The pain and the exhaustion have taken their toll. Hypothermia is my constant companion. I know I can’t go on. With an anguished soul and with tears in my eyes I roll onto my back one last time and I exclaim, “Lord, I can’t do this anymore!”
My leg is screaming in pain, yet I have not stopped kicking. Looking up at the birds silhouetted with the stars of the heavens, I cry, “Lord, if these seagulls are my guardian angels, tell them I am sorry . . . I’m sorry; I let you all down.” Barely able to continue breathing, I whisper, “I just . . . can’t . . . do . . . this . . . anymore. I am not going to make it . . . Sorry.”
I heard the gulls
I heard their cry
I heard them talk
I heard them sigh
I heard them ask
I don’t know why
But I will wait
Till the time is nigh.
Just as the words leave my lips, I hear, in the distance, waves hitting a shore. I force my groggy mind to perk up slightly and listen again. Splash . . . splash . . . I do, I hear waves against a distant shore again.
“Yes! YES! I am going to make it! Just do it, man!” A surge of energy prompts me to keep going.
Kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick, over and over again. More of the same but now with some glimmer of hope.
I strain my eyes to see into the distance. I can’t tell. It’s so dark. A black mass of land silhouetted against a black sky. I think I can see the trees that crest Hall Hill . . . perhaps. This is encouraging. I prepare myself mentally for land. What will it be? A beach? I doubt it. Very few beaches around here. It will be a rock face of some form.
My mind races to a story I read of a 72-year-old American that fell off his boat off the coast of Costa Rica. He landed on the only minuscule beach available surrounded by massive cliffs. At least these cliffs shouldn’t be massive.
Kick, stroke, kick, stroke, kick, stroke . . . come on . . . where is it?