Marooned by Choice: How Eight Suburbanites Conquered Foreign Islands

Dedicated in loving memory of Lindsay Rawot

“Okay. Grace, are you ready?”
“Ready Linds.”
“Okay okay...one...two...THREE!”
In a few moments, Big Rideau Lake would be forever unsettled. In these moments, onlookers upon Partridge Island witnessed a flurry of hands, excited screams, and two naked bodies, flying across an elevated dock and gliding through air into the noticeably cold body of water. This is how they got there.

“We’ve got three bottles of water, Stadium Arcadium on repeat, and one Penthouse Forum. Gentlemen, let’s rock.”

And so began the nine hour drive from Chagrin Falls, OH to Ontario, Canada. In the days ahead, during the summer of 2006, our stars would disappear from society, isolated in a foreign land. Four dudes, four gals, one mother, and one toddler. No expectations, and a storybook to fill.

Nothing could stop them, not a road hazard, nor border patrol, nor the coming darkness. After purchasing a New York scratch lottery ticket, not even the winnings induced a stop (This ticket would never be cashed.). Until, of course, this group of 19-year-olds was asked to pay $30 for a case of Bud Light. Canada, with this tariff, free healthcare makes sense. But they were close, only a short drive to the town of Portland, where, nearby, a boat with their name waited. They could only cross their fingers, and hope the girls had bought plenty of bottles, enough to share.

Duncan had already learned to play beer pong. Duncan, age 2, recited the rules, showed off his skills, and even knew the game by name. As one of the first sights on Partridge Island, it was clear this vacation would enter new territory of delirium. In fact, the gentlemen were already late to the party, but the night was young. Soon the lodgings were toured, a variety of low beds, window seats, and cots housing eight college kids in an omnipresent boathouse humidity. There was also a hammock, 50 yards down the path. But who would sleep in a hammock, overnight?
The rest of the night went as one would expect, following a walk of the log cabin residence, meeting the neighbors on Eagle Island, and the beginning of a long stream of beer pong games, whose results would prove to have greater consequence as the days rolled on. Just as any other house party, it went till it could no more, and the struggle for who slept where was solved by increasing levels of heat and drowsiness. The real treat would come with daylight.

Hangover be damned, for it’s nothing a jump in the lake can’t solve. Our eight heroes, suddenly energized by a classic breakfast highlighted by milk from a bag, began a long day of adventure, never forgetting to refill their cups. While earlier serving as floating lounge instruments, the inner tube action soon took to the lake, beginning with a contest, asking which pair of boys could hang on the longest? The winner is still, and will forever be, under debate. Only a warm-up, though, for the afternoon’s main attraction: cliff diving. A few miles from the island, a number of suitable ledges were found, beginning at 15 feet and ending at 30. You’d think, after several hours of day drinking, any fears would have been quelled. Armed with only the assurance of “people do it all the time,” everyone was on their own, left to the mocking calls of those who had already jumped. After some hesitation and much thrill, everyone sailed through the warm air and crashed safely into the water. If there was ever a time for a beer run, it was now.

There was no way around it: Every dollar each of the eight had brought had to be spent. But the haul would be one to remember, filling the trunk of an SUV with enough beer, liquor, and chasers to sink a whale. And chips, they couldn’t forget the chips.

Like a ship of pirates leaving Tortuga, stocked to the brim with vice and looking for adventure, the eight arrived back on Partridge, and continued their earlier lounging, only slightly more aggressive. As the games continued, the boasting roared, and soon enough the dares began to flow. I bet you won’t eat that, jump off and do a backflip, swim back from that island, they continued through the night, until Lindsay issued the ultimate challenge: You won’t sleep in the hammock. Never one to back down from an assured win, Greg accepted with pleasure.
While morning came quickly to the others, the night was long for the lone camper. Apart from sleeping in the shape of a banana, swaying to and fro with every small adjustment, the bugs are what pushed him to the edge. On a wooded island during the summer months, the obvious was begging to be known, but pride is a powerful shade. The reappearance of milk in a bag couldn’t come soon enough. And for the group as a whole, the most storied day was about to begin.

Kingston was the name of the game this day. An hour-long car drive, kept busy with a continued indulgence of drink and smoke, only heightened the excitement for the participants. Shopping for the girls (and one guy, dammit Sipple) and World Cup soccer, pub-style, for the boys. Each group went their separate ways upon arrival, and while the shopping was surely exhilarating, the pub held the true party. Packed to the brim with fans, Germany battled Portugal for third place in the tournament. A special shoutout to Carlsberg beer is necessary, for they provided an extra level of fandom for the boys, with free hats and other souvenirs to keep them drinking, and purchasing, their brand. By the time the group reunited in the rear of the pub, the bartender had foolishly provided the boys with darts, adding danger to an already loaded situation. But with the game over and the free popcorn gone, it was time to eat.

There has been little mystery in this adventure so far. That would all change at this junction, for a guest star entered the picture, the waiter named, as he claimed, Caliber. As the wait dragged on, the suspicion grew exponentially, for there was no way an honest cowboy named Caliber had stumbled upon his calling in Ontario, Canada, at a neighborhood grill. He would be pressed at every appearance, other servers would be questioned, and, as failure is never an option, his true identity would see the light. Scott, you can’t beat these ACT scores.

After a return drive few remember, the final night had arrived. In what seemed like the fiftieth game in as many hours, the first game of the final tournament began, though this time the championship game held an extra layer, one final dare, to be completed by the losing pair: Streak, side-by-side, arms a-flail, across the entirety of the dock, leaping 10 feet into the late afternoon water.
If there had ever been a moment for Kyle and Greg to shine, this was it. While a four-team tournament may be the minimum amount for a proper contest, let there be no denying they blazed right into the finals, ready to face whomever may also arrive. As the waves calmed against the deck and darkness loomed, the final match was ready: Grace and Lindsay had entered the octagon.
The game began in familiar fashion, with the males hitting several early shots and earning a fast lead. But they began to falter, Grace hit a bounce, and suddenly it was anyone’s game. “We are not losing to girls, for Jeff and Sipple to mock us all the way home. Let’s go!” Kyle shoots, hit! Greg shoots, bring ‘em back! One cup left, but two misses followed. The girls found a sliver of relief, hitting one of their next two. But now was the money shot, one cup left to send the girls home in their birthday suits. Releasing from one final bro-hug, the two contenders lined up, equal in whatever the outcome, and sunk it. Game over.

"Okay. Grace, are you ready?"

"Ready Linds."

"Okay okay...one...two...THREE!"

Victory, as they say, has never been sweeter.

So while there were bodies of eight, in the end there were hearts as one. Having memories has never been tough, creating memories has always been the burden. But in the company of her, this burden was a privilege, one we shall miss for the rest of our days. In your loss, we ache, but with your spirit inside us, may we blossom.