Washed, Rinsed, and Hung Out to Dry

As the remaining eight competitors sat around the new Tribal Circle (surprisingly named, seeing as so far they hadn't at any point been divided into tribes), which looked remarkably similar to the old Tribal Circle, minus the large fire pit and the discreetly hidden speakers (instead this new Circle had a dodgy Peavey PA system set up front and centre and one of those gas heaters with the blue flames which really only seem to generate warmth and are just there for display), an Evans flopped his way into view.
I say 'flopped', for he was wearing a wetsuit, goggles, a snorkel, and of course a large pair of flippers on his feet which were responsible for the flopping.
"Congratulations to you, the final eight competitors in The Spin-Off Games!" He said in a loud voice. The Peavey system gave a loud crackle which if one used one's imagination a fair bit, almost sounded like applause?
"This next challenge will see your sailing, construction, and hanging on for dear life skills tested!" The Evans announced enthusiastically. "You will be put into teams of two, and each given the same pile of materials to work with. You must construct a boat on which you both can sail. Then, you must race your boat down the Heptagon of Battle's raging river. The losing pair, and also anyone who drowns along the way, will be eliminated. That's right, this round will see at least two of you going home to marshmallows and regrets."
The Evans paused dramatically as this new information sunk in. Apart from the Goblin, all of the contestants looked mortified. Nobody in particular wondered if he might be aquaphobic.
"Now," the Evans continued, "You pairs have been decided in advance by the producers of this show. And they are as follows;
Taylor and Pam."
"No surprises there..." Trixie muttered.
"Desmond and The Hillbilly."
"Huh!" Trixie mused. "Must be trying to get those two out. I'm pretty sure neither of them have ever been within 100 metres of a boat, or a bath, in all their lives."
"Trixie and Randy."
Neither competitor looked particularly excited by this announcement.
"And last of all, The Goblin and nobody in particular."
The Goblin shrugged - he knew he could built a fine river ketch, sloop, cutter or yacht in seconds, without help. Nobody in particular shivered - was he bogyphobic, he wondered?
"And now," the Evans boomed, "Your resources and your river... are here!"
Immediately before each pair of contestants appeared a pile of all the materials one might need to build a fine sailing vessel. The final eight laughed in delight.
Then, the ground began to shake. Before them, a crack began to open up in the hard surface of the forest floor. And... water was trickling down it!
Soon the creek expanded to become a stream.
Soon the stream grew to become a river!
Soon the river widened and its water intensified and deepened, until it became a truly raging river! (As classified by Herman's Book of Watercourse Categories, Section Five, Subsection 9b, page 28. Oh, and also the first bit on page 29, and the picture on page 54.)
"Oh, great." Trixie moaned.
"Now, everybody knows a black man don't swim!" Randy said.
"Don't worry, Randy." Trixie replied. "My people came to America via boat, sailing's in my blood."
"I thought you were Mexican!" Randy replied.
"Oh, yeah. Well... I went down a waterslide one time on one of those mat things! Let's base our design on that." Trixie stammered.
"Whatever you say dawg, I'm just glad to be sailin wit' someone who smells better than Desmond!"



Ten minutes later, the teams were ready to sail. The Goblin's boat was a neatly built ketch complete with a tidy blue and white paint job, sails, and a below cabin with a small bunk inside.
Trixie and Randy had tied together as many boards as they could, with all the rope they had, to make a strong and solid raft, similar to Tom Hanks' effort in Castaway.
Desmond and the Hillbilly had managed a fairly decent-looking canoe... though neither of them had taken the time to carve out any paddles!
And Taylor (let's be honest, Pam hadn't helped) had whipped up a dinghy, steered by a long wooden tiller.

The boats were dragged to the water's edge, the teams lept in, and the race began!

SPLASH!
"Randy! RANDY! Paddle left, paddle LEFT! Rocks dead ahead!"
"This brings new meaning to the term washed up old musician, yo!"

CRASH!
"Heyyyyyyuuuck! This boat sure don't know what way it's goin'!"
"I just peed a little."


6 FOOT WAVE!
"Pam! Are you ok?"
"Yes!" (enthusiastically). "I just swallowed 3.6 gallons of river water and nearly went overboard!" (still enthusiastic) (!!).

7 FOOT ROCK!
"How's the boat holding up?"
"Very well."

As the four teams crashed and bashed their way down the raging river towards the raging finish line, several things had become clear:

The Goblin's boat was AWESOME. He and nobody in particular were already several hundred metres ahead of second place,
which was currently held by Taylor (and Pam) who was doing a noble job of keeping the dinghy straight until... CRACK! The rudder broke off against a rock and became unsteerable.
Which was also the predicament of Desmond and The Hillbilly (third place) who despite their surprisingly sturdy boat managed to be steered by the river into every available rock, bank, and crocodile.
Right behind them in fourth place, Trixie and Randy were strapped to their raft and doing their best to paddle it away from anything that looked remotely dangerous. So far they had avoided most of the rocks, some of the crocs, and lawnmowing in bare feet. (Hey, it's a dangerous choice. Don't try it.)

Not much later, the Goblin and nobody in particular crossed the finish line and ran the ketch ashore on a smooth patch of sand. They turned to survey the progress of their fellow competitors.
"Look at Randy and Trixie!"
"Inexperienced twosome."
"Haha! That boat's rudder's broken!"
Sniiffff! "Shoddy workmanship."
"Who's that in the water?"
"Can't see."
"They look in some trouble!"
"Tough luck."
"They're drowning! Someone should help!"
"Not us."


Chapter Eleven : : Chapter Thirteen