WhaleQuest! Page 7

  I, on the other hand, was not thrilled with the task. I guess I don't have the discriminating eye necessary to appreciate shore birds.

  Don't get me wrong, back home in the mountains I can tell a cardinal from a blue bird from a yellow bellied sapsucker, just as well as the next guy. However, here at the beach the birds are not exactly distinctive. They are all gray, and white and black. They all have long legs and big feet. And, they all have long curved bills. I can tell a pelican from a sea gull. But, when it comes to terms, plovers and skimmers – they all look the same to me.

  And, I was not the only one having trouble. I was paired up with Freddie, and we had a wax pencil and a laminated field guide. Each time we saw a bird we carefully examined the pictures of gray and black and white specimens on the card. Then we flipped a coin and marked one off.

  Late in the afternoon, we returned to camp to find Shad sitting up sipping Ginger Ale and nibbling on Saltine crackers. He was not going to be running marathons any time soon. But, it appeared that our friend would survive.

  Miss Mynah left Shad's side long enough to mix up a chicken and rice casserole and put it in the oven. She had us make a salad and some garlic bread to round out the meal. Once dinner was set, Miss Mynah took a ferry across to her home on Harkers Island where she picked up some more doctoring supplies and an overnight bag. She returned that evening, and she set up a small infirmary in an unused room off the back. She made up a bed there for Shad, and we moved a large easy chair into the corner of the room to make her more comfortable. Miss Mynah spent the entire night in the chair next to Shad, making sure that he got his Tylenol on schedule and administering ginger ale and even a little chicken broth.

  ************

  Chapter 11 – Cape Lookout Day 4

  The next morning, Shad woke up without a fever. He was still a little weak. However, he was definitely making progress. For lunch he ate some homemade mashed potatoes and asked for half of a second helping.

  We knew right then that Shad was definitely on the mend.

  Another notable event took place that fourth morning at the beach. Freddie took off well before dawn. Loaded down with night vision goggles, our best telephoto digital camera and the hydrophone, he was determined to get hard evidence of his ‘Sound Monster’.

  He did not even stop for breakfast. His quest took precedence over common things like hunger and thirst.

  We were just finishing up our bacon, eggs and biscuits when Freddie came jogging into the camp yelling, “I've got him! I've got him!”

  The poor kid looked like a pack mule with gear that probably weighed as much as he did. He was almost comical as he struggled into camp. But, there was nothing funny about the serious look in his eyes.

  He slowed down and walked the final steps over to our assembly.

  “I got him,” Freddie said. ”I got the Sound Monster on film. So scoff all you want, non-believers. I have hard evidence you can't just reject this time. I have definite proof of the creature's existence.”

  “They'll probably want to name it after me,” Freddie assured us, taking the pose of a great explorer.

  “Okay,” said Toby. ”Show us your evidence of this alien fish man.”

  Freddie slid the strap off his shoulder and handed the digital camera over to Charlie.

  “Mr. President,” he said with a bow.

  “What am I looking at?” asked Charlie.

  “There's a three shot sequence,” replied Freddie. ”I took them just as the creature submerged.”

  “Okay,” said Charlie.”Picture one looks like some black driftwood sitting on the water.”

  “That's the top of the Sound Creature's head,” Freddie explained in triumph. “He was trying to go under, but I caught him before he could completely disappear.”

  “And, these next two?” asked Charlie. ”They're pictures of rings on the surface of the water.”

  “That's right,” Freddie proclaimed. ”Genuine water disturbances left by the elusive ‘Dunkleberger Beast'.”

  “Who shall we call first?” Freddie continued. ”Should we call the Discovery Channel or Animal Planet?”

  “Who cares?” he finally decided. ”We'll call ‘em both. They can fight over me.

  Does anybody know how old you have to be to win the Nobel Prize?” Freddie asked no one in particular.

  “Uh, Freddie you may be getting ahead of yourself,” said Toby gently. “It looks to me like you have a picture of a black thing on the water and two waves.”

  “Yeah,” Freddie agreed. ”What of it?”

  “I'm not sure this constitutes definitive proof.”

  “It could be definitive proof that Freddie needs to stay out of the sun.” (I made this comment on behalf of Shad McReynolds who would normally have said it, but was out sick.)

  “Let me get this straight. You guys don't believe my photographic evidence?”

  “No,” replied Charlie. ”You're going to have to do better than that.”

  “Well, It's a good thing I'm one step ahead of you,” Freddie replied confidently.

  For a second he struggled to lift the hydrophone recorder up onto the table, but he finally got it. Then, like a prosecuting attorney nailing the coffin, Freddie hit the play button.

  We did not hear anything at first except some waves swishing and a boat propeller in the distance. I was just opening my mouth with another wisecrack when all of a sudden it began playing an odd song. Although, it was not really a song but a series of chirping sounds.

  “ Chiree… Chiree… Chiree… Chiree.”

  “What the heck is that?” I asked.

  “It's not a porpoise,” Bogdon stated. “And, it's not echo locating.”

  “It's not a croaker or a grunt fish,” added Charlie. ”It's too high pitched.”

  “I'm telling you guys, it's the sound of the Sound Monster,” Freddie proclaimed.

  I looked into the skeptical eyes of my friends. But, this was evidence that we could not explain away.

  ************

  Bottle green waves break around the hook at Cape Lookout, before they slide off into the calmer waters of the Sound. When the wind is low, they melt into lake-like ripples punctuated by the occasional wake of some pleasure boater rocketing through the cut between the Cape and Shackleford Banks to the North.

  Perpendicular to the ocean and the Sound is a three mile sandy spit where the tide washes up spectacular shells and flotsam from across the globe. The gentle wave action is enough to deposit these treasures while often leaving them intact for the lucky beachcomber.

  At low tide, the ocean floor drops off like a shell covered hillside. The water deepens quickly – going from clear to green to a startling sapphire blue in just yards. And, the deep channel has a clarity perfect for shore diving and a sharp fall off that beckons the fisherman anxious to fish deep from shore.

  On the afternoon of our fourth day at Camp, we made a half mile trek to an area called ‘the hook' to visit some abandoned World War II gun mounts. The mounts were cement and stone bases for coastal shore batteries that protected this important shipping channel from German U-boats that once stalked the area.

  Unfortunately, because the end of the island has subsided over the last 60 years, even at low tide the mounts are below the water line. And, even though we were hopeful that I would be able to locate some neat wartime relics, the place was picked clean long ago.

  After a brief and fruitless search, we followed the shoreline for about a mile, heading toward the sound. When we passed a rock jetty we hit a 1/2 mile stretch of beach that is the finest fishing, diving and shell collecting area on the Island. Here we began finding conch and whelk shells by the bushel. Some were the size of thermos bottles. Most had holes and cracks of drill marks from the variety of predators that feast on the shell dwellers. However, about one out of every ten was collectable quality.

  Pam Rockhart supplied us each with colorful net bags like groc
ery stores sell oranges and onions in. Before long our shell bags grew fat and heavy.

  Eventually, Donnie staked out a sunny sandy spot above the waterline. He carefully removed his Ray bans and set them on a colorful beach towel. Then, he geared up with a jet black mask, a snorkel and swim fins. Keeping a sharp lookout for hotrod boaters, Donnie pushed out into the crystal waters. Swimming along the surface, breathing through his snorkel, Donnie made his way toward the channel. His orange net bag was wrapped around his wrist. It was still empty. But, it would not be for long.

  Thor, Charlie and I threw down our shell bags and changed into our diving gear as well. The water was so clear that we could not wait to see what was out there. We weren't about to let Donnie have all the fun!

  As we pushed ourselves out toward the blue water, we saw Donnie's flippered feet point straight up as he dove for the bottom.

  What was he after?

  I kicked into the water and swam over to see what was going on. Even though I remained at the surface breathing through my snorkel, the water was so clear I could see Donnie twenty feet below approaching a clump of seaweed and rocks along the silt covered bottom. He was following a thin trail across the mud. Then he stopped and picked a large shell off of the bottom and put it into his bag. He looked up toward the surface, smiled and waved. He had an amazing ability to hold his breath. For, even though he'd been under for a while, he made a leisurely trip back up the surface.

  Donnie blew out his snorkel, took a deep breath and dove again. This time I was right behind him.

  I followed Donnie to the bottom where he picked up more tracks. The water had a refreshing chill at this depth. And, the pressure clogged my head until I held my nose and blew to equalize it.

  Donnie followed the path and at the end of the trail, I saw him pick up a whelk shell. These tracks were snail trails! The shelled creatures were traveling across the mud leaving tracks like garden snails make in the early morning. Only in this case, the whelks were 50 times larger.

  As Donnie put the whelk into his orange bag, I realized that Thor and Charlie were swimming up behind me. Together, we made our way back to the surface for a quick breath. Then we dove back down to the bottom for a kind of undersea Easter egg hunt.

  For the next 10 minutes, we were diving and hunting. Sometimes we followed trails that ended abruptly with no whelk at the end. Where'd he go?

  But, soon each Ranger surfaced with a large live Whelk. Since we left our bags on the sand, we swam back to the beach to drop off our prizes.

  When we got to the shallows, we removed our fins and carried them as we walked back to our starting spot. The tide had pushed us almost 100 yards down the beach.

  “What you got there?” Freddie asked as we ambled up.

  “Live whelks,” answered Charlie. “We followed their slime trails in the mud out in the channel.”

  “Look at the size of these guys,” Thor added. “And, the shells are perfect. They're not drilled or cracked or anything.”

  Freddie, Toby and Bogdon were waiting with some treasures of their own.

  “Look what we found,” said Freddie, pointing to Toby's shell bag.

  Gingerly, Toby lifted the bag. He opened it carefully. The fruit bag was red on the outside, but from inside, he pulled out two perfect purple and yellow starfish as big as my hand.

  “Cool,” I said. ”Where did you find those?”

  “They were down the beach a ways. The must have just washed up as the tide went out.”

  “Show them what you found, Bogdon,” Freddie prodded.

  Bogdon opened up his yellow fruit bag and pulled out a plastic coke bottle. He displayed it to us like it was some great discovery. But, I had seen plenty of plastic coke bottles in my time. As a matter of fact I was just about to say ‘Big Deal', when I examined it more closely. This coke bottle was different from any I had ever found. The markings were all in Japanese.

  It wasn't just trash. It was international trash!

  He passed the bottle around and we each admired it. Freddie held it to his lips and pretended to drink while Bogdon calculated the distance the bottle must have floated to get here from Japan.

  Suddenly, we heard a voice yelling in the distance.

  We looked around and saw that Donnie swimming back toward our makeshift camp. About fifty yards down the beach, he was treading water out in the channel. He still masked face was rising above the surface, and he was calling out.

  “Guys. Come quick. I need help!”

  We had no idea what the emergency was, but we did not hesitate. We dropped our shell bags in a bunch and ran down the beach toward him. It did not take long for us to close the distance. As we reached the beach in front of him, he disappeared back beneath the water.

  My mask was hanging down around my neck, so I yanked it up over my face. Thor snapped his mask in place beside me. Charlie had left his mask back at the beach, so he jumped in without it. Thor and I jumped in right behind.

  I did not stop to get a good seal and the stupid mask filled with water as I swam out toward Donnie. So, even though the water was clear, I could not really see what was going on. I just followed behind Charlie and Thor as we dove down to the bottom.

  However, as we closed in, I could make out Donnie on the bottom. And, beside him was some dark shape that looked like it was biting his hand!

  Oh no, I thought. Donnie's being attacked by a Shark!

  I choked and almost had to surface. But, that forced me to put my hands up and adjust my mask. I was trembling as I blew out the water and looked back over.

  It wasn't a shark. Thank God!

  It was a turtle.

  And, the turtle was wrapped up in something. Some kind of plastic curled around his head, trapping the poor guy.

  Donnie was trying to help the entangled creature. He was wrestling it into the shallows where the obstruction could be removed.

  The turtle was enormous. His barnacled green shell was close to three feet long and almost as wide. Even with three more joining, it was a titanic struggle to free him. One at a time, we shared off going to the surface for more air and then dove back down to help.

  Finally, we got the creature aimed toward land and let him do the work. His big flippers pushed to get away from us, but they propelled him directly where we wanted him to go.

  Boy, this guy was strong! But, when he got into about two feet of water, we had him.

  Toby, Freddie and Bogdon were waiting in the waist deep water, and they pitched in to help us wrestle huge turtle out of the water. Pam was there as well and her face was wrinkled with concern.

  “What is it? What's going on?” she asked.

  Donnie pulled off his mask as he replied.

  “It's a turtle. And, he has something caught over his head. He can't open his mouth. If we can't get it off, he'll starve to death.”

  With three of us on each side, we lifted the creature up while Bogdon reached down and tried to unwrap whatever was on his head. Turtle fins, (which are a whole lot sharper than you would think) were flapping back and forth and scratching the heck out of our unprotected stomachs. But, we held on for all we were worth.

  Bracing the creature’s head with his left hand, Bogdon finally yanked a clear plastic covering off with his right.

  “Got it!” he declared.

  “Are you sure?” Donnie asked.

  “I think so.” Bog suddenly he yanked back his left hand.

  “Yeow!” he yelled, shaking the hand up and down. “That ungrateful son of a gun bit me!”

  “Then his mouth must be clear,” observed Donnie. “Let him down gently.”

  We struggled to lower the turtle back in to the shallows without dropping him like a stone. When he hit the water, he took like a rocket!

  His fins flipped above the surface like wings until he finally made his way to the deeper channel and submerged.

  Within seconds, he was gone. He didn’t
even stay around to say thanks.

  As Mr. Turtle headed for deep water, Pam and Donnie examined Bogdon's hand. Sure enough the turtle had ripped the skin and Bog was bleeding freely. But, no bones were broken and the cut was not large enough or deep enough to require stitches. It was nothing a couple of band aids could not handle. Bogdon wrapped it up in his t-shirt until the bleeding stopped.

  “What the heck was that thing on his head?” I asked.

  Bogdon held up his unhurt left hand. He still had the plastic trash in his fingers.

  “It's one of those plastic ring things that holds a six pack of soda cans together,” Bogdon explained. “He managed to get two of the rings over his head, and they were so tight he was stuck.”

  “How in the world did that happen?”

  Pam enlightened us. “Turtles like to eat jelly fish. Floating in the water, the ring probably looked like one that had already had a few bites chomped out of it.”

  “He probably thought it was an easy lunch,” Donnie added.

  “It happens all the time,” Toby said. “Turtles, birds, seals. They all get into these plastic rings – or plastic grocery bags – and they die.”

  “Well, ‘Litter Kills'” said Charlie. “But… not today!”

  “That's right,” agreed Pam. “You guys saved our shelled friend from a painful death. You should be proud of yourselves.”

  “I know I am,” said Bogdon, holding up his t-shirt wrapped hand. “I was bitten saving an endangered sea turtle. That's pretty daring stuff for a laboratory scientist like me. I'm going to have to write some postcards home.”

  He added thoughtfully, “I wonder where I can buy a Crocodile Hunter hat?”

  As Bogdon pondered his new macho status, Donnie put his mask back on and slipped into the water. A minute or two later he returned with his fruit bag full of whelks. Most were the size of one liter water bottles. A few were even larger.

  “Here they are,” he announced, holding up the bag.

  “Those are nice shells,” said Toby. ”But they still have the whelks inside.”

  “It's the whelks I'm after,” said Donnie. ”You guys can have the shells.”