Chapter 13: The Storm

The weather was languid, the lake was languid, and, most of all, they were languid. They drifted rather than sailed.

It was so hot, the science girls had begged an egg from the kitchen and actually tried frying it on the stones. They were delighted; after half an hour (so a slow cooker, it’s true), the fried egg was ready.

Marie, three keen girls, the girl whose dog had died, and Clive, that was the sum total of the sailors on this, the hottest day. They could have taken two or even three boats (two of the keen girls were easily able to cope); but they all agreed that sailing was less of a priority, and drifting on the cool water was more important. They were all in swimming costumes; they were going far out into the lake and then would jump off. There would be no capsize practice today, there wasn’t enough wind to turn the boat over.

One girl had brought a bar of chocolate. She was dark haired; and was the only girl who could wear the compulsory lifejacket as a sexy fashion accessory; she somehow managed to arrange it so it emphasised her developing cleavage. She was also cast-iron proof that you don’t need to be blonde to be a ‘dumb blonde’. The chocolate melted and leaked in her pocket (of course) and she looked like she had a bad case of diarrhoea. Since the flow of chocolate disappeared from her mid-thigh, under her shorts to who knows where, Clive would have wiped it off her happily. Her two friends started doing precisely that; their fingers caressing her smooth, shaved legs; lifting her shorts, and then taking them off. They were laughing, at him!

“Bet this is like one of those videos boys watch, isn’t it Clive?” Now she was in a swimming costume, the brown chocolate streaks reached her groin. Two girls were licking her, front and back, getting closer and closer to her slightly bunched costume between her legs. Milly was watching, eyes wide; even she was drooling a little.

“Okay, stop now girls!” said Mairie “Carmen can wash the rest off in the lake. Clive will have a heart attack if you go any closer to her bottom!” The girls looked at him and he felt like prey again. Seemed there was more than the chief alligator to worry about.

They were a mile from shore; the leaders should have been watching more carefully, but there seemed no wind to worry about. They’d had the warning of storms, but the debilitating heat had made them lazy; they weren’t thinking properly. Then they saw the clouds at the far end. They were yellow. They were threatening. They were moving down the lake fast. As the group looked, there was flash, even in the full sun, they saw it. Then came the crack!

“Fuck Me!” Clive said, “What the fuck is that?”

Marie told him to mind my language. “Quite right, sorry.” Then she said “We should row.”

Well, even if they’d had oars they wouldn’t have made it. They had one small paddle. Usually this was needed just to row out from the shore to put sails up, or row the ten yards back in. “Right, no need to panic, get the jib down. Marie, you and I should drop this sail and tie it up with a minimal amount left. No-one moved.

“Carmen! Jib! Now!” The main sail had a single set of reefing points, there would still be far too much sail up. They could have taken it right down, but then they would have been at the mercy of the waves and wind completely.

“Look!” shouted Milly in the midst of all the activity. A small canoe was paddling down the lake, the canoeist was paddling like billyo. He (they all assumed it was a he) was trying to outrun the storm; why not head for shore? He was panicking apparently, he was from the boys’ camp, had come out beyond the safety zone, and now was in a blind funk as the storm advanced, blocking the view up the lake completely.

Marie and Clive lowered the sail to leave just a tiny triangle. He had no idea how much to leave; it was all guesswork. Then they took one of the mooring ropes and wound it round and round the boom to tie the sail down. Clive knew, he’d always been told, never reef the sail to the boom, tie it to itself, but they had little choice, or time, the bunched up sail was bulky and foot of the sail was in a track along the boom. Thinking back, he had no idea how they could have used the reefing cringles in the sail anyway. The wind started to increase.

“Maybe we should have kept the sails up and sailed down the lake?” said Marie.

“We wouldn’t have made it; I’m sure.” Clive wasn’t, but they had a crew, one was crying a little, the others were white with fear, the wind hadn’t arrived yet! “We could have tried for the island, but if we hadn’t made it, the rocks round that island would be deadly. No, not deadly Milly. I mean dangerous.” Actually he thought deadly probably was the right word. “All checked your lifejacket ties? Good.

It’ll be fine, just a short sharp storm.” He didn’t feel that confident, but one has to show leadership.

They saw the low clouds flash and crash and the wind started up, first from one way, then the other. It was hard to know. Under the clouds the winds would be from everywhere, including down! The waves had been building in front of the clouds; Marie was on the helm and he was on the main sheet. Carmen and Arctura (that was what she called herself; renaming herself after some brief pop idol, at least it wasn’t hyphenated) were sitting in the well looking out. “That boy has fallen in!” It was true, the canoe had upturned on a wave and tipped him out. That was all they needed.

“Right. You two point at where he is. Don’t take your eyes, or your finger off him.

Kelly-Ann, Milly, you two be ready with the bailers, we’ll need them soon I think.

We need to rescue a boy; not a buoy.” It was a slim attempt at humour.

They started towards him. By now, even with the small, miniscule, sail, the wind was driving them forward. Waves began to splash over the side. The wind would veer and turn and then nearly knock them flat. The peculiar thing was that, with an object in mind, everybody went quiet and focussed. Jo-Lene could not see the boy, she just saw them turn away from the camp, and safety, and head further out into the lake. She admitted later that she swore an expletive for the second time in her life, and then apologised to God and offered up a prayer. Perhaps it helped.

They were fifty yards from him, he was clinging to the upturned craft. That, at least, was the right decision, he said later he’d thought of swimming ashore but he was frightened of being told off for losing the canoe. So, right decision, for the wrong reason.

The rain hit the boat. Visibility dropped to 10 yards at most. “Keep pointing where you saw him last” There was hail in the rain. For a group of people in teeshirts and swimming costumes, being hit by hail was bloody painful! Luckily it didn’t last, it was just a short shower of pain. It was also cold. They were all shivering by the time the rain passed. Marie hoped that the boy had just held on.

“There!” Yes, he was still there, 30, 20, 10 yards. Marie told Clive to take over, so, no pressure then. She was assuming Clive knew how to pick up a body overboard when the wind was coming from everywhere at once! Surprise! He’d never practiced that!

Perhaps the prayer did work. As they edged closer, at a couple of yards away, the wind briefly died. They drifted to him and three girls pulled him in. He was conscious, just, his main concern was still that fucking canoe. Clive tied it to the back but said he’d cast it adrift if it affected the control too much. Then Marie pulled it in and tied it, front and back, to the side. Yes, that made for less drag. “Good idea.”

They turned for home, it seemed a long way away. The shore of the far side of the lake was closer, but very uninviting: rocks, trees to the shore and, as they watched, a large tree gave up the struggle of clinging to the low cliff and fell from the edge into the lake. No, the camp, with its little beach was safer if they could get to it.

Overloaded now, the boy lay, seemingly comatose in the bottom. His skin was bluey-white. “Carmen, Arctura, could you wrap yourself around him to keep him warm?” said Marie; ‘another obvious idea I’d missed’ thought Clive. It probably wasn’t their idea of getting off with a boy, but still ... Milly and Kelly-Ann were bailing constantly, and fighting a losing battle, but they were slowing the inevitable swamping.

By half a mile from the shore, they were knee deep in water and the boat was wallowing. The two girls and boy were all shivering on the forward bench. The three bailers (Marie was taking turns now) were done in. It had taken three hours to sail back; all of them were now moving rapidly towards hypothermia. So much so that they didn’t even see the inflatable come out to them. Jo-Lene and a man were in it. They tied a rope to the bow and towed the sailing boat back that last half a mile; they figured that was safer than trying to transfer people. And then they were swarmed over by camp friends, two to a body, lifting and cajoling them out of the boat and helping them to the showers. No one even thought to question why two boys were taken into the girls block. Something else for the rescued boy to tell his friends.