War Canoe

Written by Andrew Duval from California, USA

The midnight sea sparkled in the moonlight. Along the beach, turbulent waves crashed against boulders dotting the shoreline. The stars of the milky way, free from the chains of city lights, shone defiantly, splattering the night sky with speckles of gold and blue. I gazed at the brightest star from the mound of sand that my head rested on, marvelling at its beauty. The star grew larger and larger until it exploded into the beam of a flashlight shining into my eyes, erasing the late-night mosaic as a voice rang out in the distance, “Rise and shine! We’re heading back!”

I remember how the sun peeked through the grey clouds that had previously shut us out from the sun’s warmth. I remember yearning for the sun to dry our soaked bodies dejectedly plodding our way back. I remember the calm chant to keep pace on our journey to our campsite on the beach:

“One” 

“Two” 

“One” 

“Two” 

We murmured the pace of rowing, sliding our paddles into the water on each “one” and seizing them from the tight grip of the ocean with every “two”. Sea mist launched into our faces as we inched closer to the beach in massive 8-seater wooden canoes that conjured images of ancient Viking raiding parties. The blurred silhouette of a 20-foot-long wooden boat with its paddles sticking out like a centipede’s legs could be seen every hundred yards, masked by the fog that had settled above the ocean. Though the other centipedes had legs that moved in unison, ours moved randomly, at each rower’s will. Occasional whoops and hollers rang out in the distance as other canoes sped ahead.

       “One” 

                  “Two” 

       “One” 

                   “Two” 

“We need someone to yell the pace,” Nathan, another scout in my troop, called out. I wanted to, but I wasn’t used to raising my voice. I remained silent.

       “One” 

                  “Two” 

       “One” 

                   “Two” 

“Jordan, you do it,” Nathan commanded. 

I responded reluctantly, my voice muted by the ocean's furious splashes against the canoe. Being from a reserved family, I didn’t feel very comfortable shouting. We never sang or danced, or did anything that would risk us looking ridiculous. 

       “One” 

                  “Two” 

       “One” 

                   “Two” 

“How dare you try to go faster!” The ocean mocked with every spray of mist dampening our hair, obstructing our vision, and irritating our legs. My voice was hidden by the sound of paddles scraping the sides of the canoe and splashes of water.  The cries of the Pacific only served to spur me on though. 

       “ONE” 

                  “TWO” 

       “ONE” 

                   “TWO”

“Kelp forest ahead!” Nathan shouted. The disappointment brought by the announcement rested heavily on our already sore shoulders. I was afraid that once we entered the forest, the kelp would get tangled with our paddles and slow us down. A few hundred feet from our swampy conundrum was the shoreline bristling with boulders larger than houses. If we didn’t paddle hard enough, the current would push us towards the jagged cliffs and rugged beach, leading to a violent collision with the army of rock sentinels. My mind raced, imagining the rocky shoreline strewn with wood, life jackets, and blood. 

I reached out as far as I could to paddle and yelled louder than I had so far, hoping to invoke the morale needed to fight the relentless pull of the ocean. The kelp ominously danced, grabbing onto my paddle. 

       “ONE” 

                  “TWO” 

       “ONE” 

                   “TWO”

“DON’T STOP PADDLING!” I screamed. I flicked off the kelp that had latched onto my paddle and dug into the forest. A kelp leaf landed on my lap, filling the air with its pungent scent. Flies crowded around the leaf before I disgustedly picked up the slimy mess and threw it overboard. My shoulder erupted with every pull of the oar, but I kept yelling and kept rowing. 

We sluggishly fought our way out of the conglomeration of soggy kelp and back into the open seas, approaching the beach, our final destination. As we clambered out of the canoe to carry it ashore, I felt lightheaded and nauseous, every swallow scratching at my throat and causing it to roar in pain.

---

"Rise and shine! We’re heading back!" 

The breathtaking mosaic that had lit up this night sky was fading, as a curtain of dark grey clouds closed over it, ushering in the early morning. My sleeping bag rustled as I squirmed out, sand falling from my hair to the ground. After closing the last pocket of my backpack, I stared at the scattered reflection of the retreating moon on the turbulent seas. Fatigued, I trudged along the soft beach until I reached the shoreline.

“Jordan, can you yell the pace again?” Nathan asked. Our canoe had entered the water for our return journey. 

"Sorry, but-" I swallowed, my throat still raw, “I don’t think I can do it again,” Nathan’s face fell. 

“Adrian?” Nathan inquired. 

“Sure,” Adrian nodded. 

       “One” 

                  “Two” 

       “One” 

                   “Two”

Lazily, we dipped the oars in and out. Due to the exhaustion of the prior day’s journey and the fact that we were on our way back, we were in no rush to arrive at our destination. The lightheaded feeling crept back in – a combination of seasickness and exhaustion. I began to feel hot, like a frosty winter night when the blankets are just a little too heavy and thick, leaving you the choice between freezing or overheating. Although the air was cold, although the clouds crowded out the warmth of the sun, my skin was still burning. I felt trapped by my lifesaving device. Should I take off my life jacket? I think I might throw up. I decided to just loosen it. Being a boy scout, I wanted to stay prepared for any scenario. Still feeling queasy, I took a sip of water and immediately began to retch. I leaned over the side of the canoe, threw up, and wiped my face.

       “One” 

                  “There was no two...”

“We’re parallel to the waves for god’s sake!” Nathan cried out. 

As I opened my water bottle to get rid of the taste of vomit, another scout leaned over to throw up. The predatory Pacific seemed to sense our blunder, as the whispery slosh of a wave lapped against the side of the canoe. 

My water bottle tumbled out of the hull. 

A pair of shoes skidded off the bow seat. 

The blood rushed from my stomach, and my eyes got wide as dinner plates. 

The bow of the canoe wavered like a boxer that had been struck by a right cross plush to the jaw. It began tilting to the left. As the canoe leaned over to slip into subconsciousness on the watery canvas, it ejected us one by one like synchronized swimmers. I tried gripping the gunwales and leaning to keep the canoe stable, but I could not avoid the imminent doom. I plunged into the ocean. 

The freezing grasp of the Pacific pulled in my body. I could see nothing underwater but the mosaic. The sea was nothing but deep and dark, with orange life jackets sprinkled across it. I could hear nothing but muffled cries. Amidst all the panic, our life jackets lifted us back to the surface. 

As the canoe evicted the last scout from its hull, it rolled onto its deck and guzzled ocean water to let its belly fill.

For a moment, all you could hear were the waves crashing against the shore. Our bodies, supported by bright orange life jackets, bobbed in the open sea. 

“Now what?” I asked the heavens. 

“Wait for help,” someone responded. 

I chose to grab onto the canoe and hold on so I wouldn’t drift away. As we waited, I began to shiver violently, the cold water penetrating my sweater and draining my energy. I saw my lifeless body floating to the shore as a hiker doubled over in horror. I saw a man washing dishes while watching the 11 o’clock news. The anchor man solemnly reads off tonight’s lead story: “Coming up…tragedy strikes, as eight scouts drown off the coast of Catalina Island.” The dishwasher sighs and then continues scrubbing the plates wondering where to grab a drink after his shift. 

“Hands off the canoe!” A scout ordered. 

“Al-Alright” I stuttered, my words a staccato from the shivering. The lightheadedness was making me forget the skills that I learned and rules that I followed as a scout. I could have made the boat sink… I pushed myself away from the canoe, which resembled our coffin as the ocean jerked it around. 

“Sh-shouldn’t w-w-we get in the s-s-survival float circle to p-preserve heat?” I asked, or rather, murmured. No response. Had I said it loud enough? Had I said it at all?“ I needed a bath anyway,” Nathan grinned, interrupting my thoughts, “it’s probably warmer than the camp showers.” 

I clutched my legs to my chest to stay warm. Then it happened. I saw a white blob slowly climb over the horizon. “There’s a canoe!” I screamed, “There’s a canoe!” We began to cry for help and saw the white blob slowly turn toward us. Ripples in the water obscured the blob every few seconds as my eyes were barely above water. Nathan’s face lit up as the blob grew larger. As it came close, the scouts within it began paddling backward, bringing the canoe to a stop. 

“Our canoe capsized,” one of our scouts told them, stating the obvious. 

“We can see,” a man on the canoe responded. “We’ll go find the ranger’s motorboat and get help.” 

The paddles on the canoe began to move, sending it away. I began to shiver again, even more furiously. Scouts felt more exhausted as the Pacific devoured our body heat and energy. Later, another canoe arrived. At the same time, we heard the sputtering noise of the motorboat cruising in, sending ripples across the already choppy water. The man on the motorboat began to shout instructions, telling us to align the canoes such that they were perpendicular and flip the canoe over so we could row back. 

“We need four of you holding onto the side of the rescue canoe to balance it, and the other four lifting the capsized one!” 

I opted to hold onto the side of the rescue canoe. I mustered all of the strength I had to drift towards salvation, latching onto the deck of the rescuing canoe. A tanned, muscular permed teen noticed my shivering and asked, “Everything alright?” 

“Y-yeah.” I lied. I didn’t want to ask for help, but wanted it to be offered. 

“Alright, we’ll get you guys out of here, I have the canoeing merit badge after all,” he smirked as they got ready to lift the canoe. 

The rescue team’s canoe wobbled as they struggled to haul the canoe onto it, sending more waves through the already choppy water. and filling my mouth with salt. “One, two, three, PULL!” They screamed, but their violent pulling caused the rescue canoe to tilt perilously, its occupants gripping the sides so hard that it left marks on their hands. “I think we need to wait for another canoe,” a rescuer gasped.

So then we floated. Waiting for help to come, again. The peace was interrupted by a yell though, “Hey there’s a kid turning blue!” 

The motorboat quickly navigated its way through the masses of lifejacket-supported scouts to find the sufferer of hypothermia. As he was granted salvation from the cold, I watched in jealousy, wishing that I too, was turning blue. 

“Am I blue?” I asked. 

“A little; help will come,” the rescuer responded. 

Help did come. After more excruciating minutes, a second canoe glided onto the scene. I continued to hang off the edge of the rescue canoe and watched as the second canoe aligned itself parallel to the first, forming a “T” with our canoe. The ranger told two of the submerged scouts to jump on top of our upside-down canoe to pop the other end of it into the air. The rescue canoe then worked in a concerted effort to pull our canoe across the center of theirs. As they flipped our canoe upright, it spat out most of the water it had drunk.

The rescuers then slid our canoe back into the sea, like a gracious whale grateful to no longer be beached. “T-t-t-thank you so much!” I grinned while shivering. 

We all climbed back in one at a time. After believing that we might never be rescued, I was overjoyed to be out of the water. Although a few of the paddles had been lost to the depths of the seabed, we rowed with what we had. Seven boys and an adult, all soaked, some with paddles, and some furiously paddling with their hands. 

The sun rose behind the stark cliffs of Catalina Island with jagged edges that cut into the sky. The heat from the sun began penetrating our clothes and removing the seawater from them, while the adrenaline from the rescue slowly neutralized my shivering. 

As the canoe shivered, climbing onshore, we jumped out of the canoe and back into the ocean—no longer our captor. While I watched the sunrise, I faced the waves, no longer parallel. We pulled the canoe up from the water, carried it onto the beach, and then placed it down in its station for well-deserved rest and recovery. 

While I winced from the pebbles digging into the soles of my feet, the ranger strolled towards me. Hooked onto his fingers on each hand were the collars of my sneakers. Beads of water dripped off the laces as the ranger handed my shoes to me. I was relieved to be reunited with the soaked hunks of canvas and amazed they survived the swim. I cradled the shoes in the crevice of my elbow and began unbuckling my lifejacket with my other hand. I peeled the vest off my shoulders, grasped its collar, and placed it on the rack to join the rest of its fellow orange foam soldiers hanging at rest. I smiled and nodded at my lifejacket, saluting its service and thankful for helping me survive War Canoe.