It started with turtles.
You would think all good things would start with turtles. However, the turtles fleeing our "elephant swimming" should've been an omen.
The day began with a groggy swim at 5:30 a.m. Among the vast expanses of dead coral and thriving algae, we gasped/yawned at majestic turtles and a very vacant looking barracuda.
After a truly delectable breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, we returned our salty vessels to the ocean to once again stalk innocent marine creatures. Our sweeping battalion of flippered feet shed light on two more turtles among thousands of other fish (literally thousands...like, over one hundred thousands silver sides). We discovered a secret beach, coves full of angelfish, and plenty of tubeworms to mess with.
We returned, salty and happy, to dairy-covered bliss; grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese (a well-balanced meal). Our siesta was one of the most relaxing we've ever had; music flowed lightly among the trees as we sleep soundly in a light breeze. All was well with the earth and the sea.
You would think all good things would start with turtles. However, the turtles fleeing our "elephant swimming" should've been an omen.
The day began with a groggy swim at 5:30 a.m. Among the vast expanses of dead coral and thriving algae, we gasped/yawned at majestic turtles and a very vacant looking barracuda.
After a truly delectable breakfast of eggs, bacon and toast, we returned our salty vessels to the ocean to once again stalk innocent marine creatures. Our sweeping battalion of flippered feet shed light on two more turtles among thousands of other fish (literally thousands...like, over one hundred thousands silver sides). We discovered a secret beach, coves full of angelfish, and plenty of tubeworms to mess with.
We returned, salty and happy, to dairy-covered bliss; grilled ham and cheese sandwiches with macaroni and cheese (a well-balanced meal). Our siesta was one of the most relaxing we've ever had; music flowed lightly among the trees as we sleep soundly in a light breeze. All was well with the earth and the sea.
And then the quadrants came.
Rested and full of energy, our little group chattered away about the utter beauty of the school of silver sides, thousands strong. To our surprise as well as our joy, the same legion of small fish had collected at the end of our humble dock. The four of us, the only ones present, cheered as the minnow-like fish jumped in and out of the turquoise waters.
Seconds later, a flash appeared. A large flash. A needle-shaped, silver, 'cuda-like flash.
A scream echoed across the bay.
We protested as best we could. Kicking and screaming (literally), we dove in with our anonymous predator (sans Dor[c]a). We feared the 'cuda; what we found was something far, far worse.
Imagine the biggest fish you've ever seen. Add that to the ugliest fish you've ever seen. Double its size.
That wasn't even close to the fearsome Wahoo.
The sheer force of our screams probably propelled us away from that 6 foot fish more than any of our swimming efforts combined. Nevertheless, we stayed to survey our second quadrant.
To address our poem, we were, in fact, in 'Nam; pelicans dive-bombed from above as the Wahoo waged guerilla warfare in the depths. A second time, he rose from the vast expanse of turtle grass to terrorize us within the cloud of silver sides. We had had enough.
Sopping wet and trembling with fear, we scuttled back to camp, to be met with a power outage (meaning no shower). We wept and huddled in Coconut Cabin, washing our hair with the water from our water bottles and awaiting the end of the Wahoo curse.
Salvation comes in strange forms. Ours appeared in a spaghetti dinner, brownies, and an enlightening dance session with our Bob Marley look-alike.
Overall, this was a day of fears and firsts.
IN MEMORY OF THE DAY OF THE WAHOO - JUNE 30th, 2014
-Corinne Gaucherin, Mary Kate Kenneally, Christina Karos D