Early Morning Visitor

Here’s what happened Saturday morning of the Memorial Day weekend:

I was awakened from a deep sleep by a knocking somewhere on the boat: “knock, knock, knock, knock.” Four knocks. We’ve heard knocking sounds before, but this was different. I heard it again. Four knocks. Adrian was sound asleep. I was pretty sure this was no Asian fish nibbling on algae from the hull of the boat. I thought I heard a voice. I woke Adrian. “Someone is out there!” Another set of knocks, now six of them. It was a woman’s voice.

I followed Adrian, and when he opened the door to the aft deck, I heard someone say “I’m so sorry to wake you up, but we were out swimming and realized we can’t swim. Then I saw your boat, thinking you could help us.”

That’s what I heard, but Adrian heard, “I’m naked” somewhere in the sentence.

Then we heard a male voice in the distance behind the boat shouting, “Help! Please help!”

My first thought was someone is drowning. I said, “Is he treading water?” She said, “Yes” then proceeded to tell us the same thing, “We thought it would be fun to go swimming, but then realized we can’t swim, then I saw your boat….” Something about “the river carried us… saw your boat. Can you please help?”

My mind was spinning. If they can’t swim, how did they get to this side of the river? My second thought was “what kind of idiot goes swimming at this time of night? (We later realized that it was about 3:30 in the morning when we first heard the knocking.)

Assessing the situation, I knew there was a boat dock and campground across the river from us. That was probably where they had come from. The opposite shore was about 100 yards away.  And except for our anchor light, it was pitch dark. No moon, no other lights anywhere. There were some brilliant stars overhead, but no one was in a frame of mind to enjoy them.

There was a nice beachy sand bank along the shore in front of us on our side, but we had no idea how shallow it was along the shore behind the boat, or if it just dropped off into deep water. We were anchored in about 18 feet.

The guy was behind us and kept yelling, “Help!” but it wasn’t a destressed, “I’m drowning” call. There was no exertion or desperation in either of their voices. We were both wary, not sure what to think.

She kept repeating her story and I finally said, “We get that, tell us how you think we can help.”

“I just thought you could use your boat…” she said.

Adrian asked her, “What would you have done if we weren’t here?”

“Probably drowned. “She replied.

I was feeling guilty for not taking immediate action of some kind. I had to keep reminding myself that we are a couple of old folks who would likely put themselves in jeopardy but also realizing that it would be difficult for them to get back across the river if they were tired or drunk. The options ran through both our minds. We deduced that there was not much we could do. It would be difficult and dangerous to bring up the anchor, turn the boat around or back it up without running over someone or hitting the bank.

I did not want to have Adrian lower the dingy, climb down in it and motor off to get the guy. If he felt rushed, he could easily fall in himself and there was no way the guy could get into the dingy without capsizing it. I yelled to the guy to come closer, and we could throw him a life jacket or preserver. When I suggested to Adrian that we have them come aboard, he was adamant. “I don’t want a strange man on my boat!” We were feeling helpless and somewhat vulnerable.

I suggested that Adrian call the Coast Guard. He went back inside but first had to dig out the books with the “how to call for help” instructions. Meanwhile, I’m talking to the girl, trying to explain that there wasn’t much we could do. We were calling for help. They would just have to hang out on this side of the bank until someone came, or swim back to shore. She said, “I just don’t see why you won’t help us.” I told her she could come aboard, and we’d get her a life jacket. She said that would be great and swam off without the life jacket.

The guy was quiet, and I was worried that he’d drowned. But soon I heard some water sloshing. I got a flashlight and saw him walking in knee deep water along our side of the shore. He was about 30 feet away from us.

I encouraged him to go to the sand bar ahead and wait it out. “Nah,” he said. I’ll just swim back.

Meanwhile, the girl had made it back to the opposite shore and was calling for someone. “Nickie, where are you?!” No reply,

“Great,” I thought, “there’s a third person. “Naked girl kept yelling for Nickie and after some time there was a reply and a conversation. I could only hear a few words here and there. I did hear “I’m staying right here, I’m not going anywhere,” and something about allegators. I think naked girls was trying to convince Nickie to swim along the shore to get back to their camp site. The opposite shore was mostly brush and trees up to the entrance to the campground cove. They would have to swim to get back.

On this side of the river, I heard a splash and the sound of swim strokes, steady and strong. No labored breathing. I aimed the flashlight to the other bank so he could see where it was. With only a couple of pauses, he made it to the other side.

It was quiet, but I could hear them talking. I yelled, “Are you guys okay?” No response. I yelled again. This time the guy said, “We’re fine.” Like a sullen teenager. More murmuring.

Adrean had no luck reaching the Coast Guard or by calling “Pan Pan,” similar to “May Day” but at a lower distress level. There was literal “radio silence.” The only other recourse was 911. But I kept thinking, what could they do, and how long would it take? i knew that at least the threesome was “safe” on the other side. But I didn’t know what their situation was. I yelled to them, “Do you want me to call 911?” “We’re fine,” said sullen guy.

So, we turned off the lights and went to bed. We couldn’t sleep for a long time. But figured we’d done all we could and hoped they worked themselves out of the mess they’d made.

In the morning, all was quiet. No bodies floating in the river and no search and rescue team. We started the engine, raised the anchor and moved on.