L O S T Application.

After lunch at Peace & Plenty, a hotel that serves a mean mahi-mahi sandwich, we move our boat over to an anchorage off of Stocking Island very near to Zephyr. I had previously acquired a map of the walking trails of Stocking Island so I have Dad drop me off and we all plan to meet at Chat N Chill, a little bar on the other side of the island, in just under three hours. The trails are very nice with sandy paths that cut through dense dark green foliage.

I figure if I just keep taking paths to the right I will end up on the south side of the island near the bar, unfortunately I didn’t really examine the map in detail and once I looked I found there are absolutely no paths that do this. All of the area is private, but what can I do? Swim back? I have already lost one camera to the sea and I would really enjoy not doing that again. How bad can it really be – there has to be a road of some kind or something. No. There is no road and soon the clearings just turn into dense forests. I give up avoiding the poisonous trees and just start pushing through plants. Halfway through the first private stretch I run into a home complex, even though I try to avoid being seen I run into an employee. He guides me in the right direction but assures me that there is no way to get to Chat N Chill from here, unless it is by boat. I am sweating, scratched, bleeding, and lost and actually am kind of having fun. I see another opening so I start climbing a densely wooded dune, at one point I have to crawl on my hands and knees all the while talking to the snakes asking them to spare me.

Quote from the map: “There are no poisonous snakes here, but spiders, centipedes, and snakes do live in the underbrush and will bite if disturbed.” (Thank goodness I only skimmed the map and didn’t read this before my crawling.)

I am getting close to the top when something tugs at the hair near my forehead. I know this feeling from all of my exploring as a child on Trenton Island. I have just walked into a spider web, but this is different. It’s a thicker, stronger, fuller tug – this is a huge web, so I slowly back out trying not to offend the web’s owner. And there he is. The spider is about two inches in diameter, not thick like a tarantula, but is lanky with a small body splotched with black and red and long, long claw-like legs. I start talking to him, which I tend to do in times of panic – just talk it out, rationalize it. The spider doesn’t seem angry, but instead just confused – “Do I try to eat this girl?” kind of confused. He has probably never seen a person before because no one is dumb enough to come out into these woods with the snakes, centipedes, and spiders. I politely say goodbye get to the top of the dune and finish walking through this private section on the Atlantic side beach (since there is no road, the beach is the safest path).

I have an hour before I am supposed to meet the parents at Chat N Chill and I have finally come to another path – one that brings me so very close to the bar. Unfortunately, I have to ford a small cut. Only about 20 feet wide and deceivingly shallow - crossing this would save me another hour to an hour and a half of toiling around the lagoon. I had computer class in school, therefore I played a heck of a lot Oregon Trail. This should be a cake walk. But once I get up to my shoulders in the water I realize that fording this river would cause me to lose all of my extra wagon wheels or maybe three of my crew would die of dysentery (or in non-Oregon Trail speak, all my things would get wet). Well, I guess I have to go all the way around. Really though, how much worse could it get?

After a bit more of beautiful ocean walking I come to Treasure Trail, ah thank goodness for having trails again! My nice sand path slowly degraded and became covered with about a foot of black water. The trail seems to have intersected the mangrove swamp. I trudge through the water conversationally asking the baby barracudas and leaches to please leave my toes unharmed, by this time I must have looked seriously crazy. Luckily, no other person was out there. It was only me, the creatures, and the mosquitoes relentlessly giving me Malaria. The trail after the ten or so feet of mangroves returns to the nice sand again and brings me to the beach! All that glitters is not gold and this beach soon turns into sharp, pock marked cliffs which after attempted to climb near shore ultimately defeat me and I must return to the woods. With only ten minutes to five pm I emerge to Volleyball Beach and the Chat N Chill bar, where Dad has been drinking all afternoon. I stick to Vodka Tonics in hopes that the Quinine will cure at least one or two of my cases of Malaria.

For your appreciation, on arrival to Volleyball Beach after my harrowing hike I was greeted by the lovely sight of the garbage house for the bar. This is my kind of bar.