I told this story last week to some blogger-friends, who convinced me over the course of a few beers that I should share the story with the world. I do so reluctantly below, and with the assurance this is neither a plug for Apple, AT&T, or any application.

The story begins the day after Christmas, 2009 in Key Largo, Florida.  My girlfriend and I planned a three-day, 21-mile sea kayaking trip off the Southern coast of Florida. The goal was to paddle out eight miles to North Nest Key, one of the many islands that compose the Florida Keys, which happens to be a protected piece of land falling under the domain of the Everglades National Park.

The island is primitive, void of any inhabitants, structures, or creature comforts, save for one outhouse auspiciously positioned at the end of the lone dock for boaters. All necessities for survival, including water, must be brought to the island and removed upon departure.

Having participated in several guided, overnight kayaking trips and being a seasoned backpacker, packing for the trip came easy. A gallon of water per day, per person being the rule, we packed 36 gallons of water for the four members of our party consisting of my girlfriend, her brother, her brother's girlfriend, and myself. Food to be cooked over a portable stove and fire included hot dogs, fajitas, sandwiches, pastas, chicken, and whatever I was able to catch from the sea.

The four of us drove separately to our departure spot, Florida Bay Outfitters, a kayaking rental outfit in Key Largo. My girlfriend and I arrived an hour early, rented our two-person sea kayak complete with rudder and skirt to seal ourselves into the kayak, and proceeded to pack the boat with the supplies for all four of us.

When our companions arrived, we quickly noted the kayaks they brought were not the deeply hulled, cavernous sea kayaks we were accustomed to. Instead, they were "sit on top" kayaks with a shallow hull, no rudder, and no protection from the elements. Nor were they capable of holding any more than a single dry bag of gear. After about a twenty-minute attempt to convince them to rent sturdier kayaks, we relented, given the perfect weather and placid Atlantic waters, and headed out to sea on the three kayaks as planned.

The first four miles of the trek across Blackwater Bay, protected from storm surges by mangrove forests, could not have been any more beautiful. The water was clear enough to see to a depth of 25 feet, and we were witness to myriads of passing fish and stingrays below. Only our paddles and the pod of 20 dolphins that opted to explore our boats and partake in our journey for ten incredible minutes breached the placid, transparent water's silence. Passing through a narrow river through the mangrove jungle, we reached open waters, where the current and waves increased, but were still amazingly calm. Yet despite the ease with which our kayaks cut through the miniature waves, my girlfriend's brother had to tie up his girlfriend's kayak to the back of his. It seemed that she could not get a mastery over steering her own kayak, nor had the arm strength to keep up the pace.

A few hours late due to the weakness of her paddling, we arrived safely on North Nest Key, thanks to a good map, compass, and fair weather. After spending two nights on the deserted island, shared only with two kayakers for the first night, it was time to depart.

The weather forecast had called for 10-15 miles per hour (mph) headwinds that day, making tracing our path back the way we came difficult. Expecting this, we had plotted a slightly less direct return that would cut through the windy open ocean at about a 45-degree angle to less windy bay. Leaving our tents in the morning, we quickly realized the weather had taken a turn for the worst, and winds were surging up to 30 mph.

Looking out onto the ocean, we noticed there were no longer boats on any horizon as there had been in days passed. The sky was dark, the seas were rough, and the wind was blowing so hard our tents were doubling over from the pressure. We had some food and water left and could have stayed another night on the island, but our companions needed to get back to work the next day. To make it across the ten-mile trek back, we decided it best to place the weakest paddler in the double kayak with her boyfriend. My girlfriend and I would use the less secure sit-on-top kayaks.

Upon departing, we followed the western coastline of the island to the southernmost tip to avoid the harsh winds blowing from the northeast to the southwest. Turning the corner to head east, our kayaks were plunged against a raging wind and three to four foot swells. Water was slamming into the kayak on all sides, filling the shallow boats with seawater. After two hours, we had traveled only a few hundred yards with 9.5 miles remaining.

Whenever I put my head down and began to work feverishly to cross the water, I would leave behind my soon-to-be bride and was forced to stop paddling, allowing the tide to drive me back to the spot I had spent the last thirty minutes paddling away from. The spot my girlfriend could not move much beyond.

As the hours rolled by, the distance between the two couples in our party grew bigger and bigger. The sea kayak we had rented which they were now using was deep enough to cut through the waves, and with two propelling the boat forward, it was slowly but surely making it across the sea. Unable to close the gap growing between us, it became clear to me by mid-afternoon that we were never getting across this ocean. Even worse, my girlfriend would have to be separated from her brother with no means of communicating with him.

By 2pm, we had been paddling for four hours with less than a mile of forward progress. The other members of our party were but a dot on the horizon now, and it was time for a new plan. I stopped paddling and let the boat drift back to where my girlfriend was struggling and panicking about 30 yards behind me, pleading with her that it was time to turn around and make our way back to the island. If we don't, I said, we'll tire too badly and place ourselves at risk of capsizing with no one around to save us.

Tears of frustration and worry about her brother streamed down her face, but she knew I was right. We didn't have a choice. The weather was getting worse, with rain likely coming soon and worse, nightfall only a few hours away. Knowing there was a good chance we'd have to spend another night on the island without food or water - which was all safely packed in the other kayak, our kayak - we still resigned to turn the boats around and paddle back to the safety of shore.

The next five minutes of the trip were by far the scariest. Turning the kayaks meant exposing the sides to the fierce pounding of surf, which we had been steering the boats into before. As we turned, the wind, current, and waves all surged against the broad sides of the kayaks on top of which we sat completely exposed. In weather like this, once a kayak flips, there would be no way to upright it again in the water.

Struggling and shouting to paddle quickly before the next set of waves filled our boats, we managed to turn the boats around and began paddling madly towards the southern tip of the island. I remember yelling, "paddle as hard as you can! If we miss the tip, we're screwed." And I meant it. Behind us now was the full force of waves, wind and current, providing the feeling of bodysurfing, only it wasn't taking us straight back from where we came. It was forcing us straight out to sea past the island.

By a thin margin, with our heads down and our bodies working as hard as possible to paddle as fast as possible, we made our way into the shallow waters about 100 feet from the end of the island on the eastern side. We jumped out of the kayaks, soaked to the bone and shivering, and pulled our boats to shore. Rummaging through the clothes packed in garbage bags by my girlfriend's brother, we tried to find dry clothes. Most everything had been underwater and soaked through, but we managed to don a windbreaker each. 

A little warmer and worried how our fellow travelers were faring, it was time to call for help. I had packed my iPhone in a ziplock bag in my pocket, keeping it off in the hopes that the notoriously short battery would last in case of emergency. The only other phone we had was in the other kayak and a number I did not know and that did not have my number in it.

Looking out onto the ocean, we saw no sign of our friends, nor any boaters to get help from. Unlocking the phone and seeing there were signs of battery life, though only a small amount, and cell service was an incredible feeling. I called 411 and asked for the U.S. Coast Guard station nearest Key Largo and was put on the phone with a dispatcher promptly. We reported our missing party and asked that a search party be sent to them first, and then to us for a pickup afterwards. They acknowledged the task and unbeknownst to us began coordinating a search party with the National Park Service that ran the North Nest Key.

We waited patiently for hours, seeing a boat or two screaming across the sea in the distance, but without contact with anyone. It was getting dark, near sunset now, and we began wondering what was happening. The phone rang. It was the Coast Guard asking for our location again. I repeated that we were on the southeast corner of North Nest Key and they said they had a boat out there that didn't see us. Concerned at this point, I asked them to hold on and opened an iPhone app I had download just before the trip called "Basic GPS." Within ten seconds, I had our GPS coordinates and read them to the Coast Guard dispatcher. A minute later, I heard a voice in the background stating, "they are on a different island. They are miles away."

It seems that as we paddled with our heads looking at the water, in just the ten minutes we had to make it back to shore, the wind and current were so strong that our kayaks were taken miles downstream of our target landing spot. We moved so fast that between dropping our heads and looking up again between bursts of paddling, the islands in front of us had changed without us even being aware.

Knowing our coordinates allowed the Coast Guard to hone in on our exact location and within 10 minutes we saw a boat closer than we'd seen for hours. Another 10 minutes and we were headed out to the sea, kayaks in hand, to connect with our rescuers.

The Coast Guard cutter operators told us that the rest of our party had been found on some island wedged against some mangroves. They had made it across the open ocean, but without a compass had gone the wrong way and were sitting at a different island. The Coast Guard said everyone was safe, and that they had to rescue a few motorboats due to the weather conditions being so bad. Our jaws dropped when they told us that the average wind speed was 30mph, double that which was predicted, with gusts up to 40mph.

Soaked, exhausted, freezing cold but now secure on a 300 horsepower motorboat, we were taken to the nearest National Park Service headquarters to meet up with the rest of our party. It was 30 minutes until the sun set, but had it not been for an iPhone app, it could have been days if and when we ever made it off that deserted island.

Today, I can't help but wonder how we could've improved the rescue process. Perhaps the Coast Guard should develop an iPhone app for distressed boaters like ourselves that can be sent out with the push of a button along with the GPS coordinates. For had I not had the other app, the battery time to make and receive calls, or decent cell service, the story would be told quite differently.

On a personal note, I'd like to give my praise and gratitude to the men and women of the U.S. Coast Guard, National Park Service, and Florida Fish and Wildlife agency - all of whom played a very important role in getting us safely back home.