There is only a small subset of things in life that one can
control. The rest, im afraid, is
beyond us. And while I’m sure
there is someone on this island for which internet not coming through the wires
is a fixable problem, for me, it is something completely out of control. Not coincidentally, it is also
extremely related to my lack of ability to post new entries while down
here. That said, if you are
reading this, I found a hotspot (pictures will be added to this point as the
internet allows.
Two days ago was, for us, that one day of vacation that you
hope for when you arrive. It was a
Jack Hanna day, filled with animals from start to finish. It began, as all days down here
do, with coffee on the perch of our house, overlooking the ocean. While I was staring dreamily out at the
waves (scanning hopelessly for the passing whales which never seem to breach),
I realized mmf was attending to something much more local. Somehow, and I really have no idea how,
a big ass crab had clawed its way to our perch, and was now hanging by a claw
and two feet from the edge, a 6 foot drop below.
Mmf and I had very different reactions to this news. I went the practical route. I’m all A) he wont die if he falls, he
has a shell (I still believe this to be true) and B) all I need to do is go
boil some water and we have crab cakes for breakfast. I could tim gunn it and make it work. A little aioli. Some eggs. Boom . . .breakfast.
Mmf is from Vermont.
Like, wayyyyyyy up there.
I’m not positive but I suspect that along with teaching the children up
there that skis are actually their modified legs, they all commune with their
animal friends and may even learn to speak to the wildlife. Mmf thought the big blue crap (who I
named “Cake”) was just the cutest little budgeybudgeybudgey (say all these
words together in baby talk and you’ll get a close approximation to how she
sounded). Long story short, I was
not going get to cook this critter, and he might even be replacing me in the
bed.
So she picks it up.
I would not have done that.
Not cause its dangerous, mind you, but because that’s just the craziest
thing in the world to do and I am I huge wimp. She did wear kitchen gloves as protection, but still, she
was having a gay ol time letting the guy run along the stone pathway after she
removed him from his precarious ledge. When lifted, it became clear that underneath the crabs
torso was a bundle of black stuff.
The crab was taking pieces of said stuff and popping them in his/her
mouth. I say his/her here and now
because the black soil like stuff was either some sort of food he was hiding,
or eggs she was now protecting through ingestion. It was at this point that I lost interest in said crab and
went back to reading. Mmf, crab
savior that she is, re-donned the gloves and hiked that Marco Polo of a crab
explorer doing the cliff and replaced him into the relative wild. She comes back from her adventure with
a smile that says to me “I may not be
vegan but I’m a WAY better person than you.” Thankfully, I knew that already.
About an hour later, mmf inside, I remain at my perch like a
British solider in front of the palace.
I look at the clam sea below and spot an eagle ray gliding just beyond
the rock/shore line. I scream to
mmf. Loudly. I’ve seen turtles from the perch a
bunch of times, but this is both my first ray sighting, and the body shape and
wing span of the ray is unique and I know it to be an eagle ray, which is rare
in and of itself. They can move
though. Mmf finally comes to the
ledge about 2 minutes later. She
has very obviously been summoned mid-shower. I am remorseless and even a bit pissy about her slow
response to my shrieking. The ray
has swum too far down the shore to still make out. She’s seems semi-pissed at me, so I drop it.
On our drive out to the day’s snorkel, we jam to the tunes
of the island. There are a limited
number of English radio stations on the island. Even fewer play songs you have ever heard of. One of our favorites is a classic rock
station that plays “Steve Miller Band” fair. We like. This
station is 104.9, The Mongoose. It’s called the mongoose because those
little elongated furry cute ass rodents live well on this island. While there are no snakes on this
island (which is nice), the Riki-tiki-tavis of the island seem to make due with
the multitude of other lizard inhabitants (and im sure insects and fruit and
whatnot). I digress. Anyways, as we are driving, the radio
station takes a mini-break for station identification. I swear that at the same time that the
dude says “the mongoooooooooose,” a mongoose flies out from the forest along
the road and runs full bore in front of our car. Awesome.
If you believe in signs, which I usually do not, seeing all
of these animals pre-snorkel is a good one. Animals beget more animals is the
theory there. And if you are one
of those people, then I’m glad you weren’t with us, because in this particular
story you would be right, and then I would have to deal with a whole car ride
home of “be open to the signs” this and “Celestine Prophecy” that. And you might get left roadside. I digress once again.
We met up with one of mmf’s closest childhood friends from
VT who happens to manage one of the most well-known and awesome bars on the
island. We don our masks and
fins and get out there. Before
entering, however, we see a baby nurse shark, cruising the shallows. We also watch the tourists reaction to
this, which is to all converge around the poor little guy in a circle. I think, “make a shark feel cornered.
That’s perfect, just like they tell you.” Had I known the stupidity they were about to share with the
beach, I might have even said something then. Thankfully, the shark had the wherewithal to get the
hell out of there. Unfortunately,
I didn’t get to see him again. I
blame the morons.
We are in the water, masks on,
fins being adjusted, when mmf looks over to the bloated tourists once
again. (I should clarify that
while tourists can be annoying, I
have no real grudge against the population as a whole. And I realize that I fall in that weird
Brittney-esc middle ground myself, “not a tourist, not yet a local.” But these tourist were fuck-wits, so allow
me to vent on them without generalizing to all people getting away from it
all.)
To fully describe what was taking
place, and my reaction, I need to tell you of a different snorkel spot on the
island. A place called Waterlemon
Kay. While I will spare you a full
description of the spot, it takes about a mile hike to get out to the kay
itself, but 9 times out of 10 it is the best snorkel you’ll have on the
island. Because of the extra
effort necessary, less people end up finding there way to this gem, and its
coral and aquatic inhabitants (a big nurse shark, a huge turtle, squid, etc.)
has remained more undisturbed than some of the other, more popular,
beaches. One particularly
beautiful oddity of this spot is that, during the right seasons, it is absolutely
covered with deep sea starfish.
They are these big jumbo starfish that vary in color and, especially
when viewed in the 100’s, are breathtaking. My brother, in particular, feels deeply connected to these
starfish. Deeply. He may or may not have declared himself
the starfish king. And while this
may seem crazy on the outside, for our family it is completely par for the
course. We all love octopi
(finding them in particular), I search for whales, mom loves collecting shells
(like in an almost scary way), and dad’s a turtle man. All of this is to say, I’m glad that my
brother wasn’t here to witness what these fuck-wit tourists did next.
I look over and the large breast
mother (of a family that we would later find smoking together at the waters
edge—a sight that would make me mentally imagine I had a flame thrower and
could seer the skin right off their bubbly bodies) has two starfish in
her hands!!! You don’t
touch the wildlife. You idiotic
self-centered crap columns. You don’t touch the wildlife! Then, with her family’s high school
egging on and cameras at the ready, the orca floats onto her back like an otter
that ate a manatee, and places one starfish on each of her flour-sack breasts. I am livid. Mmf is livid. Our island friend is livid. You’re not the little mermaid whorehat. You know how I know. Because what you are doing is so stupid
that not even a cartoon woman would use cartoon live animals to cover her
breasts. She used shells. I want to assure her that she DOES
resemble a certain octopus-bodied character from the same film. I am about to say something to the
family about their blatant disregard for anything other than themselves when
mmf’s friend says that she often has to physically bite her tongue. I think, “its not my tongue I want to bite.” But I’m on vacation, so I turn and head out to enjoy the
sea responsibly (I regret not saying anything now).
To be continued… was it a good snorkel? (amazing) could there be MORE animals (many more). Tune in next time for the exciting
conclusion of these are the animals in
your neighborhood!!
If that crab found it's way into MY house, it would've died a delicious death.
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