by Glenn Ferrand 

Charlie "Lost Boy" Schoonmaker was back on the island, ready to pick up where he had left things a few days earlier. He was on a fishing mission, having had exceptional luck in catching a near record of large flounder on trips within the past couple of weeks. His friends had marveled at how Charlie could catch fish and they could not, even when they stood shoulder to shoulder with him. Same bait, same rigs, everything. They just could not produce like Charlie. He was back again, having gone home for just a few days to keep ahead of things. The trip to get on the island was uneventful: drive a long way, unload the truck, load the ferry, unload the ferry, load the truck, get fuel, fishing info, tide charts and hit the beach. His truck was fully rigged and stocked, and running smoothly. Finally he was back at the secret hole. By himself this time, ready to continue his streak of luck.

He squared away things in the camper, all the time thinking about the rest of the world back at work in their offices. The afternoon was quiet.  Charlie caught a few fish and planned the rest of the trip in his minds eye. He knew the flounder would be back again, and he would be ready for them. Charlie turned in that night eager to rise early and get a quick start on the day. Or so he thought. Around 12:30am he was awakened by what he described as halogen spotlight bright lightning flashing in his camper along with a fierce wind blowing outside. Charlie started thinking of the mental checklist we all go through when weather moves in on the beach. He decided to get up to make sure things were secure outside, but before his feet could hit the floor the wind began to really howl. Lost Boy grabbed a flashlight to look around with when suddenly the truck lurched backwards several feet.  The walls of the camper were pulsing in and out and Charlie said he heard the sound of running water. All of a sudden Charlie found himself moving around like he was on some sort of amusement ride. He was throw against the inside wall and was left standing on his refrigerator with one hand in the kitchen sink. Dish washing detergent was running down his head and the place was trashed. He bolted for the door to get out but it was jammed so he opened the escape hatch and jumped, thinking that the camper was in on near the water. Luckily his feet hit dry ground and he took off running to escape the water and flying debris. Charlie stated that in a matter of seconds everything was quiet and the mosquitoes began eating him alive. He collected himself as much as possible, made a quick survey of the area, and began walking to the caretakers' cabin. He arrived at about 1:30am and woke up Waldo and Sue. They took him back to his truck and camper and realized there was nothing they could do at that time, so back to the camp they went.  Shaken but OK, Charlie said that he just wandered around the cabin area for the rest of the night and slept when he could. The next morning he returned to the scene with Russell and Phil, who had come over on the ferry. Lost Boys' truck had been moved so violently that when the passenger side rear tire struck a small sand ridge it broke the bead and went flat. The camper was off the bed of the truck and laying on its' side. When it went over, the camper took the driver's side of the bed off with it. >From all indications it sounds like a waterspout took a direct hit on Lost Boy. Believe it or not, Charlie got the camper back in his truck by afternoon . The rig was back at the marina ready for repairs at 8:30pm the same day.

We are all glad that Lost Boy "survived". His ratings weren't as high as the TV show but to me his story was much more interesting. Morals to the story: thank the fish gods when you have a good day of fishing, and don't camp too close to Lost Boy!