Twelve days left in Belize. We’re currently in Placencia,
and will be for at least the next four or five days while I get my SCUBA cert. I’m
starting my first day of diving today. Yesterday was all bookwork. I should
have had the book read backwards and forwards by now, having it for the past
nine months. I always was a phenomenal
procrastinator. In any case, it didn’t matter;
I aced all the quizzes the first and only time through. I will say that watching the video for EVERY.
SINGLE. SECTION…. back to back to back….well, it wasn’t like I hadn’t been
through longer spans of time in a class room, but I felt like I was missing
out. And I was. For all five sections, there is a video, and
each video is geared to be watched before a confined water swim. PADI obviously expects five confined water
dives prior to going out and taking on the open ocean…I get a make-shift “confined
water dive” in the shallows off of Laughing Bird Caye. It would be nice to have more time to get
comfortable with the equipment, but is that COMPLAINING I hear? What’s that,
Addison? I’m learning to dive in the tropics, with golden sun, blue sky and
miles of reef a mere conch call away, instead of a 12 foot man-made pool? That’s
right. Thanks for the reminder.
Here’s another. This particular gem that I’m about to share
is one I know already will be a favorite when I recall this trip to parents,
family, friends, grandchildren…or the lady with the pretty white shoes sitting
next to me at the bus stop… (pause for recognition of the Forrest Gump
reference). I was woken up yesterday
morning at who knows which wee hour of the morning, to my Uncle Fred gently
knocking on my ceiling hatch. “Addison”, he yelled ever so sweetly to jar me
out of my slumber, “come up and help, we dragged anchor.”
Forgive the necessary tangent, it won’t take long. This is a perfect example of my uncle’s
personality. He stresses, he frets, I
KNOW he must, but he never ever shows it.
In fact, you’d think he was downright bored with the fact that his 43
foot, several ton twin hull capable of crushing man and palm tree had just drug
100 yards down the anchorage.
I, on the other hand, have not and likely never will master
such a skill. Because when those words crept
their way into my dreamy ear canals, they may just have well been buckets of
ice. I was up, out on deck, and looking
for the anchor chain before I realized I was still only in my boxer
briefs. Gotta love my polyester Hanes,
they never chafe…. TMI? Sorry, moving on.
Let me make it clear, if it wasn’t already, that dragging anchor
is NOT a fun experience. Because more
than likely it’s dark, and you’re still dazed and shaking the sleep off, trying
to center yourself in the bay or harbor or wherever you anchored. For the first
few minutes, your eyes adjust and you don’t know if you’ve run aground, hit a
boat, etc. Millions of synapses are
firing, neurons flashing and dashing like Space Mountain. BUT….but, we were fortunate enough to have none
of the above horrors strike my heightened senses. And when I realized that we were perfectly
safe despite our boat’s late night stroll, my excited fear turned to excited
laughter. Ahh, that familiar one-two
punch of body releasing adrenaline and endorphins (yes, you know what feeling I’m
talking about, and yes, I see you smirking).
So… while it took us another forty minutes of idling around
the mile wide harbor to find a solid hold again and fall with a crash back into
my cabin, I couldn’t be bothered. I mean
hell, I was standing there at the bow of the boat, anchor chain fading into the
dark calm water, learning an integral part of sailing life. I was doing exactly what I came to do, AND I
was doing it mostly naked. You put
yourself in that kind of situation and tell me you don’t feel free.
…Maybe I won’t be quite so descriptive when I tell my
grandkids that story.
Happy Trails, smooth sailing, smile big, hang loose, bridle
up and motor back.
