Avoiding Muskie
In true Muskmelon Bay fashion, Chef Ali spied a large, unidentifiable creature surfacing just a few hundred yards from the yacht this morning. Whale? Seal? Serpent? Whatever, Muskmelon. We dubbed this creature Muskie and jumped in for our morning swim.
The swell had picked up a bit, and waves crashed into the cliff walls as we stroked over them. On the horizon, a very bright rainbow appeared, and contrary to my instructions never to navigate with a temporary object, we swam right for the middle of the rainbow. It brought us to the mouth of the bay, in a very dramatic scene. The swell exploded against the island here, rumbling and spraying foam everywhere. Storm clouds and blue sky battled for supremacy as the rainbow persisted. I looked around at this group, confident, fit, tan, and a little salty. At that moment I deemed them ready for an advanced adventure.
We swam another hundred yards outside of the bay, into the big, blue Atlantic Ocean. The swells looked like hills of water advancing on us, lifting us up for a view out to sea, then hiding us between troughs. It’s transformative, I think, to experience this, where one feels very, very small. I like to think that our group bonded a little tighter here, too.
No sign of Muskie as we fought the wind back to the yacht, but Eagle Eye Marcus spotted a black tip reef shark, minding its own business and pretending it didn’t know we were there. Marcus and Martina wanted to go another mile, so we swam to the other end of the bay before climbing back aboard.
A quick sail around the corner to Monkey Point, lunch, naps, and another swim to a beach we’d never seen before rounded out our afternoon. Group photos were taken.
A caribbean influenced bourbon cocktail was passed around. We set sail for our home port of Scrub Island, where a cheese plate appeared with a chilled bottle of red wine. We listened to the Grease soundtrack as a nice Filet and a goat cheese brioche pudding was served. Heather played her always fabulous slide show, this time with Zack’s musical choices. Melancholia set in as the reality of the trip’s end sunk in, and we all drifted off to our beds on this yacht in this wild place, the BVI.
There is no job on SwimVacation that I can do as well as any of the people I work with. I can’t cook for 14 people while the boat heaves in the waves. I’m not a hotshot photographer. I’m not a captain and don’t know much about sailing. I’m not very good with knots. I’m not the fastest swimmer among our guides, and several of them are better stroke technicians than I am. What I am pretty good at is recognizing people who can do all of these tasks, even in less than desirable conditions, and still make our guests feel safe, well fed, and cared for. I’m so thrilled to have worked with Captain Richie, Chef Ali, Zack, Heather and my old pal Fitzy this week. We started the week in a downpour, soaking wet as we got on the boat. As our first week of two comes to an end, we’ve dried out in the hot sun, and this crew is a well oiled machine.
Hopper
