A few years ago my wife invited me to join her and several coworkers for a party on Lake Murray. I had no idea what I was getting into. One of the coworkers brought his really souped up boat and a parasail. We anchored our boats at Bomb (or Lunch) Island in the middle of Lake Murray. The island has a very small beach. The rest of the island is off limits as the island is one of only two roosting grounds for Purple Martins in the US.
The plan was for each of us to have a turn parasailing around the island by taking off from the beach.
Two women went ahead of me and went soaring way up in the air like little birds. Next it was my turn. I strapped my arms into the two ten foot sails. The sails were held up by a person on each side. Then they handed me a rope attached to this very loud gas guzzling boat. I was told not to run and to just wait till the rope got tight. They said it would just automatically pick me up. Then they started revving up the boat engine and tightening on the lines to the parasail. I started sweating bullets and yelled for them to cut the engine. They could not hear over the noise of the motor so I started running. Big mistake. My feet could not keep up so I fell. My face and knees were dragged across the sand and rocks before I was finally lifted up.
I could not believe how high it took me and how quiet it was up there. But I did realize that my knee was dripping blood and I had lost one of my sandals. We circled the island and the boat started to slow up so I could descend and land in shallow water off the beach. But a little old man wearing a thong pulled his pontoon in the precise place I was to land. Thankfully, the boat driver realized I was about to splat like a bug on a windshield. He gave it the gas and I just did clear the top of the pontoon boat.
There is more to this adventure that I will post in a future blog.
