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  Our campsite was surrounded by small trees, and the birds that fluttered in and out of the branches captured Bob's attention right away.

  He looked up at me, purred a bit, then said, "Murrrph." He was a happy camper.

  Since it was late in the afternoon, with only another hour of daylight left, I decided that instead of hitting the beach with my metal detector, I'd just take a walk around the park and get familiar with the layout.

  Satisfied that Bob was occupied, I put on my ball cap, grabbed my camera, and slipped out the side door.

  Having checked the park brochure, I knew the campground was on a very narrow strip of land, surrounded by water on three sides.

  The Indian River to the west, the wide expanse of the Atlantic ocean to the east, and the Sebastian Inlet to the north.

  It was a perfect location for a campsite - as long as the weather was good.

  In bad weather, there was a good chance there'd be no escape off the island. Something I would discover before the week was over.

  15

  According to the campground map, a fishing pier on the east side of the park extended three hundred and sixty feet out over the Atlantic ocean.

  The pier ran parallel to the Sebastian Inlet, the body of water which connected the Atlantic to the Indian River. The tidal flows of the Atlantic would bring large fish though the inlet and near the pier.

  The prospect of catching ocean going fish from the pier was one of the reasons Sebastian Inlet State Park was so popular with tourists and locals alike.

  To me, the pier sounded like a good place to get my first look at the Treasure Coast beaches. I figured I could walk out to the end of the pier, and have a long view of the beaches on either side.

  It took about ten minutes of walking to reach the pier from my campsite. Normally, at this time of the year, the parking lot by the pier as well as the pier itself would be crowded with tourists and fishermen.

  But not today. The parking lot was deserted. Just one older pickup truck. And on the pier itself there was only one person. An older black man with three fishing lines in the water.

  As I made my way down the wooden deck of the pier, the lone fisherman turned in my direction and said, "I hope you're bringing me some luck, because I sure could use some today!"

  I nodded and pointed to his rod, "I don't know about bringing you luck, but it looks like you got a fish on your line."

  He turned, saw the tug on his line and said, "You're right! First bite I've had all afternoon. Let's see what we've got."

  He grabbed the rod and began reeling in his line. Slowly at first, then picking up speed as the fish fought to get free. After about three minutes, the fisherman finally brought his catch to the surface.

  "It's a snook," he said. "and a good fighter! Look at the size of this one!"

  I checked the fish out. It was about thirty inches long, silver in color with a black stripe running the full length of it's body.

  The fisherman expertly removed the hook from its mouth and held it up toward me, "You want it? It's good eating."

  I shook my head, "Thanks, but no thanks. I've got food back at my campsite."

  "If you're sure . . .", said the man. "But if you don't want it, I'm going to put it back in the water."

  "Aren't you going to keep it?" I asked.

  "No, I mostly fish for the fun of it. So if I'm not going to eat it, I put it back in the water. That way there'll always be something to catch when I come back."

  I nodded and started to walk away.

  "Hey, don't be in such a hurry to leave. You brought me good luck. As soon as you walked up, I catch a fish. Stay and maybe your luck will wear off on me."

  I smiled, "You don't need my luck. You'll do fine without me."

  Pointing toward the end of the pier, I said, "I'm going out to end. Check to see what the beaches look like."

  The fisherman nodded. "Be careful. That end gets pretty slippery."

  I smiled, "Thanks for the warning. Good luck with the fish."

  Walking further out, I could feel the pier shudder as large waves from the Atlantic ocean crashed into the pilings below. It was a strange feeling. Not unlike that of a earthquake where the ground below you moves as you struggle to maintain your footing.

  The strong wind off the Atlantic blew white caps off the very tops of the incoming waves, leaving tendrils of yellow sea foam on the wooden deck of the pier. This, combined with the constant mist caused by the crashing waves below, created a very slick surface.

  It was like walking on black ice. One misstep and you'd be on your butt. I discovered this the hard way.

  After almost slipping, I moved close to the hand rail and held it as I continued on, determined to make it out to the very end without sliding off into the crashing waves below.

  The thunder of the crashing surf, the wind fighting to knock me down, the rumbling and slippery deck combined to create an air of extreme danger.

  It was invigorating.

  In the brief ten minutes since I'd left my campsite, the weather had changed. What had started out a clear sky day with a light breeze, had turned to gray overcast skies with chilly gusting winds.

  A particularly strong wind gust pushed me across the slippery deck into the railings on the far side. Holding on, I looked down and could see the angry waves crashing into the rocks below.

  If I were to fall off the pier into the water, there'd be little chance of survival.

  Having had my adrenalin fix, I headed back toward shore.

  As I passed the lone fisherman, he said, "My luck went away with you. No bites. No fish."

  I smiled, "Maybe the fish heard the weather guys on the radio. Maybe they headed up river to avoid the storm."

  The guy just laughed, "Fish don't have no radios."

  I laughed in return, and walked back to the motorhome. It was starting to get dark, and I wanted to get settled in for the night.

  Before the big storm hit.

  16

  That evening, I cooked dinner in the microwave and watched the weather report on local TV.

  The meal was good. The weather report wasn't.

  The storm had intensified, and now they were predicting it would reach the island late tomorrow, and bring with it forty to seventy mile per hour winds. And a lot of rain.

  The weather service had issued a series of warnings, including a high surf advisory, a rip tide advisory, a storm surge and coastal flooding advisory, and a small craft warning.

  The only good news was the storm was moving fast and should be out of the area in a day or two.

  I mentioned the coming bad weather to Bob, and he just said, "Murrph." Translation: make sure I have plenty of food and don't get wet, and I'll be okay.

  Since Bob wasn't worried, I wasn't either.

  And even if I was, I wasn't leaving the campground any time soon. The wind gusts had made it too dangerous to drive the motorhome. Especially over the bridge that led back to the mainland.

  Since I wasn't going anywhere, I decided to make the most of it. I went back to the bedroom, turned on the TV, and popped in the metal detecting DVD I had ordered before leaving Sarah's place.

  With Bob beside me, I watched the DVD and learned that I had chosen the right detector and scoop, and would soon be at the right beach at the right time to find treasure.

  The expert on the DVD showed me everything I needed to know about metal detecting. How to swing the detector, how to use the scoop, which parts of the beach to detect and which to avoid. He even showed several Treasure Coast beaches, and pointed out hot spots on each.

  He also showed some of the treasures he'd found. Rings and coins and gold and silver. The kinds of things I hoped to be finding after the storm.

  After the DVD ended, I turned off the TV and checked my phone for messages.

  Nothing from Sarah.

  I was tempted to call and let her know we had arrived at the campground safely. But decided it was best to give her the space she had requested.<
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  As I was laying in bed thinking about Sarah, the motorhome suddenly rocked from side to side. Bob's ears pricked up and he swiveled his head back and forth, listening for clues. Then he jumped off the bed and disappeared into the open closet.

  I got up and went to the front of the coach. The windows were still open from earlier in the day, and a strong breeze was blowing the curtains, causing them to knock against the window frame.

  I closed all the windows, pulled the blinds and locked the doors.

  In the back bedroom I said, "It's going to be an interesting night, Bob."

  He didn't reply. Bob didn't like storms.

  17

  It was Bob's fault that I didn't sleep well that night. He woke me up with his howling. Three different times.

  Each time, he'd start out with a soft meow. Then he would ramp it up, using his outside voice. The more I ignored him, the louder he'd get.

  I finally gave in, got up and checked his food. His bowl was full. All he really wanted was reassurance that he wasn't alone.

  After a few minutes of talking to him and rubbing his ears, he'd calm down enough to eat a few bites of food and go back to sleep.

  It was after Bob's third howling episode that I remembered how I'd settled him down on our previous trip. With catnip.

  Looking through the bathroom shelves, I was relieved to find a small bag of catnip, still there from our first trip together.

  I crushed up a small amount and placed it on a paper plate in front of Bob. Then I rubbed a bit of it on his face, just behind his whiskers.

  Bob said, "Mrrrruuff." He started purring, then walked over to the paper plate, and ate all the catnip I had prepared for him.

  A few moments later, Bob was sound asleep.

  He slept the rest of night without any further howling episodes.

  Catnip, the wonder drug.

  The next morning, I woke early. Bob was asleep on the bed. Down by my feet. Snoring contently.

  And even though I hadn't slept well, I was ready to get out on the beach with my detector and start finding treasure.

  At the very earliest, the storm wasn't scheduled to hit until late this afternoon. I figured I could get in a few hours with the detector before I'd have to come back.

  I nudged Bob out of the way, got up, ate a quick breakfast, and suited up for my first real treasure hunt.

  18

  Before leaving the motorhome, I checked Bob's supplies. Wouldn't be good to leave him alone without food, water and a clean box.

  After making sure Bob was set, I headed toward the beach, with detector and scoop in hand.

  The campground was quiet except for a few early risers who were packing and getting ready to leave. The few campers left seemed to be in a real hurry to get away.

  About half way to the beach I realized I hadn't checked the latest weather forecast. And I'd left my phone back in the motorhome. So no way to check until I got back.

  No problem. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and other than the hint of cold in the steady northerly breeze, there was no indication that a major storm was on the way.

  I continued to the beach, confident that not only would I be safe, I'd probably find some treasure before the storm hit.

  As it turned out, I was wrong on both counts.

  19

  When I reached the beach, the sun was still shining, and a cool breeze blew from the north. The waves rolling in from the Atlantic were starting to show white caps, hinting at what was to come.

  Since the north side of the beach was blocked by the fast moving waters through the Sebastian Inlet, my only option was to head south.

  I powered up the detector, pulled the headphones over my ears, and began my first treasure hunt.

  Following the instructions I'd seen on the video the night before, I slowly swung the detector over the sand, listening for the tones that would indicate treasure.

  I truly expected to start finding things right away. So I was somewhat disappointed that after thirty minutes, I had found nothing. Not even a bottle cap.

  Fearing the detector wasn't working properly, I pulled a coin from my pocket, dropped it on the beach, and kicked sand over it with the toe of my sneaker. Then I swung the detector coil over it.

  The detector immediately beeped. The LCD display indicated a coin, one inch deep.

  So the detector was working as it should. That meant there was no treasure on this part of the beach. Not much trash either.

  But I wasn't discouraged. Instead of staying on the non productive track I had been following, I moved up half way between the water line and the sand dunes. Then I continued my slow walk to the south, swinging the detector in search of treasure.

  After not hearing a sound from the detector for almost an hour, I was startled when it finally beeped loudly. It meant I had found something.

  I stopped and swung the detector over the area that produced the beep. It beeped again, confirming that something was there, buried in the sand.

  I was hoping it would be a gold coin or perhaps a diamond necklace.

  I positioned the pointed edge of the sand scoop over the target location, pushed the scoop bucket down with my foot, and removed six inches of sand.

  Shaking the scoop left to right, I let the sand sift out through the small holes in it, until I heard the distinct rattle of metal in the bottom of the scoop.

  That would be my treasure.

  Bringing the scoop closer, I looked to see what I had found.

  It wasn't treasure. It was a fishing leader line with six lead weights on it.

  Not gold. Not silver. Not diamonds.

  I was disappointed. No treasure.

  But on the bright side, I had found something. And that proved that the detector was working.

  I put the leader line in the plastic trash bag I was carrying, stretched my arms, then picked up the detector and continued my search down the beach.

  Over the next hour, my detecting skills got better and I found several objects. Almost all were fishing related. Hooks, lead weights, and a large fishing lure.

  I was happy to be finding things, but still hadn't found the treasure I was looking for.

  As I detected, I kept my eyes focused on the sand directly below the detector. And that turned out to be a mistake.

  I should have been checking the sky back behind me.

  I realized this when I finally stopped for a water break. Turning back toward the pier, I could see angry looking dark clouds rolling my way. The north wind had turned colder and was picking up strength.

  I'd been walking south on the beach for more than three hours. And during that time, I'd probably covered three miles or more.

  With the low storm clouds on the horizon, it was time for me to head back to the safety of the Love Bus.

  If I metal detected all the way back to the pier, it'd take roughly the same amount of time it took me to get to this far - about three hours. And then another fifteen minutes to get back to my camp site.

  Based on how fast the storm front looked to be moving, I didn't think I'd have three hours. I might not even have one hour.

  20

  As I started back toward the campground, I could see that the storm was approaching even faster than I thought. The dark cloud bank, rising high into the sky, was moving quickly.

  Far up the beach, I could see a heavy mist, perhaps rain. This meant I was likely to get wet before the day was over.

  Rather than waste time, I turned off the detector, pulled off the headphones, and started walking as fast as I could through the soft sand.

  With each step, I kicked up a rooster tail of sand, much of it filling my shoes. Every few minutes, I had to stop to dump the sand out.

  Soon this wouldn't be a problem. The rain in the distance, along with the incoming tide, would turn the soft sand into a wet slurry. And with each step, the heavy wet sand would stick to my shoes like mud.

  The rain came on me suddenly and with an unexpected intensity. Driven
by the wind, and cooled by the high clouds, the drops felt like pins and needles on my bare arms and legs.

  I was soon soaked to the bone. And the rain didn't let up.

  As I slogged onward, the rumbles of thunder got louder, and the flashes of lightning became more frequent. As the storm intensified, I could feel an electrical charge building up in the atmosphere.