Low Tide Clamming

[jack c]

LOW TIDE CLAMMING By jack c

Meg could not believe that she had really gotten herself into this situation - this stuff only happened in bad movies, in old bad black-and-white movies. But here she was, submerged in a salt water sandbar up to her neck - at the remote east end of Ninigret Pond on the Rhode Island coast. Because of surrounding cattails and beach grass, she couldn't see either the main pond or the ocean beach roadway behind her. She still had some mobility in her arms. They had sunk beneath the surface, but they were not pinned to her sides - a good thing. In fact, she could just see her finger tips sticking out on both sides in front of her, arms extended laterally as if she were treading water.

Only she was treading quicksand - at least she surmised that it had to be quicksand she was engulfed in. She had stopped sinking a couple of minutes earlier. All that stuff about remaining still and not sinking was so much horse-dung, she now knew. Yeah, she had remained almost motionless from thigh-deep down, but slowly and surely she had continued to sink, much to her mutual dismay and terror. Now, salty wet sand bubbled for 20+ feet in all directions just inches below her chin. Calling for help had been useless. It was a windy day and she was far from the road and the boating channel. She knew that the tide was coming in; she had checked earlier - low tide at about 2:00 PM here today, and it was after 3:00 now.

When she tried to move her arms, the sand surface rolled and undulated all around her. Her footprints behind her were filled with dark water and were slowly disappearing. If she went under in this spot, there would be no trace that she had ever been here - they might never find out she had drowned here. When she tried moving her legs, she might as well have been buried in dry topsoil. She felt a vise-like grip around her body from her waist downward. She had worn only a bathing suit with a denim shirt over top to come out here and meet Chip, her fiance (they had both just graduated from Providence College) to go digging for clams. Damn! She didn't even eat clams, and now here she was in this mess. Chip had called her cell phone an hour ago; there was this good clamming spot at the east end of Ninigret, in a tidal pool area, he said. He was bringing a 6-pack of Coors. They had together agreed to dig clams, drink beer, and make out, not necessarily in that order. Meg was an athletic 5'-8" freckled blonde natural beauty - no makeup needed. Chip looked like a typical surfer dude. But looks were only icing; they had both graduated with honors and both had good jobs starting soon.

Chip had given Meg directions off the ocean road and said let's meet at 3:00 PM. Meg had arrived a few minutes early and had done some preliminary exploring. Halfway across the bar, the surface had simply given way underfoot and turned semi-liquid for several feet all around her. One second solid and then, BAM!, it just turned to goo. Surprised and frightened, Meg had reacted in what she now thought must be the cliche behavior. She struggled with her legs, trying to pull first the right, then the left calf up and out. There was just no solid bottom to push against, and she had sunk deeper several inches with each attempt. By the time the sand pressed against her upper thighs, she had calmed down a bit. Sure she had read somewhere that you should remain still and call for help, both of which she had done, to no avail. She had continued to go down steadily and inexorably deeper ... to her waist ... then chest ... then finally to the nape of her neck, where she seemed to arrive at a neutral depth. This had all happened to her in the last 20 minutes or so, and still no Chip here. He had to come! - it was her only chance. If she had just called from the ocean road and waited for him!

Wait! That was it! Her cell phone - she had put it in a Ziploc bag in the top pocket of her white denim shirt. In the initial panic, she had thought of nothing; later, going in more slowly, it had just slipped her mind. Stupid! How easy it would have been to make a call when she was only waist-deep! She found she could still move her arms a little, with great effort. Could she manage to reach under the sand and fish out the phone? The sandwich bag was sealed, an old boating trick to keep it dry. Slowly, almost motionlessly, she drew her right forearm inward, feeling the cool heavy sand resist even the smallest effort. It took about two whole minutes, but she finally reached her muddy fingers into the open pocket. Now, slowly again ... move real slow ... bring the phone just above the quicksand's surface. Got it! Now, move the other hand over ... slower than slow ... six more inches ... finally there. She just managed to get the zipper lock open. There was no way to dry or clean her hands - the phone, she prayed, would just have to work a little wet and muddy. Please!!

Meg's breaths were coming short and close together. She felt a firm pressure against her chest, making normal breathing a bit of an effort. OK now, slowly, punch in the autodial-last-caller ... damn it all, Chip, please answer! On the fifth long ring, just before voice-mail, she heard, "Hey Meg, what's up?"

"It's more like what's down?! I am! Where are you?" she whispered desperately, trying not to make the sand move. "I'm stuck in a sand bog at your wonderful clamming spot. I'm in up almost to my chin - one move and I could be under."

"Meg, I'm on the beach road right now. I'm on my way - stay on the phone ... [Chip began to sprint ... through the beach grass ... a few more yards] ... I can see you now! Man, you're way out on the bar. I'm going to need help to get to you, I think."

"No - don't you dare leave me. The tide is coming in now. I probably have 20 minutes here tops before there will be water covering this sandbar. Try to reach me now." John slowly, gingerly, began taking baby steps toward Meg. He got about halfway out before he sank in. When he became knee-deep, the treading became onerous. He could only with huge effort extricate one foot to take another step. With each difficult step, he went deeper overall into what felt like glue to him. He knew it wouldn't work - he had to back out now or they would both drown in the incoming tide. He just barely managed to make it back to solid sand. "No good, Meg. I won't make it out to you and back together. Look, I have an idea. I think it's the only thing that will work in time. I'm going back to my Jeep on the beach road. I have an air mattress in the back. it will float on the incoming tide. If I can float out to you when there are just a few inches of water, I can pull you out onto the air raft. Stay still - I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"No ... Chip ... do NOT leave me here alone! ...not with the tide coming in ... HEY!" But Chip was already sprinting back to the road. Here was his Jeep Wrangler. Air mattress - YES! - let's get back - sprint back! When Chip got back to the tidal flat, the salt water tide was lapping over the edges of the sandbar. "I have to wait until there is a little more water, Meg. Just hold on!"

"Hold onto what? There's nothing here but muck. I'm afraid of waiting - Chip - the tide is coming in now - the tide!!"

"And I need to use that tide to rescue you. You've got a good six inches of clearance to breathe with your mouth right now. Let's wait until three inches of water. Stay still and raise your chin - take deep, slow breaths."

"Please hurry out to me! Now!!" But Meg was a trooper. She displayed calm courage, faced upward as much as she could manage, and kept her airways above the creeping salt water. But she was still scared because she knew from years of living here how fast the tide came in at Ninigret.

Chip waited an agonizing, for both of them, 10 to 12 minutes, during which the brackish water encircled Meg's neck; it was now just beneath her chin. "OK, now let's try it.' Chip paddled and clawed at the sand, pulling and pushing the air mattress through the few inches of water churning together with the wet sand. The whole sand flat rolled under the shallow water like a giant waterbed, but Meg stayed buoyant enough to keep her head up. Finally, Chip reached her and paddled around in front of her. He reached a few inches into the loose sand and grabbed a solid handhold on each of Meg's forearms. "OK, you're going to have to help me here. I'll try to pull you up and over onto the raft. You have to pull, too. We have to pull and stop, pull and stop. We have to gradually loosen up the sand around your legs. Moving will help turn the sand into quick condition again. You won't sink under - I've got hold of you, and I'm on a buoyant raft."

"How come it sounds like you know so much about what this quicksand will and won't do? Did you write a term paper on it or something?!"

"Later," answered Chip. "Let's just leave it at 'I know a lot about quicksand' for now. We've got to keep you above the water right now." And they repeatedly pulled and rested just as planned. And, frightfully slowly, the vise grip did gradually loosen around Meg's thighs and calves. Her arms and shoulders slowly came free above the surface - this helped Meg to be able to help Chip pull better - to be an equal partner in her rescue. Gradually, her chest emerged from the sandy slurry. Fortunately here, Meg was well-enough-endowed that it helped hold her up on top of the raft to keep her from slipping back in. Big boobs - who knew? she thought.

Together, they managed to slide Meg's body upward and laterally onto the air mattress. By now, there were a good six to eight inches of salt tide in. Chip swung his legs off the mattress and into the loose and wet top layer of sand. With both Meg and Chip kicking and pulling against the quicksand, they worked their way over to where the bottom was more solid - from where they could stand and wade out of the ever-deepening tidal pool and back to terra firma.

Chip: "Whew - you OK?"

Meg: "Yeah, now I am. But for a while there ... I don't know. I've only ever stepped in mud that just squished between my toes before. I was almost swallowing this stuff. And Mr. Smart Guy - since when do you have a Ph.D. in sinkology? How did you know that goofy rescue plan would work? And what's all this crap about 'the quick condition'?"

Chip: "Well, I was an engineering major, but ... ummmh ... I've kinda ... er ..sort of been in quicksand a few times myself before. It kind of turns me on, especially if there's a woman sinking, like a fetish or something. I can't really explain it very well. I've been wanting to tell you - I mean you really should know before you marry me and all, but I bailed out every time I got close to saying it. Sorry. If you think I'm too weird and want to dump me, I can't blame you. But ... I really hope you don't think it's that bad."

Meg: "Well ... it's a little unusual, I guess. But I've known guys with way more off-the-wall kinks than that. Sinking ...hmmm ...it actually sounds kind of interesting ... from a distance, I mean. That was a little too up close and personal for a first time for me! Wait, you mean that you could get excited, that way, watching me sinking? HEY - wait a minute! If you set me up here, I'm gonna slug you and then kill you!"

Chip: "No ... no way! ... really! I only got told about this clamming spot yesterday. I never came out here before. And no, I didn't have time to be thinking about being turned on, what with you in trouble and all. I was only thinking that we had to get you out, and fast. And together, we did. Now, maybe if it was all on film and we watched it later, knowing you were safe, well maybe then it might be a little interesting. And ... say, wait a minute! - what did you mean for a first time for you? You mean, you would try this again some time?"

Meg punched Chip on the arm, wet sand flying everywhere - but it was a playful punch. "Jerk! But maybe - I don't know - if it would be a part of our romantic relationship - I might try it - someplace a little less scary, I mean. And if you're such an expert, why don't you walk in and let me rescue you?!"

"Not here, not with the tide coming in ... that's one of the unsafe situations you can get in. But I know a spot just inland that is above the tide, and it's wet all the time, about five feet deep last time I checked. If you want to go on over together right now, then you're on - I'd love to get rescued by you. 'Frankly my dear' ... I'd enjoy it immensely." And so they both did, as it turned out, enjoy it immensely. The bog in question was another sandy bar, but fed by nearby tidal water up from underneath, which (particularly on an incoming tide) kept it mostly quick, with a thin drier layer on top. There was even an old tree right next to the sand, with several low-hanging branches extending over part of the surface, low enough to grab onto. A TV director couldn't have dreamt up a better set. The sand's expanse was small enough in area for Meg to be able to reach out and grab Chip's hand. She managed to be a "jungle woman" and pull him to safety. Surprisingly, Meg found that (when you knew it wasn't really life-threatening) it was a rush to be the jungle heroine and rescue the foolish lost explorer (she actually looked a lot like the pulp heroine Sheena). "You know, this isn't as strange as I even first thought. I kind of like doing this with you, together. I feel all tingly."

"Only if you are OK with this, hon ... but ... how about if next time, when you reach to pull me out, I pull you in "by mistake" instead? Just a thought - or, we could wait and try that another time, if you want."

"Wait? Why whatever for?" Meg retorted in her best dramatic Scarlett voice - "sounds kinda cool!" So Chip worked his way in up to his waist, near one of the low-hanging branches. Meg reached out to hold his hand and ... (deliberately hamming it up) ..."Oops, clumsy me!" She theatrically plunged into the soft area/ It was looser here and easier to move in - not as scary this second time around for Meg. It was actually a little exciting to her, a previously unknown excitement. Meg and Chip, sinking next to each other, held hands tight. With some feigned struggling (well practiced by Chip, the veteran, and more tentative by Meg, the newcomer), they gradually went down together to shoulder depth - each enjoying the feeling of the sand and also getting a kick out of watching each other gradually be swallowed up by light-colored semi-liquid sand. At this depth, Chip could just barely touch a more solid bottom. Meg relaxed a bit when Chip told her this. Again, theatrically on purpose, Meg said, "We're both stuck in quicksand! What in the world are we going to do now?!"

Meg wasn't really too worried, since it seemed that Chip knew what he was doing, but there was still a small edge of uncertainty, sort of like riding on a really good amusement park ride. Chip looked over to Meg, "Hon, now put your arms around my neck. I'm going to use my trusty branch to pull us both out." He had pulled himself out here several times before with the low branches. Actually, he hoped that the second person's weight wasn't too much for the branch - hadn't though of that! But no, his branch held up just fine. Slowly, Chip was able to pull himself laterally, shimmying along the branch, dragging Meg along with him.

Once, he had to stop and rest his burning muscles. Meg briefly started as they, losing support, sank back in deeper momentarily. "It's OK - just have to rest - it's a lot easier with one of us in and one out!" The sensation - of envelopment and buoyancy, of hugging her fiance's neck and being pulled through a cool McDonald's shake - all gave Meg the willies from head to toe - Chip, too, for that matter. Finally, Chip pulled them both up and onto more solid sand. They lay sandy and excited next to each other, Meg's arms still around Chip. "Let's crack open that beer now. I think two or three right now would just hit the spot, don't you, lover?" Meg quietly asked ... " I guess so," he answered, seeing that Meg had noticed his own excited condition (...or are you just happy to see me she thought). Meg whispered, deeply kissing him, "Don't get embarrassed, darling, I feel exactly the same way. We're getting married in 8 weeks. We can use this whole thing as a lifelong turn-on - think of how this can spice up our marriage. I'm really glad you told me and also very happy we tried this together."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. I sure picked the right girl to propose to. Me Tarzan, you Jane." Another playful tap from Meg - "If you're Tarzan, prove it!"

As they clinked bottles on their third Coors each, Meg exhaled, "Whew, what a day! What's next ... ?"

[And that's a narrative for another story ... ]

[quagmire_uk]

That was pretty cool! Nicely done.

[PM2K]

I liked it!

[jack c]

Quagmire & PM2k - thanks for the feedback. Stories are about all I am equipped to add to this forum. I will keep trying.

[quickandy 1]

Great story, thanks

[Viridian]

That was very well written. Very detailed and realistic, and an interesting twist as well. That was worth reading a few times.

[jack c]

Quickandy & Viridian - thanks for the nice comments. There are many on this forum with artistic and photo-manip ability. I simply am not there technically or artistically. I was blessed to have several superior English teachers in high school and college, who taught me how to appreciate good writing, which I inadequately try to imitate. After ten years of lurking on various quicksand websites, I am trying to contribute to this forum. Both of you guys are also steady and good posters. The three stories I have posted so far are all I have in the tank right now. I will try to gin up some more in the near future. Thanks again for your replies.

[riguy]

Nice story - good use of the six pack of Coors! Wish this had happened to me.