It was easy to be seduced by a
starry night. The old girls felt
so alive there was a chance they might never sleep again. At least that’s what happened to two
friends afloat in the Sea of Cortez.
The
shipmates were waiting for the dolphins to dance across the surface of the
water and they are waiting along the multiple decks of the yacht. It was after midnight. Because the sea shines at midnight, you
can see the ripples across the surface, the waves roiling around the ripples,
and wet, slick, dark bodies slicing through the waves, they couldn’t tell the
size of the animals at night, all you could see was patches of slick, sleek bodies in
the water for the gals standing on the third deck.
Most
of the people aboard were American tourists who were visiting the southern
reaches of the Baja Peninsula in the search for big adventure—on the lookout
for whales and dolphins. Gail and Sherry were standing on the second deck,
dressed in Cabo chic—cotton tees, shorts, and flip flops, watching the light
trails in the dark water.
It
had been a glorious day. The
travelers saw dozens of dolphins earlier, gamboling in the waves, savoring the
sun, knowing that they were putting on a show. The women dreamt of touching the
dolphins, and then touching them again, and then again. Again. Then they dreamt of the animals
touching them back, nuzzling, and communicating with those sweet, squeaky,
dolphin sounds. Who knew
that animals, especially wet ones, were so lovely, so sweet? Both women had fallen utterly in love
with those animals. They could
hardly breathe with excitement and would be dreaming about this for rest of
their lives, then perhaps for some time after that. Gail told the story as many
times as people listened. Sherry
will wear a little solid gold dolphin on a thin gold chain the rest of her life.
It
was late, after midnight. The
glistening sea mesmerized; the girls could not look away, even when it was dark
out, even if they didn’t know what was really there.
“Think
we should?” Gail asked.
“Oh,
yeah.” Sherry breathed.
Over
the railing they leapt, grabbing hands, so they wouldn't lose each other in the
water, and then dropped feet first into the diamond-embedded sea. The women paddled close to the dark
shapes in the water where the fish bodies slid past them in the spangled waves.
But
something was not right. Dozens of
animals were in the water with them; but they weren’t the right . . .
shape? These were too big, way too
big.
Their
little trip off the deep end sat off every alarm on the boat. Immense searchlights traced patterns across
the surface of the sea. They
revealed every fluid ounce, every surface inch of seawater. The sailors were startled out of ten
year's hard living, scared to the point of breathlessness, yelled in Mexican
Spanish at the top of their lungs, telling Sherry and Gail to swim back towards
the ship. Those boys gave deeper
meaning to their words, they were insistent, loud, and urgent.
Turns out, the animals were not
those friendly little dolphins; they were way too big and there were too many.
They were sharks.
Sherry and Gail leapt into a sea
full of sharks.
Great big ones.
These massive sharks were harmless,
otherwise. . . They were whale
sharks, who inhaled plankton—they don’t actually bite or chew, anything. The big guys were remarkably well fed
in the Sea of Cortez; in no way were they interested in a late night
snack. At any rate, they
weren’t the great whites, or the black demons, or a magalodon (a mythological
shark from the era of dinosaurs), although the whale sharks were big, scary,
and mysterious, enough at any rate.
The sharks inhaled the women’s
scent molecules in through their gills, but they didn't turn around, didn't
slow down, and didn’t swirl around them, perhaps determining an attack. Sherry and Gail were not screaming in
peril nor are they flailing in the sea, they were calm and . . . beguiled. There was danger none-the-less, the
girls could be caught by the edge of the tail or a flipper, and flung into the
next eternity.
Just so, the nuzzling dream
evaporated. And their quick dip in
the Sea of Cortez turned out to be that—quick.
The captain called their names from
the front of the boat, wondering if he needed to leap into the water, worried
that he needs to beat off dozens huge sharks with his bare hands to save these
two beautiful American ladies. The
crew lowered a lifeboat. But the
sharks were unengaged and he was relieved. Our sweet girls were lifted up in
the lifeboat. The captain was
shouting orders, right, left, and center, loud and fast.
Back on deck, the two women were
wrapped in fluffy white towels and the captain marched up to them and screamed,
“What were you thinking?”
They didn't have an answer and were
chagrinned to have created such a fuss.
Whenever they tell the story now, they are chagrinned, still.
Not the first time our girls have
jumped feet first into a pool of sharks.
Still.
They are women who get the right
things right so much of the time. But this experience will keep them grounded in the sweet, deep
heart of humility for the rest of their natural lives.
But more than that, their worst
mistake melted into their best story.