I like swimming with goggles. There’s something about being able to see what’s going on in the water around you (where the pool wall is how deep the bottom is, what’s creeping up on you, etc) that I’ve always found comforting. Well, that and it keeps my eyes from aching and turning bloodshot. Yet last Friday, for the first time I can remember, wearing goggles was not fun. In fact, they had precisely the opposite effect.
To begin, words cannot describe how terrifyingly blue the sea’s deep end can be, particularly when you’re swimming in it for the first time. Keep in mind, I’m certainly not a stranger to salt water swimming; I’ve gone to beaches in Florida, as well as the Dominican Republic. Nor am I a stranger to deep-water swimming (relatively speaking – I’ve been swimming in 50 to 60 feet-deep silty water in Canada). I’ll center this post on the two opportunities this week that combined and overshadowed all such notions of deep water sea-swimming: cove exploration and redneck tubing.
First, the pirate cove. Historians aren’t entirely sure where Caesar was purportedly held for ransom by Cilician pirates (although Appian makes it pretty clear that this did actually happen in 75 B.C). According to some, the story goes that the pirates blindfolded Caesar and kept him under guard while they navigated down the (now Turkish) coast to their secret hideaway. They kept him there for 38 days (says Appian and Plutarch), during which he acted as if he were in charge, mocked their literary tastes, and giggled at the pathetic amount they wanted to charge for his return. They, likewise, didn’t take him seriously when he assured them that he would crucify them ASAP. And it wasn’t long before he could … and did. When they finally released him (having been paid – at Caesar’s insistence – twice what they originally wanted), he unsurprisingly set about building a savable naval force. What’s most interesting, though, is how some sources say he navigated his revenge-party back to the super secret pirate cove: he had his crew blindfold him on the upper deck of his ship, and then he led them by sound and smell alone back to the hideout, where he proceeded to coral all the pirates for mass crucifixion.
So anyway, having packed my goggles, I swam there – or at least there as far as some traditions can tell. Inside the cove, the water is calm and relatively shallow, but past the walls, out next to the cliffs, the waves quickly grow to alarming proportions, and all hope for swimming in a straight line goes out the window. Several students and I swam out there, making our way to a neighboring cove to, well, see what we could sea. Honestly, the most nerve-racking part about it was the depth. Looking down at us from the cliffs, you’d never guess that the clear, sparkling blue water was actually at least 30-40 feet deep. It’s a little disconcerting to be able to watch the sea-floor while swimming so high above it. Particularly because the whole place looked so empty. A solitary school of angel fish provided the only marine life I was able to see that entire afternoon. Even the wicked-looking rocks along the shore (which were devilishly difficult to keep track of – the waves made it almost impossible to maintain a steady distance) were less unsettling than the deep, dark, empty blue below us.
Second, the tubing. Well, it wasn’t really tubing. “Tubing” generally implies that there is a tube, and in this case there wasn’t strictly speaking a tube. In fact, all the tubing that happened on our big tour boat last Saturday was – to be frank – completely tubeless. That doesn’t mean that we were using ramshackle rafts or other things to stay afloat. No, the way we tubed required much less effort. Simply grab the tow rope, and let go when you feel like it (presumably because you can’t keep your head above the water anymore). The only things missing were the four-wheeler and dirt path along the water; then we could have properly called it redneck tubing (although in my book it was close enough as makes no difference). Needless to say, this was not a good way to develop an affinity for swimming in the sea, particularly when the one who is tubing (the root, as it were) is being dragged by a boat the size of a small house, on a rope that is not inclined to float, with boat’s captain holding the end of the rope (er, the end in the water, mind you) while wearing nothing but his birthday suit.
I’ve nothing to add to that; I think the ordeal is pretty clear. At least I didn’t bring my goggles that time.