This post is long, and it’s also worthy of your ADD medication.

Friday morning we rolled out early to grab java at the Riverside Café, picked up our ferry tickets and skipped orientation. Looking back that my have been where it all started to go wrong.

The sign seemed simple enough.

The boat was chased by dolphins on the way over to the island, and upon arrival we were greeted by the wild horses the brochures promised.

We shot off the boat like kids pouring out of classrooms after the final bell on the last day of school, skipping another orientation.

We stopped to ask this guy for directions, but he wasn’t very helpful.

After the disappointing directional interaction with the horseshoe crab carcas, we decided to veer off the main path and head towards the boardwalk, which was not actually a boardwalk but rather several loosly strung together sun bleached planks of wood that lead from nowhere to nowhere.

This was the first in-your-face symbol that we should reconsider, but instead of heeding it, we took pictures.

There is no photographic record of the next three hours for a number of reasons. Maybe it was because we were too busy following animal trails that lead us no where, picking burrs off our feet, being annihilated by insects, and trying our best to stay hydrated. Allow me to emphaise what you may have just glanced over – three hours. Of wandering. On sand dunes riddled with burrs and a veriety of insects most of which I’ve never seen before.

One of the things I didn’t tell the girls until much, much later was that I knew damn well the tracks I was following weren’t human. Horse hooves, small paws and cloven hooves were among those I noted. No human had been where we were in recent enough history for any record to have remained.

At one point we hit/dead ended into a marsh, and while it was encouraging because it meant we were near shore, it skeeved me out. “You know what lives in marshes? Alligators.”

We backtracked. We climbed a tree in hopes of determining where we were and eventually we went back to our spot on the marsh. I left the girls on the edge of the reeds and wandered through some brush, thinking happy thoughts about picking up another trail. Eventually this landed us beneath a Harry Potter type tree and from there we could more reeds, some dunes, and beyond them, a refinery. Civilization. Hope.

We were getting emotional and agitated, we were wounded and tired, and even though I considered it all a grand adventure, I recognized that the girls clearly did not. I enjoy being lost and eventually being found, and the fact is we were close (but not close enough) and this wasn’t a solo quest. We discussed our odds and conceded to letting Heather call her dad to see if he could find a map on-line and maybe figure out where we were.

What I need you to imagine here is the show Designing Women that was on the air in the 90′s. Remember the Sugarbakers? Remember how sweet Julia’s voice was and how she could make anything sound like poetry? This is Heathers voice. She dialed the phone to her folks and when that failed to prove fruitful, we dialed the visitors center, who gave us a number for “Dennis” and said he could help.

Meanwhile, Kim was going through caffine DT’s and the bones at our feet weren’t a good sign.

“Hello, Dennis? Hi! We’re visitors on your lovely island here and it appears as though we have lost our way. The nice people at the park office gave us your number and we wondered if you might be able to give us some directions.” Kim and I had our own off line contributions of “yeah, we’re under a Harry Potter tree, you know the one, right?” and “what do I see? Well, we might be in an animal graveyard.”

She was later quick to point out that we never asked to be rescued, we asked for directions.

Dennis was on his way after telling him about the refinery and told us to look for him and listen for his horn. About the same time, a rescue copter started doing laps up and down the coast. Lordy. I wasn’t about to be rescued. We wondered aloud if we should start walking through the swamp towards the shoreline, saying that if it got too ugly we could always go back.

“Did Dennis say we should cross the marshes?” Kim asked. Heather answered in her sweet, genteel southern voice “well he didn’t discourage it.” So we walked. We blazed through packs of tiny crabs and met the dune in front of us with minimal water damage and a few joyful “WOOT” type noises before we realized there was another marsh between us and the shoreline.

As we hit the second dune smiles were plastered on all of our faces and Heather thought she heard a voice in the distance. We paused, once again hopeful, watching the top of a submarine slide through the river and taking in the moment while we listened for Dennis. As we were absorbing our new environment Kim said something along the lines of “aw shit, there’s a mountain lion”. At which point Heather and I said “ok” and started moving away from direction she was looking.

It was only later we’d find out what went through Heather’s mind: Maigh is fast, she’ll escape. I’m probably faster than Kim and she’s lost blood. I just need to climb a tree and if Kim follows I’ll kick down a meal. I’ll wind up with more pillows, too. See also: Heather smiles but has dark thoughts.

A few steps into our well planned escape, I looked back and saw our mirage: a colt.

Adrenaline crashing, we heard a car horn. DENNIS!

We saw a truck in the distance and ran out to meet him. As it turns out, it was Eric who saved us and received our hugs.

We weren’t proud, but we were happy and P.S. we had a ride to the beach. Rawk.

So, uh, where the fuck were we? Apparently we’d made it down to the south tip of the island. Eric pointed out that there are no trails that would lead you there as if to say “this is what happens to girls who skip orientation”. True. True.

Heather rode in the cab of the pick-up and when Eric asked her for her address and phone number on a sticky note she thought “well isn’t that sweet, he’s asking me out!” Again, I encourage you to imagine a very adorable young woman with a proper southern accent saying this. “Then it occurred to me we might be receiving a fine in the mail.”

Eric dropped us at the beach, instructed us to stay between the black and white striped poles and drove off down the desolate stretch of sand that would be our sanctuary for the next few hours.

The rest of the stories from this weekend will have to wait until Monday night/Tuesday morning, I’m in need of a good nights rest in my own bed between my soft, cool sheets in a land without sand flies. Hell, I’m surprised I managed to get this down without drooling on the keyboard.

Kissy boo!