Cruise Pt 12

Frank drops us off at another ferry, which will take us out to the sandbar. The guide hands out Mae West life preservers, which we all have to wear. Someone has written ‘Free Willy’ on mine with a black magic marker. I get to drive the boat.

Suzanne informs me that I am such a geek, and immediately pretends that A. She’s never seen me. And B. Her husband is a rich shipping tycoon who has no time for such nonsense. We get to the sandbar and drop anchor. The rays are used to being fed from fishing boats who dumped their chum here. The guide tells us that the stingrays have no fear of people, and will swim right up to you, rub against you, and swim between your legs. He says you can scream as loud as you like, but not to stamp up and down in the water, because you’ll scare them, and you may step on one. You may not wear shoes, everyone has to go barefoot. They hand out snorkels and masks, and we begin climbing off the back of the boat.

We’re about in the middle of the queue. People are already in the water. The female rays are bigger, about 4 feet around not including the tail, while the males are usually 18 inches to two feet. A big fat lady in the water is surrounded by rays, which rub up against her. She throws back her head and lets out a shriek, which prolly scared people in Canada. The water is about 4 feet deep, with waves about a foot high. The waves are so powerful they’re constantly pushing me off balance. Suzanne and I are both amazed at the whole thing. This is just like something you’d see on TV.

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Jeff-Yves Cousteau adjusts the valve on his oxygen rebreather. It is July of 1942, and only he can be trusted to arm the mines ringing the harbor. All the other Navy frogmen are gone.

Eaten by sharks.

Jeff-Yves eases into the water, his senses attuned to the slightest movement in the murky depths, his oxygen rebreather leaving no telltale trace of bubbles to tell snipers where to shoot. All around him are enemy frogmen armed with knives and spear guns. They will have to be quick to catch Jeff-Yves, the Ghost of the Sea.

Jeff-Yves reaches the first mine, and begins his delicate task as

::: :::

the tour guide motions to me, come over here.

He is a wizened fellow, wearing a black do-rag with white skull and bones markings. He looks like a young Quint, the shark hunter from Jaws. He puts his arms under one of the big female rays and lifts it to the surface. This thing is about six feet from snout to the tip of its tail. With his thumb, he flips up the barb, and there it is in front of me, the cause of Steve Irwin’s death, glistening black with deadly menace. The ray’s eye, slit like a cat’s, stares at me. The guide gives me an evil grin, and then licks the barb from base to tip before he puts it in his mouth. He gives me an evil laugh.

I’m all like Dude. WTF!!!!

Me =

Back to the ship. Tomorrow will be a full day at sea, the last day of our cruise.