmas present.)

Anyway, according to On*Star, Levi's approach to Cape Lookout was inline with our projections. So, on the morning of our sixth day at the Cape, we contacted the On*Star people and requested they 'unlock our car doors'. When the unlock signal bounced off the On*Star satellite and reflected down to our whale – it activated the short range locating beacon in the electronic bug he was carrying.

It took almost two months of planning, hundreds of hours of sweat and effort and many thousands of dollars to bring us to this spot. But, push was finally coming to shove. We were nearing the goal we had been working towards since Bogdon first proposed our crazy rescue mission. Within 48 hours, we would get our final shot at freeing the whale.

Our final errand was looming. It was time to go to town and pick up our rescue boat.

Rather than catch the ferry to Harkers Island, pick up the van and drive to town, we decided instead to take the world's largest speedboat directly into Beaufort. The 73 foot long 'Lookout Express' is like a bright yellow Torpedo Boat complete with a toothy shark's mouth painted across the bow. However, instead of torpedoes, the Express carries passengers. And, it makes several high speed trips each day from Beaufort to Cape Lookout and back. In our case, we just rode the return leg.

All members of Company A, along with our adult chaperone Donnie, boarded the fierce some yellow monster at the Lighthouse pier around 10 o'clock in the morning. A handful of early bird passengers came off the craft. They would spend the day exploring the island, visiting the lighthouse and combing the pristine Cape Lookout beaches. As the only passengers on the return trip that morning, we planned to spend the day exploring Beaufort, eating food that was bad for us, and visiting the maritime museum. At day's end, we would pick up a rental skiff and motor her back to Cape Lookout.

Following a thirty minute high speed run that included lots of splash inducing fishtails executed just for our benefit, the Lookout Express slid into her designated slot among the dozens of boat slips and landings of downtown Beaufort, NC. Even our boat pilot was dripping water as he pointed out the largest ocean going yacht tied up at the downtown docks.

"That one once belonged to millionaire developer Donald Crump," he mentioned. "Now it belongs to 'The Donald's' ex-wife, Ivanna."

"Wow! She probably has hot and cold running Dasani on that boat," Shad observed.

Smiling broadly and dripping from head to toe, we squish squashed up the gang plank to the downtown Beaufort. The waterfront was overwhelming to our small town crew. Bevies of million dollar yachts of the Rich and Famous, cradled against the weathered wooden piers protected by rubber tires from colonies of slime green barnacles. Just off out in the channel a hundred sailboats of every size and color anchored in a peaceful flotilla. Flags from Canada, Australia and island nations throughout the Caribbean whipped and fluttered in the morning breeze.

Like sailors jumping ship, we couldn't wait to start our six hour shore leave. Our money man, Toby Trundle, handed us each a $20 bill and gave one to Donnie as well. Charlie suggested we meet for lunch at a waterfront grill called GILLS at 1:30, and that we pick up the boat at 5 o'clock. Aside from that, we would be free to roam and explore the small waterfront town at will.

Front Street in Beaufort opens on one side to the waters of Taylor's Creek. That's because, Beaufort was settled in 1717, before there were any roads in this part of the state. So, if you wanted to go visit a friend you sailed your boat down the creek to see him. Today, the Beaufort waterfront and Taylor's Creek are still the focus of the quaint little seaport.

On the land side, Front Street is filled with small two story brick buildings dominated by local restaurants, specialty shops and companies that provision the sailboats and yachts that make port here from all over the world. Because Beaufort is midway between Newport, Rhode Island and Miami Beach, vessels making the long trip between the summer sailing grounds in New England and the winter grounds in Florida often stop off for a few days in Beaufort to rest and reprovision.

With complete dry dock facilities and skilled local craftsmen, a boat can have her keel scraped and repainted or get her diesel engines tuned up or even completely rebuilt. Meanwhile, sailors and Captains can dine in sidewalk cafes, listen to open air concerts and watch sunset rays highlighting the wild banker ponies grazing just across the creek on Carrot Island.

Beaufort was way different from Camp Lejeune. This place was 'G' rated and highbrow, and there wasn't a tattoo parlor in sight. It was also 'historic', so there were plenty of old buildings and stuff. My personal favorite was the wildly spooky graveyard called the 'Old Burying Place'. Thanks to a thicket of maritime oaks, the moss covered centuries old gravestones seemed dark and shadowed even in the light of day.

There was also a restored jail with wooden stocks out front. Every of us had to get a cell phone photo with our hands and head poking through the hinged wooden boards like some 17th century ruffian.

Returning to the waterfront of this quaint little port, we wandered down the weathered board walk, passing millionaire boat owners and day labor Menhaden fishermen. There were party boats and sport fishing boats filled with pretty people. And, there were battered wooden dingys with antique outboards, piloted by leather skinned old men that were probably antiques themselves.

At the center of town, we passed a small wooden building that was marked 'Harbor Master's Office'. And we walked by a couple of trendy patio restaurants, before we arrived at one of Beaufort's most important landmarks: the Old Fudge Shoppe.

The front of the Shoppe had an expansive plate glass window where passersby could stop and watch buttery sweet fudge being worked on a table top that was one huge piece of white and gray marble. As we walked up, a semi-liquid chocolate confection was being paddled back and forth by a young teenage girl sporting a white 'Fudge Shoppe' apron and a paper hat.

Charlie waved in at the pretty young candy maker, while Shad pressed his nose against the window – drooling over the confection. Clearly, it was time to stop our aimless exploration and go inside.

************

Chapter 14 – Tinker to Evers to Chance

As we entered the fudge shop, we were simultaneously stuck with chilly air conditioned air and the enticing smells of a dozen different homemade candies. Shad wasted no time in stepping up to the counter to evaluate his options.

"My name is Cindy, and I'll be right with you," said the pretty young lass. "But, I have to finish working this fudge before it cools down."

"That's just fine, Cindy. Take your time," replied Charlie, shooting her his best 'guy on the prowl' smile.

But, Shad's face contorted in anguish. He'd been anxiously waiting for almost a week for some fudge. He wanted it now!

Nevertheless, we were forced to wait a few minutes longer while Cindy finished working the sweet Chocolaty goo. She had a large wooden spoon in each hand that would qualify as a small paddle. And, she used the flat wooden ends to scrape chocolate fudge from the marble cooling surface. Then she turned it over and stirred it back into the center of the hardening mass.

Shad narrated for us.

"Fudge is a crystalline candy," he explained. "That means crystal formation is the key to making great fudge. Tiny micro crystals of sugar in fudge give fudge its firm but smooth texture. The secret to successful fudge is getting these crystals to form at just the right time. When the crystals are small enough, they don't feel grainy on your tongue or teeth. That's from 'The Secret Life of Fudge' on the Food Channel."

Cindy lifted up the mass and turning it over one last time. She stood back and evaluated her work with a practiced eye. Giving a satisfied puff, she scattered the strands of blonde hair that had escaped from her paper hat and fallen across her face.

"That ought to do it," she said.

Then she looked up at Shad and smiled. "Hopefully the micro fine sugar crystals will be up to your demanding standards."

Then she addressed all of us.

"Are you boys ready for the world's creamiest fudge?"

"How do we know it's the world's creamiest fudge?" asked Charlie, raising one eyebrow and flashing another confident smile.

"Because... I made it myself," Cindy answered provocatively.

She pulled off her paper hat and blonde tresses fell to her shoulders. Then, she did one of those hair flip maneuvers that girls are always doing around Charlie Sinclair.

"And, I am the very best."

Cindy leaned over the top of an antique brass cash register and fixed on Charlie with her sparkling blue eyes.

No, I thought! Not again! Not another Charlie Sinclair flirtarama! If they start making comments about fudge that have those double meanings, as in 'I like mine hot and sweet' – I swear I'm going to gag!

Lucky for us, Shad took matters into his own hands. He stepped right between Charlie and Fudge Girl.

"Sounds great, Blondie," said Shad, with all the finesse of a human wet blanket.

He slapped his twenty down on the counter.

"Now, give me some of everything. As much as this twenty will buy. And, make sure you keep your fingers off the scale."

For the next few minutes we kept Cindy busy cutting and boxing up our selections. There was no time for flirting as she rang us up one after another. I was next to last to step up to the shiny old cash register. (Charlie sat at the end of the line waiting for Cindy's undivided attention.)

When I leaned in beside the Cashbox to pay, my ears perked up. I was hearing the call. When Cindy hit the SALE key and the ancient register's drawer popped open - the volume soared!

"Wow!" I exclaimed. "That's some cash register. Where did it come from?"

Cindy gave me an impatient 'Whatever' look, but she answered my question.

"It's been here forever. I used to come in here and buy fudge when I was little. That Register has always been here."

"Is the owner around? I'd like to ask him about it."

"I think he's in his office," she answered with a tone that suggested the office was somewhere East of Nepal. She was clearly hoping I would let the issue drop.

"Could you get him for me?" I persisted. "Then, maybe you can take care of my friend Charlie, here."

I knew that she was anxious to help Charlie. Therefore, I made my request in such a way that it encouraged her to get on with the program.

"Just a second," Cindy whined.

Then she turned and winked at Charlie. "You don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

I could tell she was a little put out as she tromped through the open kitchen and out a door in the back. But, in no time, Cindy returned with an tall grey-haired fellow trailing behind.

He stood over six feet with short graying blonde hair and smiling blue eyes. His full Nordic features were clean shaven and almost feminine. And, he was the first fellow I'd seen in Beaufort with pale skin. In fact, his complexion was so fair I got the impression if he crossed the street without SPF 45 and a hat, he would return red and blistered. He must have been about 60 or 70 or 80. If I had to discribe him with one word, it would be jolly.

"I'm T.E. Chance," said the old timer. "What can I do you fellows for?"

"Mr. Chance," I replied. "I'm Jeep Muldoon and these are my friends from Granite Falls."

The guys all nodded at the store owner.

"I was just admiring this antique cash register of yours. It's a real beauty. Where did it come from?"

Mr. Chance beamed at the gleaming brass treasure.

"It belonged to my Grandfather, Frank Chance, Jr. Grandpa Frank was a pharmacist in Chicago for fifty years. As a youngster, he ran away to enlist in WWI and he returned from the war with just one leg. But, it did not stop him from becoming a pharmacist and starting his own practice. He was a successful businessman. He was a elder in his church. And, he loved and supported his family through World Wars, the Great Depression and a host of personal tragedies. He was, without a doubt, the finest man I ever knew."

Mr. Chance smiled to himself and barely nodded his head. For a second he was lost in some golden memory from before any of us was born.

I finally interrupted his remembrance. "So, you inherited the register from him?"

"Actually, I started this shop at the time he finally closed his pharmacy in Chicago. Grandpa Frank crated up this old register and shipped it down to North Carolina. In fact, he was coming to Beaufort to help me open my shop. But..."

Mr. Chance paused for a second. Then he took a breath.

"We buried Grandpa Frank on the same day I had scheduled my grand opening."

Mr. Chance shrugged his shoulders.

"The fudge could wait. But, Grandpa Frank was one of kind."

We stood silent for a moment. I did not know what to say. But, Mr. Chance finally started talking again.

"It really is a great cash register," he continued. "I stripped the worn nickel plating myself which left this wonderful brass metal. I replaced the little popup key signs. And, I've kept her clean and shiny ever since. You boys would be surprised how quickly sugar dust can build up in mechanical equipment. Every couple of months I have to blow the insides out with compressed air to keep them from gunking up."

I spoke again. "Sir, I know it's an odd request. But, can I come around the counter and take a closer look?"

"Be my guest, son. I'm happy to show off the old girl."

I made my way through the swinging waist high door and walked into the kitchen area. As I approached the register, the call I was hearing got progressively louder.

Standing in front of the brass box, I touched her reverently.

I looked up at Mr. Chance.

"May I?"

"Go ahead."

With the index finger of my right hand, I hit the NS (NO SALE) key and the cash drawer popped open.

At this point the volume spiked again.

"This wooden drawer, is it original?"

"It sure is," said Mr. Chance. "If you hit that catch on the side, it slides out so you can dust out the box. I modified it so you can also lift it up and put big bills underneath and out of sight."

I hit the catch with my left forefinger and gingerly slide out the wooden drawer. As it came out, I realized the secret the old register was keeping.

"I hate to make a mess, but can I show you something about this drawer?" I asked.

The old man gave a puzzled nod. "Okay. Let me help you."

He took out a hand towel and laid it over the drawer. Then, he turned it over on an empty spot on the side counter. The money from the drawer spilled out into separate piles on the towel. He handed the 'empty' drawer back to me.

I laid the drawer upside down on the counter in front of me and examined the bottom. There were five screws in the wood. Four were brass. One was nickel.

"You added a screw to the bottom plate didn't you?"

"You have a keen eye Jeep," he replied. "The drawer sometimes rattled. I added that screw to tighten it down."

"Well, Mr. Chance. I believe it was loose for a reason."

By this time, Mr. Chance, Cindy, and the whole gang were wondering what I had up my sleeve. I just pulled out my multi-tool, yanked out the Philips head and removed the silver colored screw.

It popped right out and I dropped it into Mr. Chance's open palm.

I put the multi-tool away and flipped the drawer right side up. Then, as careful as a whispered prayer, I put my hands down on the front corners. With thumbs on the edge and fingers underneath, I pulled. Gradually increasing the pressure, there was a sudden snap.

And, the underside layer of the wooden drawer slid toward me – revealing a false bottom.

Every mouth in the place hung open.

"In the old days, the drawer would not tilt up for you to hide the big bills. Instead, it just slid open."

I stood aside and Mr. Chance took my place. Carefully, he slide the false bottom out all the way.

It was not empty.

We held our collective breath as Mr. Chance removed a flat leather pouch with a zippered top.

"Well, Grandpa Frank, you sly old dog."

Mr. Chance sat the pouch on the open counter next to the register. With trembling hands he worked the old zipper and opened the pouch.

A dozen twenty dollar gold pieces sang sweetly as Mr. Chance removed them one by one and laid them out on the counter. Then, out came a small piece of note paper that was folded over and yellowed with age.

Mr. Chance unfolded the note and stared at it through the bottom of his bifocals. He did not say a word. Then, he laid the note down on the counter next to the coins. And, he walked away.

He left a dozen gold coins out on the counter and just walked away!

Mr. Chance made his way into a small side door marked RESTROOM. He flipped on the light switch, stepped inside and shut the door.

For what seemed like a long time, but was probably only a minute or two, we stood there confused. We heard the water running in the small sink behind the door. Finally, we heard the old man blow his nose. The doorknob turned, and he walked back into the shop, dabbing his face with a paper towel.

His eyes were red.

"Jeep," he announced. "I don't know how you figured out that pouch was there. But, as long as I live, you and your friends can have all the free fudge you can eat from my shop."

"That's awfully nice, Sir. You may come to regret that decision – that may be more fudge than you anticipate. We will certainly take you up on your offer. But, would you mind if I asked what was on the paper?"

Mr. Chance paused for a moment.

"It was a note from Grandpa Frank," he said softly.

Then once more he picked up the yellow scrap of paper and

Began to read out loud.

"To my dear Grandson:

I am so looking forward to visiting you in North Carolina. I can't wait to help with your new fudge shop.

I can tell you from experience, you are embarking on a great adventure. Always remember to be fair with your customers. Remember honesty and goodness are more important than profits.

In the meantime, I hope these old coins help you get off to a good start. And maybe this ancient cash box will bring you the luck it brought to me over the years.

I can't begin to tell how proud I am of you. I pray that God will watch over you and hold you in the palm of his hand, until we meet again.

Love,

Grandpa Frank"

There were no dry eyes when the old man finished reading. Sobbing gently, Cindy walked over and put her arms around Mr. Chance. Several of the guys slapped me on my back.

It was not yet noon, and already our trip to Beaufort was turning out to be memorable.

Finally, Mr. Chance spoke.

"All this leaking has left my mouth dry. Cindy... a round of cokes for the house! Be sure and put plenty of Cherry syrup in mine."

Before long we were smiling and joking, and sipping on handmade cherry and vanilla cokes. Cindy wiped her eyes and returned to the counter – finally helping Charlie with his order. The rest of us sat around three wrought iron tables in the corner by the window.

Mr. Chance had another dish towel in his hand. This time he was shining up the golden double eagles and sharing stories of his favorite Grandfather.

We were all surprised when Thor interrupted. Usually he's our strong and silent Ranger.

"Mr. Chance? Your Grandfather was Frank Chance, Junior?"

The old Man smiled and shook his head.

"That means your Great Grandfather was Frank Chance, Senior of Chicago, Illinois?"

Another nod.

"The first baseman?" Thor inquired.

Mr. Chance's eyes lit up, and he gave us a beaming smile.

"You must really know your baseball, Son. It's been twenty years since anyone made the connection with Great Grandpa Frank."

"Holy Cow!" Shad erupted. "Are we talking about Frank Chance of the Chicago Cubs? Of the 1907 and 1908 World Series Champion Chicago Cubs?"

Mr. Chance confirmed it with a nod.

Shad explained in an excited voice.

"Frank Chance was part of the greatest double play combination in the history of the game. Shortstop Joe Tinker to Second baseman Johnny Evers to First baseman Frank Chance. They called it Baseball's Sad Lexicon because it demoralized the opposing teams – Tinker to Evers to Chance!"

I spoke up.

"Tinker to Evers to Chance? I've heard them say that on Sports Center – Tinker to Evers to Chance. But, I never knew what it meant."

The old confectioner beamed with pride.

"That was Great Grandpa Frank; last stop in the Tinker to Evers to Chance double play combination."

Then it hit me, and I started to laugh – apparently for no reason. The guys all looked at me like I'd flipped out.

"Tell me it's not true!" I said. "You Father did not do that to you?"

Mr. Chance responded with a twinkle in his eye.

"I'm afraid so, Jeep. Dad loved baseball. He was Frank Chance the third, but he decided Frank Chance the fourth sounded a little too high fallutin'. But, he loved the game."

"So, he gave you that name to commemorate it?"

"Yep. And, it is a name for the ages," Mr. Chance replied.

"I don't understand," said Shad. "What are we talking about? What name did he give you?"

Mr. Chance chuckled and came clean.

"Why it's the greatest double play combination in the history of baseball."

"Boys, let me re-introduce myself. My name is Tinker Evers Chance."

************

Chapter 15 – Monkey Business

Fortified by good friends, chocolate candy and Coca Cola, we left the Old Fudge Shoppe a half hour later and split up for some individual exploration of the town.

I hit a couple of souvenir and specialty stores along Front Street. One place had some neat hand painted Christmas ornaments. Oyster shells were transformed into Angels and starfish became colorful five pointed Santas. I picked up a couple of each, and started browsing through the postcards.

There were tons of picture postcards of Historic Beaufort, not to mention at least a million different pictures of the Cape Lookout Lighthouse. And, it did not take me long to pick out something for Mom and Dad, and one for my girlfriend back home, Lyndsey Dalrymple. (Lyndsey loves Dolphins.)

But, I really had to comb through piles and piles before I found the perfect postcard for my little sister Jenny. Luckily, I came across the remnants of some special order cards leftover from a plumber's convention in 1998.

Who even knew they made postcards commemorating the history of the urinal?

After I paid for my trinkets, I walked across the street and sat down on a bench on the waterfront boardwalk, next to the small wooden Harbor Master's building. There, I spent the next ten minutes filling out the postcards while I watched a sailboat from Antigua raise its bleached white sails and blow out of the harbor.

Boy, I really did wish that Lyndsey was here! Maybe someday we could come back together.

That's when I noticed that sitting next to the bench was a long wooden trough filled with water. It looked like a windowsill box you plant flowers in, and I wondered what it was there for. Then, about five minutes after I sat down, a little old lady in white shorts and a stars and stripes top, came strolling along. She was wearing dark glasses about the size of snorkeling goggles and had a sombrero-like straw hat that was embroidered with 'World's Greatest Grandma'. She also carried a canvas purse that you could hide a body in.

Stopping in front of my bench, the world's greatest Grandma reached into the bag with one hand and pulled out a teacup sized Chihuahua. She lowered the little brown bug-eyed creature to the ground where it trotted over to the water trough and got a drink.

Oh, I realized. It's dog water.

Mystery solved, I went back to my post carding.

I've always felt the great thing about postcards is that there's no room on 'em. You don't have say anything on a postcard. If you write big you can hardly fit 'I'm fine. Wish you were here.'

It's sooo much easier to write a postcard than a real letter. And, not only that, the stamps are even cheaper. (It is like instant messaging – only not instant.)

Anyway, it only took me about ten minutes to fill out and address all my postcards. I capped my pen, and looked up and down the street for a mailbox.

I started to get up from the bench, when I looked over and saw that another, larger dog was drinking from the trough. This dog was bigger than the Chihuahua. But, it was covered with short brown hair that was about the same color.

It did not have a collar, so I figured it might be a stray. However, this K-9 did have an amazingly long tail raising up from his backside. The tail bowed straight upwards over two feet in the air like a hair covered garden hose. In fact, it was the most unusual dog tail I had ever seen.

Then noticed something else unusual about this little brown dog. IT HAD HANDS!

"Holy Mutant!"

I jumped up, startled by the creature. But, I think I returned the favor. The dog with hands took off like a shot! In about half a second it disappeared in a thick oleander patch on the side of the Harbor Master's building.

Jeez, what the heck was that thing?

Cautiously, I walked over towards the building. But, as I approached, I heard a rustling in the bushes. The creature used plant cover to scamper down the side of building and around the corner without being spotted.

Whatever it was, it was gone.

Not knowing what else to do, I returned to the bench and picked up the postcards I had dropped during the excitement. Then, after looking both ways, I crossed Front Street and walked into an old time wooden building with a sign out front that read 'The Beaufort General Store'.

*************

The General Store had an interesting mixture of really goofy Chinese-made 'Beaufort Souvenirs', and convenience store items for the itinerant boat people who docked across the street. At the back of the store was a sign that said COIN LAUNDRY. (I guess there aren't any washers and dryers on sailboats.)

Along one side of the store was an ice cream counter where I spotted Shad and Freddie. They were paying for some chocolate and whipped cream covered concoctions that barely fit inside their oversized waffle cones.

I waved at the guys, and they waved back. Then I turned to the lady manning the register near the door.

"Excuse me, Ma'am. Is there a mailbox or post office around here anywhere?"

She motioned towards the door.

"The post office is five blocks down on your right. But, if you want to, you can drop your mail in the basket next to that pile of canvas flags. John, the mailman, will be by in a couple of hours and it'll go out in today's post."

She pointed over to a straw basket sitting five feet down the counter.

"It's a little service we provide for our sailing customers," she explained.

Well, I am not the kind of guy who's going to walk five blocks down and five blocks back if he doesn't have to. So, I thanked her and moved down to the basket to make my deposit.

But, as I was laying my postcards atop John the Mailman's pile, something caught my eye. I recognized the handwriting on a bright purple colored envelope that was sitting on top of the paper heap.

Pausing for a second, I glanced at the address on the letter in question: Miss S. Sonoma, 221 Baker Street, Lenoir, North Carolina.

A huge smile broke over my face as I dropped my postcards on top of the stack. Then, I turned and walked out of the General Store's front door. As I stepped down the brightly painted wooden stairs to sidewalk below, I laughed out loud and said to nobody in particular - "Bogdon Peabody, you sly old dog."

************

Gills is an old stucco gas station turned restaurant on the edge of the Beaufort waterfront, across the street from the North Carolina Maritime Museum. A large wooden deck sprouts from the back of the building and melts into a wooden boat dock extending into Taylor's creek. Tropical banana trees and bougainvillea give the place a Margaretville feel. And, the chance to eat out back, watching sailboats, wild horses and the occasional pod of playful dolphins, attracts diners from all over to this colorful little restaurant.

The Rangers reassembled at Gills because it was reported to have the finest French Fries in all of Carteret County.

We hit the place after the lunch rush and pretty much had the entire deck to ourselves. Pulling a couple of white plastic tables together, we surrounded them with white PVC chairs. Large umbrellas provided shade while a steady breeze made the deck comfortable even on this warm summer afternoon.

Our waitress was a college student from UNC, named Orion. She had shoulder length chestnut hair that just reached the top of her scarlet 'GILLS' t-shirt. Her emerald eyes sparkled and she had large deep purple eyelashes and smoothly tanned skin.

We must have been hungry because neither Charlie nor Donnie tried to make a date.

Orion took our drink orders and asked if we wanted any appetizers. A famished Shad McReynolds, with fudge stained fingers and a big ice cream spot on his sleeve, ordered "French Fries for everyone". Thor added a request for nachos and homemade salsa. Donnie asked a question about the Calamari.

"Is your squid fresh or do you use frozen rings?"

"It's definitely fresh," Orion answered. "Our cook gets a batch each morning right off the boat and he cleans them himself."

"In that case, bring us two baskets with lots of cocktail sauce. And, tell the Chef – 'Hot and Crispy.' "

"And make we get sure lots of tentacles!" Freddie added.

Before long we were munching our way through fried squid, French fries and nachos and washing it all down with ice tea with fresh cut lime.

You would think we might be full by the time Orion brought out plates of thick cheeseburgers and fried whiting sandwiches. However, our appetites were only sharpened at that point, we fell on the platters of food, and took no prisoners.

Toby, who is more health conscious that the rest of the guys, ordered a chief salad with grilled chicken strips. Orion brought him a huge plastic bowl full of greens and two containers of ranch dressing. Soon, he was crunching through homemade croutons and a mountain of chilled lettuce.

For some unknown reason, Toby would not eat a hardboiled eggs if you held a gun to his head. So, he removed two peeled eggs from his bowl and placed them on a napkin in front of the empty chair beside him.

There was not much talk at the table. For the next few minutes, we concentrated on our grilled and fried treasures. Shad worked his way through his second order of French fries, like a wine connoisseur appreciating an extra fine vintage. He showed off one French fry that had to be six inches long. Shad covered the fry with ketchup and was just putting it up to his lips when suddenly he froze.

Without saying a word, he pulled the still unsampled fry from his mouth and pointed it like a wand towards the napkin next to Toby. Puzzled, we followed his stare and noticed there was only one boiled egg left.

Then, as we watched speechless, a long furry tenticle reached over the side of the table and encircled the second egg. Quick as a whip, the tail and the egg both disappeared over the edge.

We weren't scared – but were surprised. No one spoke until Charlie whispered.

"Toby, put a couple of your cherry tomatoes on the napkin."

Toby fished a couple of inch long tomatoes from his bowl and refilled the napkin. Within seconds, the tail made another appearance and snatched the napkin clean.

About that time, Orion walked out onto the deck with a pitcher of Iced Tea.

"You boys need anything?" she asked.

"Yes," replied Bogdon. "Can you please bring us a bowl of cherry tomatoes. And, maybe some grapes if you have any?"

"Sure can," Orion answered cheerfully.

She left the pitcher on the table and went back inside the restaurant. Within seconds she reappeared with a bowl of tomatoes and a bowl of green grapes.

"Anything else?" she asked.

"I think we're good for now," Charlie answered.

"I check on you guys later on," Orion said, and she disappeared back inside.

With the waitress out of the way, we turned our attention to 'the thing' beneath the table.

Bogdon gave me a handful of tomatoes and grapes. I passed the stuff over to Toby and I added a couple of leftover French fries. Toby put these new snacks on the napkin and we sat back and waited.

In just a few seconds, the tail came back up on the table. It looked like a little furry periscope as it examined the goodies. Obviously, the tail could not decide what to choose, since it disappeared from sight.

Then, as we watched quietly, two little black hands with long fingers appeared on the edge of the table. Slowly, a the top of a head appeared as well, moving higher and higher until we saw two eyes. An entire furry little face soon followed.

"It's a prehensiled primate," Bogdon whispered.

"What?" squeaked Freddie.

"A monkey," Bogdon replied, keeping his voice low.

Of course! That's what I saw drinking from the dog water trough.

"Is anyone here a monkey?" whispered Charlie, referring to our animal spirit guides.

"No," I responded quietly. "But, Bogdon's a raccoon."

"Raccoons aren't monkeys," Bogdon protested. "Why, they aren't even simians."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Charlie dismissed his pleas. "They're small furry creatures with hands and a tail. So Simian or not Bog, you're up."

Bogdon shrugged his shoulders. He realized protesting was not going to change anything. So, he slowly stood up from the table and picked up the bowl of grapes. Moving as measured as a minute hand, Bogdon approached the creature.

Bogdon squatted as he moved toward our visitor. A few feet away he stopped.

Without saying a word, Bog pulled a green grape from the cluster and pitched it gently towards the monkey. It hit the ground a few feet away and rolled. The creature stretched out a long arm and picked up the grape. He lifted it up to his face and studied intently. Finally, he was satisfied it was a genuine Thompson seedless and not some evil plot. The furry little guy popped the green orb into his mouth, chewed and swallowed.

Bogdon flipped him another. Then another and another. The monkey ate ravenously. (I guess he could join our club.)

Finally, Bogdon leaned in and extended the bowl.

Realizing he was in no danger from the be spectacled Ranger, the wooly monkey inched in toward Bogdon and pulled out his own grape.

I guess monkeys and raccoons must have some kind of kinship. Within minutes the creature was sitting in Bogdon's lap sipping sweet tea through a straw and finishing our leftovers.

"Where do you suppose he came from?" asked Freddie.

"Probably from one of the boats tied up at the waterfront," answered Donnie. "We should head up to the Harbor Master's office and see if anyone's reported a lost monkey?"

When Orion came back with our check, she was startled to see she had another customer. But, she took it stride and was soon ohhing and ahhing over our new friend.

Toby put lunch on the club debit card and added a nice tip. Then we all got up slowly, so we wouldn't startle the simian. We left Gills using the back entrance and strolled down the boardwalk along the water front.

There's nothing like strolling along with a monkey on your shoulder to draw a crowd. Fortunately Shad had a remedy for the growing band of followers.

"Stand back folks," Shad announced. "He bites. He has fleas. And, he likes to throw poop!"

That scattered the followers.

We were just passing the fanciest yachts in port when we were hailed from onboard ship. Or, I should say the monkey was hailed.

"Fallwerk! Fallwerk! Hier ist es! Herkommen."

A tall young woman came hurrying down the gangplank of Ivanna Crump's Yacht. She was addressing the monkey in German. And, she was quite fetching.

My outstanding impression of this monkey lady, was that she had the longest legs and the highest cheekbones of any woman I have ever met. Her eyes were covered with expensive fashion sunglasses and a wide brimmed straw hat protected her from the harsh Carolina sun. She wore enormously high heeled clogs, and it was amazing she could run across the uneven weathered dock without taking a header.

She was barely covered by a long lavender polo shirt that I guess was a dress. It made you wonder if she had shorts on underneath. But, I don't think she did!

"Ewek," the monkey screamed.

He leaped off of Bogdon's shoulder and ran out to the dock, heading towards the newcomer.

It was a happy reunion for the lady and the monkey, filled with plenty of hugs and kisses. Following the initial joy of the return, the young woman shook her finger at the monkey and scolded him in German. But, she could not stay angry with the sweet faced little fur ball.

Eventually, the monkey lady turned her attention toward us. She walked to the end of the dock and stepped up onto the boardwalk. She maintained a tight grip on her errant Fallwerk as she spoke.

"Who vas de von who found my minkey?" she asked.

We were awed by this beautiful woman and her strange European manner. I don't think anybody responded out loud. We just pointed at Bogdon.

"You found my minkey?" she asked.

"Ahh.. yes. Er.. ah.. he found us. He came up to the table down at Gills. We gave him some grapes and we were carrying him to the Harbor Master to see if he was reported missing."

"Vas is your name?" she inquired. But, with her German accent it sounded more like a demand.

"Ah.. I'm Bogdon. Bogdon Peabody."

The lady stretched out a long tanned arm, offering Bogdon an open hand with delicate fingers and manicured nails.

"I am glat to meet choo, Bogdon Peabody. My name is Heidi Zoom."

Bogdon reached out and shook hands.

"Zie minkey must haff vondered off last night. And, I vas vorried zick! Und, I am zo grateful to you und your friends. Please come abord zee boat und have lunch mit me."

Bog replied, "that's very kind, Ma'am. But, we just finished eating."

"Ah. Perhaps anozer time. In any case, I zank you very much."

Then, she leaned down and nailed Bogdon with a huge kiss. And, I am not talking about on the cheek, either. She smacked him right on the lips!

"Zank you very much, Boogdon Peabody."

She smiled and started to walk off, when Toby spoke up. He pulled out his camera phone.

"Miss Zoom? Perhaps I can get picture of you and Bogdon together?"

Heidi Zoom turned around and smiled.

"But of course. Make sure you get all zree of us in ze photo."

Ms. Zoom, squeezed into the picture, still holding the monkey tightly in her arms. Bogdon gave a huge blushing grin. Heidi Zoom flashed a perfect smile and a whole lot of leg!

Toby clicked the camera phone button. Twice.

Ms. Zoom thanked us all once more and turned and walked back down the dock towards the yacht.

As soon as she was out of earshot, Charlie launched in. "Holy Cow! That was Heidi Zoom!"

"Good catch, Professor Einstein," Freddie snorted. "We should move you up to double A."

"You don't understand, Goofball. That was Heidi Zoom! Heidi Zoom, the German Super Model, Heidi Zoom!"

"Oh..." said Freddie feeling foolish. "That Heidi Zoom. What's she doing in Beaufort?"

"She must be friends with Ivanna," Toby suggested.

"Well I'm glad we got a picture," said Charlie. "Else, no one would ever believe it."

I know it was mean, but I could not resist.

"Heidi Zoom's is awfully pretty. But, I always pictured Bogdon with someone a little smarter. Maybe someone like Stuart Sonoma."

"What!" choked Shad incredulously. "You mean that crazy girl from Lenoir that's always trying to beat us in the County Science Fair? Jeep, you've been out in the sun way too long."

We turned and began walking back down the street, and I let the subject drop. After all, I was watching Bogdon closely, and I got the exact reaction I was expecting.

*************

We spent our last couple of hours in Beaufort visiting the Maritime Museum. The Museum is a beautiful facility built toward the end of Front Street. It was designed like an old time sailors home with shake siding, and a third story tower complete with a widow's walk. It houses a collection of neat sailing antiques and unusual sea life specimens. It also has a genuine Fresnel lighthouse lens although it was is smaller than the one that was originally at Cape Lookout.

In addition, the Museum displays artifacts from a nearby shipwreck that is believed to be the Queen Anne's Revenge, onetime flagship of Blackbeard the Pirate. There are cannon and cannon balls, lots of ships tools and instruments, and plates and cups and knives. But, there is not any treasure.

When the QAR ran aground outside of the harbor, any treasure onboard was quickly transferred to a back up ship. The English Navy was already hunting pirates in the area so anything heavy or easily replaced was left behind in the rush.

Although Blackbeard escaped the grounding of the Queen Anne's Revenge, he met his demise a months later off of Okracoke Island. The Royal Navy caught up with the Pirate just sixty miles north of where we were standing.

I know what you are thinking. With Pirates around here there must be plenty of Pirate treasure. "Jeep, you find the gold, while we get the shovels."

But, the reality is that the area has been picked pretty clean. Folks began searching for treasure in Beaufort Inlet the day after Blackbeard sailed off. They've used metal detectors and magnetometers and even satellite photography.

Of course, that does not mean everything has been found. And, I have kept my ears open as I have walked up and down the waterfront. But, this was not a treasure expedition. We were here to save a whale.

At 5 O'clock, we picked up our rental boat at the Beaufort Marina. It was a 23 foot fiberglass model with an open top and dual 75 horse power engines. We did not need all that speed. But we did need two engines, so we would not be left drifting in the ocean if one broke down.

Donnie had to sign for the boat we reserved, since he was the adult. The rental guy gave us the once over like he was trying to figure out what we were really up to. But, he settled down after we agreed to pay for the insurance waiver. Of course the rental fee went right through on the club debit card. So, we strapped on our life jackets and headed out before anyone stopped us.

By a quarter after five, we were motoring down Taylor's creek admiring the boats at anchor and waving at folks enjoying an early supper along the waterfront. We figured this was a no wake zone, so we kept the speed down until we hit the end of Carrot Island and entered into Core Sound. Donnie gave the boat some gas and made a direct line over to Shackleford Banks.

Late afternoon was becoming evening while we glided along the bay waters. Donnie picked up a little more speed, but he was still keeping the lid on. After all, we knew at least one Manatee was in the area.

The sky was clear and the Bay wind felt cool, riding in our very own boat. And, as we glided along with the wind in our hair and the spray in our face, Freddie posed a question.

"Hey guys? Does a super model, like Heidi Zoom, beat a swimsuit model like in Sports Illustrated?"

"That depends," Charlie answered authoritatively. "A super model beats a swimsuit model, if the swimsuit model is in regular clothes. But, a swimsuit model beats a super model if she's in her swimsuit."

"Oh. Okay," said Freddie. "But what about a Victoria's Secret Model? Does she beat a swimsuit model."

"Yes." Charlie answered definitively.

"So..." Freddie summed up. "A super model beats a swimsuit model in street clothes. A swimsuit model in her suit beats a super model. And, a Victoria's Secret model is at the top of the list."

"Exactly," Charlie assured him.

At that point Toby Trundle, our most thoughtful Ranger entered the conversation.

"Guys. I think that might be a little superficial. It may even be demeaning to reduce a beautiful woman like Heidi Zoom to a simple label. Even if it is Super Model. Heidi does lots of things besides just stare at a camera. You can't just condense her life to a short tagline. She is more than just a Super Model."

Toby paused for a second for us to consider his words.

"Heidi Zoom is a Super Model - with a monkey!"

"Of course," Bogdon responded. "We ignored the simian factor."

"Exactly," Toby concurred. "And, a Super Model with a monkey trumps a Swimsuit Model or even a Victoria's Secret Model any day of the week."

"Absolutely," we all agreed.

Following Toby's observations we cruised in silence for a while, re-evaluating our world view.

************

Chapter 16 – First Contact

They were waiting for us about half way down the backside of Shackleford Banks.

They were not grazing on the sea oats and salt grass springing up just above the tide mark. They were not wondering slowly along the sandy low tide beach that bordered the calm dark waters of the Sound.

They were not coming or going. Or, eating. Or, conversing. Or, even just hanging out.

They were waiting... for us. And, there were two of them.

One stood about fourteen hands high, was chestnut brown with a blondish mane that fell in his eyes except when it the soft evening breeze blew it aside.

He had a white spot on the center of his forehead. There was another white mark at the top of his nose, and the two were linked by a ragged white line that stretched the entire length of his face. His large brown eyes had a mournful quality, from a life burdened with struggle.

The smaller one was pure white, although sand and red soil stained his little legs where they were closest to the ground. There was some staining around his mouth and his nose where it dragged along the earth as he grazed. But, he was pure white.

His white mane blew across his white ears. His youthful body was covered with a course unbrushed white coat. And, surprisingly long white hair fluttered down in a majestic tail that must have been unusual for a banker pony – especially one so young.

We were moving along slowly, lost in thought and scenery. We'd seen dozens of banker ponies, since we got here. So, at first, we did not realize these two were anything special. I kept expecting them to run off at the sound of our outboard engines.

But, they did not move. They did not run off. They were not spooked when we passed within yards of their position.

They just stood there staring at us. And, it seemed unreal as our eyes locked with theirs.

It was obvious they were trying to tell us something. They were not speaking, but they were intelligent creatures trying to converse in silence.

It was like making First Contact with a race of intellectual equines.

Thor broke the spell as he ordered us to make landfall. He turned away from the horses and looked straight at Donnie.

"Pull Over! Pull over, right now! They need our help."

Donnie did not protest. He just threw the throttle into reverse causing the props to bite deeply into the water, quickly slowing our forward progress. Within seconds he was maneuvering our small craft up to the bank. Since it was low tide our bow slid right into the sandy beach.

Thor wasted no time as he clambered up onto the bow and jumped off.

Splash!

He gave no thought to waiting for us. He just sloshed through some ankle deep water and then onto the beach. Once he was on firm ground, he hurried over to the horses.

One by one, the rest of the guys began jumping off behind Thor. Because I was in back, waiting for my chance, I got to watch as Thor approached the two sentinels.

They continued to stand like statues until Thor approached them. He reached up and rubbed the Brown with his left hand and the White with his right. He cautiously tried to whisper soft assurances but as he bent over to speak – the two equines finally stirred and snorted.

Two long faces turned toward each other and exchanged a glance. Then, the Brown took off and trotted down a well worn path through the marsh grass. The White trotted along behind until they climbed a small rise, where they stopped and turned back to Thor.

I could not hear a word. But I swear they were saying: "Are you coming or what?"

Thor wasted no time. He followed them up the path. And, as he approached the pair, they turned around and headed off. The group of three disappeared over the rise about the time it was finally my turn to jump down from our vessel.

"You guys be careful. I'll stay with the boat," Donnie called after us.

If we were thin skinned, we might have been offended that Thor just ran off and left us behind. But, we realized he was operating on instincts that we did not have. You see Thor's spirit animal guide is the horse. We accepted he was just trying to do his bit for the herd. We did not sweat it as we jogged after Thor and his two friends.

(By the way, we never dreamed that this animal spirit thing would come in so handy when we received it from the Cherokees. This was the second time today!)

The marsh grass quickly morphed into the thorny thicket of a maritime forest with stunted trees and deep brush. But, the trail provided a passage through the overgrowth. After about forty yards we popped out into a clearing where the brush gave way to grass and the grass gave way to mud.

As we came upon the scene we heard a muffled splash. We arrived just in time to see Thor plunging into the mud pit. And, as we watched, he quickly sank from knees to waist to belly button.

With determination, he pushed into the center of the pit. Mud had to be squishing in Thor's armpits by the time he got the middle where we could see a large muddy head and two ears straining just above the surface.

Yesterday's thunder storm had left a deep muddy sinkhole that someone wandered into.

"Its okay fella," I heard him say. "We're here to help you. It's gonna be okay."

At first blush, I thought the young colt was tiny. But, as Thor reached under and lifted the horse's body, I could see that size wise he was somewhere between the Brown and the White.

Unfortunately, as Thor lifted, the horse went up and Thor went down. Now, Thor's head was just above the surface. Luckily, the horse did not struggle or it might pushed our friend under.

"Don't fight it," ordered Charlie. "We'll get you out. Just give us a second, and we'll get you both out safe and sound."

"We need some rope," said Bogdon.

Toby responded.

"We don't have any rope. But, we've got more wild grape vine than we can say Grace over."

Charlie took charge.

"Bogdon, Freddie and Shad. You guys gather up a bunch of grape vine. And, I mean a bunch. We need a couple of hundred feet cause we are going to have to weave it together to make some rope."

"Jeep, you and Toby find a thick branch or a pole that is two or three feet long."

"Now get busy. I'll stay with Thor. I'm the next tallest, in case someone else needs to go into the pit."

We took off in a hurry. Toby and I moved along the trail through to the center of the island. After only thirty yards we climbed a little mound where we could look down and across. From our observation point, we spotted what looked like an old fence post leaning into the sand. We dived through the scrub and found our target.

The post was hard and strong. It had survived the weather and rot of this harsh marine climate because it was cedar. Pine would have disintegrated long ago.

I grabbed the top and gave a quick yank. I was able pull the post upright and was getting ready to lift it out of the ground when I heard an odd rattling noise.

"Look out!" Toby shouted, and he yanked me from behind.

Together we flopped onto the sand. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a mottled triangular head striking out at my arm.

But it missed! Thanks to my best friend, Toby.

We hopped back on our feet just in time to see a four foot rattler disappearing into a pile of debris blown or washed up along the trunk of a small pin oak.

"Wow. That was close!" said Toby.

"No kidding," I replied. "I didn't even see that forked tongue devil!"

"He was shading under the edge of the post," said Toby. "I spotted him just as you pulled it straight. He was already curled and ready to strike. I just grabbed you. I didn't think there was time for anything else."

"Well, I am glad you did," I said. "I swear I felt the breeze when he struck."

"Well, that's one Ranger rescued," said Toby. "Let's see if we can save another."

Together we grabbed the post and ran it back to the mud pit.

When we got there, Bogdon was holding the ends of some grapevine, while Freddie was twenty feet away interweaving them. He was flipping green string like he was playing some weird game of double Dutch. But, on Bogdon's side the vines were intertwining. Within seconds they produced a woven cord that look pretty sturdy.

Shad came back with some more vine and Toby and I gave it a shot. He held, and I flipped. But all we ended up with was a pile of tangled mess. Luckily, Bogdon and Freddie soon had enough rope that ours was not necessary.

Charlie took two vine cords and attached them to either side of our fence post. Then, he took on end and Shad took the other, and they dragged the post on top of the mud until it was beside Thor.

"I can't let go of this fellow," said Thor.

"That's okay," said Charlie. "Just try and wiggle the post under you armpits. Then clamp down and hold on."

Thor did what he was told and managed to wiggle the fence post in place. Then, Shad and Charlie moved around in front into the knee deep mud and began pulling gently.

At first we did not see any effect. But, slowly Thor's head came up. After that his shoulders appeared.

Shad and Charlie were groaning now and putting on more pressure.

"You need to get your body above the mud," said Bogdon. "If we can pull you across the surface, it will be a lot easier."

Thor was visibly moving toward the side of the pit now. And, he struggled to raise his lower body from the sludge. But, he managed to keep a firm grasp on the pony and the fence post.

He was about half way out, when the 'rope' suddenly popped loose on one side. Without hesitation, Freddie grabbed one end of the vine mess that Toby and I wove, and waded out in the gunk. Freddie was so light, he seemed to scurry across the surface. He was not sinking too deeply. So, he quickly remade the connection.

Toby and I grabbed the end of our grapevine rope. With a quick tug, Freddie popped right out.

With the cord reattached, Shad and Charlie heaved again and finished dragging Thor and the pony over to the shallows. As soon as Thor found his footing, he carried the horse over to solid ground.

Gently, Thor lowered the animal and began using his hands to scrape mud off of the little guy's coat.

"Is he okay?" asked Freddie.

"He's pretty weak," Thor responded. "No telling how long he was in that muck and how much he struggled. But, yeah. I think he's going to be okay. He's just tired."

The poor muddy horse rested his elongated head on the soft sand. He did not have the energy to lift it up. But, he was content to let Thor groom him while he regained his strength. And, after about five minutes, he began to shudder.

Then, with a supreme effort the little guy managed to pull himself up on spindly shaky legs. And, like a newborn, he took a few tentative steps.

"Neeeheee!"

The Brown pony spoke for the first time. This was followed by a second whiney from his white companion. As if in response, the muddy colt turned and walked over to Thor and rubbed up against our linebacker friend. Thor gently ran his hand down the length of the pony's nose.

When I looked back over at the Brown and White, I swear I saw them nodding their heads at each other.

Finally, the Brown snorted and started walking the slow determined walk of banker pony. He moved over to the trail and began heading towards the ocean side of the island.

The White fell in behind him. And after another snort, the muddy colt joined in at the back to form a small herd.

They walked over a little rise and disappeared into the bush.

We stood in silence, captivated by our encounter. Finally, Freddie broke the spell.

"That was a first," he stated.

"A first what?" asked Charlie. "We help animals all the time. We helped the monkey, just today. And we freed that turtle day before yesterday. I don't see how this is any different."

"You're right," Freddie agreed. "We have helped a lot of animals. But, this was the first time that the animals ever asked for our help."

Freddie had a point. And, no one had a comeback. So we just brushed ourselves off and headed back down the path towards the sound.

Weeks later, after we returned home to Granite Falls, we would find an excellent website that told the story of the Wild Horses of Shackleford Banks. It listed all kinds of information about the ponies and their habitat. In addition, it also displayed lots of wonderful close up pictures of the small herd that wanders the island.

There were no close ups that we could use to identify the Brown banker pony. But, there were several excellent pictures of the pure white horse that waited for us on the beach that day and guided us to the trapped colt. It was the same white face, the same white coat, the same white mane and the same luxurious white tail.

We learned from the website, the white horse's name was Spirit. He was a shy and gentle orphaned colt that wandered Shackelford, always in the company of a brown friend. And, people came from all over to see the pure white horse with the ancient brown eyes.

We also learned that little Spirit died on Shackleford Banks during the winter of 1996, which was many years before we met him that day on the island.

*************

Picking our way back through the thorns and tangles of maritime brush, we returned to the sandy beach and the waters of the sound - to a more immediate surprise. Donnie and our 23 foot fiberglass runabout – were gone.

Oh, we could see the boat making slow circles in the water a couple of hundred yards offshore. But, they were not where we left them.

We really weren't worried at first. We just figured that Donnie got board or something and had gone for a quick spin. So, we waved and yelled and finally got his attention. As we expected, Donnie and the boat turned around and made a B-line for our position. But, when Donnie sailed right by us and on up the channel, we realized something was going on.

"Donnie!" Freddie yelled."Over here. Come Back!"

"Yeah. Quit goofing around," ordered Shad. "You're gonna make us late for dinner!"

Donnie put the boat into a tight turn and came back towards us. But, about twenty yards out, he threw the engines into reverse and came to a dead stop.

"Come on, Donnie," Charlie shouted. "The joke's over. Come pick us up."

He put boat engines into a low idle and called out, "I'm sorry, boys. I can't do that."

"What do you mean 'You can't do it'?" asked Charlie.

"Well, that's not really accurate. After all, I guess I can do it. What I should have said is I am not going to do it. At least, I'm not going to do it until you guys do something for me first."

"What's that?" asked Charlie.

Tell me about 'your Whale'," said Donnie.

Now we don't play Texas Hold' em and that's probably because none of have what you would call a real poker face. We don't cover up shock and surprise very well. So, you can imagine that our jaws fell wide open when Donnie dropped his bombshell. At least I was too stunned to say anything. Unfortunately, Shad responded without thinking.

"How do you know about our whale?"

Charlie reached over and smacked the back of Shad's head with an open palm.

"Oww. I mean, uh, what whale? We don't have a whale. What would we have a whale for?"

"Well, in that case..." Donnie replied, "you don't have a ride either."

Errruuummmm.

Donnie hit the gas and took off back into the Sound.

Within a few seconds our boat and driver were skipping playfully across the waters of Core Banks: without us.

Roughly speaking, from here it was a six mile hike to the end of Shackleford Banks and a half mile swim to Cape Lookout at low tide. Donnie pretty much had us where he wanted us. Sooner or later, we had to tell him the real reason for our trip.

And, so we surrendered.

They say confession is good for the soul. Maybe it is. But, in this case it was also good for the soles – of our feet. We did not have to tromp the six sandy miles home.

Donnie gave us a boat ride back to Cape Lookout, and we came clean about Levi and our first attempt to save him. We also outlined our upcoming second try.

"I'm impressed," Donnie said as we pulled up to the old Life Guard pier on the back of Cape Lookout.

"Of course, I went through each one of your footlockers that day of the Mud Run. I knew you had way to much gear for a simple trip to the beach."

We glanced at each other with surprise and more than a little annoyance. (How dare he look through the stuff we were deliberately hiding from him!)

"I saw you had more night vision equipment than a Marine Recon team. Plus, the wet suits, the tracking equipment and that wild air cannon. Of course, when I examined you projectiles, I was relieved I did not find any explosive warheads. But it took me a while to puzzle out what they were designed to cut."

"Let me get this straight," said Freddie. "You were spying on us the whole time?"

"I wasn't really spying on you guys. I was just trying to make sure you did not get into something that was over your heads. I want you to come home from this trip, safe and sound. And, preferably without a criminal record."

"Besides, I had no idea what your objective was, until you made that comment about spotting 'your whale' from the top of the lighthouse."

"Oh yeah," Freddie said meekly. "Well, I didn't know I had an eavesdropper following me."

Charlie stepped in.

"Regardless of how you found out. The big question is – what are you going to do about it?"

We held our breath waiting for the answer. I was mentally calculating how much money we had left in the club bank account in case a hefty bribe was necessary.

But, Donnie just played it cool. He moved up to the bow of our boat and double checked the docking line. And, without saying a word, he moved back to the stern and checked the line there. Then, he reached over to the pier, grabbed the weathered wooden ladder, and he swung himself up.

"Well..." He paused looking down at us from top of the wooden structure.

"As long as you dress warmly, brush your teeth and look both ways when you cross the street... I'm not going to try to stop you."

A wave of relief hit us as we heard the project was still on. However, Donnie wasn't finished.

"But, you're going to have to promise me two things."

"What's that?" asked Toby, suspicion creeping into his voice.

"First and foremost, don't kill yourselves. I don't want to have to drive a van load of dead Rangers back to Granite Falls."

"That's doable," Charlie responded. "What's number two?"

"For Heaven's sake, whatever else you do – don't tell Pam!"

As a group, we accepted of Donnie's terms. Then, Donnie turned and walked up the pier towards the shore. And, one by one we climbed out of the boat, and followed.

*************

To Shad's great relief, we did make it home in time for dinner. And, Miss Mynah outdid herself creating a feast of homemade pizza, Greek salad and warm buttery breadsticks. Even though we had a late lunch, the savory smell of herbs, pepperoni and tomato sauce awakened our appetites. Before long we were attacking triangular slices of hand thrown crust topped with bubbling mozzarella.

There's always room for pizza! And, this was some of the best I've ever had.

Dinner that night was al fresco - which means 'outside' for you unsophisticated mountain boys. We lounged on the weather worn picnic tables, enjoying our pizza, backstopped by an emerald ocean and a sailor's delight evening sky. The sun's rays spun burnt orange against purpled clouds that stretched out to the far horizon. A cool breeze blew in off the Atlantic. And, the distant roar of breaking surf was like natural Muzak – background music for island living.

We'd been at the beach for a week now – and in many ways the experience had changed us. The surf and sand and sun had gotten under our skin, and we were transformed.

We were still mountain boys, at home in the deep forests and towering peaks. But, like Peter Parker and Clark Kent – we developed alter egos. Our 'real' identities were pushed aside, and we became barefoot sand combers with tanned skin and sun streaked hair. Our pace was slower and our cares were fewer. Life is good on a barrier island.

But, even as we enjoyed our beach days, we knew they were coming to an end. Our own tracking equipment, validated by the good people at On*Star, told us - Levi was almost here. The whale's long swim up the Carolina coast was concluding. He would pass our position tomorrow afternoon - tomorrow night at the latest.

So, even though we were enjoying our island holiday with loads of fun and food and friends, we realized it was almost over.

It was D-Day, minus one.

*************

After dinner, we thanked Ms. Mynah and divided to help clean up, wash up and put away. Following these simple chores, the entire crew made the sandy barefoot trip across to the ocean side of the Cape.

As the sun slipped below the horizon, we wandered down the shoreline, chasing scurrying ghost crabs back into their holes, watching hovering terns dive for their dinner and letting the chilly Atlantic foam up over our feet and ankles.

We had a brief splash war and threw a few handfuls of sand, but mostly we just walked along, content to be on Cape Lookout for the most beautiful evening of the Summer. Eventually, our words were replaced by the cries of the wind and the sea and the occasional hungry gull.

As I walked down that beach, I considered how fortunate I was. It was not just that I got to spend time on this incredible tropical island. I got to be here with the greatest bunch of guys on the planet.

Bogdon Peabody, is not just the smartest kid in town, he is the most genuinely caring guy I know. Who else would have suggested we spend our Summer on a quest to save a poor unfortunate creature?

Shad could probably break me like a twig if he wanted. But, for all his bluster he is a gentle giant. I have never seen him pick on anyone. But, I have seen him stand up to bullies trying to steamroll smaller kids. Plus, Shad's got the greatest sense of humor I've ever known. He's always there with a story or a joke to brighten our mood. And, for all we kid about his appetite, he'd give you his very last candy bar if you were hungry.

Freddie Dunkleberger is the smallest Ranger, with the biggest heart. He does not complain even when he has to take two steps to our one. Unfortunately, Freddie lost his Dad at the Pentagon on 9/11. That would have made a lot of people bitter. But, Freddie is still quick with a smile, even though he carries a heavy burden.

Thor Munson is the best athlete at Granite Falls Middle and Charlie Sinclair is the most popular guy. But, they don't act any different from the rest of us. Charlie has the courage to be smart – even when a lot of popular kids make fun of intelligence. And, Thor is the most loyal person I have ever known. Those two will never – ever - let a buddy down.

And, finally, Toby Trundle is my best friend in the whole world. He is brave, smart and thoughtful. Just today he saved me from that rattlesnake and I know in my heart that Toby would have taken the snakebite himself if it meant keeping me safe.

I know it because I'd have done the same thing for him.

Hiking the deserted shoreline with these guys, I realized I am the luckiest person I know. These were my foxhole buddies. If I ever found myself in a foxhole - or in a lifeboat, these were the guys I wanted to be in it with me. They were my friends for life.

I've located all kinds of wondrous things growing up. But, gold and jewels and money are small potatoes compared to the treasure I walked beside that evening on Cape Lookout.

*************

The moon was a rising pumpkin when we made our way back to camp that evening. And, as we walked up to the rear door of the main building, we were surrounded by swarms of shimmering bubbles floating across the moonlit landscape.

Donnie and Pam were perched on the third floor widow's walk with giant bubble wands and a half gallon jug of wash. Donnie spent his Beaufort money on bubble makers. And, he bought wands for everyone – even Ms. Mynah.

It was a magical end to a magical day. For an hour we created clouds of moon reflecting bubbles and laughed like kindergartners.

But, it had been a long day. Eventually we were ready for a shower and some sack time.

As I handed my plastic wand back to Donnie I asked what inspired his moonlight bubble fiesta. He looked me in the eye and gave some advice that I'll never forget.

"Jeep. Sometimes people surround themselves with a hard shell – as hard as those whelks we found off the Cape that day. And, often the best way to break through a woman's shell is to reach out to the girl inside her."

Sometime later, I stepped outside to wash the lingering sand off my feet in the outside shower. And, I spied Donnie and Pam heading out on a moonlight beach walk of their own. I remembered the hard shell Pam hid behind on our first days at the Cape, and I considered the easy smiles she had for us tonight.

I guess Donnie was right.

*************

Chapter 17 – Cape Lookout D-Day

We got up early the next morning knowing that the day had finally come. It was The Day of Days. But, in case there was a question in anybody's mind, Bogdon made it official. He hopped out of bed, and even before he changed out of his pajamas he addressed the room.

"Well, guys. It's finally here. Today is the day. Before we go to bed tonight, we'll get our second chance to free Levi."

"It's D-Day!" he said boldly, taking an historic pose.

Of course Freddie was not about to let the moment go bye without comment. "Why is it D-Day?"

"What?" said Bogdon.

"Why is it D-Day?" Freddie asked. "I mean, why isn't it A-Day or B-Day or even C-Day? It seems A-Day would be the first and most important day. After all, A comes before D."

Bogdon was a little annoyed. He'd been trying to make a point and maybe a moment for posterity. And, now Freddie had stepped all over it. Bog would have been within his rights to fire back a snotty reply. But, it was not necessary. Shad stepped in for him.

"Well, Boy Blunder," Shad replied. "It's not A-Day, because it's never been A-Day. And, it's always been D-Day!"

"Can't it be A-Day just this once?" asked Freddie.

"No!" hollered Shad. "It can't be A-Day just this once! It has to be D-day. And let me tell you why it has to be D-day. Because Tom Hanks didn't storm Omaha Beach on A-Day!"

"Besides," Toby added a little more thoughtfully. "D-Day actually stands for something. It's short for 'Designated Day'."

"Yeah?" said Freddie. "Well maybe A-Day stands for something too."

"Like what?" ask Shad.

"Like – 'Ats about time' Day," Freddie chortled.

We all groaned.

"Boy, it's a good thing Rottweiler's not here," said Toby.

"Why's that?" asked Freddie.

"Cause he'd want to line the floor of his cage with that last joke!" Toby replied.

"Gee Freddie," Charlie commented. "Your jokes get worse day after day. But, that one is so bad it must be from tomorrow!"

Shad reached over and frogged Freddie in the arm.

"Hey!" said the little guy. "What's the big idea?"

"That's for making me endure such a bad joke on an empty stomach."

Freddie rubbed his sore arm and he made one final comment.

"It's not easy being comic relief for a company full of critics."

Then, we all got dressed, brushed our teeth and went out to the kitchen - for our D-day breakfast.

*************

With the dawn of a new day, our cell phone reception returned. Shad and Freddie took the opportunity to contact On*Star for an update on our whale's position.

It appeared that Levi had slowed down some during the night. It was looking more and more like he would not reach the Cape until after dark. So, after we finished breakfast, Charlie ordered us to inspect our night vision equipment.

It's a good thing he did, too. We had several batteries that needed changing.

Meanwhile, Bogdon and Toby wired our infra red spotlight into the boat's electrical system. If we were going to be intercepting the creature at night, the big handheld unit would come in handy.

By about 9:30 in the morning, we were all set. Everything had been checked and double checked. And, now the real waiting began.

We could have sat around and got all tense and stuff. But, instead we decided we might as well get in some more fishing while we had the chance and our own boat. So, we set up our poles with wire leaders in front of Clarkspoons and Gotcha Plugs, filled the cooler with ice and soda and slathered on the SPF 45. Ten minutes later we were slow trolling the Cape.

In next to no time, 'Fish on!' rang out right and left. There was a large school of Spanish Mackerel congregating around the lee side of the old granite jetty. Each trail through that area brought multiple hook ups. And, those three pound toothy torpedoes hit hard and fast. Reels were screaming and fish were jumping.

Toby and Freddie also hooked up with some hefty Hatteras Blues. Toby lost his at the boat, but Freddie netted a nine pounder that ate half the paint off his Plug.

We were about ready to head in for lunch when Thor's reel suddenly started screaming! The fish smoked off 150 yards of line before Thor could turn him. Following an epic 40 minute struggle Norse boy boated a 26 lb Cobia, a saltwater resident that looks like a cross between a catfish and a shark.

By then we'd emptied our cooler of Root Beer and refilled it with fish. So, we decided to head to the house and returned to the Camp like conquering heroes! And, after proudly displaying our catch, we spent 30 minutes cleaning, scaling and filleting.

While we were getting fishy, Ms. Mynah whipped up a batch of submarine sandwiches on home baked Italian rolls. We also got chilled summertime side dishes like pasta salad and cold melon slices. It was a cool and refreshing lunch for a hot morning at the Cape. And, after pigging out on the main courses we devoured a large pan of fudge covered brownies.

Following our morning out and that wonderfully large lunch, we decided on a little siesta. So, we climbed up the main building stairs and made our way up to the third story observation deck. It was a good place to relax and watch the world float by.

By now the afternoon sun was beating down on the Island. However, an extended overhang shadowed our position. Plus, that high up we got a constant breeze blowing in off the water. So, we settled ourselves into the rust proof plastic armchairs and got comfortable. No one spoke much as we nestled into our seats. We were too tired. It had been a busy morning and some of us had not slept much the night before. We sat quietly and let our lunch digest, listening to the wind, the crying or the gulls and the restful crashing of the distant surf.

Soon, eyelids were drooping a little and a couple of the guys nodded off for an after lunch shuteye. But, that was okay. It had been a busy morning. And, it was liable to be a late night on the dark water.

There was one Ranger though, who could not seem to relax in our perch above the world. He kept squirming and constantly rearranging. He could not seem to find a comfortable position. Each time he appeared to be settled, he would suddenly sigh deeply and begin wiggling all over again.

Someone had a heavy heart.

About ten minutes in to this anxiety spell, Toby took the initiative. "What's the problem, Bog?" he asked softly.

"Nothing really," Bogdon replied. "I just can't get comfortable."

"You sure that's all there is to it?" asked Toby. "Is there something bothering you?"

"I don't know," Bogdon said. "It's just..."

"Just what?" Toby pushed. "What's on your mind?"

"Well, it's just that I'm worried. What if we fail? Tonight's our last shot. And, what if after all this effort tracking down the whale and all the money and the work – what if we can't save him?"

He continued.

"This was all my idea. And I couldn't sleep last night. I kept thinking that if we don't save the whale, it's going to be all my fault we wasted an entire Summer."

"Come on, Bog," said Toby. "You didn't twist anybody's arm to get them here. We voted on this project. And as I recall the vote was unanimous. We all wanted to take this shot. It's not your fault if it doesn't work out."

"Maybe so," said Bogdon sounding unconvinced. "But, if we don't free the whale, I know I'll blame myself."

"Now, that's just crazy talk," Toby said emphatically. "We succeed or fail as a team. If we are successful, would you take all the credit? No one person gets all the blame – or all the glory."

Charlie spoke up.

"And, if we don't completely free the whale that does not mean that this was all a big waste of time. We may have been here for some other purpose. Maybe to free that sea turtle or save the banker pony. Or, maybe for some reason we haven't learned yet."

Charlie chuckled. "Heck for all we know, there might be another bunch of guys heading for the beach right now - in Virginia, or Connecticut or Maine. And maybe they'll finish freeing Levi if we can't"

The conversation paused as we watched a drifting cloud shading the ocean in front of us. The shadows dyed the water emerald green. Outside the clouded circle, sunbeams mixed the edges into brilliant aquamarines that flowed into deeper water and dark Atlantic blues.

Finally, Bogdon spoke again.

"I guess you guys are right. It's just sometimes I feel like I am carrying everything on my shoulders. Not just the whale, but Mom and Dad and School and the Hobby Shop. Everything."

Bogdon explained, "I think \- if I am just good enough - it will all work out okay. And, everyone will be happy."

"Bogdon," Toby said, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Listen closely. You will never make everybody happy. Ever! Life just doesn't work that way. Even so, don't be discouraged. Remember what Robin Kestrel said the day the Thunderbird flew for the last time?"

Toby leaned in. "Robin said. 'God always has a plan.' And, she was right back then. And, she's right, today. Because, ultimately it is all in God's hands. And, He makes the decisions. Not you and me."

Bogdon protested. "But, bad things happen and life's not fair. So how can I trust God to keep his part of the bargain?"

"You are right," Toby agreed. "This world's not fair. But, the next one will be. So, when bad things happen you have to have little faith that there's a better day coming."

I decided to throw in my two cents.

"You have to quit thinking you are in charge of the whole world," I said. "You are only responsible for the small piece you can actually do something about. So, you do your job. And, let God do His. Grandpa Gus told me something once, and I really believe it. He said: Life's not fair, but God is Good."

I guess Bogdon was concentrating on what we said, because he quit protesting. And, he finally quit wiggling.

So, we sat there in silence looking out on the world. Below us the planet kept spinning like it knew what it was doing. In the distance, waves rolled obediently into shore. Overhead the sun and the clouds took their rightful places against a Carolina blue sky.

And, after several quiet minutes, Bogdon Peabody finally drifted off to sleep.

The afternoon trickled by and one by one, we slipped down from our restful perch. Each Ranger went off to make individual preparations and steel himself for the night's assault.

We tried to appear calm and pretend like the growing tension did not affect us. But, inside, the pressure was building. It was not just Bogdon. All of us were worried we might let down Levi – and our fellow Rangers – at some crucial moment.

I found myself wondering what it would be like if he ' Moby Dick'ed' us again tonight. Our fiberglass boat was larger and heavier than the Zodiac, but we were still not going to win any collisions with the great beast. Plus, rubber gives and bounces back. Fiberglass smashes and caves in. And this time we did not have a chase boat covering our tail.

For no particular reason, I walked down the sandy pathway toward the Ocean. Along the way, I bent over to examine a cluster of wild grapes, and I tried to imagine a midnight smash up with a rampaging whale.

I was deep in thought and did not realize that Shad McReynolds had come up behind me. I did not notice him, until he spoke.

"Jeep? Do you have a second? I want to ask you something."

I stopped in the middle of reaching down for a bunch of tiny green orbs on spindly stems. They reminded me of the yellow Sargasso seaweed that washes up on the island.

"Sure. What's on your mind?" I asked.

"Let's walk down to the beach," he said. "I have a story I want you to hear. It's about Ms. Mynah."

For the next twenty minutes, Shad and I walked the beach just above the waterline. I had my head down, keeping an eye out for any shark's teeth or starfish that might have washed up. But, mostly I listened as Shad related a story that I had not even suspected. And, it surprised me that after almost a week, I did not even know the gentle woman's first name.

From her limited comments, I knew Ms. Mynah grew up in the Carolina low country and lived most of her life near the Cape. During her late nights of nursing, she shared details with Shad that she had not revealed to the rest of us. Like for example, her first name was Nonnie.

As a young woman, Nonnie Eubanks fell in love and married a local fisherman named Sam Mynah. Sam skippered a fishing boat out of a nearby village called Atlantic. Nonnie worked as a deck hand or drove the couple's ancient pickup into Beaufort to pedal fresh fish to tourists and wealthy boat owners.

After years of struggling on the beautiful but begrudging ocean, the young couple saved up a down payment for their very own fishing boat. Coincidentally, the same day they made an offer on a well used but seaworthy vessel, Nonnie discovered she was with child.

Within a year, Sam was busy fishing from the new boat, the Glory Bee. And, Nonnie was even busier raising the couple's infant son, Bobby.

Time passed. Some years were hard and lean and others saw plentiful catches and money in the bank. But, it was generally a happy time. Bobby grew tall and strong and took to the fisherman's life. As soon as he could walk, he was out on the Glory Bee, watching, learning and helping. By the time he was school age, Bobby's heart was set. He was a good student, but his teachers knew he would rather be on the water.

But, the sea giveth and the sea taketh away.

One late October weekend when Bobbie was in the seventh grade, he joined his Father on a floundering trip just ahead of rough weather. There should have been plenty of time to beat the storm. But, mechanical difficulties left them adrift in a turning ocean. Although, a radio message did report the engines were repaired and the vessel would be home for dinner.

A Coast Guard helicopter passed over the boat before the storm hit. The Guardsmen observed the boat under way, about three miles down the ocean side of Shackleford banks. They buzzed the craft a second time and got reassuring waves from the crew.

Then the Glory Bee sailed off and disappeared without a trace.

No radio signals. No wreckage. And, no bodies were ever found.

It was as if they sailed off the edge of the ocean.

The Coast Guard initiated a search of the area. They eventually covered the entire Carolina coastline and went up into Virginia. After two weeks the authorities gave up, but Nonnie Mynah kept looking. For years she combed the ocean, the sound and the beaches. But, she never found even hint of the boat or her family.

I had a large lump in my throat by the time Shad finished his story. But, I struggled to speak anyway.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked. Although I already knew the answer.

"Well, you know," said Shad. "I mean, you are the guy who finds things."

Shad could not bring himself to ask me straight out. But I answered him firmly.

"But, you know I don't do bodies. Not anymore."

"I know," Shad said. "But, she is a nice lady and she deserves some kind of closure."

I stopped beachcombing and looked up into my friends eyes. He had no idea what he was asking me to do. So, I did not really blame him.

"Of course she does," I agreed. "All the Moms deserve closure. But, remember what happened last time?"

He was quiet for a minute. Neither one of us wanted to reopen that can of worms.

"Look, I know it's tough," he said. "But we are here and she needs help. And, no one is going to blame you if you fail."

He paused.

"And this time, no one will blame you... if you succeed."

I looked at the pain in Shad's face and I wondered what he saw in mine. It had taken a lot for him to ask me this. And, I knew he sincerely cared for this sweet old lady. Otherwise, he would have let it drop.

"Please?" he begged. "Could you make an exception? Just this once?"

I really wanted to say no. And, maybe even get mad at him for bringing up the subject. After all, we had been down this track before and it ended in a real bad train wreck. Just considering it, brought back flashes of ugly stuff.

I wanted to say no. But what finally came out was: "I'll think about it."

I walked away. I needed to be alone.

Was I up for this? Could I handle it again?

I just kept walking.

*************

Grandpa Gus always says: There's no such thing as a free lunch. He is referring to back when old time saloons advertised a free lunch buffet for their customers. But, the lunch was not really free. The saloons just charged more for the drinks.

Today, the MacDonald's people give away a million dollars in their monopoly game. But, that money has to come from somewhere. They just end up charging a little extra for every big Mac or Quarter Pounder they sell.

So, there's no such thing as a free lunch.

There are a lot of lost things out there. Some things are scary and even painful to find. Some things may be better off staying lost forever.

And, so I walked the beach alone.

I walked along the pristine island and watched the shorebirds play in the small foaming waves that slid up and fell back, leaving scraps of food for hungry little darters.

I walked and watched a slanted line of brown pelicans gliding down the island. With wings spread wide, they fixed their heads forward holding a position like latter day pterodactyls. They flew without effort. No flapping, just riding the wind.

I walked some more.

I listened to the ocean talk. The warm wind whistled through my ears. And, the sun beat down on a hot and humid Summer afternoon.

And, I shivered.

*************

Chapter 18 - Cape Lookout – Zero Hour

We had a quiet dinner that evening. The food was as good as ever, but no one had much of an appetite. Of course we went out of our way to mention we were going on a big night time fishing trip to cap off our week at the beach.

"What kind of fish can you catch at night that you can't catch during the day?" asked Pam.

"There are several nocturnal species in the area," Bogdon answered. "Flounder, speckled trout and drum often go through powerful late night feeding cycles."

"And Sharks," Shad added. "Sharks eat at night."

"Don't tell me you boys are going shark fishing?" said Ms. Mynah, worry sneaking into her voice.

"No, Ma'am," Freddie answered. "We will definitely be doing our best to avoid the sharks!"

"What about you, Jeep?" Pam inquired. "What are you hoping to catch on this big night time safari?"

"Uh... I don't know," I replied. But, after considering for a moment, I gave her an answer.

"When Grandpa Gus goes fishing he always says he's after 'the Big Fish from the Bible'. I guess tonight, I am hoping to find the same thing."

Pam smiled at my answer.

"Well Jeep, I hope you find your big fish. And, I hope you fellas stay away from those sharks!"

*************

Great Uncle Hank once said, "If you want to find a needle in a haystack, you have to be scientific about it. Otherwise, it's like looking for a needle in a haystack." (And, Uncle Hank ought to know. He's was a flight director for the Space Shuttle program.)

So, right after dinner, the Rangers began the scientific process to pinpoint our whale.

Just before the sun went down, Freddie and Shad called On*Star for one last update on the whale's position. While the trouble twins were cell phoning, Bogdon and Toby unpacked the club's radio direction finder and a simple compass.

The radio direction finder is actually a pretty simple instrument. You point it in the general direction of the broadcasting beacon – in our case the one in the missile attached to Levi's netting. And, the hand held unit receives the signal and emits a continuous series of beeps. If you move the receiver back and forth pointing in that general direction, (called 'Sweeping the Arc') the beep is loudest when it's pointed exactly at the transmitter. Then you use the compass to determine the precise direction the receiver is pointing, and you have what is known as the bearing.

Bogdon and Toby biked two miles up the Island and took a reading on the beach in front of the Light House. Then, they biked back and took a reading on the beach just even with the Center. Finally, they biked two miles down the island and took a final reading right above the Cape.

Returning to the base, they sat down with a map and marked down the three points they biked to. From each mark, they drew a line out into the ocean that matched the three bearings. The lines intersected six miles down Shackleford and two miles out to sea. With a flourish, Bogdon used a magic marker and drew a big red circle around the spot. In case there was any question he labeled the circle LEVI.

Freddie and Shad placed their On*Star map beside the one made using the direction finder. It was easy to see that the plots overlapped and both groups agreed.

Levi was here.

At least, he would be here in about two more hours.

*************

We immediately started hauling equipment down to the pier. It was still early, but we were anxious to get the show on the road.

We carried the air cannon and the net cutting missiles carefully packed in one of our olive drab footlockers. In another box we carried food, water, a first aid kit, and the disassembled whaling spear – just in case. Finally, in a third footlocker was seven sets of 4th Generation night vision goggles. They were the best that money could buy and Charlie already sprayed them down with WD40 to increase their limited water proofing.

The last thing we had to do was return to the center and get into our wet suits and personal flotation vests.

Wetsuits are designed to let small amounts of water flow through holes in the rubberized material called neoprene. The liquid is trapped next to the skin and natural body heat warms it up. It's like wearing a giant form fitting hot water bottle. The circle of warmth helps a swimmer endure extended periods immersed in cold ocean waters that would otherwise lead to hypothermia.

We were donning our wetsuits tonight in case Levi decided we should go for another swim.

Getting into a wetsuit is an adventure all by itself. Almost everyone has a special trick to help slide inside into the tight fitting rubber. But, all the tricks pretty much boil down to either grease or powder.

Most of the guys chose the greasy method. Charlie, Thor and Bogdon were slathering down with Cocoa butter. Shad, who claimed he once used Crisco, was squirting on baby oil. Like greased pigs, they could slip and slide into the tight fitting rubber suits.

Meanwhile, Freddie and Toby where shaking themselves down liberally with baby powder. The powder provided a dryer way to reduce friction between the skin and the neoprene.

I am something of a purist. I prefer to go natural: without grease or powder. That means that I struggle and stretch and fight the neoprene until I work up a sweat. Then the sweat provides enough lubrication for me to squeeze inside.

The good news is that tonight it was pretty humid and wet suits are awfully hot. In no time I was sweating like a stuck pig and the suit slid right on. The top part of the suit was comparable to a rubberized long sleeve shirt. The bottom part was like a pair of biking shorts that went all the way down to your knees.

When Toby zipped up the zipper on the back of my suit, I felt like five pounds in a three pound sack. But, we were finally ready. And, it was finally time to go.

Unfortunately, someone needed to make a pit stop.

"Hey guys? How do you pee in a wetsuit?" Freddie asked the group.

"Well, it's real simple," answered Charlie. "You pee in the wetsuit."

"In the suit?" choked Freddie.

"Why do you think they call it a 'wet suit'?" asked Charlie.

"Is that for real?" Freddie asked skeptically. "If Shad told me that I'd know he was lying."

Charlie laughed.

"I'm not lying to you. There is no zipper down the front. You just pee in the suit. But, you are supposed to be in the water first. If you have to go right now, I suggest you pull it down and hit the john or you will end up leaking onto the floor."

A relieved Freddie Dunkleberger stepped into the bathroom.

"In the future, go before you get into the suit," Charlie yelled after him.

"And, don't leave baby powder on the toilet seat!" Shad added.

Of course it's not easy to get out of a wetsuit, do you business and get back in. And, Freddie took his own sweet time and we were just about out of patience. We wanted to get out on the water and save ourselves a whale!

After what seemed like forever, and several threats by the entire team, Freddie finally finished, and we were ready to go.

"Is there anything else that anyone needs to do before we leave?" ask an exasperated Charlie Sinclair.

I raised my hand.

"Jeep! Have you forgotten something, too?"

"We have all forgotten something," I replied sheepishly. "We forgot to pray."

That stifled the groans, because we realized we needed all the help we could get.

So, we gathered in a circle, held hands and bowed our heads.

"Whose Father?" asked Charlie.

"Our Father," we answered, "who art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name..."

Together we finished the Lord's Prayer with 'Amen'. And, we were finally ready to go. Everything was done. And, it was time to for our adventure to begin.

As a group, we turned and began walking out the front door. And, just as we hit the bottom step we heard someone yelling around the back of the center.

They were calling for Help!

*************

We dropped everything and ran around the Center toward the pleading voice. Stumbling a little in the dark, we got to the rear of the main building just in time to see Donnie jogging out of the darkness. As he emerged into the weak light of the single back porch bulb, we could see he was carrying someone piggyback style. Running to meet him, we got close enough to see it was Pam, and she was crying out in pain.

We assisted Donnie and Pam for the last thirty yards of their half mile jog from the ocean.

When we reached the back steps, several Rangers carefully lifted Pam off of Donnie's back. She sobbed continually as we moved her. We still did not know what was causing her agony. But, under the dim light from a nearby bulb, I could see she was bleeding badly for her right heel.

"Let's get her inside," Donnie gasped.

Bogdon opened the door and we lifted her across the threshold, each of us attempting to carry some weight while trying to respect her modesty.

"Freddie, run grab some towels out of the bathroom," Charlie ordered. Meanwhile we maneuvered Pam down on a sand colored upholstered couch.

"Ow! Ow! It hurts! It burns!" Pam moaned over and over, grabbing her leg.

She rocked back and forth as if the motion could provide some relief from her torture.

"What happened?" asked Charlie. "Was it a shark bite?"

"That's what I thought at first," Donnie replied. "We were wading through the surf and watching the moon come up. Suddenly, she screamed and grabbed her foot. I thought maybe she'd been bit by a shark or stepped on broken glass. But, when I helped her to the sand, I pulled a spine out of her heel. It was from a stingray. And, it must have been a big one."

Freddie came running back into the room with towels that Donnie and Charlie spread under Pam's punctured foot. When they wiped away the blood, I could see she had a hole on her heel about the diameter of a number two pencil and blood was pouring out like water dribbling from a faucet. The pain hit Pam in waves while a deep crimson patch soaked into the couch material.

Donnie took the smallest towel and tried to apply pressure to the wound. Soon blood soaked through the terry cloth. But, after a minute it appeared to be clotting.

However, the pain was relentless. It was shocking to witness. I had never seen an adult in such bad shape. It was frightening to watch as Pam pleaded through her tears.

"It burns! Someone do something! Make it stop! Make it stop!"

I don't know if Donnie or Charlie had any ideas about how to treat a stingray attack. However, no suggestions were forth coming. Finally, someone else had to step up to the plate.

"Get me some real hot water! Quick!" Shad ordered. "Hot water will deactivate the toxin. We need to soak her foot in it for at least an hour."

I jumped to follow Shad's orders. After all, he usually knew what he was talking about. And, I decided it was better to get hot water than to sit there and panic!

I hurried into the kitchen and turned on the faucet in the oversized metal sink. I let the water warm up while I grabbed the large metal stock pot that Ms. Mynah used to make soup. I placed it inside the sink beneath the running water.

Thor followed me into the kitchen and was standing behind me when I tested the temperature of the water with my hand.

"Is it hot enough?" he asked.

"I think so," I replied. "It's coming out steaming."

"Do you think we should boil it on the stove?" Thor suggested.

"That would make it too hot," I replied. "We want to cook the poison – but not the foot."

While we were busy filling the pot, Freddie came running in looking for meat tenderizer. Shad said that since the poison is a protein, a meat tenderizer paste would break it down like a tough steak.

When the pot was half full, Thor took the handle on one side, and I grabbed onto the other. We carried it into the living room and left Freddie frantically ripping through the spice rack.

Pam was writhing even worse when we returned.

We sat the pot down in front of the couch. Then Charlie steadied Pam while Donnie angled her foot into the water. She cried out when he immersed it into the searing liquid, but it seemed to give her almost immediate relief.

"Oh, My Lord, that is the worst pain I have ever felt," Pam cried. "But, that water really helps! At least now I can think again. Before I put my foot in the bucket, the pain was so bad I was ready to hack off my foot with a butter knife!"

Freddie came scurrying in with a blue topped plastic container.

"I found it. Here's the meat tenderizer."

"Pry off the lid and dump half into the water," Shad ordered.

Freddie did as he was told and the orange colored powder dissolved in the blood tinged water to make a muddy brown mess.

Shad took the shaker from Freddie. He got Donnie to lift the foot out of the water and heavily powdered the wound.

But, removing the foot from the heat bath caused the pain to return with a vengeance. Donnie was forced to put the foot back in. So, Shad finally just dumped the rest of the meat tenderizer in on top of it.

Out of habit, he made a comment about cooking 'Pam Foot Soup'. But, even he didn't laugh at the joke.

"Where did you learn how to treat Stingray attacks?" Donnie asked Shad as he tested the water with his finger.

"The Discovery Channel," Shad explained. "After the Crocodile Hunter got stung, they had all kinds of doctors and health officials telling what to do if you got zapped."

"What else should we be doing, Dr. Shad?" Donnie asked.

"There's not much more we can do. Keep adding hot water when this stuff starts to cool off. Give Pam some aspirin or ibuprofen. And, make her as comfortable as possible. The stings are extremely painful. However, they are rarely life threatening. Most people are up and around the next day."

"You'll be okay, Pam," Shad added confidently as he patted her on the arm. "Just relax. You should start feeling better soon."

Pam smiled through the pain. I believe she started to say something. But she suddenly began to shake. Her eyes rolled up in her head. And, she fell backwards onto the couch.

"Oh Crap!" said Shad.

"What happening?" demanded Charlie. "What do we do now?"

Shad replied speaking rapidly with a hint of desperation in his voice. "She's losing consciousness and her muscles are twitching."

He put his hand on her face. "She's also starting to sweat. That means the venom is being absorbed into the body and she's reacting to it."

Shad looked back at Charlie. "The poison is setting off a chain reaction of symptoms. Loss of consciousness, followed by rapid irregular heartbeat, low blood pressure and seizures."

"What do we do?" Freddie cried. "What does that mean?"

"It means that is Pam doesn't get medical attention immediately," Shad replied, "she may die."

**************

Hearing that Pam could die, President Charlie Sinclair took a deep breath and grabbed hold of the situation. Charlie is methodical and knows how to cut right to the chase. And, he can be calm under pressure, even when others are caving in.

Charlie's voice was firm and direct as he ran down our options.

"We have got to do something and we have to do it now. We've either got to get Pam to the hospital or get Emergency services to come to us. Those are our only two choices."

Charlie's calm voice helped to assure the rest of us that things were going to be okay. He continued.

"We could carry her to the boat. And, sail her across to Harkers Island so we can drive from there. Or, we could just run the boat flat out into Beaufort. Either way, it's a going to be at least an hour into town. Then it's another half hour to the Carteret County Hospital on the far side of Morehead City."

"I'm not sure she's up for that kind of ride," said Shad. "The exertion of the trip could stress her heart even more. It may be smarter to keep her here."

"Carteret County Hospital could order a damn helicopter." Toby added in frustration. "If we could just get their attention, it could be here in minutes."

"Freddie," Charlie ordered, "Take your cell phone up on the third floor landing and see if by some miracle, you can get a signal. And, while you are up there, make a quick scan of the ocean. If there's a big Yacht or ship close by, we might be able to get their attention and borrow a radio."

Freddie took off upstairs, while Thor and I went back to the kitchen for more hot water. We got a large handled soup pan and filled it from the faucet.

We returned to the living room just in time to hear Freddie's bad news.

"No signal and no ships," he said, still panting from his three flight sprint.

"The cell phone is out," said Charlie. "And, we probably shouldn't move her, unless there's no other option."

Donnie made a suggestion. "What if I take the boat into Beaufort and call for the helicopter from there."

"It's not great," said Charlie. "But, I don't see another alternative. If only we had some way to contact the mainland," he wished. "If we could just signal them that we were in trouble, they would send someone here to investigate."

"Maybe we could build a giant bonfire?" suggested Shad. "That might get their attention."

"The island is so flat you couldn't see a bonfire a mile away," Charlie complained. "Plus they would just think someone was having a weenie roast on the beach."

Suddenly, Bogdon Peabody jumped up and surprised us all.

"A signal!" he shouted. "We need to send a signal!"

"Ah... yeah. No kidding Captain Obvious," Shad agreed. "That's what we've been saying. But what are we going to signal them with?"

"How about something you can see for nineteen miles?" Bogdon suggested. "How about we use the Lighthouse!"

In retrospect, it seems so obvious. But, when blood is pumping through your ears and you palms are sweating and you can't think clearly - it is really easy to be stupid!

The good news is because it was so obvious we did not sit around discussing it to death. We just divided up and went to work.

Charlie gave us our marching orders.

"Thor, Jeep and I will bike to the Lighthouse. The rest of you guys stay here and do the best you can. Shad's in charge while I'm gone. Freddie, keep trying your cell phone just in case."

Charlie pulled an old throw cover off the back of a nearby recliner.

"We might need this later," he said. Then we ran out the back door.

*************

Chapter 19 - Race for Life

Thor and I trailed Charlie outside and around to the bike rack on the corner of the building. There were several balloon tire beach bikes fitted into the slots, including the ones Bogdon and Toby used on their mapping trip earlier. We grabbed three, jumped on and tore out as fast as we could pedal.

According to the map, it's 1.8 miles from the Camp to the Lighthouse proper. It was a clear night, the wind was light and the moon was almost full. And, at the risk of sounding conceited, we are guys who know our way around a bicycle.

Plus, we'd never been so motivated in our lives!

As we rocketed through the moon brightened night, our bikes kicked up bits of shell and gravel like shrapnel. Since Thor was in the lead with Charlie close at his heels, I was the one getting nicked by the rear wheel discharge. My legs were soon covered with tiny cuts and scrapes.

In six minutes flat we hit the path that splits the Lighthouse and the Keeper's Quarters. As we pulled up to Tizzy's house, we had an unfortunate surprise. The place was dark.

Tizzy wasn't home!

Charlie rode right up to the front door. His bike had a headlight, so he shined it on the wood placard hanging from the knob.

"Closed," he read. "Keeper off the island."

"Great," I moaned. "How are we going to get into the Lighthouse? The door is always locked."

Not knowing what else to do, we hopped off our bikes and ran over to the front door of the Lighthouse; just in case Tizzy had left it open.

He hadn't.

By now Charlie and I were bent over grabbing our knees. We were panting like crazy from the wild ride over. Of course, Thor the athlete acted like it was nothing more than a Sunday stroll.

From out of his pocket, he fished a keychain that had a tiny built-in flashlight. (If the situation weren't deadly serious it would have been funny. We were using the world's smallest light to break into the worlds largest.)

"It's a pretty solid door," Thor observed. "But, the padlock is hanging off of bracket that looks a little rusty. Did anyone think to bring a pry bar?"

"No way. And, Tizzy is too smart to leave anything like that lying around. " Charlie said with at touch of irony, "someone might use it to break into the Lighthouse."

"What are we going to do now?" I asked, panic sneaking into my voice.

"Well, I guess we'll just have to do it the old fashioned way," said Thor matter of factly.

I was not sure what he meant. So, I just watched as Thor moved down the boardwalk away from the tower. About fifteen yards from the door, he stopped. Turning back to face us, he leaned forward and took a three point football stance. About the time he exploded out of his position, it occurred to me what 'the old fashioned way' really meant.

I've mentioned before that Thor is a first string linebacker. However, I may not have told you, Thor is the hardest hitting country boy I've ever seen.

He accelerated toward the Lighthouse. His legs were driving and his arms were pumping. And, about two seconds later he smashed his shoulder on the door, just level with the lock!

"UMPHFFF!"

Of course, I was expecting the door to fly open – or maybe even to splinter. But, Thor smashed it with all the force of a Rhinoceros, bounced off and crumpled to the ground.

We ran over to check on our friend. In the silver moonlight, he was picking himself up. I could tell he was dazed and more than a bit shaken up by the collision. He just wiped sweat and blonde hair out of his face.

"That hurt," Thor said stating the obvious like it was a joke.

Even with the neoprene padding of the wetsuit, he was going to be black and blue in the morning.

He shined the little light on the bracket again. We were pleased to see that the impact had indeed loosened it. Three screws held it into the brick and plaster. The lower two screws were popped out half an inch.

"Well," said Thor. "Looks like about second down with nine and a half to go."

He handed me his keychain. Then he walked back to his starting place and got down into his stance once more.

"All right, Thor!" Charlie yelled for encouragement.

"Let's go Buddy!" I added. "You can do it!"

Thor exploded once more. If anything, this time he looked more determined and was moving even faster when he tackled the door!

"UMPHFFF!"

Once more, our friend bounced off and crashed to the ground.

"Yeow!" Thor said. "That door is tougher than Lenoir Middle's entire front line!"

Charlie and I rushed over and helped him back to his feet. He brushed himself off, as I spotlighted the bracket.

The two bottom screws were completely gone. But, that last stubborn screw was dug in tighter than a tick!

"That one screw is beginning to piss me off," Thor said rubbing his shoulder.

Then he walked slowly back to his starting spot. His face was distorted with intense concentration.

All the joking was over. It was now one dogged but resolute Ranger against one stubborn rusted up piece of steel – Winner Take All.

Thor leaned over. This time he took a four point stance and grabbled the ground with both hands.

Suddenly, Thor leaped from the ground like a Sumo Wrestler stung by a bumblebee. Like an express train, he accelerated toward the door. At the last second Thor pushed off the ground, curled up like a cannon ball, and crashed into his wooden opponent.

"Yeooohhhhwwweeeeeee!"

This time, he did not bounce back or get knocked to the ground. This time he smashed through the barrier and into the entry way beyond.

Son of a gun, that boy can hit!

I shined the tiny flashlight up onto the bracket. To my surprise, that last screw was still there. But, Thor's effort ripped the door side of the hinge clean through. It looked like two giant hands had grabbed the hardened steel and torn it right in half.

We pushed our way inside and Charlie hit the light switch on the wall.

Suddenly we could see. And what we saw was our friend lying dazed on the floor. Together we lifted him up and propped him against the interior wall. He slowly came to his senses.

"I'm okay. I'm okay," Thor protested like a punch drunk fighter.

Then he tried to move and discovered he was not okay. But, like a hard-headed Swede who did not care that he just crashed through a lighthouse door, Thor staggered to his feet anyway. However, he was in no shape to run up 200 stairs and he knew it.

"I guess I'm done," he groaned, shaking his head. "You guys have to go on without me."

Charlie and I did not know what to say so we just stood mute.

"I mean it," Thor ordered. "I didn't break the damn door down just to have a Powwow in the hallway!"

Thor was hurting. He was favoring his right shoulder. But, with his left hand he gave us a thumbs up and a smile.

"Get going," he whispered.

We knew he was right. So, Charlie and I took off up the staircase.

"You're the Greatest!" I yelled over my shoulder.

"A human rhinoceros!" Charlie added as we disappeared around the staircase circle.

And that was the night he got the nickname 'Thor the Rhino'.

*************

With adrenalin flowing, we hit the stairs, our legs pumping like pistons.

Up and down. Up and down. Step after step after step. We circled the tower moving up what seemed like an endless track. It was not long before our legs ached and our lungs burned. But, we just kept moving like we were in some kind of trance or dream state.

In my head the staircase was encouraging me as I climbed. Like the ticking of a metronome our feet slapped against the stairs in a rhythm.

Slap, slap.

Slap, slap.

Slap, slap

But in my head I was hearing:

One more.

One more.

One more.

Around and around we circled. It was dark, and it hurt. The heat inside our neoprene wetsuit skins was unbearable, but we just kept moving.

One more.

One more.

One more.

And, suddenly, the stairs ended. We were at the top.

Moving onto the observation landing, we paused to catch our breath. For the first time, we were aware of the intermittent flashing above our heads. There was plenty of light up here.

"What's the plan?" I asked Charlie. "Now that we're here, how are we going to get people's attention? Do we just shut it off?"

"I've got something a little more specific in mind," Charlie answered.

He moved around the tower to a wooden tool box on the floor. Lucky for us it was unlocked. I guess they figured if you can break down the door and run up 200 stairs, you can have whatever you want.

Charlie unlatched the top and opened it. Using the flashes of light from the level above, he found what he was looking for. He pulled out two sets of welders goggles and handed me one.

I took the goggles and following his example I put them over my eyes.

A few seconds later we stepped into the top room of the tower. Inside, two DCB-24 beacons were spinning twice a minute. Each 24 inch diameter drum contained a Quartz Halogen light, a reflector and a lens. And, boy howdy, even through welder's goggles, those puppies were bright!

Charlie maneuvered around the cramped quarters, making his way to the rotation motor that spun the entire unit.

"First we need to stop the turning," He said.

A second later Charlie found a big cut off lever mounted on the wall beside the motor.

"Attention engine room," Charlie ordered. "All stop!"

He slammed down on the lever.

Immediately, the motor ground to a halt and the beacons quit rotating.

I was caught directly in the beam of one of the 24 inch lights. I blindly staggered out of the brilliance into the shadows.

"Great," said Charlie. "The beacon on this side is pointing almost directly toward Morehead City."

"Now, let's see if we can get their attention."

Ever since we left the Center, Charlie had been carrying that throw cover wrapped around his neck like a cape. I did not understand why until now.

I moved to one side of the Beacon, and he took the other. Then he handed me one end of the cover.

"How's your Morse Code?" Charlie inquired.

"It's a little rusty," I told him. "But I believe I can still remember how to send an SOS. Isn't it three dots, followed by three dashes, followed by three dots?"

"That's right," He confirmed. "So, let's start sending."

Raising and lowering the blanket, we began our transmission.

. . . S

\- - - O

. . . S

Pause.

. . . S

\- - - O

. . . S

It was a beautiful weekend evening on what the North Carolina Tourist Bureau likes to call the 'Crystal Coast.' And, from Beaufort, to Morehead City, across to Atlantic Beach, Salter path and Emerald Isle, tens of thousands were enjoying a gorgeous summer night.

I don't know how many people actually saw our messages flashed from the Cape. And, of those who observed the dots and dashes, I'm not sure what percentage could read Morse code. But, lucky for us, there were enough people who decoded our message, that they jammed every single phone connection to the Carteret County Emergency Response System, calling in for help.

Though it seemed much longer as we lived through it, exactly fourteen minutes elapsed between the time we left through the back door of the Environmental Center and the first emergency call came in to the County Sheriff's Office.

We sent the SOS ten times. We paused and sent it ten more times. After a second pause, we sent it ten final times.

Thirty messages was all we could manage.

If we thought we were hot after running up the Lighthouse stairs in our wetsuits, it was nothing compared to being roasted alive by those giant spotlights in the lamp room. I was ready to pass out, and we were both seeing spots from our punished eyeballs.

"No Mas!" I pleaded. "No Mas!"

Charlie was a little unsteady himself. He did not argue with me. He just threw the blanket over his shoulder, and we climbed down to the cooler observation platform below where we removed our goggles and laid them on the tool box.

A tide of weariness broke over me like the surf. My feet suddenly weighed a ton. But, most of all, I was hotter than I have ever been in my entire life. Sweat was pouring from my body. I could not stand it anymore! If I did not get out of this suit immediately, I was going to dissolve into tears.

I don't know if Charlie realized I was approaching heatstroke. But, he did come over and unzip the top of my wetsuit.

I struggled to pull the damn thing over my head and break free. And, I finally emerged from the neoprene like a butterfly from a stifling hot cocoon.

Sea breezes blow briskly 150 feet off the ocean. And, when I stepped out onto the Lighthouse observation platform and up against the iron rail, a cooling wind poured over my body like cold rain. It was the most refreshing moment of my entire life.

Feeling almost steady again, I helped Charlie with his zipper. He removed his shirt, and together we stood facing into that rejuvenating wind. Once more, we were on top of the world.

It was peaceful out on that little deck. With the rotation motor turned off, there was hardly any background noise. For some time, there was only the whistling of the wind through the iron bars.

After two minutes we perceived mighty engines drumming in the distant night.

"I think someone heard us." I said.

"Sounds like a chopper to me," Charlie replied. "I guess we better go downstairs stairs and meet them."

Charlie climbed up a level and restarted the lamp rotation. Then, at a steady pace, we began descending the two hundred steps down to our door busting linebacker and deliverance.

*************

Chapter 20 – Strangers in the Night

It dropped out of the sky on the back side of the island. Which I guess was sensible, since the Lighthouse was positioned near the calmer Sound shoreline and away from the more punishing Atlantic. But, that was the only thing sensible about the darkened intruder.

Of course we heard it coming. But, we were used to aircraft flying miles above the horizon. This thing flew fast and low, striking out of the darkness. Showing no lights or colors, only the plentiful moonlight revealed the bizarre outline of the blacked out creature.

Like an enormous mechanical bat, it materialized out of the night, perhaps lowered on a giant string. Because there was just no way this impossible beast could ever fly!

More unbelievably, the shadowy phantom transformed itself, as it assaulted our location.

Suddenly, throbbing engines were echoing off Lighthouse bricks and noise battered us from both sides. Our ears were attacked by drumming and throbbing and pounding. Whirlwinds of dust and gravel kicked up from the surface and sandblasted our skin.

"Holy Monster in the Night!" shouted Charlie above the din. "What the heck is that?"

Thor and I stood mute against the wind. We had no answer. At least not until we were bathed in landing light and the creature self illuminated, as it maneuvered toward a grassy clearing 200 feet to the east.

Maybe they lowered the rear facing ramp on the way down, or maybe the thing just flopped open on contact with the earth. But, at the exact instant of landing an infantry squad poured from the back of the aircraft. Running beneath the upward pointed wings with their helicopter sized propellers, the troops established a perimeter radiating out from the craft. Suddenly automatic rifles, grenade launchers and light machine guns were all trained in our direction.

I don't know about Thor and Charlie, but I dropped my wetsuit top and reached for the sky. (And, I almost did a Freddie in the bottoms.) I did not want them to mistake me for a target of opportunity and trigger a one-sided fire fight.

*************

The Marines had landed. Lucky for us they captured Cape Lookout without firing a shot.

They dropped out of the heavens aboard one of their new transforming Tilt rotors, the MV-22 Osprey. The Osprey looks like an airplane but can rotate its wings straight up and then take off and land like vertically like a helicopter.

With U.S. Marines and flying machines, it was Awesome Squared!

We stood like statues as a squad leader came jogging over to our position. In full battle gear, including fatigues, helmet and M-16, he motioned for us to drop our hands. Then he bent inward and yelled above the Osprey's engines.

"I'm Corporal Stringfellow," he shouted. "We were in the neighborhood and heard you guys might need some help?"

Charlie quickly told the corporal about Pam and the stingray. The Corporal relayed the situation to the pilots and the landing troops using the radio mounted into his helmet.

The Osprey engines immediately began revving back up to full power and the Corporal recalled his squad using hand signals. Within sixty seconds, we were escorted through the ramp at the back and the aircraft was buttoned up for takeoff.

Because the Marines practice blacked out assault missions like the one we interrupted, all up and down the nearby coastline, the pilots already knew the position of the former Coast Guard station. They did not need any directions from us. So, seconds later the Osprey raised up to hover just above the ground. Rotating a hundred and eighty degrees, it turned a half circle and faced out into the Sound. And, before we knew it, the Osprey was lurching skyward into the Dark Blue Yonder.

The pilot did not bother fully rotating the wing into its airplane configuration on the short trip to the Eco Camp. He just stayed in the chopper mode and hovered right over. In no time we were landing besides the Camp's main building.

These Marines were in full dress rehearsal for their practice military assault. So, they included a Navy Corpsman in the exercise. (The Marine Corp does not have its own medical services. Medics are borrowed from the Navy.)

As soon as we sat down beside the Camp's basketball court, the Navy Corpsman followed us inside to give Pam emergency care.

A tremendous sense of relief swept over the room as we hurried inside. Shad, Donnie and the guys at the Center were relieved that help was finally here. Thor, Charlie and I were relieved that Pam was still alive.

Twenty one minutes had passed since we ran out the back door.

The Corpsman checked Pam's vital signs, and contacted the Camp Lejeune medical staff on his radio. After consulting with the Doctor on duty, he started an I.V. to stabilize Pam's blood pressure. He also shot the foot full of a painkiller called lidocane. While the fluids began flowing, two bulky Marines arrived with a canvas stretcher and placed our friend onboard. Within minutes, Pam Rockhart was ready to be airlifted from the Island.

"Who's the next of kin?" asked the Corpsman. "Who's coming with us to the hospital?"

"Donnie's the next of kin," Charlie fibbed. "But, she needs us all to go with her."

There was no way we were going to pass up a chance to ride in the Osprey!

"She's a big girl," the Corpsman countered. "Why do all of you have to go with her?"

"Because," said Freddie thinking fast. "We are all minor children. We can't possibly be left here by ourselves!"

The medic was not stupid. He knew he was being played. But, he just smiled and relayed the information back to the pilot. Since the Osprey fuel tanks were less than half full, it would have no problem getting off the ground, even with the additional weight of nine unexpected passengers.

As the Osprey flies it's less than 20 miles from Cape Lookout to the Carteret County General Hospital in Morehead City. It was an awful quick trip, because the pilot rotated the wings and changed the Osprey into an airplane. Then he put his foot down all the way to the floor!

The power of the Osprey was awesome. There weren't many windows to look out, but the rumbling and the vibration gave me goose bumps. We were packed tightly into seats that folded down from the side of the aircraft. And, it's a good thing we were. Because even strapped down in that darkened cabin, you could just feel the mighty engines surging against the night.

WOW!!!! We went from zero to 200 mph, in what seemed like just a few pounding heartbeats.

Pam's stretcher was fastened to some fold down attachments on the opposite side of the cabin, and she made the entire flight laying down. Donnie and the Corpsman sat across from her but that was mostly for moral support. In less than ten minutes we were settling into a grassy lot next to the County Hospital's visitor parking area.

*************

Chapter 21 – ER's and IV's with a Waffle on the Side.

The Osprey hit the ground rolling and the pilot taxied up to the end of the grass. As soon as he popped the ramp down we scurried outside. Two stretcher bearers brought Pam out of the aircraft, with the Corpsman walking along side holding the I.V. bag.

Now, I have gone to a Hospital Emergency Room on more than one occasion. One time I had a bad appendix and once Jenny broke her ankle jumping out of an upstairs window. Somehow she got it in her mind that if she sprinkled herself with gold glitter and thought happy thoughts she could fly. (Little kids will believe anything you tell them.)

Anyway, on previous trips, we rushed to the hospital and then sat for hours before we ever saw a doctor. But, let me tell you what, when you land in the front yard in an Osprey and U.S. Marines carry you into the ER, they do move you to the head of the line.

Half the doctors in the joint came rushing out to meet Pam. And, I believe all the nurses in the place came rushing out to meet the Marines!

It was definitely VIP treatment.

But, before you know it, the Corpsman and the doctors rushed Pam through a door in the back of the ER. Donnie got to go back with her, but the rest of us guys had to find a seat in the family room.

The adventure was over and the waiting began.

A few minutes later, the Corpsman came out and began making his way out to the front door. When he spotted us, he veered over to give us a quick update.

"I'm Corpsman Jones," he told us. "I was the one who gave your friend first aid."

(Like we would ever forget that.)

"I just wanted to assure you that she's responding to treatment. She's stabilized, but I'm pretty sure they'll want to keep her overnight. Although, it looks like she's out of the woods."

We all exhaled in relief. Pam would be okay.

The Corporal continued, "Regardless, it's a good thing you boys got help when you did. She was going South in a big fat hurry."

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you fellows were in the neighborhood," Charlie replied.

"I'm glad we could help," Corpsman Jones responded. "But, I have to tell you guys that coming in to Cape Lookout, we had no idea what we were going to find. We weren't sure if it was a prank or a real emergency. Some in the squad were even hoping for some kind of Al Qaeda plot. They wanted to get in a little live target practice before they ship out to Afghanistan."

"You know Marines," he chuckled.

"Well, we appreciate the help and the ride," said Shad. "You guys are tops in our book. And, that Osprey makes a first rate air ambulance."

"Speaking of which," the Corpsman mentioned. "The Marine Corps loves to get its picture in the paper. And, using the Osprey on a mission of mercy will probably get us a lot of attention. So, our training officer and one of the base's Public Relations people are driving up from Camp Lejeune to interview you. They'll probably be here within an hour."

"That's great," said Charlie. "We appreciate your help, and I hope you end up on the front page."

We all knew the Corpsman had flight to catch, so we thanked him and wished him luck. Then, he shook our hands and hurried out the front door and back to his aircraft.

The big glass picture windows in the waiting room were rattling when the MV-22 rolled off the ground and into the air. The Marines had successfully rescued our friend. Now the Osprey arched up into the night sky, like a guardian Angel returning to Heaven.

*************

So, it looked like Pam was going to be okay. And now, after an hour of continuous heart thumping excitement, we finally had a chance to sit quietly and catch our breath. But, for the first time it hit us that although Pam was safe, we had missed our chance to save Levi!

At that very moment, he was passing the Ecology Camp, while we were sitting in a waiting room 20 miles away.

Everything we had worked and planned for was shot. And, it was more than just punctured pride or wasted effort that brought us down. We had a genuine affection for the big fellow. He was our whale. He was Levi. He had become like a 40-ton member of the family. And, now we could not do a thing to help him.

And, come to think of it, we were sitting in the hospital, and we could not do anything to help Pam either. We were like seven great big blobs of uselessness. And, it was awfully demoralizing.

"Does anybody have a buck?" Shad asked. "I'm so depressed, if I don't get a chocolate bar I'm liable to go postal."

"You realize that using food to self medicate could lead to issues later in life?" remarked Bogdon to Shad's chagrin.

"Yeah?" said Shad lifting his fist. "Well, me not getting some comfort food as soon as possible could lead to a loss of life later tonight!"

Bogdon wisely let the issue drop.

"I sympathize, Shad," I said. "But I believe you're out of luck. You can't carry a wallet in a wetsuit. There are no pockets."

I thought Shad was really going to lose it then. But, we were all in for a surprise.

"Pockets?" Freddie answered. "We don't need no stinkin' pockets!"

I looked over as Freddie sat down at the end of a row of plastic chairs. He whipped off one of his rubber soled pool shoes. Then, he reached his hand inside and pulled out his club debit card.

"Dunkleberger Express," he smiled, holding up the plastic for an imaginary camera. "Don't leave home without it."

Only Freddie Dunkleberger would take a Visa card in his shoe to rescue a whale.

Charlie talked to the nurse at the counter and found out there was a Waffle House two blocks down. He told her that we would be headquartered there for the time being, in case Pam needed blood or anything. And, she promised to tell the Marine Corp Officers when they arrived.

*************

As we walked into the Waffle House, I was surprised to find the clock behind the counter said it was only 10:15 pm. I assumed that it was much later. Maybe stingray venom causes localized time distortions? Or, maybe adrenaline and excitement just makes it seem that way.

Anyway, it was still early in the 24 hour world of the Waffle House. So, we had no problem finding two tables adjoining each other and close to the grill. And, since we were at the beach, no one looked twice at seven guys in wetsuits popping in for a late evening snack.

With Freddie's debit card backstopping us, we were soon plowing our way through mounds of comforting breakfast fare. We attacked the light golden waffles, crispy bacon, cheese eggs and smothered and scattered hash browns with a vengeance. And while the Waffle House experience did not completely get us over our whale depression, we did mellow out a little. Even if we did not have any quarters for the juke box.

We had not been there long, (Shad was only on his third waffle) when two Marine Corp Officers came in the door. Since we were facing the grill we did not notice them until we heard a voice call from behind.

"Charlie Sinclair and the Granite Falls Rangers! I should have known."

"Well, Hello Lieutenant," Charlie replied as he turned to greet his favorite verbal sparring partner.

We had not seen the Lieutenant, since she whipped our tails at the Mud Run. Tonight she was dressed in fatigues instead of her dress uniform or her running clothes. She was accompanied by a second young woman dressed in everyday Marine khakis.

"Gee, Lieutenant," Charlie continued. "You have a habit of showing up again and again. Just like a girl I once knew who wouldn't kiss on the first date."

"We do seem to keep meeting up," replied the Lieutenant. "And like with an old jogging partner, I feel compelled to wave and smile – every time I lap you."

This one was sharp as a tack! And, with the initial batch of sparing out of the way, she got down to business.

"Fellas, tonight I am here in my capacity as the training officer for the MV-22 Night Assault. And, this is Captain Rand from the Camp Lejeune Public Relations Office."

Captain Rand was taller than our recruiter friend and must have been about 5'9". She had reddish auburn hair and large brown eyes. And, she made me wonder if all female Marine Officers were pretty?

"You can call me, Tar," the newcomer announced.

"Tar?" asked Shad.

"Short for Tarawa," the Captain explained. "My father was in the Corps, too."

The Captain got right down to business.

"We're here to find out more about the rescue flight from Cape Lookout this evening."

She pulled out a small electronic tape recorder and put it on the table.

"Would you guys tell us exactly what happened?"

Since Freddie likes to talk the most, he began the story by telling how Donnie came yelling out of the darkness. And, how he carried Pam all the way from the ocean while she was in terrible pain.

Charlie told how Shad stepped up and administered first aid in the first crucial minutes.

I spoke about when Pam began reacting to the poison and how Thor, Charlie, and I biked to the Lighthouse, broke down the door, climbed to the top and sent out an SOS.

Finally, Charlie told them of the Osprey landings at the Lighthouse, the Eco Camp and the trip to the hospital in Morehead City.

We tried not to embellish the story. But, it still ended up coming out like some kind of adventure tale. And, I think the ladies were suitably impressed. Lieutenant Rand even asked to see Thor's bruised shoulder from when he did his human battering ram thing.

"So, all's well that ends well? Eh guys?" asked the Lieutenant.

"Everyone's happy but Levi," Freddie replied a little sarcastically.

Of course the women asked who Levi was. And, since keeping it secret did not matter anymore, Freddie went ahead and told them the real reason we were at the Camp.

The woman sat in quiet fascination listening to the story.

"So let me get this straight," said the Lieutenant. "You guys have spent all summer trying to rescue an entangled whale?"

"Well somebody has to do it," Freddie replied. "Besides, it was not like we were successful or anything."

"But, still," she continued. "You tracked down an entangled whale from a few stories on the Internet. You almost freed him in South Carolina. And, you followed him all the way to the Outer Banks for another shot?"

"That's about the size of it," Shad agreed.

"Well why didn't you go public with this story?" asked Captain Rand. "A story like this is terrific. It has heart, heroism, unselfishness and a poor trapped creature. It would have run in every paper in the country."

"Maybe so," Charlie concurred. "But, interfering with a Marine Mammal is against the law – Big Time. If we got caught within a hundred yards of Levi, we'd be going to jail."

"None of us is licensed to handle Federally Protected Species," Bogdon explained.

"Maybe you aren't," Captain Rand replied. "But I know someone who is!"

Without another word, the Captain pulled out a cell phone and called her roommate at Camp Lejeune and told her to get her kaki covered behind to the Waffle House in Morehead City - on the double.

*************

Chapter 22 – Whale Hunt

Grandpa Gus likes to say: "Whenever God shuts a door, somewhere He leaves a chimney to squeeze out of."

And, we found our exit chimney that night in the Waffle House in Morehead City.

As luck would have it, a few years back the Marine Corps discovered something unusual on their training range at Camp Lejeune. In the center of a long leaf pine tree in the middle of the artillery range, they discovered a nesting pair of rare and endangered Red Cockaded Woodpeckers.

Today at various locations throughout the base you can see trees marked with painted white bands. These bands mark the protected habitat of the endangered woodpecker. And, those bands are just a small outward sign of the immense amount of time and effort the Corps has spent on woodpecker protection. Today, the Camp is home to over 40 red cockaded woodpecker groups and has one of the healthiest population of the creatures in the entire country.

It turned out that Captain Rand's roommate, Captain Allison Presby was the Marine Corps officer in charge of the Woodpecker Rescue Plan. And, not only did she have a Master's Degree in Ornithology, she was licensed by the Department of the Interior to provide rescue and rehabilitation services to injured animals that were found in and around the Camp. And, that included Federally Protected Species!

Over the phone, Captain Rand explained to her roommate about the entangled whale. And, Captain Presby immediately hotfooted it over to Morehead City.

Now, with our Ranger technology and Captain Presby's authority, we could legally make an attempt to save Levi from his deadly harness. But, of course we needed a way to catch up to him first.

Luckily, we were already sitting in the Waffle House with the training officer for the Marine Medium Tilt Rotor Squadron 263 of Jacksonville, North Carolina. She was one of the few people in the entire world with the authority to requisition an Osprey for the rescue mission we were proposing.

She made the call.

At a quarter till 12:00, we found ourselves hurrying back to the open field beside the Hospital. But, for this mission, our mercy flight would be starting rather than ending at the Visitor Parking Lot.

By midnight, we were returning to the heavens aboard the Marine Corps new all purpose workhorse.

Ten minutes later we landed beside the Coast Guard pier where we found our night vision gear, our air cannon and the net cutting missiles exactly where we left them. We loaded up quickly and the hunt was on.

Now, speaking from experience, if you ever have to hunt down a whale in the middle of the night in the Graveyard of the Atlantic, be sure you get yourself an MV-22 Osprey. They are the ideal tool for the job. In fact, if Captain Ahab had one of these babies, the entire novel Moby Dick would have been 10 pages long.

The speedy aircraft caught up with Levi about 6 miles up Core Banks. Bogdon was strapped into a jump seat in the cockpit using our radio tracking device. With the little beeping unit, he was able to guide the pilots into a perfect approach coming in low and slow behind the laboring creature.

The Osprey comes with Forward Looking Infra Red (FLIR) screens for flying in blacked out conditions at night. Against the background waters of the cold Atlantic Ocean, Levi showed up like a nuclear submarine covered in day glow paint.

Meanwhile, Thor was positioned at the open door on the right side of the aircraft. Wearing a harness attached to a cable and a winch, he crept onto the edge of the landing gear well that protrudes from the bottom of the aircraft. It was a perfect gun platform.

Captain Presby was harnessed in right behind Thor. With a night vision camera, she filmed the entire hunt.

SSHHWWISSH!

Reload.

SSHHWWISSH!

The air cannon launched our two mechanical cutting bugs into the netting on either side of the whale. And, just like we planned, they began crawling up the deadly nylon harness.

Levi swam down and up and down and up, porpoising along in the water. And, each time he resurfaced, the infra red lights in the bugs showed that they were traveling closer and closer to the whale's mouth.

Finally, after about 45 seconds, both bugs were in position. Toby used a handheld radio transmitter to send a signal that caused the bugs to begin cutting. And, we watched as the contraptions grabbed and cut and grabbed and cut. Finally, like a lumberjack who saws off the limb that he is sitting on, the bugs cut through the last of the tangles. And, they sloughed off the 40 ton creature – taking the ropes and netting with them.

Levi was FREE!

Inside the Osprey we were jumping up and down and screaming our fool heads off. Hugging and slapping and shaking hands, we celebrated the big creature's freedom, like we were the ones who had been dragging the deadly harness for months.

The Osprey continued following the whale. We gained a little altitude and dropped back to watch Levi traveling sleek and uninhibited across the dark water.

That's when an amazing thing happened.

Levi disappeared for a few seconds and then suddenly he rushed to the surface and jumped halfway out of the water!

The whale fell over on his side splashing with a huge splash.

He knew he was free. He knew his ordeal was over and the embrace of death was gone. He jumped and splashed and jumped and splashed. You never saw a happier whale in your entire life.

After a few minutes, Levi submerged and did not come back to the surface. We figured he was probably off catching up on all the things he missed while in the net's deadly grip. We hoped he was off hunting up a long overdue feast or maybe the attention of some attractive female whale.

With some regret, our pilots turned the Osprey around. Minutes later they set us down on Cape Lookout, next to the Eco Camp's main building.

It did not take us long to carry our equipment down the loading ramp. And, then Captain Rand used her camera to get some footage of us lined up against the Osprey.

After promising to email us copies of the video, our Marine Corps allies packed into their aircraft. Then, the ramp came up and the engines went to full throttle. And, once again, the Osprey arched off into the darkness. And, even though we knew there weren't many windows, we waved anyway, as our new friends flew off into the night.

*************

It was barely one o'clock in the morning. But, we badly needed to get out of our wetsuits, shower and go to bed. And, that's exactly what we did.

However, I should mention that as we lined up in the bathroom that night to brush our teeth, I definitely saw Charlie Sinclair washing lipstick off the side of his cheek.

Charlie Sinclair, you sly old dog!

**************

Chapter 23 – Unfinished Business

It had been a late night. But, we were up early that next morning anyway. We had one final task for our last full day at the Cape.

Might as well get it over with. It's not like I slept much anyway.

Of course, Pam was still in the hospital, and I am sure Donnie was in a chair beside her, just in case she needed anything – like maybe a hand to hold.

We were relieved that Pam was okay and happy that Levi was finally free. But, this final chore had me feeling grim and sober.

I was not sure what Shad told Ms. Mynah. I did not ask him. I wasn't talking much.

Before we left a couple of Rangers nibbled cereal bars and sipped bottled water and Coke. Then, without discussion, we headed down the gravel pathway to the pier. As, the rocks crunched beneath our flip flops, I wished over and over this was just another whale hunt.

But, it wasn't.

It was another breathtaking sunrise on the Cape. The birds flew and the clouds blew and the fish jumped.

Yadi, yadi, yada.

I did not notice this incredible beauty because I was trying to keep from puking, while a pool of battery acid burned through the lining of my stomach.

I carried a bottle of Ginger Ale left over from Shad's bout with the stomach flu. When things got really bad, I twisted off the cap and took a small sip. We had not reached our boat yet, and it was almost gone.

We finally arrived at the weathered old pier and moved precisely down the ladder, one by one. Thor and Charlie held on to the dock and tried to steady the boat for Ms. Mynah.

Of course, she smiled when they offered her a hand. She did not need our help. She'd been sailing these waters long before any of us were born.

Soon everyone had a seat. Except, I was standing behind Charlie at the wheel.

Without fanfare, Charlie started up the engines. We cast off the bow and stern lines and headed away from the dock and into the dark waters of the Sound.

Charlie looked at me for a direction.

I reached down and took Ms. Mynah by the hand. And, I shut my eyes just to be sure.

"Out the inlet," I said. "Head East, down Shackleford Banks."

Charlie gave the engines some gas, and we were making about half speed ten minutes later when we cleared the channel between the islands and curved around Shackleford. Small waves were breaking along the shore, but we stayed out beyond them in fairly calm waters.

Charlie started to power the engines up some more. But, I caught his hand. He looked up, and I shook my head.

He powered down instead.

It's a wonder that Ms. Mynah did not cry out, with the way I squeezed her hand. Of course, I did not mean to. It just happened.

"Head into shore," I ordered.

We'd come less than a mile from the inlet. And, I was sure that Nonnie Mynah had covered this ground a thousand times. She must have wondered at my direction. But, I did not look over at her.

I felt Charlie make a straight and steady approach to the beach. Then, at the last moment, he powered up the engines, and we rode a small wave into the shallows.

Nonnie was now was squeezing my hand as hard as I was squeezing hers.

As straight as an arrow, the boat moved through the thin water and knifed onto the sand.

"Out guys!" Charlie ordered.

He shut off the motors and hit the switch that raised them out of the water.

"We have to get out of the wave zone before we broach or capsize. Push or pull. Just get us onto the beach!"

Six Rangers jumped out into the knee deep Atlantic. I guess it was cold, but I did not notice.

The other five grabbed onto the boat and maneuvered her up onto the sand where she beached like a fish out of water.

I just walked away.

Charlie's orders were being drowned out now by distant shouts and screams. A lot of ships had smashed ashore on Shackleford Banks over the last five centuries. Echoes of those sailors were still here.

This would be much worse than last time.

Behind me, the guys were grunting and shoving. But, I stumbled forward. The Ginger Ale was long gone. Suddenly, my vision evaporated. It was like a crisp television picture that breaks down into pixels. The world collapsed into swirling gray dots, floating in a sea of red.

I staggered forward, my eyes closed. At least, I think they were closed. And, as the wet sand dried under my feet, I doubled over as a searing pain knifed through my side. I yelled as the muscles in my right leg cramped like a painful vice.

I did not know if anyone was following, but about 30 feet farther, I fell to the sand. From there, I crawled another few feet and collapsed.

My ears were ringing and my hands were shaking. I could not see a damn thing. From the dunes, it probably looked like I was having a seizure. It finally sunk in that someone was standing over me. I reached out and caught an ankle. It was Thor.

I don't know how many times he yelled, "Is this the spot?"

I closed my eyes tighter and nodded. I tried to speak but all that came out was a sobbing sound. I curled up in a ball with both hands holding my stomach. Then, I felt arms around me. Toby and Freddie pulled me off to the side.

"He's burning up," Toby shouted. "Let's get him over to the dunes. Maybe there's some shade up there!"

They half carried and half dragged me up to the grass line. I was deposited beneath a small bush with soft pointed leaves that rustled in the ocean breeze. It provided enough shade to get my head out of the early morning sun.

I was delirious, but I felt cold water pouring across my scalp.

"There are more bottles in the boat," I heard Toby yell. "Run. Get all you can. And, hurry!"

Time passed slowly. But, eventually there was more cold water. And for a second, I was mostly conscious again.

I shook my head and ran my hand over my face. I brushed water out of my eyes.

When I finally felt good enough, I sat up, rolled over...

and vomited Ginger Ale into the dry white sand of Shackleford Banks.

I was not aware of much at this point. But, I knew that somewhere a woman was crying.

*************

The sea keeps her secrets.

The Glory Bee was forty-six feet long and fully rigged with more than a mile of cable and winches and rope. There is no telling how much netting, she carried. And, of course, there were two people aboard the day she disappeared forever.

Charlie and Thor and Shad dug a hole ten feet across in the sands of Shackleford banks. They dug down below the water table. And, all they ever found was a simple brass bell with the inscription: Glory Bee, Atlantic, NC. 1976.

Of course, I did not see it until later. Until after the guys carried me home and put me to bed. Bogdon and Freddie jury-rigged a stretcher from boat paddles and rain ponchos. Otherwise, I would not have made it.

By noon, I was back at the center passed out in my own bunk. After hours of fitful sleep and dreams I would like to forget, I staggered into the shower and washed off sand, vomit and tears.

Nonnie Mynah spotted me as I dragged my wet and brittle body into the living room. She hurried over, put her arms around me and helped me into a large recliner.

Once I was seated, Nonnie put her arms around me again. She thanked me over and over. And, I felt warm tears falling onto my arm.

They were mostly hers.

After a few minutes, she left my side. But, only for a moment.

She returned with a cold wet washcloth for my head, two ibuprofen – and fresh bottle of Ginger Ale.

*************

Chapter 24 – Finishing Touches

In the middle of the afternoon we got a call that the hospital was releasing Pam. She would be hobbling for some time, but there was no permanent damage from her run in with Mr. Ray.

Just after 3 o'clock, we loaded up into the rental boat and made the trip across to Harkers Island. At Pamlico Jack's, we switched to the big white van and Ms. Mynah captained us down the back roads to Beaufort. And, from Beaufort we crossed the old draw bridge to Radio Island and then the massive intercoastal bridge to Morehead City and the mainland.

About five o'clock, we pulled up out front of Carteret County General. Donnie was waiting under the drive through cover as we pulled in. Two pretty young candy strippers rolled Pam out of the Hospital in a wheelchair. I wisely kept my seat effectively blocking Charlie from jumping out of the van for a flirt fest. That way Donnie was able to load Pam up with a minimum of fuss and bother.

But before we left town, Shad pointed out that it was almost dinner time, and we did not have any food waiting for us back at the camp. So, Charlie made a proposal, ratified with a quick club vote, to treat everyone to a celebration dinner at the "Sanitary Fish Market". So, Donnie pulled of the main highway and headed towards the Morehead city waterfront where the Sanitary is a local institution.

Dinner that night was excellent. We ate as much fried and broiled seafood as possible, saving up culinary memories to tide us through our upcoming return to mountain fare. And, afterwards we fed leftover hush puppies to the seagulls from the dock beside the restaurant.

But, Pam was still a little tired. So, rather than stay and explore the waterfront, we headed back down the road to Harkers Island. And, for an hour and a half, we were eyewitnesses to blood orange streaked sunset skies that stole our breath, and capped off our unforgettable week at the beach.

*************

The next morning we awakened to a spectacular going away breakfast. Ms. Mynah prepared bacon, eggs, biscuits, fresh fruit and some homemade breakfast pastries that were like manna from heaven.

After we ate, we cleaned up, packed up and took one last walk down to the Cape. The cold morning water foamed over our bare feet. Small fish jumped in the surf and an enormous Vee of brown Pelicans (close to a hundred) came gliding down the beach, like they were gliding in to say good bye.

And, Freddie Dunkleberger found the most sought after treasure on the island: a beautifully intact Scotch Bonnet seashell. He could not wait to take it home to his Mom.

But, time was short.

We barefooted back to the Eco Center, where Donnie came walking out to meet us. He seemed a little tentative. He had something on his mind.

"Guys," he finally said. "I hate to be a problem. But, Pam has a whole group of ninth graders from Fayetteville coming in this afternoon. And, I don't think she can handle them with her bum foot. I was thinking that if you don't mind, I could stay and help her out."

There was a pained look on his face. He did not want to let us down.

"Unfortunately, you guys will have to find someone else to drive you back to Granite Falls."

"Don't worry about it," Charlie assured him. "We talked it over last night and we thought you might want to stay around for a while. In fact, we've already made arrangements for an alternate way home."

"Who did you find to drive you home? Is Miss Mynah going to do it?", Donnie asked.

"No," replied Charlie. "She has some personal stuff she needs to deal with."

He slapped Donnie on the back. "But it's okay, we'll get home anyway. You just take care of each other. And, enjoy the rest of the summer."

We all shook hands with Donnie so he knew there were no hard feelings. Then, we hurried back inside to finish packing so we would be ready when our ride arrived.

*************

THE END

It was a sleepy Sunday afternoon in the little mountain community of Granite Falls, North Carolina. It had been a quiet week in this shady little outpost. And, the people of Granite Falls luxuriated in the simple pleasures of small town living. And, they enjoyed their unhurried, uncomplicated and predictable seven day respite.

Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary had taken place for the last week. There were no science fair explosions, no high flying UFO's and no reports of rocket powered bicycles outrunning sheriff's deputies.

It had been like a vacation in this serene mountain town and Sunday afternoon was starting out the same way. Comfortable clothes replaced church clothes. Sunday dinners became leftovers and dishes in the sink. Recliners all over town were in their full setback positions as drowsy eyes chose between television and napping.

But, the quiet stillness of the weeklong vacation was coming to an end. And, excitement was back on the horizon for this little enclave. The peaceful Sunday afternoon in Granite Falls was interrupted by a growing rumble in the distance. And, the stillness of the day gave way to trembling.

From out of the East, vibrating up the Catawba valley came the unmistakable sound of a VM-22 Osprey's huge growling engines echoing in the distance.

The vacation was over.

The Granite Falls Rangers were coming home from the beach.

************

About the Author

Matt Musson was born in Austin, TX and grew up in San Antonio. He earned two degrees at the University of Texas and moved east to work for Ross Perot as a Systems Analyst. He has developed systems for Planters Peanuts, LifeSavers Candies, Sara Lee, and Bank of America.

Matt is currently in North Carolina developing banking software and working part-time for the Charlotte Bobcats. He has four incredible children: Skye, McClain, Granath, and Chandler. Matt collects vintage rodeo belt buckles and Indian jewelry when he is not prospecting for Carolina gold and emeralds.

He is a contributing author to the non-fiction anthology Sports in the Carolinas: From Death Valley to Tobacco Road. He has two baseball novels available online: The '51 Rocks and Batboy on the Worst Team Ever. Other Jeep Muldoon adventures include The Mystery of Merlin's Magic and The Arrow That Would Not Miss. And, he is currently working his first full length fantasy story: The Lone Star Wizard.
