Tobacco Cay is a beautiful, palm covered island filled with friendly locals and located right off the reef. We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves on this peaceful little piece of Belize for a few days. This particular story, however, started the first beautiful morning off of Tobacco Cay. We took the canoe to the south side of the small island to snorkel the reef and it was beautiful. We saw awesome coral, snappers, hogfish, other tropical fish I am not sure the names of, sea fans, a huge spotted eagle ray, and the water was warm and clear. It was a great start to the day.
When we got back to the boat, Con decided to do some more snorkeling around the boat to look for conch. (Although this is a park and a “no take zone”, the ranger told Conor he could take a couple of conch for dinner. Usually only Belizeans are allowed to take the conch here.) I decided to stay on the boat and relax, maybe read or something I thought. Con took off and I guess his pure excitement in the search for conch must have gotten the best of him because he went very far away from the boat, very far. Penny and I were keeping an eye on our boy and hanging out when we made the mistake to stop life guarding for a minute, and we lost sight of Conor. Now, those of you that know me know that I have in certain times of my life let my emotions get the better of me and I allow myself to get all worked up in a dramatic tizzy, and all, as it usually turns out, is for nothing. This was not one of those times. Conor is an excellent swimmer, snorkeler, free diver. He is calm, level headed and smart in the water. I know this so when I lost sight of him, I just calmly scanned the water for a glimpse of a fin or a spray of water from his snorkel or a shadow of his body diving under water. Penny and I have done this many, many times before. When I didn’t spot him after several minutes of looking, I started to scan a much larger reference of water than I thought he was in. I methodically scanned the crystal blue water with binoculars on, binoculars off, polarized glasses on, off, on the bow, on the dome, or some combination of these for somewhere between 20 and 30 minutes. I talked myself down from panic with rational thoughts of what a waterman Conor is and to just continue to calmly scan the water because you know he is out there just exploring too far away. I scanned until my eyes were aching from the strain. I did not see him. I could feel the panic and dread coming up through the pit of my stomach, up through my heart and head, and out it came in tears streaming silently down my cheeks while I muttered to myself, “please just let me see you Conor, please just show yourself to me, please, please just let me see you.”
Penny and Bubby were feeling my energy and began pacing the deck of the boat by my side. I was just about to get in the canoe to search for my husband, who at this point if he wasn’t dead I was ready to kill, when I saw a glint of light--off a mask or a flipper or something. I didn’t care what it was, it was something, I grabbed the binoculars and scanned that area and very, very, very far away I saw Conor just snorkeling away, happy as a clam, not a care in the world. . . . bastard. He must of felt the wave of angst and relief and anger being radiated from Gualby because just a moment after I spotted him, he stood up in waist high water and waved at me. That’s right, waved at me. A nice hearty, whole body wave of the arm with, only what I can imagine because he was so far away, a big sheepish grin on his face. If he was closer I would have smacked that shit eating grin right off his sunburnt face. He knew I was mad, he could feel it. When he made it back to the boat I wanted to yell at him but all that came out was a shaky voice, trembling on the verge of tears, telling him he could never do that to me again. A flash of annoyance crossed his face and then vanished as he looked at his wife who was nearing a melt down. Conor hugged me, gave a heartfelt apology and told me he just got carried away but he will never go so far from the boat without the canoe or a buoy again. He f-ing better not is what I wanted to yell, but I just let him hug me and I said, in a loving voice, you f-ing better not.
M.
When we got back to the boat, Con decided to do some more snorkeling around the boat to look for conch. (Although this is a park and a “no take zone”, the ranger told Conor he could take a couple of conch for dinner. Usually only Belizeans are allowed to take the conch here.) I decided to stay on the boat and relax, maybe read or something I thought. Con took off and I guess his pure excitement in the search for conch must have gotten the best of him because he went very far away from the boat, very far. Penny and I were keeping an eye on our boy and hanging out when we made the mistake to stop life guarding for a minute, and we lost sight of Conor. Now, those of you that know me know that I have in certain times of my life let my emotions get the better of me and I allow myself to get all worked up in a dramatic tizzy, and all, as it usually turns out, is for nothing. This was not one of those times. Conor is an excellent swimmer, snorkeler, free diver. He is calm, level headed and smart in the water. I know this so when I lost sight of him, I just calmly scanned the water for a glimpse of a fin or a spray of water from his snorkel or a shadow of his body diving under water. Penny and I have done this many, many times before. When I didn’t spot him after several minutes of looking, I started to scan a much larger reference of water than I thought he was in. I methodically scanned the crystal blue water with binoculars on, binoculars off, polarized glasses on, off, on the bow, on the dome, or some combination of these for somewhere between 20 and 30 minutes. I talked myself down from panic with rational thoughts of what a waterman Conor is and to just continue to calmly scan the water because you know he is out there just exploring too far away. I scanned until my eyes were aching from the strain. I did not see him. I could feel the panic and dread coming up through the pit of my stomach, up through my heart and head, and out it came in tears streaming silently down my cheeks while I muttered to myself, “please just let me see you Conor, please just show yourself to me, please, please just let me see you.”
Penny and Bubby were feeling my energy and began pacing the deck of the boat by my side. I was just about to get in the canoe to search for my husband, who at this point if he wasn’t dead I was ready to kill, when I saw a glint of light--off a mask or a flipper or something. I didn’t care what it was, it was something, I grabbed the binoculars and scanned that area and very, very, very far away I saw Conor just snorkeling away, happy as a clam, not a care in the world. . . . bastard. He must of felt the wave of angst and relief and anger being radiated from Gualby because just a moment after I spotted him, he stood up in waist high water and waved at me. That’s right, waved at me. A nice hearty, whole body wave of the arm with, only what I can imagine because he was so far away, a big sheepish grin on his face. If he was closer I would have smacked that shit eating grin right off his sunburnt face. He knew I was mad, he could feel it. When he made it back to the boat I wanted to yell at him but all that came out was a shaky voice, trembling on the verge of tears, telling him he could never do that to me again. A flash of annoyance crossed his face and then vanished as he looked at his wife who was nearing a melt down. Conor hugged me, gave a heartfelt apology and told me he just got carried away but he will never go so far from the boat without the canoe or a buoy again. He f-ing better not is what I wanted to yell, but I just let him hug me and I said, in a loving voice, you f-ing better not.
M.
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