I awoke at the crack of dawn. The Skipper woke up soon after. There was plenty of activity in the camp, as everybody was anxious to see what the Professor's new plan to get us rescued was.

The Professor came out and said, "We're going to be doing some hiking, so wear appropriate shoes. Also, we won't be back until tomorrow morning, so pack a mat to sleep on and whatever else you need."

This was getting exciting. Even I was curious as to what was going on. We all had a quick breakfast of fruit bowls that Mary Ann made for us, along with some coconut milk, then returned to our huts to continue packing.

The Professor came into our hut to ask a favor of the Skipper and myself, "Would you gentlemen mind packing some of this dried salted abalone? I'm packing some myself, but can't carry it all. We'll need the protein. And Gilligan…no eating until I say so."

The Skipper answered, "Sure Professor, and don't worry… I'll keep my eye on Gilligan." Skipper gave a fairly threatening glance my way.

Mr. Howell then came into the hut, making a deal, "Oh, Gilligan, I'll give you five dollars to carry Mrs. Howell and my bags up the trail."

I replied, "Sorry, I've got some stuff to carry for the Professor. Besides, what good is money here anyway."

Mr. Howell looked as if I slapped him. He started to rant, "What good is money? Bite your tongue. Ten dollars, and that is my final offer."

Skipper looked like he was about to say something, but I beat him to the punch, "If that's your final offer…good. Now shove off and carry your own bag." Mr. Howell, clearly dumbstruck, left.

Skipper also looked a little surprised. I was afraid he was going to smack me, but instead he patted me on the back and said, "Little buddy, I've never seen you stand up to Mr. Howell like that. As a matter of fact, in the four years I've known you I've never seen you stand up to anybody like that."

We looked like quite a procession as we set out for our hike. The Professor was at point, Skipper and I took up the rear to assist any stragglers. In the middle we had Mr. and Mrs. Howell, both carrying umbrellas for shade; Ginger wearing a very attractive hiking outfit she made herself; and the natural beauty, Mary Ann, who was always dressed for a hike. Between Ginger and Mary Ann, seen only to me, was the holographic image of Rear Admiral Al Calavicci, USN.

The hike through the jungle was fairly strenuous due to the fact that the trails weren't as well cut, but these people were troupers. Even the Howells were holding their own. I can see how this group had survived here for so long. We had been climbing a bit to a higher elevation. Al seemed very focused on Ginger Grant.

When we came to a clearing we were all stunned speechless by what we saw. It looked like a huge TV Satellite Receiver surrounded by six stationary bicycles.

Mary Ann broke the silence, "What is it?"

My mind registered what I was looking at, and blurted out without thinking, "My God, he's built a parabolic transmitter from abalone shells and bamboo."

The Professor went into lecture mode, "That's exactly right. I used the shiny abalone shells for the dish, the tower is made from bamboo, and the transmitter is pieced together from the Minnow's radio, along with other pieces of electronics that washed ashore."

Mr. Howell looked at me with some suspicion and asked, "That's all fine and well Professor, but how did Gilligan know what it was?"

The Professor also started to wonder, "Yes, Gilligan, how did you know?"

Al saved the day by saying "comic book" to me.

"Um, I saw something like it in a comic book," to get the attention off me I asked the Professor, "what's it for?"

The Professor then started talking more like a junior high science teacher explaining a difficult concept to a challenging student, "well Gilligan, if this works right, it will shoot a signal to the telstar communications satellite in outer space. To get the power for this the six of you will need to be riding the bicycles while I send the message. We won't have much of a window for this. My calculations tell me telstar will be in orbit over the island at exactly 4:15 a.m. We won't be able to send a voice message due to the transmitter's limitations, but I believe I can send a message in Morse code." He directed a request to the Skipper, "Skipper, can you help me with the message?… I'm sure your knowledge of Morse is much better than mine."

The Skipper answered, "Of course, Professor."

The Professor added, "I got the idea for this when listening to a radio broadcast on Telstar I. From that and astronomical observation, I was able to calculate when the satellite will be over the island. I kept my idea from you all until now so as not to give false hope. We've gotten our hopes up so many times before, but have been let down. I will tell you though, I honestly think this will work. Since this will a lot of energy on your part, I suggest you eat a hearty lunch… and get plenty of rest."

Al said, "See, I told you he was a genius" as everybody ate up some dried abalone and took a nap.

After we woke up refreshed from our naps, we set out to help the professor in any way we could. The Skipper was working on an SOS message in Morse code. Ginger and Mary Ann were making torches to light the area after dark. Even the Howells got into the act by finding a place for sleeping mats and making our temporary camp "home." (Of course Mr. and Mrs. Howell took the choice place to sleep). Meanwhile I was asking questions to the Professor, carefully trying not to show off my technical knowledge (after all I do have a PhD in physics, but Gilligan doesn't), but to direct him in the right path to making sure the transmitter will work.

Ginger came up to the Professor and purred, "You know, I'd really like to try my hand at screenwriting, and eventually directing. It's the only way you can really have staying power in this industry. I'm thinking of writing a screenplay about our adventures on the island. I haven't written anything before, though."

The Professor, focused on his calculations, replied, "I'm sure you'll do fine, Ginger."

Ginger persisted, "You've written some books, right?"

Al said to me, "I wanna smack this guy on the back of the head. One of the most beautiful women in the world is making advances, and he's more concerned about his calculations. What is it with you scientists?"

I mumbled low, "We all can't be Navy men."

The Professor answered Ginger, "I published one book about rust when I was in Ohio, and finished a book on ferns while I was here. Not hardly a Hollywood screenplay."

Al groaned.

Ginger, undaunted: "That's OK, Professor, I've read plenty of screenplays. I know the format and my name alone would help sell it. What you could help me with is the technical aspects."

The Professor allowed, "I'll think about it."

Al bemoaned, "He'll think about it."

Then Al's communication link with Ziggy, the Quantum Leap computer, started beeping like crazy. "Gushy," he yelled to the technician in a commanding voice I hadn't heard in awhile, "Get me up there, NOW!" With that, Al vanished. When Al turns into the Admiral… I know something is up. And it's probably not good.

It was starting to get dark. Mary Ann and Ginger brought out the dried abalone along with some coconuts and fruit. The professor lit the torches. We all ate some dinner, and laid down for a few hours rest before we sent the rescue message.