This started around Memorial Day. Alabama dumps at the northern-jetty, and - no one really getting in the water - we would pile our beach stuff up there. The thing you can't see, however, is the coral reef that makes up part of the jetty and stretches to the north.
Well, on Memorial Day, we got the kayak out and started puttering around. Larry and I both got in, and we immediately ran aground on the reef. I had Larry get out, and flying solo I had no problem getting over the reef and tooling around. But I still didn't know how extensive this thing was. As the tide started going out, I started walking around the surf - still wigged out by the bay water, and I noticed that - yeah - there is a lot of coral there - no wonder we were having trouble. I could start to see the coral poking up out of the water, and I figured - well, if there's all that coral there, we'll just have to move up slightly more north of the reef. I started trekking further and further north along the reef, trying to feel my way along it. But I kept stepping into holes, kicking pieces of the reef over, and no matter how far north I went, it was still there!
About that time, two things happened. It dawned on me that the southern beach front - between Alabama and Georgia - didn't seem to have that problem as there was a group of kids about 20 yards off shore horsing around and having a great time. And, I kicked a piece of coral, it gave way, I thought it was something in the water, recoiled, stepped in a hole, and fell. I caught myself in the surf with my hands - but I was soaked. So I figured - well, what the hell now, I might as well explore the southern beach.
So I waded back to shore, trudged over to the area south of the Alabama jetty, and waded back in. And it was nice. Despite being the end of May, the water was warm. And it was pretty obvious that it was a sandy bottom all the way out - not the muck I had imagined. I kept wading out, got out beyond the jetties, and realized that I was only up to my waist in the water. I looked around approvingly and decided - I can swim this!
June was really busy - so I didn't get back down to Delaware until the 4th of July. Going into it, I was like - I am so doing everything down there - biking, swimming, running. I'll at least brick every day and I'll prolly get a day of all three in there, to boot! And then ... vacation intervened.
Friday - as I already related - was a wash. I think I got in the water but didn't really do anything. As we went to the brewery and then to dinner, I told myself - that's okay, I'll just do all three tomorrow. Which was why I let Eileen talk me into doing the Firecracker 5k so easily, I think. And why I pushed myself to do the bike after it.
As late as Saturday afternoon, my plan was to jump into the water and do a little swimming, too. But heading out to the beach, one thing was immediately clear: we weren't getting in the water. Why? Attack of those primitive life forms from the stygian depths of the ocean - the jellyfish. Scores of them, washed up on shore, extruding themselves through the jetty, hanging out in the coral pools, smashed to bits on shore, washed up on shore, lazily circling in the surf arranged in a defensive network.... I think many of them were dead, and I had no intention of testing whether their sting lived on. Besides, I had bricked, so.....
At Broadkill, there are two winds - the Marsh Wind, which brings flies, and the Bay Wind - which keeps the flies away. And apparently, according to local lore, the Bay Wind has variant: if the wind is blowing all the way from the ocean, it brings in the jellies. Now the water was warm and brackish, and this might have been killing a lot of the little blighters - but there they were.
So, Saturday came and went, and Sunday dawned, and the wind had shifted and now the jellies were gone. No trace of them whatsoever. So into the water everyone poured.
Now, mind you, I'm still a little igged out by the bay water - Memorial Day revelations not withstanding. Plus, everyone's been talking about the sharks and stingrays that they've been finding off the beach. And, you can't see more than 4 inches into the murky green depths, even if those depths are only 2.5 feet. "Shuffle your feet; that'll chase the stingrays away" sounds an awful lot like bang two sticks together to keep the mountain lions away..... But, at least it's not the chocolate milk I remember from last year. And my Memorial Day explorations confirmed that it is a sandy bottom way out there. So I put on my swim suit, grabbed my goggles, and headed in for a crisp 3 times up and down the beach.
So, first - I encounter two members of the extended BBC contingent for the weekend. Nice enough guys when you're not training so you don't die in a month, but when you're trying to get at least 100 yards on a stretch of beach 125 yards, and they are both right at that line between the deepest you feel you can go and so shallow that you'll drag your knuckles every stroke.... Well, I was feeling a bit trapped. I exchanged niceties, strapped on my googles, and tried to get a lap in.
Second - I've done some reading, and people talk about the panic that sets in when you're in a lake and quite literally find yourself out of your depth. It's true. I've had it twice now this summer - once in Sandbridge when I felt like I nearly got swept out to sea, and this moment. Here I am, head down, realizing how murky and green everything is, when I see something flit just out of my range of sight, something pale and long (maybe my arm?) that really seems to swim away. I've seen them pull sharks (little ones) out of the water. People fish here all the time. And the niceties I was referring to above? Stingrays.....
And the thought goes through my head - I'm just really not into messing around with whatever that is. So I'll just pull up for a couple of seconds, let it go on its merry way, figure out how far that little splashing took me.... I wasn't scared, just ... didn't want to press my luck. I set my feet down, and realize I can't feel the bottom. Now, I'm a decent enough swimmer that panic in me doesn't look like immediately thrashing about and yelling. But it does mean I stop everything else I'm doing and quickly try to get back to where I can touch. Which I do....
And immediately find myself struck into conversation with the two fellows from above, who have apparently followed me on my little flailing adventure. Either that, or I didn't swim anywhere near as far as I thought I had....
At this point, it's hopeless. I'm stuck, I'm a little shaken because I don't know what for hole I just swam into, I can't tell where it gets really deep, and I'm a little freaked out. So I tell all this to the guys - swimmy thing, can't touch, swam into a hole of something. We go in a little further towards shore, and the one guy is merrily chatting away about all manner of sea monsters and things that live in rivers.
Third - it was about then that I stepped on something. I don't know what it was. I don't think it was a rock; it was prolly a horseshoe crab. But I felt the thing underfoot and did one of those acrobatic things where you were going to transfer your weight, somehow stop mid transfer, and do a not so graceful hop-step, that ended with me dunking myself. I got myself back up and said - dammit, I just stepped on something, I'm out. And the swimming was done for the day.
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The next day was Monday, July 4, and by God, I was bound and determined to get in my laps at the beach. I hadn't done it at all yet, we were to leave the next day, and I simply have to get used to this if I'm going to keep tri-ing. So, after lazing around doing one thing or the other all afternoon and mixing up some ice cream and brining a pork loin, I don my swim-suit, grab my goggles, and storm to the beach. I'm in before I have time to chicken out, only this time the tide is out - which means that sandy bottom goes out a long ways up to your waist. The boat is parked out there, and there are a few BBC'ers out there, but I go beyond them. I strap on the goggles, and dive in, and start crawling my way down the beach. Success! I mean - I kind of stop a couple of times, because this is effing weird - where the hell am I? How close is the boat?! But I keep going and I figure I hit 100 yards or so, turn around, and go back the other way. When I get tired, I roll on my back and trot out my new backstroke. That's slow going, especially swimming up stream. But all in all I get four laps in before I get really tired, flip on my back to do the back stroke, and somehow manage to turn myself around. Completely confused, I figured this was a good indication that I'm done.
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| July 18, 2011 |
Dinner and drinks (a lovely concoction Carlos whipped up with a lot of ice, soda water, lots of lime, and a tad more than generous splash of Don Q) were well deserved that night!
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