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OAK ISLAND , NC
The sand was rather deep and soft along the path leading from the beach to the Baptist Assembly, so we carried our shoes in hand to make walking easier and also because the sand had stuck to our feet and legs where we had to wade in the ocean to get around the fence.
We trudged along the sandy path until we could see signs of activity inside the fort. We then left the path and made our way to a secluded spot between the dunes and the stone fort itself where we could monitor the activities inside and know when to exit and begin to �blend in� with the help of the rapidly fading sunlight.
Finally around 8:15 PM, the evening Vespers Service was over and at least a hundred teenagers came out of the chapel and headed toward the canteen.
It was then that Steve and I made our way down the fort wall and into the crowd. We then went into the canteen where we began to seek out the two girls that I had been talking to that afternoon. I think that we felt about as out of place as Jimmy Buffet in Montana.
After about thirty minutes of searching, we spotted the girls standing just outside of the canteen doors. When we approached them, they were very glad we were there, but at the same time, they were very surprised that we had made it inside the fort.
The girls were a little bit nervous about being seen with us so we went to a somewhat secluded part of the fort to be alone with them. Everything seemed to be going great, for now.
What we did not know was that their so-called friend, Janice, who was a very homely and downright unattractive young lady, would become the victim of an attack of jealousy and develop a severe dislike of the fact that her friends might actually be having a good time while she was left out.
In response to this onslaught of emotional distress, Janice informs camp security of our plans and intentions. The security guards began to close in on our location within minutes.
Steve and I kissed the girls a very hasty good-bye and went over the back wall of the fort to make our way back to the beach. We could not run in our shoes, so off they came. We had about five hundred yards to cover before we could reach the fence on the beach.
The first hundred yards we had to run through bushes, thorns, and bear grass. After this first one hundred yards, we were a scratched-up mess. It was also noticed that we were no longer in possession of our shoes. But, with flashlights coming up right behind us, we did not take the time to look for them.
The next one hundred yards was uneventful, except for the deep, soft sand, and stepping on very sharp seashells at rather regular intervals.
But then it happened! The last one hundred yards before the beach, we found ourselves in an area that was the world record holder of about twenty-zillion sandspurs. By the time that we finally got to the beach, our feet and shins were the new home of about a hundred of those damn sticky little things, and every time we tried to remove them, they were very readily re-located into our hands and fingers.
It was then that we realized we were still being pursued, not by the guards any longer, but by mosquitoes and sand fleas that were doing their best to have us for dinner.
We hobbled the next thirty feet to the beach, but the mosquitoes did not give up. They were too excited by our blood and sweat to leave us alone.
We knew that we were only about forty yards from the fence, but by now the tide was well over half way in. The only way around the fence was to swim around the end of it. With five feet of water and three foot waves, wading was no longer a valid option.
The instant that we dove into the surf, we both simultaneously realized that seawater entering into hundreds of cuts and scratches did not feel very good at all. It sort of felt as if we had fought three Bobcats and then took a bath in rubbing alcohol.
After reaching the beach on the other side of the fence, we proceeded to continue or hasty retreat with the mosquitoes in hot pursuit.
We finally got to the spot where Tommy was going to pick us up. But guess what, there was no Tommy.
We made the decision to walk the beach or what there was of it at high tide, the five miles from Caswell to Yaupon Beach
After tripping over assorted logs, bricks, and other miscellaneous items at the high tide mark, one and a half hours later we arrived at Yaupon Beach, bleeding, stinging, itching, sweating, and rather tired.
It had to have been well after one o�clock in the morning because the pier complex was all closed up for the night and no one was to be found anywhere. It was probably a good thing that no one was around because in the parking lot light I noticed that the entire back of Steve�s shorts was missing, probably due to the slide down the wall at Fort Caswell.
Our thoughts now were only on getting home, getting a shower, getting some sleep and forgetting all about this �delightful� evening.
The next day we were laughing about all of the previous night�s events, but, for some reason, Steve was always very leery about anything that I ever planned again. I just can�t imagine why!