In the Murky Depths

It's not too often one can casually discuss bumping into an unknown large underwater organism in the dark.

The three of us had just finished a great first day of our 4 day sailing trip. The little sloop had tacked beautifully under sunny skies before the wind slowed. Later in the day we even hoisted the spinnaker when the winds died and we reversed heading, aiming for the mouth of the Chester River. Little did we know as we glided into that wide river mouth what mysterious creatures lay on her muddy floor.

We examined the charts under the glowing orange skies of a terrific sunset, looking for a suitable beach on which to have dinner - the problem being that beaches typically extend out into the water very gradually in the Chesapeake, making an approach with a sailboat drawing 4.5 feet tricky. Seeing mostly marsh grass through the binoculars, our choice was restricted to a single stretch of white sand. The sun was low, so we motored towards it despite shallow readings on the charts and a beeping depth finder.

Pushing the Lonnie Bruner as far into shore as she could reach, Damon gave the order to drop anchor, still over 150 yards away. We would have to wade to shore in 4.5 feet of water, carrying a small portable grill, steaks and a whiskey bottle.

Getting there was no problem. I led the way tentatively walking on a firm sandy bottom, coming across only a submerged piece of wood close to shore. As we had hoped, the bottom gradually rose all the way from the boat to our beach without sudden drop offs or debris.

One or ten swills of whiskey and a slab of steak later, it was time to wade back. The sun had disappeared and night's cloak had fallen on the world beyond our campfire. Only the stars above and our lonely mast light floating in the distance were visible. There were no boats visible anywhere except ours - the three of us were alone, surrounded by an increasingly unnerving sense of isolation and nature. A buzzing mess of marsh grass and low trees behind us and before us only blackness. The mastlight looked a mile away at night, and the serene expanse of reflected sunset that was there a couple hours ago had become a chilly, dark and ominously quiet unknown.

With steaming fire pit behind us, we all walked into the water with the quiet determination of men who have to get something over with. A few comments were made about the boat seeming far away, but nothing about girlish fears of fishies and snakes. Our only concern was whether the tide had come in and swimming would be required. Sloshing out into the water, our eyes on the mastlight, three friends walked into a dark spooky void, our confident optimism held together by camaraderie and whiskey.

Colin hit one first. We were almost half way to the boat in water which was a little deeper than our last transit, when Colin discovered we weren't alone. I was walking "point" when Colin yelled out and made a splashing sound. I looked back at Colin and Damon only ten feet away, also in water up to their chest. Colin was trying to convince Damon that he hit something big with his leg and it swam away.

At first I was amused that Colin got so spooked. It's always entertaining to see someone get scared like that, especially a good friend while drunk. It may have crossed my mind that I could hit a big something under the water, but at the time I enjoyed listening to Damon attempt to calm Colin down while I walked on, smiling to myself about the situation.

Then I felt something move next to my leg. A quick swirl of water faded my smile and widened my eyes. I froze. That glowing comfy attitude the whiskey had lent me fell through a trapdoor in the soles of my feet. Nothing was funny, and everything was scary - I was sober. Slowly turning around, I wanted nothing more than to be near my friends a little ways back. Fear must have been on my face, because as I approached my conversing buddies, they stopped talking and gave my a look that registered their understanding. Colin had a look of vindicated fear, and Damon had a look of disappointed fear. I was in midsentence, telling Damon that I felt one too, when I ran right into another creature.

This time it didn't sense my approach and swim away before I could hit it. This time my leg nailed a large creature that spazzed out. Damon later described the sensation like getting up in the night to go to the bathroom and accidentally stepping on your dog. Understandably, my spazzing out surpassed the Sea Monster and Colin's previous performance combined. While holding a grill above water, I kicked, shrieked and splashed my way vertically out of the water.

At about the same time, something nudged Damon also. He jumped up and added to the panic. Having reached my two terrified friends by miraculously walking on top of the water, my brain tried to grapple with what this thing or things could be. I thought they could be catfish, or some huge carp. I really had no idea, but the memory of Bull Sharks swimming their way upriver and getting confused by the lack of salinity kept popping into my head. I know it's happened in the past but I didn't want to verbalize it at the time. Another thought was the possibility of dead bodies being awakened.

We had roused an entire group of these monsters.

The three of us were quite literally huddled together in the water while big rubbery unseen dead people collided into our squirming legs and forcefully swimming away every 5 or ten seconds. We stood back to back and stared down at the black water trying to anticipate the next bump. Curses and shouts broke the silence of the night. If there was anybody within earshot, and I'm certain there wasn't, they would have thought we had come under enemy gunfire or were in the process of being eaten or both. On the edge fear and insanity, I felt like every childhood nightmare and bogeyman had caught up with me and ambushed us halfway between the beach and our boat.

After a few minutes things started to quiet down, and we realized they weren't trying to bite us. Damon knows quite a bit about fish, and he started acting calm and telling us that he thought he might know what they were. Of course when we asked him, he wouldn't tell us. A little ominous at the time.

Damon was probably the drunkest and he became the bravest. Not sure if it was his own courage, the whiskey, or his professed knowledge of the beasts, Colin and I watched him wade deeper towards the boat with an air of resolution we found hard to imitate. No sooner had he started when he appeared as though he was tackled. More splashing and cursing in the dark, but this time he sank down into the water.

I thought for a moment that he might need a hand wrestling with the 400 pound Mako that evidently took his legs off, when he bounced back up and mumbled something about how one of the bastards knocked him off balance. Colin and I followed close behind, making sure Damon hit whatever was in our path. Damon was our blocker, and judging by the mumbles, curses and splashing water, he was doing a good job of it. I have to admit I felt like a scared little kid trying to keep up with a fast walking parent in a crowd.

The water got much deeper. By the time we got to the boat the water was almost up to our necks and the creatures had pretty much stopped bumping into us, although that didn't stop Colin and I from asking Damon what the hell those things were every ten seconds. His only response was he would tell us when we got onboard.

After drying off and pouring some drinks, he told us. They were probably a type of freshwater ray. Like a stingray. These were apparently Cow-nosed Rays. He didn't want to tell us because he thought the idea of wading through a field of stingray might terrify us.

Little did he know my imagination had conjured up the image of Jaws, the Swamp Thing, and a snapping catfish the size of Danny Devito.