And as Jason rounded the rocky headland of Cape Horn he continued to drift haplessly onwards, carried ever further on a brisk north-westerly trade
wind into the inky blue vastness of the Pacific Ocean.
With the last of the freshwater gone, he resorts to drinking his own urine and soon becomes delirious. His skin flayed by the unrelenting sun, he lays
face down on his rubber ring unable to sleep.
His eyes became like hard-boiled eggs in their sockets, each lashed by the merciless onslaught of salt-laden gales and mountainous waves that would
often toss him from his rubber ring as he summited their crests. Hand over hand along a knotted rope, he'd always manage to reel himself back, haul
himself up and lay there muttering through cracked lips like a demented mad man for hours repeatedly praising some forum user by the name of redsky
for suggesting the tether.
Two agonising months pass before he finally makes landfall on Galapagos. We know this because his kite and inner tube were discovered strewn upon its
shore and his name was carved into a nearby outcrop of sandstone.
They also found his journal close by. In it he documents his time on the island. Apparently, he survived by drinking from stagnant ponds and eating
the only edible things he could find, worms, insects, the occasional stinking carcass and giant eggs that he'd randomly find laying on the ground in
nest holes that were lined with banana leaves, coconut palms and sugarcane.
Speculation as to Jason's whereabouts still remains a mystery to this day. Legend has it that he was chased down and eaten by a giant tortoise while
trying to edge upwind. His ghost is said to wander aimlessly around the island yelling and cursing the name of someone called Randy, while others have
reportedly seen his ghost sitting upon the beach at low tide untangling a big ball of string, only to cast the whole damn mess back into the ocean.
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