The Wisdom of Waves and Wednesday.

Wednesday: Windier than advertised. 

Marianne and Lexi decided on a slow start to the day, because they are on vacation and the day is theirs to enjoy. Side note: last night before I went to bed, I heard Marianne and Lex (mother and daughter) down in their cabin, giggling like a couple of girlfriends. I have no idea what it was about, but how wonderful that they create this time with one another, and that they are both confident enough to make it exactly what they want. I very much enjoy the two of them together.

As those two enjoyed a second cup of coffee, FItz and I jumped in with Cynthia and Janine for a circumnavigation of Sandy Island, taking the corners very wide so as to avoid a significant break on either end.

It was bouncy, with big swell, loud wind and some significant current. It was pretty much a slog. As I made my way slowly, keeping an eye on the ladies and Fitz and myself and circumstances on all sides, I focused on the water around me and the reef below me. There I saw jewels and precious things. Shimmering schools of silver sides just beneath the sea surface, catching the light and bouncing it around. A school of needle fish passed beneath them, swimming in earnest in the opposite direction. I couldn’t know their mission but they sure seemed deliberate in their maneuvers. Below that, squads of iridescent blue chromis and platoons of tang, poking at the reef, the rocks, busy with breakfast. All this fluid chaos as the water made its rhythm, and all these creatures going about their business, moving when permitted, holding when the water pulled in a different direction. Doing their thing, as they do.

It’s about the response.

The water, and especially the ocean, is an objective force. It will do what it will do no matter who you are and what your plans may be. Our experience, then, is a result of our response to that power. To the knowing that we are not in charge, that we are not always in control, and that is ok. And there’s plenty to see and learn from this objective tossing.

And so, rather than SWIM or SEEK or DO or GET, sometimes it makes sense to just BE. Be in this water, right here, right now, accept that we are not in charge of anything but our own response. Am I safe? Yes. Am I moving in the direction I want? Some strokes yes, some strokes no. And if I yield the need to control every moment of every swim, I can actually become part of something bigger than myself. I find comfort in this. I am comfortable being small. I know that as beings who build cities and ride trains and make decisions, we forget that we are actually a tiny part of something that doesn’t give a crap about any of our plans. What a gift, to find that space on this bouncy swim, and allow myself to just let it be. 

I know this isn’t something that everyone is comfortable with. And so periodically I like to check in with my swimmers, particularly when conditions might be frustrating, right there in the middle of the chaos. Janine seemed to be working on it, alternating between moments of frustration and bliss, flashing that charismatic swim-happy smile I’ve loved for nearly a decade. Cynthia seemed awed by the task at hand and that she was doing it. She was moving through one wave at a time. She was so present in fact, that when we got back to the boat, she hadn’t even realized that she had swum around the entire island. She was delighted.

As guides, our job is to move our guests through these moments safely, and that is our first and most important priority. And when there is the opportunity for something deeper, I like to take it. The act of doing so might help my swimmers, but definitely lifts me.

And so today I had the grace to let the sea toss me around and recognize that as comfortable as I am in the water, I am just a two-legged bumbler with more to learn by looking down.

The relief of giving over!

And on our final push to the boat we were rewarded with a flying gurnard. It let me come close, showing its peacock style wings as a caution. “I’ve got these”, it seemed to say each time I came down for a photograph. What a showy, wonderful thing.

A flying gurnard sat waiting for us, so proud of its wings, at the end of our humbling swim.

Midday we moved the boat and went ashore on Carriacou. I had a short list of shopping to do for Miriam, and a self assigned mission for a soursop smoothie. I love these moments of moving among local folks who are incredibly friendly and kind here in Grenada.

Land, while completely charming, feels impossibly hot and bright to us right now, so my soursop smoothie was gone by the time I arrived back at the yacht via dinghy.

We raised anchor again and headed north to Anse la Roche Bay, where Jason, Zack and Lexi swam to a hike (thank you Lexi for the pictures!), and Miriam and Marianne hopped in for a snorkel scout.

Shortly thereafter Janine, Cynthia, Fitzy and I hopped in for a swim. Within 2 minutes the sky opened up into a torrential rain. I love swimming in the rain and this one wasn’t kidding. At one point it was so intense, we couldn’t see each other only 10 feet apart. It was delicious. It cooled the skin and dimpled the sea surface. We hooted and hollered and swam in the deluge.

Only a few minutes later, the water calmed, the clouds parted, and the bay was bathed in a golden glow, the water like dark teal silk. 

Calm. We bobbed around just beyond the reach of land then stretched strokes back to the boat.

After the ohhhhh and ahhhh of a dynamic swim, things got quirky and fun. Fitz and Janine decided to swim back to shore for a visit to the beach bar, dollars in a ziplock bag. For some unknown reason, cows appeared on the beach, so I sprinted back for a look at them. The waves knocked me down and I startled them, causing one cow to leap right over a 4 foot embankment before they all disappeared into the forrest. No explanation for cows on the beach. Do I really need one?

So the day bounced us and drenched us and opened us up to imagining struggle as something else. All the while, glittery schools of life and a flying gurnard were there for the seeing, and cows and cocktails were on the beach in our path.

Sometimes it pays to relinquish control and just be open to the miracles the day will inevitably toss before us. When we woke up, we didn’t know how Wednesday could stand up to Tuesday. The key was to not try, and let it be.

Flying gurnard and beach with a bar. Not bad. Not bad.

- Heather