I have done some pretty odd things in my life, all in an effort to have a relationship with a woman. I have learned to snowmobile, cross country ski, snow ski… the list goes on. But I have say that coming close to drowning takes the cake.
As we all know, I’m no lover of water, at least any water that is above my waist. That drowning brother thing can really play havoc with your psyche. I admit that I’m not even really fond of bathtubs of water, let alone large bodies of water that will inevitably try to swallow me up whole with their lure of lovely aquatic life serving as bait.
I have learned not to fall for this rouse. True, I once snorkeled regularly when visiting the Caribbean. I loved heading off the beaches in Grand Cayman, marveling at all the beautiful fish, at least until the waves from a passing parasailing boat sent buckets of water down my snorkel tube, causing me to surface in a complete panic.
At one time, I thought this being “in love with the idea” of snorkeling would pass. But in a moment of weakness, well two moments actually, I have taken up with ex-whatevers who were both fish in a previous life.
Psycho and Diablo were both into scuba diving. Now, I have a general policy that significant others can pursue any hobby they like, as long as they don’t expect me to participate in them. But for some reason, all sense of reason seemed to go out the window at some point in these relationships and I convinced myself that it would actually be fun to submerge myself in waters that once killed my brother and rely solely on 1) the oxygen in my lungs, 2) a breathing tube connected to a rarely flat surface, or 3) a tank of air on my back that will inevitably run out, most likely when I am far from the surface.
But the warm waters of the tropics can be irresistible. It’s like getting to go for a swim in the tanks at the Seattle Aquarium, but none of the staff are yelling at you to get the hell out as they dial 911.
When Psycho and I went to Moorea in French Polynesia, the waters there called to me. Initially, I ignored it. But eventually, I couldn’t resist. We found this amazing spot on a little atoll across from the resort that was about 8 feet deep filled with amazing sea life. I admit, it was a fun time, even though I almost crapped my pants when a large moray eel poked its head out of a grotto.
A year or so later we went to Key West. I was with a bunch of my pirate friends and we all made ambitious plans to go snorkeling out at the reef. Snorkeling, I thought. Hey, I can do that! It will be like going back to Moorea all over again.
One of my friends made all the arrangements. On the appointed day we headed to the Historic Seaport. There, the two Sabago catamarans awaited. I left the choice of which one to board to my friend who had set the trip up.
It turned out to be an ill fated choice.
As we headed out to the reef, we all relaxed on the webbing that stretched between the two hulls at the bow. It was a fun sail and the weather was perfect. We finally reached the reef and it was time to get in the water.
The Sabago provided all the equipment, so we each grabbed a mask, snorkel and a Mae West type flotation device. One of the crew members gave us the briefing about how to get off the boat. It was then that I realized that the two boats had not been created equal. One had a stairwell on the bow that could be lowered into the water so you could just clamber down it and into the ocean. The other, ours, didn’t have a stair.
No matter. The instructor told us how to do it. Simply put the mask over your face, take a deep breath and jump off the side. After you come to the surface, exhale hard to remove any water in the snorkel. Simple enough, I thought. I can do this.
My other friends went first, then Psycho. Finally it was my turn. I pulled the mask onto my face, put my hand on it as instructed and jumped.
From here on out, the details get a bit murky. I have to rely on my friend’s version of what happened next.
It seems that as I jumped, I did what most people who are afraid of falling and drowning do – I panicked. As soon as I leaped up into the air, both hands went straight up, as if I were being robbed at gunpoint.
What goes up must inevitably come down, and a moment later I hit the water about six feet below. No longer being held in place, the mask went up and over my head, sending an ocean of saltwater into my eyes.
I bobbed to the surface gasping for air. It was a little choppy that day and being impatient, I gulped for air as soon as my eyes sensed a bright light. Unfortunately, my mouth had not yet breached and in went more saltwater.
By now I was in a full fledged panic mode. I remembered that I had a life preserver on so I started to inflate it as instructed. And then I hit my head. On what, you ask? It was the hull the the boat. I was caught in the current going backwards when the boat and my head met one another, temporarily knocking me senseless.
Aw, what the hell. Why not panic some more. I cleared the boat and was now between the two hulls of the catamaran. I figured this was as good as place as any to make peace with my maker and die. A strange calm overcame me. And then I was lifted up by the arms of an angel… So this is what it’s like to die, I thought. Not bad.
It wasn’t a heavenly angel. It was Psycho. She had watched the whole drama unfold right in front of her and had come to save me. She rolled me onto my back and pulled me over to the ladder on the side of the boat. Coughing and spewing up sea water, I made my way back to the deck.
The crew seemed relieved that I hadn’t drowned after all. Then they asked me if I wanted to go snorkeling again. “No, one near drowning a day is my self-imposed limit,” I replied. They laughed but I wasn’t joking. They then told me I could drink all the beer I wanted since I wasn’t going in the water.
I wished they had told me that was an option before I decided to try to impress my girlfriend and almost meet my maker. It would have made the trip, and being with Psycho, far more enjoyable.
Out on the Treasure Coast, wondering if a shower involves too much water today,
– Robb