Snorkeling in the middle of an ocean was not something I had ever envisioned myself doing. I don’t believe, as a general rule, that snorkeling suits me. I don’t swim well. I panic if I can’t breathe through my nose. Swimwear isn’t very becoming on me. It just doesn’t sound fun on any level.
During, 2008 in a desperate attempt to sort out my life, I signed up, on a whim, for four-weeks of volunteer work and two-weeks of travel in Africa. Part of this adventure I was about to partake in was to spend a week in a small town called Tofo on the coast of Mozambique. During the week in Tofo we would dedicate an entire afternoon to snorkeling in the Indian Ocean with, wait for it… whale sharks. Let me just point out that a whale shark is neither whale, nor shark, but instead a thirty-five foot long, filter feeding fish that happens to weigh in at thirty-odd tons.
Why I chose this as my first snorkeling experience is inexplicable, but I did.
There was a large group of us heading out that snorkeling day. Along with the group of people that I knew from the volunteering stint, there was also a German husband and wife duo, an Australian skipper and a local skipper. I was the only one that had never snorkeled before. Both skippers assured me that there would be plenty of time for me to get a little practice in before heading out whale sharking. I liked the idea of having practice time, and as I had seen a swimming pool nearby I assumed that was where the practice would take place.
After we were kitted out in the well-used snorkeling gear, that admittedly, I had concerns about putting in my mouth, on my face and on my feet, I learned that the practice would NOT take place in the pool but instead the vastness of the Indian Ocean. If the above mentioned were not perturbing enough I was informed that the one item, the very item that gave me confidence, would not be used. Why a tour company specializing in water based tours found the need to do away with life jackets I found perplexing. I didn’t think to bring my own so I was just going to have to hope for the best.
We launched, and by launched I mean pushed by hand, the Zodiac into the rough seas and set sail toward the practice area. I sat on the edge of the Zodiac clutching a flimsy rope that I suspected was to prevent me from falling in. I had my mask and snorkel around my neck because apparently if you rest it on your head you are sending out a distress call. And even though I was inwardly sending out a distress call, there was no need to cry wolf. My black plastic flippers, that I put on prematurely, were melting to the tops of my feet because of the hot African sun. And to add to my discomfort was the must-wear snorkeling/scuba company’s swim shirt that was smelly and two sizes too small. As my boobs are about two sizes too big the shirt didn’t come down as far as one might have hoped. So not only was I going to undoubtedly flail around in the water gasping for air I was going to be poorly dressed while doing so.
“Okay this is it. If you want to practice this is the best place.” The Aussie skipper announced as though all first time snorkelers practice two-miles off shore in dark, eerie, rough waters.
My nerves piled up as I prepared to slide into the water. The ocean was no friend of mine. But I didn’t want the pesky fear of dying preventing me from experiencing this adventure. With gritted teeth I swung my legs over the side of the Zodiac and pushed off with my hands. To my horror, my dry skin screeched loudly along the rubber side stilting my entrance into the water. It, however, did not stilt the momentum of my swimsuit bottom that shot upward. I was perched in an instantly made G-string bikini bottom, mooning the other whale sharkers, and momentarily adhered to the side of the boat. As the red in my face grew crimson, gravity finally intervened and I belly flopped into the ocean. I hit the water dog paddling, kicking feverishly with my flippered feet. My hand made G-string firmly in place. Rightly or wrongly I assumed that having flippers on would propel me through the water not only with ease but also at speed, like a minnow. What I hadn’t anticipated was because of many years of spraining my ankles the force of the flippers against the water created an almost unbearable pain. There would be no streaking through the water for me today. Instinctively, I moved on to Plan B, which was simple but clearly not well thought out, as I didn’t know there would be a need for multiple plans.
The idea was that I would tread water and just kind of peer in from above at the sea below. Obviously, this didn’t work as treading water calls for a lot of ankle movement and as this created pain, I began to sink towards the ocean floor. The sinking created a panic, the panic created erratic breathing, which in turn had me swallowing cupfuls of Indian Ocean.
Immediately, I formed Plan C. I dog paddled my way back to the edge of the boat and took a firm hold of the string that had prevented me earlier from falling off the boat. I could now confidently poke my head into the water without the under lying threat of sinking. As I peered into the dark green water, I realized almost at once that I couldn’t even see my flippered feet. This meant I had no idea what may be lurking beneath. The thought made me uncomfortable. However, it wasn’t every day I found myself in the middle of the Indian Ocean about to swim with whale sharks. I would not allow my unfounded fears of the deep to put the kibosh on this once in a lifetime experience. As long as I had the side of the boat to hold onto, I could safely swim/not swim with the whale sharks.
“Everyone in. Practice is over.” The boat started up and people started jumping back in. They did this so effortlessly, I didn’t foresee any issues as I approached the task. I slipped my mask and snorkel onto my head and placed my other hand on the side of the boat.
“Remove your mask from your head unless this is your idea of a distress call.” All right, settle down. I slid my mask and snorkel around my neck and placed my hand back onto the side of the boat. As I clung there, I realized that there was no way on earth I was going to be able to get myself into the boat. How were people literally porpoising themselves into the boat? Clearly, these same people can spring onto the back of a horse from the ground.
Once everyone was loaded into the boat the skipper thought, in his infinite wisdom, that maybe I needed a little help. He grabbed my arms, and while he pulled with all his might he yelled at me to kick. I slid into the boat like a salmon into a cooler. The only difference was that I slid into the metal brackets used to hold scuba tanks in the middle of the boat and found myself wedged between that and the side. G-string still in position.
The experience was going about as well as I could have imagined and all that remained was the impending snorkel with the actual shark, that isn’t a shark.
To be continued.
oh man! hah this is really funny. thanks for sharing.
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