How I learned to stop worrying and enjoy the ocean and the sun
The ocean scares me. Even when I go to the beach, I don't like to swim out to a place where I can't feel the bottom. I think it has something to do with the vastness of it - if I can't see the other side, I feel like I'm going to be swept away. I'm not such a strong swimmer that this irrational fear can be overcome easily or with "logic".
So I decide that I should go snorkeling in Key West. To be honest, I didn't exactly know what snorkeling entailed, though I did know a face mask was involved somehow (if you know me at all, you should know that this is always a positive). I didn't think I was being particularly brave, but boy was I wrong.
Snorkeling means taking a boat or catamaran out about 7 miles (into the ocean!!) and then putting on a tiny little vest and some flippers and floating/swimming face down next to coral reefs. We had to blow into the vest to inflate it. Then we had to figure out the mask and breathing tube contraption while flapping about an ocean so deep, you can't see the bottom, let alone stand on it. Taking that last step off the ladder was terrifying. I grasped the line which was connecting the boat to the reef so hard that my muscles protested eventually.
I finally disengaged my fingers from the rope and tried to put the tube into my mouth without swallowing too much seawater. The extent of my success would become evident later. I wrestled it in and clamped my jaw so hard, it would be sore the next morning, while flapping my footie fins with a force borne from terror. Then I attempted to remember to breathe through my mouth while finally getting my heart to slow down. The vest was surprisingly buoyant or I was full of hot air and I was able to relax and look down. But alas, there was nothing there! So I recalled our "snorkeling school" instructions and moved my fins in a scissor motion.
Finally, the reef swam up in my vision. At first, it was a murky brown shape. Then, I could see more colorful formations. And then the fish of all colors, sizes, and shapes. They swam near the reef, seemingly calm and chillin'. They nibbled on seaweed florets and each other. They darted in and out of palm-like fronds and sea floor forests. And the colors! The bright electric blues, the turquoise turning into coral, the bright canary yellows - it was the rich tapestry of nature, underwater and so close we could touch them.
After half an hour we went back on the boat and went to the second location. As I was floating along there, I saw one of the crew members dive down and swim near the reef in a lazy corkscrew motion, her tropical swimsuit fitting flawlessly into the vision before me. She was like a mermaid and at one with the reef. When I took my eyes off her, I came face to face with a yellow-tail snapper who was entirely unafraid and seemed to be eyeing me back as if to ask what I was doing there. The school of the small brightly colored fish were all around me, close to the surface. Jellies were interspersed throughout, their gossamer globes lazily flapping along. I couldn't help but laugh and enjoy the camaraderie of the creatures.
Alas, the bobbing about in the sea made me even more sick than I already was. I think this is a good time to mention that I get motion-sick at the drop of a hat. I took a dramamine before we embarked on this adventure, but it was just not strong enough. And it turned out that I wasn't quite as good at using my breathing tube as I thought, though the second submersion went much better than the first. Throwing up took care of that little problem and seemed to be enjoyed by my companion fish (it's OK to be grossed out by this part of the story). I was able to ride back to Key West atop the catamaran and enjoy the salty spray in my face and the hot sun on my skin. I smelled of sunblock lotion and ocean when we got back to our cottage and life was pretty good.
So I decide that I should go snorkeling in Key West. To be honest, I didn't exactly know what snorkeling entailed, though I did know a face mask was involved somehow (if you know me at all, you should know that this is always a positive). I didn't think I was being particularly brave, but boy was I wrong.
Snorkeling means taking a boat or catamaran out about 7 miles (into the ocean!!) and then putting on a tiny little vest and some flippers and floating/swimming face down next to coral reefs. We had to blow into the vest to inflate it. Then we had to figure out the mask and breathing tube contraption while flapping about an ocean so deep, you can't see the bottom, let alone stand on it. Taking that last step off the ladder was terrifying. I grasped the line which was connecting the boat to the reef so hard that my muscles protested eventually.
I finally disengaged my fingers from the rope and tried to put the tube into my mouth without swallowing too much seawater. The extent of my success would become evident later. I wrestled it in and clamped my jaw so hard, it would be sore the next morning, while flapping my footie fins with a force borne from terror. Then I attempted to remember to breathe through my mouth while finally getting my heart to slow down. The vest was surprisingly buoyant or I was full of hot air and I was able to relax and look down. But alas, there was nothing there! So I recalled our "snorkeling school" instructions and moved my fins in a scissor motion.
Finally, the reef swam up in my vision. At first, it was a murky brown shape. Then, I could see more colorful formations. And then the fish of all colors, sizes, and shapes. They swam near the reef, seemingly calm and chillin'. They nibbled on seaweed florets and each other. They darted in and out of palm-like fronds and sea floor forests. And the colors! The bright electric blues, the turquoise turning into coral, the bright canary yellows - it was the rich tapestry of nature, underwater and so close we could touch them.
After half an hour we went back on the boat and went to the second location. As I was floating along there, I saw one of the crew members dive down and swim near the reef in a lazy corkscrew motion, her tropical swimsuit fitting flawlessly into the vision before me. She was like a mermaid and at one with the reef. When I took my eyes off her, I came face to face with a yellow-tail snapper who was entirely unafraid and seemed to be eyeing me back as if to ask what I was doing there. The school of the small brightly colored fish were all around me, close to the surface. Jellies were interspersed throughout, their gossamer globes lazily flapping along. I couldn't help but laugh and enjoy the camaraderie of the creatures.
Alas, the bobbing about in the sea made me even more sick than I already was. I think this is a good time to mention that I get motion-sick at the drop of a hat. I took a dramamine before we embarked on this adventure, but it was just not strong enough. And it turned out that I wasn't quite as good at using my breathing tube as I thought, though the second submersion went much better than the first. Throwing up took care of that little problem and seemed to be enjoyed by my companion fish (it's OK to be grossed out by this part of the story). I was able to ride back to Key West atop the catamaran and enjoy the salty spray in my face and the hot sun on my skin. I smelled of sunblock lotion and ocean when we got back to our cottage and life was pretty good.