Writer Shelley, my alter ego, is braver than I. When challenged, Writer Shelley steps up in the name of writerly research whereas I might just leave. So when faced with a frigid ocean, a (very) high tide crashing in, and a never-used snorkeling mask and fins, I channeled Writer Shelley. Because there was no way that I was getting into that water.
Field Notes
Participants:
Husband (initiator), daughter (13), son (12), me. My husband and kids were in wet suits. I was wearing my lap-swimming suit. Five points for the sturdy swimsuit. Minus ten points for refusing to buy my own wet suit weeks before. (Cue husband gloating.)
Experience level:
Near zero. I went lake snorkeling in Minnesota as a kid. But with the exception of the equipment, it turns out lake snorkeling is almost nothing like ocean snorkeling.
Setting:
A beach/cove in Southern California. The beach was crescent shaped with a rock cliff behind it and rocks on both points. It was a narrow beach. There wasn’t much sand and not that many places to put our stuff, especially since we were trying to social distance.
Discussions:
Where to snorkel. You see the most fish around rocks. But the rocks in this cove seemed to all have waves crashing into them. It was unclear where we could snorkel without getting concussions.
Where to put our belongings. I spent a long time finding the perfect place to put our things so they wouldn’t get washed out to sea but were still distanced from others and nothing would get stolen. In other words, I was stalling. While I did that, my husband and kids got in the water.
Was I ever getting in? Once my kids and husband were in, there was much calling, “Shelley/Mom are you getting in?” and me not answering.
Account of events:
I wasn’t watching when my husband took our kids into the water so I hadn’t seen how they got in. When I was finally ready to follow, the entry point was intimidating. The descent into the water wasn’t at all gradual. The water went from ankle deep to hip deep in a few strides. As a result, the waves broke right onto shore. The waves up to that point had been relatively small. So naturally I timed my entrance to the biggest set of the day.
When I waded in I did it quickly. That was the right instinct. Unfortunately the water was so cold that I literally had to stop to catch my breath. That was unfortunate.
As I stopped, a large wave began to swell. Normally I would have simply retreated or dove under it. But I’d chosen to wear my fins into the water. In lake snorkeling, you can wear your fins as you wade in. With ocean snorkeling, you really, really shouldn’t. Because when that large wave comes, you’re essentially immobile. I was immediately slammed onto the sand.
(Add the study of humiliation to my day. Also how to get copious amounts of sand in my hair and suit.)
Waves come in sets of three, and that was wave number one. Now more concerned with drowning than with cold water, I turned over onto my belly in the shallow water and managed to shimmy under the second wave. And then the third, until I was past the breakers.
Small miracle: I managed to hold onto my mask throughout all of it.
Next challenge: How to use said mask.
My husband had practiced with his new snorkel gear in our pool. I declined. Really, I scoffed. Using a snorkel, I reasoned, was like riding a bike. Once you knew how, you always knew how. But every mask and snorkel is different. So I spent the first ten minutes treading water while I figured out how to adjust my mask and snorkel. And then another ten remembering how to breathe without sucking water into my lungs. The good news was that my adrenaline levels were so high at this point that they were keeping me warm.
Most of the forty minutes I lasted in the ocean was spent treading water. We still couldn’t figure out where to snorkel safely. And the water was so roiled by the incoming high tide that there wasn’t much to see even when we could get our heads in the water.
After thirty minutes, the cold began to seep in. I was swimming slower, stiffer. I stuck it out another ten—just to really feel the increasing effects of hypothermia and to save myself further ribbing from my husband—and then I got out with my daughter. She was cold even in her wetsuit, if that tells you something about the water temperature. My son and husband stayed out a bit longer.
My husband and son went out a second time and by the end of the morning had mastered the situation. My daughter and I stayed on the beach. This was my chance for observation. A couple of clearly very experienced snorkelers came shortly after, and I knew what to watch for—how they got in (sans fins), where they snorkeled, how they kept their wetsuits from getting covered in sand when they got out. I learned a lot. But I like to think that I learned it because I’d tried it (and failed) myself first.
Experiences Gained
Disaster and misfortune create tension in fiction, so the day was a complete success for Writer Shelley. This was her kind of trip. But for myself, I wished I had prepared better for the excursion. Less terror, more fun can be good. Regardless, I now have seven experiences to add to my repertoire:
1. The cold shock response. When I first waded into the water, I thought I was just catching my breath, but hyperventilating describes the feeling better. Initially that’s what I thought was happening, that I was panicking. But it’s actually a physiological response to the cold.
Fun fact: If you fall into cold water, the cold shock response can kill you. Either your first gasping breaths will fill your lungs with water, drowning you, or the hyperventilation will make swimming impossible, drowning you.
2. Nearly drowning. I’m being dramatic, but it did occur to me after that first wave, with two more to follow, how a person could get into trouble quickly. Especially with huge flippered feet.
3. Cockiness. I was so sure of my snorkeling prowess from thirty years previous that it nearly sank my trip. But that’s one of my favorite character flaws. How overconfidence can wreck you.
4. Humiliation. I knew a woman who started taking tennis in her thirties. She called her group tennis lessons her “weekly humiliation.” Most adults avoid the emotion, but it adds a lot to a person’s character. And it can be experienced in so many painful ways. I really should be seeking it out more.
5. Hypothermia. As a native of Minnesota, I know what cold feels like. But being in cold water versus cold air are two different things. I could feel the cold/heat exchange: the warmth seeping out of my body and the cold seeping in. It was less teeth chattering cold and more about feeling a cold heaviness at my core.
6. Sand. I was forced to devise new methods for removing all that sand from my suit and hair.
7. The glorious warming power of the sun. The best part. After a semi-harrowing experience, there was the reward of lying on the beach with the warm sun and drying off/out.
Stories I’ll Use These in
A story about ice fishing in Minnesota? Swimming in Lake Superior? Escaping from a villain on a rocky beach in Boston/New York/Southern California? So many possibilities.