Barbilou's Blog: Missing!

I was too exhausted yesterday to blog this.

Thursday, 1PM, Ron said he's going "scavenging" in the truck. He does this maybe once every week or two. Asked did I want to go. I truly debated, then said no. I had a couple of projects going, plus was still in my jammies. I asked what was he going to scavenge? "Rocks". I said to take the walkie-talkie. Off he goes.

At 4:30 PM, when the sun sinks low enough to blind my view of the computer screen and I have to move the curtain, I first began thinking that he'd be pulling up any minute now, and I'd better thaw something for supper.

At 5, I began trying to raise him on the walkie-talkie, but no response. I put the pizza in the oven.

At 5:45, the sun went below the hills on Isla Tiburon, and I went up on the roof with the binoculars and the walkie-talkie. Nada.

Roof view, DAYTIME

I instant-messaged my friend Bette, who is just about as paranoid and OCD as I am, and whose husband John also goes scavenging. She wasn't logged in, though, and by the time she replied it was fully dark outside. She said they'd be right over to get me and we'd go find him.

John had recently shown Ron an area called Rolling Rock beach, and we were all thinking he'd gone back over there. Lots of bad road to get stuck on. Up til that point, mechanical breakdown was #1 on my list of what I should obsess about, followed by medical problem (cardiac event, another stroke, snakebite), and lastly FOUL PLAY.

Typical "road" to Rolling Rock Beach, DAYTIME.

Rolling Rock Access . Click on it, and click Satellite in upper right to see area. Can zoom out upper left to see entire coastline. We searched all that.

John drove all over those roads in the pitch black dark, with Bette and I keeping up each others spirits outlining just how much trouble Ron would be in for this. No truck. When we got back to the gate and saw it still unlocked, my fervent hope that we'd missed each other died. Now there was an actual pain under my sternum, probably acid reflux.

We don't have a marine radio, but our neighbor does. So we rousted Morris and debated whether to get on the radio or go down to the park and organize more searchers. Morris said to get Eddie. Eddie's the WHR park manager, a local, knows everyone and everything.

Eddie with his girls...

Eddie actually passed us in a big hurry at the entrance to the park. We followed him to his place, where he gets out of his truck and said "There's some stupid schmuck stuck on the beach at the Christmas Tree". Sandy said, "Hopefully, that'd be Ron. He went missing." My chest pain went away. Apparently two Mexicans drove to the park and told Jaap that some guy sent them to bring help.

So up the beach we all go in a caravan, Jim and Les in his big truck with the Mexicans, Eddie in his little truck, and us three.

Six miles up the beach we find Ron, the truck sunk to the chassis in the sand at the water's edge. He was fine, freely admitting that he'd fucked up, and didn't need anyone to expound on that. Jim wisely had left his truck back on firmer sand, having seen earlier the section where Ron was stuck. John and Bette went home (and discovered they'd locked themselves out and had to break into their own house).

After much digging, a failed attempt to pull with Eddie's little truck, and determining that the tide had stopped coming up, it was clear we'd be waiting til morning for the tide to recede, and would just leave it there.

So Eddie, me next to him, and Ron and the Mexicans in the back, drive back towards Jim's truck (Jim and Les are walking) and Eddie veers around it on the wrong side. The beach side, where it ends in a little hook at high tide. As a chorus of "NO EDDIE!" floods the little overburdened truck, Eddie's now stuck in the sand as well.

Where Ron Got Stuck
and where Eddie got stuck below him.

Also no hope of getting it out until morning. Two trucks stuck in the sand. Ron says he's staying, has a full gas tank, can run the heater, and the tide isn't going to wash him out to sea. We all go home in Jim's truck.

I spent a sleepless night worrying about CO poisoning, banditos, the waves making the truck engine inoperable and hence no heat, you name it and it consumed my night. But the next morning, even before the sun was up, they were back on the beach digging, shoring up with planks, and VOILA! They're out.

Ron paid the Mexicans for their efforts, thanked everyone else profusely, and spent the day eating, hydrating, and napping. As did I.

WHAT WE LEARNED:

Tell someone where you're going and when to expect you back.
Walkie-Talkies aren't very reliable. We'll be getting a marine radio shortly.
One truly needs to keep important papers (like license numbers) somewhere BESIDES in the truck.
And a flashlight IN the truck.
And drinking water, in case you're stuck somewhere for a long time.
And most of all, we learned these friends of ours are priceless.