THE SAND FIGHT

David John Barrett

It was low tide, so at Cedar Avenue there was an expanse of beach between the dry sand and the ocean. Down near the waterline we were building a sand castle. Our challenge was to see how long we could make the castle withstand the incoming surf. To the best of my memory there were seven of us. That would have included the three Tubman brothers, my brother Gary and myself, John Gavin, and most likely Billy Hansberry. Our ages ranged from six-years old and up, with none of us being older than eleven.

We were clever about our construction. Our sand quarries were removed from the castle to avoid undermining the walls, and they were mostly positioned to break up the surf. We fortified the base of our castle with shells, seaweed and other beach debris so that the water’s backwash didn’t erode too much sand. And it was John who would throw himself sideways in front of the castle to become a human wall, thus shielding the castle from the smash of the waves.

On this particular day, while concentrating on our construction, a jellyfish – one of those nasty looking ones with a purplish core and gooey edges - came flying over our heads and landed on the castle. We looked up to see two teenagers, most likely brothers, grinning at us as they walked south along the water’s edge. They were probably fourteen- and sixteen-years-old. We frowned, removed the jellyfish, and got back to work. Soon afterwards, when the teenagers returned, another jellyfish was thrown at us. This time we reacted differently.

The sand fight that developed took place in the inter-tidal zone. Battle lines were drawn perpendicular to the water’s edge. Because of their size we didn’t close with the teenagers, and, probably because of our number, they didn’t close with us. There is munitions technology associated with a sand fight. If sugar sand is dripping wet you want to fling it in such a way that it develops into a course spray. Like grapeshot, a wet sand spray is hard to dodge. On the other hand, other than a loss of face, it does no harm unless it is thrown with force at close range. Dexterous hands can fashion partially wet sand into a tennis ball sized shot that will remain intact when thrown. Such a sand ball can pack a light punch, but they are easy to avoid unless one is outmaneuvered. Using a scientific balance of sand, water and kneading, a softball sized sand ball can be made. But these balls are unwieldy and can’t be thrown with any accuracy or distance.

Almost immediately my brother and I formed a plan. We probably said something to John, but that didn’t matter as he would have trusted us anyway. Gary and I dropped back built one large softball sized sand ball each and ran up to the dry sand. There we rolled our sand balls in the white granules which hardened their surface and added to their weight. Then using the beach-goers and beach umbrellas as cover, we ran along the beach and swung behind our opponents. They were focused on the fight with our friends and never knew that we were coming. Gary and I were running at full speed when we hit their backs at point blank range. Given the size and solidity of our sand balls, and the velocity at which they were delivered, the impacts resulted in a good bit of shock and probably a degree of hurt.
As they turned in surprise, John and the rest of the gang charged. The teenagers broke and ran, but soon another battle-line line formed. Immediately Gary and I repeated the maneuver. We no longer had the element of surprise, but enveloping opponents was always a good idea. On this pass I was attacking the younger teenager. As I neared him on my run, he turned to meet me. He looked quite cross, even angry. It was an “uh-oh” moment for me as it was clear that he was about to resort to a more personal level of combat. Obviously, he didn’t like us getting the better of him. But that didn’t justify his violating the tacit agreement that this was just a sand fight. He lunged and reached out at me as I passed. I dodged, but as luck would have it, he grabbed the chain that was around my neck and it snapped and fell to the sand.
John and the gang repeated their charge as my momentum carried me past the point where the chain fell. I am unclear as to what happened next as I stopped my motion and began looking for the chain. All I remember after finding the chain is seeing the older teenager wallowing in the waves as he retreated into the ocean away from thrown sand. He actually looked embarrassed in that he got caught up in a sand fight with some little kids. Fortunately, the younger brother had disappeared. As for the unattended castle, it was swamped by the waves.