Landing a hard dinghy in 45 degree surf necessitates delicate timing. The objective is to stay dry. Jaja brought us in close to the beach, got a feel for the incoming waves, waited for a small one, then rode the low crest in. The moment the bow of our 10 foot dinghy touched sand, Jaja shipped the oars. She hopped out to port, while I simultaneously bailed-out to starboard. One of the prerequisites for cruising in cold waters in having rubber boots that are higher than the draft of your tender. Going barefoot in the Arctic is not an option.

We held tight to the dinghy's rail as the receding wave tried to take it back to sea. During this interval, the kids clamored to the bow and leaped onto the damp sand. By the time the next wave was on its way in, we were already dragging the empty dinghy up the beach. We pulled the dinghy far above the high tide line, and Chris tied its painter to our ten pound Bruce anchor, which he buried in the sand. Using a ridiculously big dinghy anchor was cheap insurance; if the dinghy drifted off--not only would it be gone forever--it would be a trick for us to get back out to DRIVER. Swimming in the icy water would be suicide.

We trudged southward. Walking on sand is tough enough barefoot--it was a workout wearing rubber boots and foul weather gear. We all began to shed hats, gloves, and outer layers, filling an empty back pack brought for this purpose. We had consciously over-dressed for the cloudy, 40 degree afternoon; a sudden squall could instantly create a below-freezing wind chill. Unprepared, our day on the beach could become a hypothermic nightmare.

The beach began to widen, and after a half hour of walking we reached a place where the sand extended 2 miles inland. Unbelievably, thousands of driftwood logs were strewn across this mass of sand in an unbroken tapestry. It looked like a giant game of pick-up sticks. The sheer volume was intriguing: Where had the logged timber originated?

Another thought inspired awe. Jaja observed: "Imagine the waves that carried those logs 2 miles inland!"

We stood for a moment, contemplating the force of wind over water. Our benign summer weather now seemed even more fleeting. I knew that the winds around Jan Mayen averaged 35 knots. 80 knot winter storms were not uncommon. We were operating in a fragile bubble of calm summer air. According to the latest weather forecast, four more days of 5 to 15 knot winds might be expected. This was enough time to see the island, get a good night of rest, and make the passage south to Iceland. The favorable forecast should have been reassuring, however, the mass of strewn logs was unnerving. We had chosen a vulnerable cruising ground.

We milled around the driftwood for a while looking at other flotsam. Jaja picked up a size 6 Reebok sneaker that was in fairly good condition. She laughed, "Too bad we never find useful things on the beach--such as a set of fenders, or a complete pair of shoes for the kids."

Beaches around the world are covered with driftwood and other floating debris. Even if you don't see it very often, quantities of hull piercing garbage are obviously floating around. My thoughts jumped to modern boat design which is trending toward lightweight, go-fast construction. Some boats wouldn't survive a collision with those logs, or with the steel floats. Realistically, the odds of hitting something at sea were "slight". Well, as far as the safety of our family was concerned, "slight" was not a large enough hook on which to hang our confidence.

We thought of DRIVER and applauded her strongly built, steel hull. Seen from a distance, she herself was little more than a floating speck--a hunk of alien flotsam, fastened to the coast of this lonely outpost by 150 feet of chain and a 44 pound Bruce anchor. After the grounding, I had tied a winch handle to the end of a genoa sheet and used it to sound the depths. We'd anchored in 15 feet of water behind a jutting peninsula called Eggoya. If there was a good reason for neglecting to make a lead line before running aground, I couldn't think of one. Perhaps it was our dependence on technology that had blinded us. Whatever the reason, it was a mistake that nearly sank us.

The grounding was a good reminder: We were not infallible; not immune to disaster. I knew that in the future we wouldn't hide in the coat tails of safety and forego the thrills of living. The moment DRIVER had floated free, we'd briefly discussed the idea of heading straight out to sea, to take advantage of the good weather for our passage south. This would have been the most conservative and responsible thing to do. But, dangerous or not, setting foot ashore Jan Mayen was a long dreamed-of objective. The essence of failure would have plagued us forever had we chickened out.

Looking out at DRIVER, we felt proud of the effort demanded to set foot on the black earth. We'd worked hard for our trip ashore. Unlike the transient nature of the material things we collected, this micro adventure was ours to keep forever.