WhaleQuest!

by Matt Musson

  Of course, after Shad's triumph – the second most important issue was: where did the pretty Lieutenant finish the race. A hopeful Charlie Sinclair was looking through the waves of contestants crossing behind us when he was tapped on the shoulder.

  Sure enough, it was his betting partner, and she had beat him across the line.

  “I'm afraid you lost, Charlie,” said the Lieutenant, who somehow managed to look even cuter with a little mud streak across the side of her cheek.

  “Best two out of three?” asked Charlie hopefully.

  “Not today, Romeo. You lost fair and square. But I will give you this. You ran a good race.”

  “Well,” responded Charlie. “How about a kiss for old time's sake? Comrades in arms and all that sort of thing?”

  The pretty racer laughed.

  “Charlie Sinclair, there is just something about you a girl can't resist.”

  “Really?” Charlie perked up.

  “Really,” replied the Lieutenant.

  Then she changed her voice into this really sexy tone! I believe they call it Sultry!

  “Close your eyes and pucker up big boy.”

  (She said it in a way that made me want to get in line behind him.)

  With a huge smile on his face, Charlie did exactly what he was told. He closed his eyes and stuck out his puckered lips.

  The Lieutenant reached into the Marine Corp cap and pulled out a handful of mud. Then she lovingly smeared Romeo Charlie Sinclair across the lips with it.

  For a second, Charlie actually thought he was getting kissed. But, then he tasted the mud.

  “Awww Man!” he complained, cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “Don’t worry Charlie,” said the Lieutenant. “I’ll give you a real kiss.”

  “You will?” said Charlie.

  “Absolutely,” she assured him. “Just come back and see me when you turn eighteen!”

  She turned around and walked away, leaving a beaming smile on Charlie Sinclair’s muddied face. Just before she blended into the crowd – she turned and blew him a smooch.

  Charlie reached up and caught it in his hand.

  “Oh yeah,” said Charlie, his confidence returning. “She wants me.”

  The Rangers finished in the top quarter of all the teams that competed. Thanks to Shad we also took home the Commandant's Special Ribbon for Mud. So, we were very pleased with our performance.

  Oh, and Some Assembly Required (our stork footed friends) finished third place overall in their very first mud run. Their ‘disability' could not stop those bionic Marines anymore than one of those wall obstacles on Mt. Suribachi.

  Finally, Charlie Sinclair's betting partner was the top female finisher – for the third year in a row. The poor boy never had a chance.

  It had been a memorable race. But, now we had a date with a garden hose and the hotel swimming pool!

  ***********

  After the Mud Run, we stopped by the motel to clean up and change. We threw our muddy race clothes into washing machines in the hotel laundry room, took a quick shower and then hit the pool for a final cleansing. We could have stayed and played longer, but we were anxious to get out to the island.

  Why hang out in a motel pool when the entire Atlantic Ocean beckoned?

  ************

  Chapter 7 – Cape Lookout at Last

  We checked out of the little motel, stuffed our belongings into the van and retook our seats with Donnie in the command position. Donnie powered up the engine, and before long we were shooting up the coastline for the last 60 miles of our trip.

  We could have gone straight up highway 24 to Morehead City, but Donnie insisted on taking the scenic beach route. Turning off the highway in Swansboro and driving along the back bays, we crossed a giant bridge over the inner coastal canal.

  We were finally here - on the barrier islands of North Carolina!

  The islands are like ribbons of sand paralleling the coastline and separating the Atlantic from the back bays and sounds. Crossing that big bridge made it official. We were at the beach!

  We traveled up Emerald Isle, using the route that bisected the island lengthwise. On one side of the road were colorful wooden houses, resting on giant telephone pole stilts that overlooked the Ocean. On the other side were equally colorful wooden houses, on more giant telephone pole stilts, that overlooked the Sound.

  The houses were painted in a rainbow of Caribbean colors: light blues, aqua greens, various shades of peach and buttery yellows. The road was lined with blooming Oleander bushes and crushed shell driveways. The entire land mass was only a few feet above sea level, with occasional small rises that allowed us glimpses of the green, blue and aquamarine waters of the cold Atlantic Ocean.

  Just beyond the pastel strip of houses the waves washed into shore, the same way they had done when the first white men came here 500 years ago. For that matter these waves would have been familiar to the first red men who arrived 10,000 years earlier.

  The land changes but the sea remains the same. Familiar waves would be breaking on these shores long after we were just a memory.

  The exotic sights and smells were like a tonic to boys from the deep forest. Our faces were plastered to the windows as we made the twenty five mile drive up the long skinny island. We soaked in the sights of seagulls, sand and saltwater, and did not want to miss a second. But, we were also anxious to speed through to our final destination. We yearned to get out there and start drinking in our vacation adventure like a cold glass of sweet tea on a scorching Carolina afternoon.

  After forty minutes of tantalizing glimpses, we reached the town of Atlantic Beach and crossed over another even larger bridge back to the mainland and Morehead City. We were back on the highway now – but at this point the highway morphed into a city street with stoplights, regular houses, and strip center edges.

  We crawled through Morehead City and finally reached the largest bridge yet. It stretched over the deepwater port and across to Radio Island. From the top of this bridge, we looked down on a gargantuan black cargo ship the size of two football fields. Seemingly endless conveyor streams of shredded wood chips were being dumped into the cavernous holds of the immense vessel that would carry them halfway across the planet.

  Coming off the bridge we made good time driving along a built up causeway. We passed several public fishing spots and strained to see if anybody was catching. But, Donnie was back up to 55 MPH and our intrusions were too brief to be satisfying.

  We crossed a genuine drawbridge and found ourselves in Beaufort, NC. Unlike Beaufort, SC renowned for yummy homemade ice cream, Beaufort, NC is known for its creamy handmade fudge.

  Speaking of fudge, Shad begged Donnie to pull over long enough to pick up two or three pans full – but his pleas fell upon deaf ears. Donnie was in a hurry to get to Cape Lookout. He said he knew of a seafood buffet on Harkers Island that was worth waiting for. So, we moved on past Beaufort without a single taste of creamy chocolate goodness.

  Within minutes we drove west out of town and headed inland into the rural North Carolina. This area was more sparsely populated and the road was lined with flat fields and pastures that were backed by forests of tall spindly pines. Before long we turned Northeast onto the road to Cape Lookout and crossed over to Harkers Island. The island was full of swamp grass, pine trees and canals. We spotted scattered single story houses and mobile homes nestled among the trees.

  Finally, the land narrowed, and we could see the waters of Core Sound. A few minutes later, Donnie pulled into the shell graveled parking lot of the ‘The Admiral's Treasure' and stopped. We wasted no time hopping out of the cool van into the intense sunshine and shimmering heat of the summer afternoon.

  Inside, food and air conditioning beckoned to us. But even though we were sweating and hungry, we stopped to survey our final destination, appearing just above the horizon. Our sandals crunched old oyster coverings as we angled for a bette
r view of the Cape.

  “Look!” exclaimed Freddie.”It's the lighthouse!”

  And, sure enough, across several miles of the Sound we spotted a flashing light that was barely visible in daytime. It rotated slowly just above the water.

  The ocean wind freshened and renewed us with the salty air of excitement. We breathed in deeply the perfume of the sea and stood transfixed on Cape Lookout in the distance.

  Finally, without saying a word, we turned back to the parking lot and walked into the cool darkness and enticing seafood smells of the restaurant.

  ****************

  Donnie was right about the Admiral's Treasure. It was terrific. We ate fried seafood and low country vegetables like the Russians were at the county line.

  We had no idea what the food was going to be like at Ecology Camp. We just hoped it was better than at Sailing Camp. Captain Paul's Sailing Camp was lots of fun, but the food was awful. Charlie decided the old cook got his recipes out of Soldier of Fortune magazine. But, Freddie defended the old guy and said at least all the lumps in the gravy were bite-sized.

  Anyway, our late lunch at Harkers Island was spectacular. The scallops and shrimp were memorable and the yellow squash casserole was outstanding. And, I ate three of those stuffed crabs. You know the ones that are fried in the crab shell and look like they're staring at you?

  And, Shad had to throw water on his fork just to keep it from overheating!

  Lunch was washed down with plenty of cold iced tea and fresh squeezed lemonade. And, it was topped it off with homemade lemon pie with a Ritz cracker crust. When our waitress brought Shad a second piece of meringue topped heaven, he actually began to tear up. (Although he claimed the tears were from a lemon juice squirt he got while doctoring his beverage.)

  After lunch we drove the last few blocks up to Pamlico Jack's Marina and arranged to catch a boat over to Cape Lookout. There are no bridges to the National Seashore but there are plenty of independent ferry operators. But, we are not talking about large car carrying ferries. Pamlico Jack's ferry was an open flat boat with two outboard engines. The vessel was about the same length and width as our Van.

  The Coast Guard approved the ferryboat to hold eighteen passengers. But, with seven Rangers, Donnie and the Ferryman, there was just enough room for all the stuff we brought with us. While Donnie parked the Van in the long term boat storage area, the skipper helped us arrange our footlockers, kayaks and gear so that the weight was distributed evenly. That way we weren't listing to one side or the other.

  The day was full of wind and there were plenty of small white caps in the sound. However, it did not keep our skipper from making a high speed dash to the Cape. It was a bumpy, spray filled three mile trip. But, we did not mind getting a little wet. It just meant that our journey was finally coming to an end.

  Cape Lookout National Seashore consists of ribbon thin barrier islands. On one side of each island are the relatively calm waters of Core Sound. On the other side are the pounding waves of the Atlantic.

  The Cape area where we were staying is the hook-like Southern end of a 12 mile sandy strip called Core Banks. If you think of Cape Lookout as a twelve mile long J shape, the ecology camp was housed in a converted Coast Guard station that was built near the bottom of the J's curve. The famous light house is up the back of the J about two miles north.

  We came up on the island from the Sound side and the ferryman put us in at the old Coast Guard dock. He helped us throw our stuff up onto the weathered wood planks. We thanked our boatman for his time. Then, he cast off, backed out and floored it back to Harkers Island.

  Like Grandpa Gus always says, “Taxi drivers don't make money saying goodbye.”

  No one was at the dock to meet us, but we did not expect there to be. We knew we could follow the gravel road from the dock about ¾ of a mile to the Coast Guard station. So, we piled our extra gear, including our footlockers, under some brush near the end of the dock. We chained our kayaks to pilings a the foot of the pier. Then we grabbed everything we could carry and started off down the road.

  Our leisurely lunch and the boat ride over had taken up the hottest part of the day, although the sun still shone heavy as we packed across the Island. Though there was plenty of thicket, there wasn't much shade.

  The vegetation was short and windblown. The grass was high and there were lots of cedars and scrub oaks that were more like bushes than trees. When they got about four feet tall the wind seemed to blow them to a stop. Almost all the branches pointed away from the ocean and the constant sea breezes.

  We came around a turn in the path and found ourselves at the old Coast Guard Quarters where the ecology camp was now located. It looked like a neat place. I saw a basketball court, a windmill generating electricity and several solar panels. There was a separate four door garage building and through an open door I spotted some balloon tire beach bikes.

  The main building was a square wooden two story, with a odd little third floor observation tower sticking up from the wood shingled roof.

  We hurried up to the house, excited to finally arrive. I guess we probably looked pretty scraggly because as we approached the white picket fence a young woman in oversized shorts and an enormous straw hat walked out of the building and shut the gate in front of us!

  “Who are you?” she demanded.”What are you doing here?”

  I was kind of surprised by this confrontation. She acted like the sheriff of Cape Lookout. Come to think of it, we'd been treated better by the MP's at Camp Lejeune.

  But, I answered for our group anyway.

  “We're the Granite Falls Rangers, Ma'am. We're here for the ecology camp.”

  “You're wrong;” she indicted. ”Country Day High School from Raleigh is supposed to be here this session.”

  I felt like I'd been slapped in the face by her rebuttal. But, I tried to remain calm.

  “Uh… Country Day had to cancel. Their chaperone had an unfortunate accident. But, we talked to Ms. Tappen at the Maritime Museum. She said we could have their spot.”

  Instead of the apology I was expecting, we received an unfriendly tirade.

  “Great!” she replied sarcastically. ”That's just great!”

  She began to rant.

  “I'm only the Director of Programs around here. But, they never tell me anything. Now, I've prepared a week's worth of upper level science lessons for an accelerated High School class, and I am stuck with elementary school boys!”

  “Excuse me,” Donnie interrupted, putting down his surfboard. ”These boys are in middle school. And, they are paying customers! I am sorry that you were not informed of the change. But, I hardly think it's necessary to be so inhospitable!”

  She ignored Donnie's comments.

  “Well,” said the woman.”I guess there's no way I can fix it now.”

  She harrumphed.

  “I'll just have to dumb everything down for surfer boy and the seven dwarves.”

  She turned to us and without so much as a smile; she began her canned welcome speech.

  “I am Pam Rockhart, Director of Programs for the Cape Lookout Ecology Camp.”

  The welcome lecture went on for several minutes and it was not very welcoming. It basically boiled down to her conclusion that we were all piggy little consumers who gave no thought to our impact on the world around us. And, it was her job to raise our consciousness so that hopefully someday we would care about the natural world a fraction as much as she did.

  She was not just rude, she was condescending as well. I decided to beat the Christmas rush and start resenting her right away.

  She finally led us into the main building and showed us our barracks room. We dropped our stuff and picked out our beds. Then she pointed out the bathroom we were going to share.

  “How’s the water?” asked Freddie.

  “It’s very high quality,” Pam retorted. “We have a freshwater lens. I’ll explain what that is later. Hopefully,
some of you boys will be able to grasp the concept.”

  “A Freshwater lens?” Shad replied. “That’s a pool of freshwater that congregates below a barrier island and floats above the seawater aquifer. The lens is a semi-circular structure below the island although the thickest part is not in the center but displaces towards the less salty lagoon side.”

  Shad achieved exactly what he was hoping for. He shut the wicked witch down cold. After a few jaw dropping seconds she acknowledged him.

  “Yeah,” Pam stuttered. “Uh… Yeah. Something like that.”

  Then, Ms. Rockhart beat a hasty retreat and we all gave Shad the high sign as she left the room.

  “What a pain!” Freddie exclaimed. “That woman could make the crows bring back last year’s corn!”

  “She’s mean alright,” Charlie agreed. “But, we just have to stay out of her way for a week. Remember the mission.”

  We dropped our stuff and walked outside together. Keeping an eye out for Miss Camp Nazi, we headed back to the dock for the rest of our equipment.

  ************

  Just after dark, Freddie and Shad went outside to call On*Star and get an update on our whale's position. But, within minutes they scrambled back inside, in a panic!

  “No bars!” Freddie cried.”I am not getting any bars! There is no cell phone coverage!"

  "Try climbing up the tower,” Toby suggested. “From up there you are bound to get some reception.”

  So, like two blind mice, Freddie and Shad scampered up the stairs. But, it was not long before they hickory dickory docked back down (And the clock had not even struck one.)

  “Nothing up there, either!” Shad reported. “What is the deal?”

  About that time, evil Pam walked by.

  “No cell phone at night,” she explained without even slowing down.

  “What do you mean no cell phone at night?” Shad demanded at the back of her head.

  Pam stopped. Then she turned around and responded too precisely.

  “I mean there's no cell phone coverage out here at night. Am I speaking slowly enough for you? The closest tower is in Beaufort. During the day we usually get good coverage. But once the sun goes down, forget about it.”