Note in a Bottle

The water is splashing on my face as I lay on my back in my dilapidated row boat.  How long have I been floating in this desolate bay?  Does anyone know where I am?  As I slowly, raise my achy body over the edge something hits my boat.  When my eyes focus, I pick up a glass bottle.  Within the bottle is a very old, yellowed, folded, paper dampened by years of water seeping through the cork.  I carefully unfold the paper and am astonished by the words that appear before my eyes. 

Dear reader, I have been stranded on this island for five years and write every month in hopes of being found.  My boat capsized and I had no way of contacting anyone.  So every month I take one of my wine bottles and put a note within, hoping it will find someone who will take the time to open it. 

My heart is racing.  Every year I have taken this same boat trip in memory of my grandfather who five years ago went fishing and never returned.  We looked and looked for him but to no avail.  So, today when I packed my lunch to fish near the same spot where grandpa was last seen, all I thought about was having a good time.  But then something went terribly wrong.  A storm came up and while trying to row, I lost both oars and have been drifting for hours.

As I look toward the horizon I notice a small island in the distance.  Because the storm was so severe, the waves took me close enough to the shore.  As I furiously paddle with my hands I notice a man on the beach.  His hair is long and his beard is even longer.  He has very little clothing on which allows me to notice the lean, muscular legs and arms.  As we make eye contact, the most beautiful blue eyes are staring at me.  I have found my grandpa.