So long and thanks for all the fish, again

As I mentioned in my previous post, I'm not terribly comfortable around the ocean or large bodies of water, because there were no large bodies of water where I grew up. I can swim - at least well enough to get by, though I won't be winning any medals for speed or elegance - thanks to my parent's insistence on swimming lessons when I was little (I'll never forget standing in the early morning chill by the outdoor town pool, shivering on the rough concrete and dreading getting into the cold chlorinated water... or panicking in the deep end while being tested on the "deadman's float"... ugh).

At any rate, a pool is one thing, but a big river or the ocean is quite another, rife with currents and waves and undertows, and all sorts of creatures unseen, from tickling little fish to water snakes or jellies or sharks. My heart pounds a little just thinking about it.

I've only swum in the ocean a few times in my life; though I live within sight of the Pacific, northern California's shores are known more for their hypothermia-inducing temperatures, rogue waves, and deadly rip currents, so I only go in up to my knees. In Mexico I had the crap beaten out of me and my sinuses filled with sand and seawater as I tried to crawl out of the waves. I had a bandage on my knee and spent my time avoiding jelly fish at Myrtle Beach. And Hawaii was phenomenal, but my one-and-only snorkeling adventure was preceded by a complete lack of lessons, so I spent a great deal of time trying not to inhale water through the tube, and keeping my life vest centered under my hips to keep me from worrying too much about sinking to my doom.

The snorkeling stress was exacerbated by the fact that the water was not terribly shallow - my friend Zoe and I dropped into the swells from a kayak that we had used to paddle into an isolated bay with a sea cave and no other people save our guide, "Blue." Putting my face beneath the waves was, on the one hand, a relief because I could see what has under the surface, and on the other hand, terrifying because I could see what was under the surface. And by "see" I mean "make out vague colorful shapes" of a whole host of creatures that would need to be close enough to nibble on me before I would recognize that they were intent on biting me in half, since I was not wearing glasses or contacts behind my mask.

The underwater realm is fascinating, certainly, but I can't say I'm drawn to experience it first hand. Too scary. I recently finished "The Devil's Teeth" by Susan Casey, a journalist who became obsessed with the the Farallon Islands due west of San Francisco. It was a fascinating and fun read centered around these islands that I, too, have been curious about since I first saw them emerge from the fog on the horizon. I've even been to the islands on a boat, though only biologists are allowed to land there except in emergencies. But believe you me, you would NOT want to have an emergency out there.

On the edge of the continental shelf, these rocky outposts are surrounded by frigid rough currents, hordes of hostile sea birds, thousands of seals and sea lions, and great white sharks. Enormous great white sharks. The book documents sharks in those waters that are 20 ft long and 8 ft wide. The author notes the thrill she felt when she saw a shark the size of a school bus glide beneath her dinghy - I about peed myself just reading about it.

As much as I want to go whale watching out there again, especially after reading about some of the islands' history, I have to say, knowing monsters that size may be lurking beneath the choppy grey surface is enough to make me remain a landlubber for eternity. I love listening to and looking out over the ocean, and appreciate its mystery and bounty, but I am completely comfortable backing away slowly (never turn your back on the ocean!) and keeping my feet planted on solid ground.