One of my more dramatic moments was "Day of the Castaways".
When I was a child, my family had a cottage on a seacoast. It wasn't deserted by any means, but quite rural. There was an island a few miles off shore from it, a few acres of mosquitos and little else. One fall day, we were staying overnight when there was a big storm. The next day, the water was still very rough. When we looked out in the morning, we could see an object bobbing far off in the distance near the island.
Over the next hour, the object came closer, tossing in the waves. We noted that it looked like boat wreckage, and hoped there had not been an accident.
The object came closer. As it came near to shore, it became visible that it was a raft, with two people on it. Eventually, it reached shore. We went down to see it, and discovered two young men on board, nearly completely exhausted. Apparently, they'd been out sailing when the storm hit the night before, and it drove them on a reef around the island. They decided as soon as it was light to make a raft of the wreckage, and paddle to shore.
We fed them and gave them warm clothes, and called the authorities who were already looking for them. After they left for town, we children were given the talk about how if something similar ever happened to us, we should stay where we were, and wait for rescue, rather than trusting our lives to a few broken boards lashed together.
They did get rescued a few hours earlier, but they could easily have drowned in the attempt to cross.