In front of our summer house in Popham Beach, there was what we thought the best beach in the world. It stretched for many miles in either direction and was very safe, at least for those of us who had been taught the ways of the sea and how to handle the deceptive surf. The waves that lapped the beach were diminutive compared to the great surfs in Hawaii or California, but the undercurrents were treacherous, and visitors would often find themselves in trouble when they didn’t heed the warnings from the locals.
There were two islands that fascinated us children: one was Fox Island and the other was Crab Island. There was a firm sandbar that ran from the mainland out to Fox Island at low tide, and we were taught that this island was safe to visit, but to never go to Crab Island.
Now Crab Island was a small, rocky bit of land that shot up out of the sea right beside Fox Island. These islands were so close you felt that you could reach out and touch the small rocky bit of land where the gulls nested and the crabs were plentiful because they knew it was never visited by humans, the undertow in the narrow channel that separated the two islands being very strong and very dangerous.
One day when my cousins and I were playing a game of tag on Fox Island, a young man came climbing up the island. He had a huge backpack strapped to his back with cameras and all sorts of photographic equipment. We watched in horror as he prepared to swim across the narrow channel. Quickly we ran up to him to warn him about the danger
“Mister, Mister,” we cried. “You shouldn’t try to swim that channel. It is very dangerous!”
The young man turned around and looked at us, smiling.
“I am an excellent swimmer,” he said. “This narrow little channel will be no problem for me to swim across. I plan to get some interesting pictures of the sea gulls and crabs that live on the island.” And without another word, he slowly let himself down into the sea, as we watched shaking our heads.
No sooner had the young man reached the middle of the channel when he was caught by the strong undertow. We could all see the look of terror on his face as he battled with the ocean, trying to reach Crab Island.
“Head for the shore!” my cousin George cried out to him.
Fortunately, the young man did as my cousin told him, and started to swim toward shore. We all ran quickly down to the sandbar, wading out into the water as far as we dared. George, the strongest of the three of us, held on to Minot, then Minot held on to me, and I was able to grab the young man’s hand and, together, we all pulled him back to shore.
The young man flopped down on the sand, breathing hard. The three of us sat down beside him, waiting for him to recover. After a while, he sat up and looked at us.
“Thank you for saving my life,” he said. “In the future, I will always listen to kids like you who know more about their home than a stranger like myself. You have taught me a very good lesson.”
Then, standing up, he picked up is equipment and walked off down the beach, turning around once to wave good-bye.
Photograph courtesy of Tony Northrup, www.northrup.org
