I’m wading out in the Musket Cove Bay surrounding one of the hundreds of tiny islands around Fiji. I’m cursing the fact that Eric loves tropical lands so much, but knowing I can’t complain because I usually get the Christmas locale choices, and it’s more than his turn.
“Look down honey.”
Underwater, a crab scurries in his little hole. A school of zebra stripped fish circle around me and through my legs. A much larger fish of brilliant colours leaps over Eric’s arm.
I gape.
Worlds of water are beautiful. It’s nice to sit on a rock in the middle of a rushing stream watching a western North Carolinian waterfall crash. It’s nice to work off the hotel balcony watching the ocean lap lazily up the beach at Hilton Head or Nags Head. It’s nice to see powerful waves crash against the rocks along the Irish, English, Maltese, or New England coasts. It’s even nice to wade over to the pool bar in whatever tropical locale one is in at the moment and indulge in the local rum (or tequila).
And there, ladies and gentlemen, is where the niceness of water typically ends for me.
Swimming never particularly interested me, as the thought of death by drowning had a significantly terrifying effect on me. Even watching “almost drowning” in movies is enough to make me hyperventilate.
So, you can imagine that Fiji didn’t have an overwhelming pull for me. However, just because there has to be another side to the coin, I am utterly fascinated and in love with marine life.
Hate or love water; the Fiji waters call you in, to at least visit … the clear greens and blues where you can see down to the floor like a clean aquarium can soften the most hardened hearts. To see the marine life’s world, I had to push my own boundaries. In that same place, with the fish swimming close enough to touch, their inquisitiveness overwhelming their own senses, I learned to finally tread water, which is a huge step for me. Decades of fear was being torn down by crabs and beautifully striped and spotted fish.
“So let’s go kayaking and look at the corals.”
Remember, this is me. Kayaking is the spawn of Satan, never to be considered across the many years of opportunities to kayak in stunning places. But there are corals out there. And starfish. Would yesterday’s experience be enough to convince me to make the "kayak leap"? You bet it was.
Sitting on topic of the water, I fought tears so many times crossing the channel where the big boats come in. I knew that the only thing that could flip my kayak was my own stupidity, and that comforted me even less. I could only do one thing, and that was to look at a spot in the horizon and be grateful that I always liked the rowing machine in my fitness facility as I hauled ass across.
“Look Mom!"
Ellie is calling me from Eric’s kayak (I refused to take responsibility for her death too even though she can swim) and she’s staring down. Then I see the coral. Huge bunches of coral spread across the bottom. My fear was totally forgotten. Through deep coral beds and shallows where I could watch starfish walk, it was only the tide that could convince that it was truly time to go.
“Snorkeling? Are you nuts? No. No. No. Just because I got into a kayak doesn’t mean I can lay in the water like that.”
It took two days and a lot of testimony from newbie snorkelers to convince me, and even when I got out there, I thought I was losing it. What was I thinking? I’d just stay next to the sandbar and not go out. Yes, I had a plan.
“Hey North Carolina!!! Get over here!”
It was the Dane. And yes, many of us referenced each other by where we lived.
Damn him. I was very busy being completely enthralled with my safe little sea snake with black spots moving through the sea grass. I was in love, and certainly not ready to go out where he was.
He knew I was frightened, and I think he knew I’d forget my fear when I saw what he wanted me to see. He was right. When I was suddenly in the middle of a gigantic coral, I felt a new level of living. Purple coral. Blue coral. White coral. Never could I look at dead coral in a store again without being sad. It would be like looking at taxidermy. And the fish. The colours. They swam all over me and looked curiously at my face mask.
It was the shortest and longest hour I could remember in a long time. Time held still for me, but it didn’t for the rest of the world, and I had to leave.
So thank you to the crabs, the dozens of fish species, the starfish, and the coral. You took me across boundaries that I never thought could happen.
