Surviving Assateague Island

I went camping alone at Assateague Island. I wrote this while I was there. My vacation took an unexpected turn. So did this story.

Monday

   Walk-in tent camping on Assateague Island in the summertime can be a wonderful experience; a beautiful island oasis in the sand where you can roam with wild horses on pristine beaches, and walk under moonlit skies as luminescent waves crash on the beach. It can also become a nightmare; a windswept outer island where bloodthirsty mosquitoes pierce sunburned skin, and the only escape from the unrelenting heat of the sun is from storms of biblical proportion that make even the hardiest camper wonder if they will survive Assateague Island.

   My campsite is awesome! It’s a walk-in tent campsite in the sand nearest to the beach, with lots of privacy. This could be an awesome camping trip, if only the weather cooperates. The rain fell in buckets last night, forty days and forty nights worth all in one night. Just when I thought it couldn’t rain any harder, it did. I was up all night in my tent holding up the tent walls from the torrent of rain and wind in what felt like a losing battle, wondering if the next lightning strike will kill me. The rain finally stopped at dawn, and I was able to sleep for a few hours before the stifling heat of the sun turned my tent into an oven.

   I head down to the beach with my camping chair, portable camp table, backpack and cooler. You can take Steve out of the mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of Steve. One minute the heavens look like they’re going to open up with another forty day, forty night deluge, the next the sun comes out from the clouds like the shy sand crab that keeps peeking at me from his hole in the sand.     

    A young couple brave the rough surf and lose all dignity as they get tossed about, reinforcing my thoughts that today isn’t a good day to take a swim. I contemplate walking back to my tent just over the sand dune, but decide to stay on the beach a little while longer. By the looks of it, the weather will decide for me. I sit and watch the clouds paint the sky gray and dark blue, and wonder if I’ll find what I’m searching for here on this windswept island.

    I run into another camper as I walk back to my campsite. We say hi to each other, and he asks if he can take a look at my campsite. When we get there, he looks around, and asks if I’m camping alone. I tell him yes, and I can see his mental shield going up, obviously thinking that camping alone is kind of strange. I want to say, “Yes, I’m alone, pathetically so. Do you think I want to be f*****g alone, surrounded by families and couples, talking to my f*****g self all the time?” One thing my Psychologist Doctor Lisa told me after I said I want to be a writer is, “You are a writer.” That helped me immensely and made me feel good about myself, and I decide to wear it like a badge. So I tell the guy, “I’m a writer”, and I can sense his mental shield lowering. Apparently that’s acceptable in his judgmental mind. Then he asks me, “What kind of writer?” Now I start to feel a little angry that I have to fit into his box in order for him to understand ans except me, so I said, “The sad, depressed, lonely kind of writer that surrounds himself with what he wants more than anything in the world to make the emotional pain so intense, he finds release the only way he can; he writes.” His smile began to fade, and it looked like his brain was going to explode. He attempted a wave with a half-frozen smile on his face, said “good luck”, then turned and tripped as he stumbled out of my campsite, awkwardly smiling and waving again as he left. He definitely had system overload, and I half expected to see smoke coming out of his ears. Yes, I am a writer…

    I met a beautiful woman on the boardwalk that leads to the campsites as I was carrying gear to my tent. She smiled at me, and kept smiling as I smiled back in a shy manner. I saw her again at dusk at the same spot. She said hello, I said hi back, and we both watched an ocean storm in the distance. I didn’t know what else to say, but I wanted to keep the conversation going, so I said, “I just had peanut butter and jelly.” I thought to myself, I’m such an idiot, peanut butter and jelly? Is that all I can come up with? But she laughed a little and smiled, liking what I said, and told me her name is Christie. I told her I’m Stephen. The conversation continued, and I had a feeling she liked me. A small girl around six years old walked up to her and called her Mommy. Christie picked her up, and told me she thinks it’s important to take her children camping. Just at that moment, finger lightning reached out from the ocean sky above, basking her in a beautiful indigo blue and sand beige glow I’ll remember forever.

    I met Christie’s husband at the parking area when I went back to my car for more supplies. He told me they’re probably going to leave because of the weather. He said they have three children ages six to twelve, and he’s worried we might get another bad storm. They’re going to stay inland at a hotel tonight. We talked about how strong the storms were last night, how the rain came down as if you were in a car wash, and he mentioned during the conversation that he and his wife slept in separate tents. Separate tents… It was mentioned in a casual way as part of the story, but I didn’t hear the rest of his words, my mind recalling the beautiful vision of Christie basked in the glow of finger lightning in the ocean sky above. The rest of his conversation went something like, “Blah-blah-blah, blah-blah, blah, blah-blah-blah-blah…”

    At nightfall, I decide it’s time to pull out the pineapple flavored rum that I brought along. I’m usually not that big of a drinker, but on this outer island I will drink like pirates of days gone by. It turned out to be a beautiful night. They even allow dogs here! I sit on the picnic table drinking my bottle of rum, watching the stars above, mesmerized by the beautiful sounds of the croaking of the frogs and the waves crashing on the beach, and I think to myself, I will definitely do this again.

    I saw a light out of the corner of my eye as the one tent left behind by Christie and her family lit up. I turned to get a better view, but the light disappeared. This was strange. I thought they went inland to stay at a hotel for the night. Could it be the beautiful woman Christie returned? I didn’t hear any voices from their campsite, so if anyone is there, they’re probably alone. I drink, and then drink some more as I watch for a light to reappear, but the tent remains dark during my drunken vigil, and I figure it must have been my imagination.

 

Tuesday

   Words of advice; never swallow toothpaste. Trust me. I was brushing my teeth at the water fountain outside the bathhouse this morning when a pretty young woman in a bikini walked up to get a drink of water. I was pretty much finished up by then, and it was time for the spit. The girl, however, threw me off as she smiled and walked right in front of me, then bent over to drink from the fountain. As I stood inches away from her, frozen in shock, I accidentally swallowed my mouthful of toothpaste. I remained calm, cool, and collected while suppressing my urge to choke and gag. She finished her drink, turned to walk away, glanced at me with a sly smile and said “See ya” which made me momentarily forget about the whole toothpaste thing. I attempted a reply, but all that came out was a dribble of toothpaste as I choked and gagged, then choked and gagged some more, turning red from both embarrassment and choking. I tried to put on an air of confidence, attempted a smile and waved back, like I do this all the time. She laughed at me. Well, at least she thought it was funny. I thought to myself, I’m such an idiot. But I couldn’t help but laugh at me too.

 

   Christie and her family came back today, and it looks like they’re here to stay. They all walked down to the beach and waved to me as I was sitting on my picnic table drinking a cup of coffee. I waved back as they continued up the boardwalk over the sand dune. Christie kept looking back, and I swear she was staring at me.

 

   Later, as I was packing my backpack to go to the beach, she came back to her campsite alone. I donned my backpack and chair, and started walking to the beach. Christie timed it perfectly as she caught up to walk beside me. The voice inside my head said “She’s married Stephen… It’s all just a figment of your imagination...” I said to her I thought they decided to leave. She said they decided to stay a while. I told her how beautiful it was last night. She said, “I know, the croaking of the frogs was mesmerizing.” Between the unfathomable coincidence of her statement about the frogs, and the realization she was all alone in her tent last night, I froze in my tracks. My jaw dropped slightly as I asked her, “You were here last night?” She gave me a sly smile and said “Yep.” Damn… She said in an open question kind of way, “So, what brings you here...” I said “I’m here to write. After a failed marriage five years ago, I lost everything but the shirt on my back, and I’ve been trying to find meaning to my life ever since.” She said “How sad… I hope you find what you’re looking for.”    

   I sit here on the beach with Christie and family fifty feet to my left. I write in my notebook, and watch the birds and the sky and the waves and the women. I sit in the sun until I burn, even with SPF 50 sunblock on. I decide to take a swim. As George in Seinfeld once said, “The sea was angry that day my friend…” and quite fitting today. I fought against the waves and the current in what turned out to be a losing battle, and decided to cut my swim short. The sea was angry indeed as I stumbled, or rather washed, ashore.

   I walked back to my campsite to relax from the stress of hanging out on the beach, and I laugh at myself thinking, how the hell can you get stressed out sitting on the beach?

   I think Christie is getting to me, but more likely, it’s probably just a hangover, and decide it’s time for a little hair of the dog that bit you. That saying dates back hundreds of years, and if you were bitten by a dog back then, the remedy was to clip off a small piece of hair from the dog, make a paste out of it, and put it on the wound. I look for hair on the bottle of rum, but can’t find any, so I drink it instead. It’s so beautiful here! Life’s a beach, and then you fly! I drink to pirate ghosts and say “Yo, ho, ho, an’ a bottle of rum…”

   I walk to the outhouse and run into Christie again, and I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. We say hi to each other, and she tells me she just started camping last year. She thinks it’s important for the kids. She said I look like I go camping a lot. I tell her I do, usually up in the mountains. She asks if I’ve ever seen a bear, and I feel as if I’m in my glory as I tell her about some of my bear encounters. She said she would love to see a bear in the wild. She’s only seen bears in zoos. I had an urge to ask her to come with me to the mountains where we can watch bears together, but think better of it. She says she wants to stop by later with a pen and paper so I can give her some camping tips.

   On my way back to my campsite, I met the husband again. We introduced each other. His name is Jim. He asked if I came alone, and I said yes, I came here to write. He asked what I’m writing, and I was prepared for an answer this time. I said I’m writing memoirs, a ‘what’s it all mean’ kind of story with a little satire thrown in, and I also like to write poetry and song lyrics. He asked if I’m a musician, and I tell him I play guitar and sing. He said he brought a guitar that he made out of mahogany, and maybe he’ll bring it over later for me to play.

   This is getting interesting, but I feel somewhat overwhelmed. I’m just not used to all of this attention. I came here to get away from it all, to absorb the solitude with every inch of my body, to go deep into the heart of my soul and write about the endless search for meaning to my life. In a way, this attention makes me feel good inside, although I’m hoping Christie shows up with the pen and paper, and not Jim with the guitar…

   Later in the evening, Jim invites me to their beach fire. Their daughter wants to hear me play guitar. He brings his guitar for me to check out, and it’s a beautiful guitar. I play it and compliment him on his craftsmanship. He heads down the beach and tells me to play as long as I like, and come down to the beach later. As I was playing his guitar, Christie came to visit. I confess to her that I’ve been drinking. It turns out, she’s been drinking too. She’s been drinking her husband’s beer, and I can tell she’s not too fond of it. I pull out the bottle of rum from my backpack with a grin on my face. She gets excited and asks if she can have some. We pass the bottle back and forth, and I say in my best pirate voice, “Yo, ho, ho, an’ a bottle of rum, an’ all that.” She laughs and tries to mimic me in her pirate voice, “Yo, ho, ho, an’ a bottle of rum, an’ all that.” I correct her, saying you have to say it like a true pirate, with your tongue not touching the roof of your mouth when you say the word ‘bottle.’ She tries again, and this time sounds like a true pirate. We laugh and drink and I think to myself, I want this moment to never end…

   We head down to the beach fire where Jim and the kids are. Christie and I share the rum, Jim drinks his beer, and we talk. They are really nice people, and they make me feel like a true friend. I give Jim back his homemade guitar, pull out my Martin Backpacker guitar, and Jim and I play guitar and sing. Well, I did the singing, Jim just hummed a little. I felt honored that they befriended me, and their daughter wanted to hear me play. I play guitar and sing my heart out on a moonlit beach in a place I was beginning to call home.

   We part ways at the end of a beautiful night, and I stagger back to my campsite. I realize that I never saw Christie and Jim kiss or hug each other. Maybe, just maybe, they always sleep in separate tents. Stars fill the heavens above, and I feel at one with the world as I drink and dance and sing under a surreal sand beige and indigo blue glow. Yo, ho, ho, an’ a bottle of rum, an’ all that…

Wednesday

   Assateague Island is having a blood drive today. All blood types are welcome, and it isn’t voluntary, it’s mandatory... I staggered out of my tent this morning, and I hear someone walking on the boardwalk yell, “S**t! F**k!” As I wonder what’s going on, I feel an itch on my leg. I look down and see a mosquito biting my leg. I swat it away, and notice several more hovering around me. Up until now, the mosquitoes were only a minor nuisance walking on the boardwalk from the parking lot to the campground. The parking lot’s about 200 feet from my campsite and it goes by a lot of bushes. My tent is near the beach, and up until now, the southerly ocean breezes kept the mosquitoes at bay. Today, the winds aren’t as strong as they were, and they shifted from a southerly flow to a westerly flow. The mosquitoes are biting even here near the beach. I hear another curse as the guy makes his way to the campsites. I have to go to the bathroom really bad, and contemplate putting on bug spray, but decide against it. I’m not a big bug spray person. I walk down towards the boardwalk, and immediately I’m swarmed and bitten all over by mosquitoes. This is the worst I’ve ever seen, and realize now why the guy was cursing. I think about running back to my tent and getting out the bug spray, but I have to pee so bad I have no time for delay. So I swat away the whole walk, afraid to run because it’s taking everything I’ve got to hold my bladder. There are literally over one hundred mosquitoes swarming around me, using my body as a windbreak, feasting on my blood. My skin is wet from my own blood as I swat the mosquitoes. Walking down this boardwalk is like walking the plank on a pirate ship. “Aye, matey, it’s time to walk the plank!” I make it to the outhouse and think to myself I’m never, ever, walking down here again without using bug spray. The young woman I swallowed toothpaste for yesterday came out of the outhouse as I got there, and she obviously didn’t use bug spray either. She says hi, but she’s so distressed by getting bit she hurries by, swatting away the whole time, then breaks into a run. Oh well, so much for romance…

   I survive walking the plank, and make it back to my tent. Between the heat and the mosquitoes, I know the only relief is on the beach. I quickly grab my things and head to the beach. It’s so much nicer down here. The winds are stronger, the air is cooler, and there are no mosquitoes making me walk the plank. As I’m sitting here writing, two girls about sixteen come walking by in their bikinis, and they stop right in front of me twenty feet away with the waves at their feet, pivoting and dancing in the sand somewhat erotically. As their dancing continues, I begin to think that maybe they’re closer to eighteen, and not sixteen. I sit here at a loss of what to do as they dance in a very mature way, sneaking looks at me and giggling. I look around and behind me, thinking there has to be some young guy sitting here, but I’m the only one on the beach within a hundred feet. I’m baffled by this attention, so I just sit and watch the show. I begin to feel guilty, though. Do they realize how old I am? Oh well, it’s cute and flattering, but I don’t attempt any conversation. After about five minutes, they give up and walk away. My daughter would be proud of me, although I’m half hoping they come by again and put on another show, for entertainment purposes only... I even contemplate the moment in a “What’s it all mean” kind of way. Youth dances before me, reminding me of what once was, and what is yet to come. What I can’t figure out is, what is now? Where am I in this life gone astray? What does it all mean? Tears escape my eyes, reminding me of the pain still inside, the heart still broken, the soul still lost…

   Later in the evening at my campsite, the winds pick up, and the mosquitoes and I agree on a temporary truce. Christie’s eight year old son came over and asked, “Steve, do you want company?” I said sure. Christie appeared from behind the bushes with her kids, and they sat down with me while we talked. It was awesome. I felt loved, like I was a part of the family. Jim joined us a short while later with beer, I break out my rum, and we talk and drink. Sitting there, I realized Christie and Jim are special people, and so are their kids. Jim talks to me about life, work, people, and he’s an extremely intelligent guy. He’s an engineer, and he breaks down the psychological makeup of groups of people like a mechanic breaks down an engine to see how it works. He’s also a bit on the artistic side, and I’m impressed.

   As the wind died down, the temporary truce was broken by the mosquitoes, and Jim suggested we go down to the beach to escape the mosquitoes. He heads down with the kids, and I share my rum with Christie as we talk and take it all in. I say to her “Yo, ho, ho, an’ a bottle of rum, an’ all that”, and she repeats me with a laugh and smile. To quote Dickens, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” So fitting for this moment as I realize I’m getting attached to Christie. Why are they always married? We head down to the beach to join Jim and the kids, who are talking with some people at their fire. We all talk and drink on the beach under a moonlit sky. Christie and I share the rum and laugh and dance like Johnny Depp and Kiera Knightly in Pirates of the Caribbean.

   It was getting late, and they all headed off to bed. I sit alone at my campsite, watching the stars in a moonlit sky. I finish off my bottle of rum, mesmerized by the sounds of the waves crashing on the beach and the beautiful croaking of the frogs. I dream of Christie basked in the sand beige and indigo blue glow of finger lightning under an ocean sky…

 

Thursday

   As like every morning here, I wake early due to the unrelenting heat of the sun and stagger out of my tent. It’s going to be another hot day today. I walk the plank to the bath house, forgetting about my pledge the day before to use bug spray, and get eaten alive by mosquitoes as the blood drive goes into full swing. I swing my arms and run to the bath house.

   I make it back to my camp after walking the plank, and my skin feels like one big sunburned pin cushion. I’m tired of the sand that gets everywhere, and there is no escaping the sun.  

   Christie comes over and asks if she can bring the kids up to my campsite to make lunch. The bugs aren’t as bad here at my site. Jim’s packing everything up. They’ve had it with the sun and mosquitoes, too, and are leaving today. She says if they didn’t have kids, maybe they would stick it out.

   I really do enjoy the attention of Christie and the kids. She makes lunch and we talk. Christie tells me she’ll always think of me when she eats peanut butter and jelly, because that’s the first thing I said to her when we met. She asks where a good place would be to go camping in the mountains, and I write down some good campsites. Christie asks me to tell her more about my marriage, because something just seems to be missing. I just then realize she’s been asking a lot of questions about my past, and I’ve been answering in piecemeal, not really wanting to talk about it. I ask, “Why? What’s missing?” She said, “You told me you lost everything but the shirt off your back. Why did you lose everything? Didn’t you hire an attorney? Something just doesn’t make sense.” Jim calls over from their campsite and asks Christie to give him a hand. I try to fill in some of the details about my failed marriage, but there’s just too much to tell. Tears begin to flow as I tell her, “I did lose everything but the shirt off my back and the rest of the clothes I was wearing that day. I don't know why you can't understand that, can't understand the emotional pain I was going through, that I was too traumatized to ever go back. I lost all of my material possessions, but they could always be replaced. What I really lost was everything that was close to my heart. I lost my family, my wife, my daughter. I lost love. I lost my dogs, my “baby boys” Blue and Thunder. We were pack. I lost everything I truly loved. I lost everything I lived for. I lost my life… Does that make sense to you now?” Jim calls over a second time, “Christie, come here!” In an awkward moment, she says she’s sorry and she knows it’s a bad time to walk away, but she’ll be right back. I think she felt bad bringing me to tears.

   I decide at that moment to go down to the beach. I put on my backpack and tell the kids I’ll be back. As I walk up the plank, I can’t stop the tears. I make it over the dune and see a herd of horses walking along the beach down at the water. I walk down to the water, put my chair and backpack down, and join the majestic horses as the tears flow. We walk together for a while along the ocean’s edge. Why? Why did she press me about my past? Tears still flow as I leave the horses and take a swim in the rough Assateague surf. I look back and see the horses pause to watch me fight through the waves and the tears. I begin to let the current take me, but then think of Lisa, my anchor, my savior, and I swim back to shore. I walk back to the horses, and one of them greets me with a nickering sound as I walk through the herd.

   I make it back to my chair, sit down, and write. I glance back up the dune hoping to see Christie coming down to say goodbye, but know in my heart I’ll never see her again. Clouds begin to fill the sky, and I think now would be a good time for a storm. My storm... my rain... forever and ever and ever rain…

   I wonder if I’ll weather the storm. What happens after the storm? Will the sun shine again, or will there always be a storm? Clouds continue to increase, and the always strong winds get stronger. Waves pound the beach with relentless fury. I glance up yet again at the empty dune, wondering if they left. I came here to Assateague Island for the solitude, and I met a wonderful family. I felt a part of something I haven’t felt in years. I felt loved. Now that they’re gone, the loneliness seems so much lonelier. The day passes by for what seems like forever, and I wonder how long the night will last.

   I walk back up to my campsite, knowing that they’re probably gone by now. All I can taste are tears as I eat a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, thinking back on my first encounter with Christie. Peanut butter and jelly will never be the same.

   After eating, I decide to go down to the beach with my camera. I see the herd of horses about a half mile down the beach, and figure walking down to them will be good therapy. It’s turning out to be a beautiful late afternoon as I walk along the low tide sands. The clouds remain mostly inland, and the sun is still shining here on the island. Several pelicans fly over the ocean parallel to the coast in their line formation. There’s just a smattering of people here, giving the beach a somewhat secluded feeling. I get closer to the horses, and it looks like it’s a standoff between two herds. The horses I walked with earlier were heading to another herd’s territory. This is just what I need as I get excited and pull my camera out of the case. The scenery is beautiful! Children are playing in the sand, ocean waves lapping at their feet, and the horses are up ahead. The kids are laughing, digging a huge hole in the sand at least three feet deep, with water pooling at the bottom. What I would give to be young again…

   I reach the two herds, and it is indeed a standoff. They stare at each other, occasionally neighing, some scratching and stomping the sand with their hooves. I take pictures, loving the moment, and realize I will be ok. I think I started falling in love with Christy. When she persisted on knowing about my past, I broke down from the freshly exposed wounds that took years to heal. I came to get away from it all on a relaxing vacation, and my heart gets broken.

   I continue to take pictures as the one herd decides it’s time to go back home, and they walk over the dune into the sunset. I capture this beautiful, meaningful moment in my mind forever. I put my camera in its case, and smile in wonder at the healing ability of a precious moment. Feeling proud of myself, totally lost in the moment, I watch the horses walk off into the sunset. I turn to walk back down the beach, and fall face first into the huge hole that those kids were digging. Luckily for me, the bottom was filled with three inches of saltwater that softened the blow. Through the fall, I subconsciously held my camera high above me, and it didn’t get damaged. As I lay at the bottom of the hole choking on sand and saltwater, the father of those kids comes over and asks if I’m ok. He reaches down to offer me a hand, but I find the dignity between spits of sand to say I’m ok, then awkwardly climb out of the hole. The father watches me with concern, thinking maybe I’m not ok. I reassure him that I’m fine, and with a smile I say, a little sarcastically I might add, “That sure is one nice hole your kids dug...” He begins to smile back, but stops in a half-frozen smile, not sure if it was a compliment or an insult. I continue smiling, wave and walk away.

   As I walk down the beach holding my stiff neck and spitting sand, I smile and think to myself, I will survive Christie. I will be ok. I will survive this storm and the sun will shine once again, and yes, I will survive Assateague Island…   

 

 

Reviews

[Martin See]

i truly enjoyed the chornological diary format that you wrote...it's heartfelt and like you i also enjoy camping though we don't have many good camping sites here in singapore...you are indeed a writer and a great one at that...keeping writing buddy...good stuff!

[talulu love]

wow so goood i wish it was longer

GOOD JOB!!!!!!! keep it up