Surviving Bear Island

NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

The Move Books team is committed to
inspiring readers everywhere.

Text copyright © 2015 by Paul Greci

Illustration copyright © by James Madsen

Book design by Virginia Pope

All rights reserved. Published by Move Books LLC.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

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Library of Congress Control Number: 2014960255

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Printed in the U.S.A.

First edition, March 2015

P.O. Box 183

Beacon Falls, Connecticut, 06403

To my parents, Joseph and Dolores Greci, for encouraging the adventurer in me.

— Paul Greci

To my parents who brought me up in the outdoors.

— Jim Madsen

A WALL
of dog-like heads was closing in on us. Sea lions, six or eight of them, swam side by side. They raced toward us like they were gonna swim right through us, stretching their necks and plowing through the water like they had motors attached to their backs. I gripped my paddle tighter and held it just above the water, waiting, watching, just like Dad. Then, at the last second, they dove.

“They could've dumped us if they wanted to,” Dad said. “It's happened to other kayakers.”

I felt some bumps right under my feet, and the nose of the kayak shifted.

“Crazy,” I said. “You feel that?” The last thing I wanted was to take a swim. We'd be in trouble if we dumped. The water would freeze us solid.

“Never been touched like that,” Dad said. “Let's paddle. Now.”

I dipped my kayak paddle into the blue-green salt water and pulled. Then did it again. And again. I twisted side to side, pulling one blade through the water while pushing the other through the air. Like Dad always said, “You get your back muscles working for you when you paddle. If you just relied on your arms you'd be trashed in a couple hours.”

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

Sea lions swam along on both sides of the kayak, easily matching our pace.

Just as I pushed my paddle in again, a gust of wind came out of nowhere and water slammed into my face, running down and underneath my raincoat. I felt the sweat building under my raincoat and rain pants and
just wanted to crawl out of them. At the same time my hands were turning to ice from being washed by the waves and chilled by the wind.

The sea lions dove under the boat, nudging it. Two of them surfaced right next to me, and opened their mouths and made these roaring sounds that made my breath catch. Then they dove again and disappeared.

I couldn't see Dad, but I knew he was behind me, using the rudder to steer, keeping us pointed at an angle to the foot-high waves to help steady the kayak. Left. Right. Left. Right. I was a first-time kayaker.

Left. Right. Dad was the expert.

Left. Right. More water stinging my face.

Left. Rubbery arms.

Right. More water up my sleeves.

Left. I can't feel my hands.

Right. Where are those sea lions?

Left. This was so Mom and Dad's thing. I just agreed to go because this was the first time in three years that my dad actually acted like he wanted to do something with me.

I tried to keep paddling, but the water was dragging my arms down.

My body was burning but my face was freezing in place and my hands were completely numb. And to make matters worse, the gray clouds looked like they would dump on us any moment. But hey, that's how it is in Prince William Sound, Alaska. You come out here to kayak, your muscles work overtime, and you expect rain. We'd been gone for two and a half weeks and still had sixty miles to paddle to get to Whittier and then a four hundred mile drive north to Fairbanks. I just wanted to get home.

The kayak slowed down. I stopped paddling and twisted my body around.

“Just making a clothing adjustment so I don't overheat,” Dad said. His paddle was lying across his cockpit as he wrestled with his raincoat and life vest. “Looks pretty rocky ahead, but I'm gonna try to work us closer to shore. Hopefully that's the last we've seen of those sea lions.”

I nodded, turned back around and waited. Mom should've been with us. Everything was better when Mom was around.

I scanned the water. No sign of the sea lions. And the waves seemed to be calming down. Little did I know I would be upside down in the water in less than an hour—fighting for my life.

I BROKE
the surface and spit salt water.

Shore. Shore. Shore, my mind screamed.

But my dad. My dad. Where was he?

I yanked my hood off and stretched my neck. Giant green waves tipped with white surrounded me. I jumped and twisted.

“Dad!” I yelled. No orange anywhere.

Another wave slapped my face and I spit more salt water. I grabbed at a slippery log but another wave ripped it from my grip.

Then I angled toward shore. Alone. I kicked and kicked, but my rubber boots were filled with water and dragged me down. And the cold slashed me from all directions, like a sharp knife. My life vest was riding up on my neck, driving my head down. The waves washed over me from behind and kept dunking my head. I kept crawling forward with my arms trying to swim.

But my legs wouldn't rise. I felt like ropes were attached to my feet and I was being reeled down.

Down.

Down.

Down.

My head went under again and I pulled harder with my arms but they were moving in slow motion. My lungs burned for air.

I kept reaching and kicking—trying to get my mouth above the surface. Don't take a breath, I thought. Don't.

My lips touched the air, but another wave broke on the back of my head, pushed me under and forward, and I inhaled salt water.

My feet bumped the bottom, sending a jolt through my spine. I pushed upward, felt the wind on my cheeks and coughed up the water. I sucked air and my chest burned like a forest fire. Then I saw the biggest wave –

It body-surfed me up the beach, filling my mouth and scrubbing my ears with a salt-watery grit.

The waves kept rolling in. Stacking on top of each other. Too many for me to keep track of. I just kept pulling with my arms and pushing with my legs, trying to keep from scraping the bottom, breathing when I could get my mouth above the surface.

The water sucked back, and for a moment, I was free. Just lying on the rocky beach. I pushed with my arms and legs, kneeling on all fours, then a wave poured over my back like cement from a mixer, and drove me up the beach. I tried to stand and get away from the water, but the retreating surf tackled me at the knees and yanked me back toward the water.

Crawl, I told myself. Get yourself above the strand line. I had to get beyond that strip of nasty seaweed along the beach.

Water hissed around my knees, covered my hands, and tried to pull me back toward the disaster behind me.

I forced my numb arms and legs forward, pushed through the slimy seaweed in the strand line and collapsed onto my stomach, with my head just under the towering evergreens. The next wave tugged at my feet, so I clawed my way farther into the forest.

I flipped onto my back, pulled my knees to my chest, and breathed.

Yeah, I'd made it to shore. But what about Dad? I gagged, then rolled onto my side. The salt-watery puke burned my throat.

I rose to my knees and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, which covered my lips with spruce and hemlock needles. I spit and tried to blow the needles off my lips, then wiped my mouth again.

I pulled myself up and stepped out of the forest. Both my knees ached like the caps had been struck with a hammer. Big drops of cold rain pelted my face. I placed my hand just above my eyes and searched the white-capped waves for the orange of my dad's life preserver.