Sherri arrived promptly at 9:00 a.m. on a still and peaceful Wednesday morning. We were going bird watching and canoeing at Stone Lagoon. Our spirits were soaring because spring break was finally here and the torrential rains that had plagued us for two weeks had ceased. We were two grade school teachers seeking an adventure.
Sherri had just finished swimming five miles at the CR pool and her curly mahogany hair was still wet. Sporting her new yellow straw hat, she looked like Shirley Temple.
“Hey, Joanie, how do you like this new hat?” she asked me with playful prankish eyes.
“Wow,” I replied. “It sure is a dandy.”
With her brownish red tan and lean physique, she appeared ready for any strenuous outdoor activity. She spoke in a pleasant melodious voice, bubbling over with excitement about our upcoming adventure.
“All you need, good buddy, is a coat, binoculars, and your bird book,” Sherri informed me with confidence. She had everything else. A large brick red canoe was strapped to the top of her little gold truck.
Off we went, down the winding highway. As we drove, I dreamed of beautiful birds and imagined looking up each one of them in my treasured bird book.
Upon our arrival, we enthusiastically lifted the friendly vessel off the truck. Sherri remarked as she paused to stare at the picture perfect lagoon, “I’m overwhelmed by the beauty of this place.” The blue green lagoon, next to the deep azure blue ocean wowed us. The large body of fresh water was framed on two sides by evergreen forests. The nearby marsh was tufted with tall green and fuzzy brown cattails, large floating lilly pads, and masses of tangled thorny bushes. Musical sounds from the whistling and twittering birds filled the air.
“How fortunate we are to live so close to all this,” I announced.
“Yes, isn’t it awesome?” Sherri readily agreed.
We grabbed our lunches, and hopped into the canoe. Sherri carefully positioned herself in the canoe and pulled on her brown wool knit hat and gloves. She buttoned up her full length, extra heavy, wool plaid coat from St. Vinny’s. April could be chilly.
It wasn’t until we were in the canoe that we noticed the lagoon appeared unusually swollen. Apparently the over full lagoon had broken through the long narrow sand spit that had separated it from the massive ocean. This new break, about 75 feet wide, allowed the lagoon to flow directly into the Pacific.
“That is very strange. This lagoon is usually landlocked,” observed Sherri.
Sherri was sitting cross legged in the back of the canoe to navigate its path, and I was crouched awkwardly in the front. By my watch, it was 11:00 a.m. when we paddled off to begin our little adventure. We seemed to glide effortlessly on the water, and when we reached the middle of the vast lagoon, we got our bird books out. No one else was on the lagoon, so we drifted, peacefully, worry free, relishing the quiet time with our bird books. After an hour or so, we decided to put the canoe up near the ocean side of the lagoon, adjacent to a large black stump. This looked like the perfect place for our lunch break, where we could rest in near solitude on the deserted shore.
Suddenly, as we paddled west towards the spit, we unexpectedly found ourselves being pulled in a southerly direction. The current was drawing us into the treacherous gap leading out to the endless depths of the ocean. This bottleneck was sucking water out of the lagoon at a tremendous rate. A choppy roaring channel with large white capped waves surged where the lagoon waves met the ocean current. It resembled a turbulent river moving
rapidly out to sea.
I screamed in terror, “My God. We are going out to sea!”
Sherri shouted in a high pitched voice, “Paddle faster!”
The tiny craft was no match for the gripping current. As we passed helplessly into the narrow opening, Sherri shrieked in panic, “Jump out!” Out of the corner of my right eye, I saw her make her perilous dive. It was a horizontal dive and she cut the water like a knife. This is the last image I have of her. With mindless fear I did what I was told and tried to jump, but fell out the other side of the rocking canoe as it sped through the open jaws of the awaiting sea.
Finding myself in the roaring waterway, I struggled to swim to the sand bank at the channel’s edge. The violent waves thrashed me about, but I did not go under. Human strength was no match for this omnipotent force. Finally, the current let me go. I found myself floating in smooth placid water, utterly alone, seemingly lost forever in the salty abyss. I wondered how I managed to miss the three formidable rocks that were just offshore and opposite the newly forged opening. Total disbelief struck me. I could not believe I was a half mile from land. I could not believe my existence. I examined this fishbowl as I looked for Sherri, but I did not see her. Maybe she is swimming to shore? Will we end up halfway around the world? While I drifted far out in the deep, deep Pacific, I calmly thought, I guess today is the day I’m going to die.
At the time, I recalled a childhood memory. If I’m ever in a drowning situation, I must swim on my back to save myself. So I flipped over and eyeballed the far away shore. As I floated under the cloudless sky, I could see the toes of my white leather adidas jutting from the ends of my 501’s. My quilted navy nylon goose down vest seemed to give me buoyancy as well as some warmth. The frigid water, however, was numbing me as it sucked away my strength. I was feeling fatigued and my peripheral vision was narrowing. What about my mother and dad? My family? I didn’t say goodbye. Would I make it? With firm resolve I declared I must make it. I must see my family again. I swam at a slow steady pace while my arms felt like lead weights. Rolling my arms backwards, over and over, I took a perpendicular path towards shore. After about 20 to 30 minutes, I had closed in on the steep sandy shore. I tried several times to climb out of the icy ocean. The weight of my wet clothing dragged me down. The huge waves tossed me around like a cork and slammed me against the shore. I thought the waves were going to kill me now. They did not want to relinquish their death grip. Finally, on my hands and knees, I clawed my way out of the pounding surf, one arm, one leg at a time.
I found myself on the south side of the lagoon’s opening, cut off from the main beach. I tried to walk around the lagoon to reach highway 101, but it was too swampy. When I returned to the small beach area I looked for Sherri. Maybe she managed to make it to shore. After an hour or two, I spotted a family of three fishing on the north side of the lagoon’s new opening. I yelled to them, telling them of the tragedy. The gray haired man told me I would have to hike over the steep little peak that protruded out into the ocean. He assured me he would meet me on the other side.
I hiked down the lonely beach and surveyed the little mountain. It was steep with loose rocks, a sharp ridge that grew into a rigid little peak as it met the ocean. I’d certainly climbed bigger mountains before, but not alone, and not in a frightened state. Eventually I stumbled shakily down the south side as the lone man climbed up to meet me. I extended my hand to meet the outstretched hand of my savior, this wonderful stranger. I was so grateful and thankful for this caring human. Mr. Hall, whose name I was told later, promised he would take me to his family’s camp where his wife was waiting to provide me with warm clothes and hot chocolate. He informed me that the sheriff was coming.
The sheriff called Sherri’s husband, Jim. Helicopters came. The sheriff’s marine posse brought their rescue boat. When the helicopter pilot spotted the canoe two miles out at sea, Jim told them to leave it there. He wandered the shore searching for his wife. Jim had a frightened look of disbelief on his face. It was obvious he was quite distraught.
He gazed at the sea and looked up and down the vacant beach. Applying his oceanographic skills, he attempted to calculate where Sherri might be had she managed to reach the shore. When he said aloud, “She’s a strong swimmer,” I knew he had hope. He said if she was still in the water though, she was probably gone by now, never to be found. The water was just too unforgiving.
The next day, our dear friend, Judy, came over and drove me to the lagoon. We rode along in silent companionship. Together we hiked the beach looking for our missing friend. We screamed and clutched each other whenever we saw anything that looked like a body. We thought we saw her curly hair, her straw hat, and her stiff arm sticking up. This turned out to be dried seaweed blowing in the wind and a few pieces of rotting driftwood. Sadness enveloped us as we realized our quest was futile.
I asked Judy to pinch me. Was this a surrealistic dream? The two of us were in a stupor. Where was Sherri? Many things went through our heads as we discussed where she might end up: China, Japan, Shelter Cove? Would we ever know? Was our friend lost forever? We thought Sherri probably sank due to her heavy wool coat, rubber boots, and the fact that she really hadn’t much body fat.
A large gathering of family and friends attended a memorial service at Stone Lagoon. We planted a flowering cherry tree near the north side of the lagoon, not far from the parking lot. Sherri’s husband and friends dedicated a kiosk in her name at the new Arcata bird marsh. Jim left his oceanography teaching position at HSU and moved away. He never returned.
Judy and I went back to our fifth grade classes and Sherri’s third grade class went on without her. Her class got a new teacher. My students wrote me very touching cards and letters. They planted a tree for Sherri, even though she did not teach at our school. The tree is quite large and beautiful now, 23 years later.
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