I went back to Priest Lake this weekend. It was time to take Tullamore out. My month at the marina was over. But also, I just felt a need to return. As I left home, I asked my wife "Well, what will it be today, rescue a jet-ski?" Yesterday was a cool, cloudy day, but as I sailed away from the marina, the sun burst through and all seemed well. The wind was straight from behind and the lake was real rough, so I spread the genoa out with the whisker pole, rigged a preventer on the boom, and let the wind take me down the lake wing and wing. It was a wild ride with the following seas surging up from behind and carrying me along. Constant steering was required to avoid a broach. Up ahead, the sun was gone, the clouds were low and ominous. The lake was black, with lines of foam trailing the breaking waves. It soon became obvious where the wind was taking me. We were headed back to Eight Mile Island, where I found the Catalina run aground last week. I thought of veering off, going somewhere else, but I let the wind carry me. "OK, girl, what are we doing? Are we looking for the body?" (He still hasn't been found.) As I swung into the cove, thinking of anchoring out of the wind, it felt all wrong. Moody, dark, unwelcoming. I drifted through, past where the Jodi Beth was grounded, preparing to head back out, when suddenly, unexpectedly, I threw open the anchor locker and dropped the hook. "OK, this is too weird." But it was quiet, so I decided to relax a while. Five minutes later, a jet-ski struggles into the cove. Two young teenage boys were aboard trying to keep it upright and running. They were lost, running out of gas, and on the verge of sinking. "Need some help?" Ten minutes later, they're aboard Tullamore wrapped in my towels, the jet-ski/sea-anchor is towing behind, and we're heading for Indian Creek Campground. As we leave the cove, the wind drops, the lake calms, and the sun peeks out again. All is good. Larry