Out of the Blue

I wake to the clanging of bells in the darkness. 

It’s an alarm that sounds insistently, echoing through the jungle. A few dogs bark and howl.

For a moment I am frightened. What can they mean? Fire? Tsunami?

Half-asleep, my imagination cannot stop the enormous wave that’s about engulf this flat, helpless island.

I shake John awake and he laughs a little, calms me with his hands, saying, “it’s Sunday, it’s Sunday. There’s no tsunami. Go back to sleep.”

Oh. Right.

Sunday.

The bells carry on, waking the island before the cocks crow.

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We sleep blissfully through church.

After breakfast, we drag the kayaks down to the beach. The tide is high, and the turquoise waves roll in with impressive height, even over the shallows. Out on the break, perfect spirals crash onto the reef.

It’s the roughest water I’ve even paddled in. I find it thrilling, and laugh a little crazily, totally terrified. Each rolling wave underneath me lifts me high up, and drops me gently back toward the reef. 

I’m too afraid to sit wobbling parallel to the incoming waves, so I take them at an angle, zigzagging north. Charging into the waves is intimidating work, but with my back to the breaks, riding the waves toward the beach, speed is of the essence. 

In no time, I have such a case of hysterical giggles that I can barely paddle at all. However, I find inspiration in the threat of waves behind me.

When we’ve had our fill, utterly soaked and stomach-sore from laughing, we beach the kayaks and don snorkel gear. 

               *             *             *             *             *

We’ve bought a disposable waterproof camera, and after checking that it floats, we wind the film and get ready to take some awesome underwater photography.

(Please note that I haven't yet developed the film, so the following are not our photographs.)

I’ve never tried snorkeling before, and I’m nervous that I’ll feel claustrophobic, or mentally unable to breathe underwater. But it’s really, really easy. I take a few breaths with my face in the water, and I’m used to it already.

John has some issues with his mask, and he swallows a lot of seawater before finally ditching the breathing tube altogether. Instead he holds his breath and dives deep, clinging to coral here and there, pointing out sea cucumbers, sea urchins, starfish, and hidden fish of all varieties.

I float on the surface with my face in the water. I’m so buoyant here, I barely have to move at all. The waves push me gently over the reef, and I see more colourful fish than I expected: neon blue damselfish, yellow butterflyfish, and many others.

The reef is not the riot of colours I had expected from nature documentaries. Instead, most of the coral seems dead, and beds of algae grows on their skeletons. However, the fish still seem to thrive here. Now and then, I see a bright piece of coral - turquoise, pink, or orange - that stands out from the beige and brown.

Longfin Bannerfish

Neon Damselfish

I follow a couple of yellow-and-black butterflyfish for awhile, and they lead me to a coral highway, with many more kinds of fish. I see black-and-white moorish idols, with their long banner fins trailing behind them; and many kinds of angelfish; and an entire colony of clownfish, guarding their eggs.  

Next I follow a multicoloured parrotfish. It eats the coral so loudly, I can actually hear it underwater.

Parrotfish (loud eater)

Near the surface, tiny, silver sailfish hang out, their long swords at the ready, nearly camouflaged against the sky.

The world underneath me is mostly populated with flat, disc-shaped, very graceful fish. Many of them float from side to side, seeming to regard me with each eye as I float overhead. I see large leopard-print fish that lie on the sand, then swim away when I approach. I catch glimpses of red fish hiding in little caves, and they peek after me when I pass. Then the strangest of all: out of the blue, three bizarre trumpetfish, long and thin, with upturned mouths, coming fearlessly towards me to investigate. They are so strange, I am actually a little frightened, and this time, I'm the one who swims away.

Most ignore my presence, going on with their business. A few seem shy, and peek out at me from coral caves, swimming in cautious circles. The clownfish guarding their eggs have no fear, and stand their ground doggedly - no matter how close John approaches. 

My favourite by far are the triggerfish: they are larger than life, and have such character.

Picasso Triggerfish

After several hours, I emerge from the water and lie down on the beach, feeling more tired than I should be. My chest has that pleasant ache I get from long swims. My lips are numb from the salt water, and my brain still thinks that the world is moving me gently, back and forth, with the waves. .

                *             *             *             *             *

There is one more thing. This is for Amelia.

At night, the geckos hide out near the lights - you can see their long bodies silhouetted on the paper lampshades, or standing motionless on the walls and ceiling.

They wait for the light to draw the insects near them, then attack.

In one blink, a moth becomes a broken wing, and in another moment, that disappears also.

Heilala Holiday Lodge

In Tonga we are working for our accommodation, and Sven has some projects for us to do around the place.

He gives us our first two days off to get adjusted, but on the third day, we begin. New shower fixtures need to be installed in all of the guesthouses, and new gutters on the main buildings; we also need to build a footpath of stones – and there is always gardening to do if we get bored.

We get to work after breakfast, and finish at lunchtime: roughly four hours per day for our keep.

John has a look at the plumbing, and sends me into the tool shed to find a crescent wrench, vice grips, wrenches of various sizes, plumber’s tape, washers, and a flashlight. 

My first order of business, then, is to learn the names of basic tools.

We encounter several problems, like existing leaks inside the walls, wrong-sized fittings, and a broken shower head; but we put our heads together, and we manage to finish all the plumbing in two days.

We spend the afternoons at the beach. I read my book, and then wade into the water when I get hot. John, always full of energy, kayaks around the reef, looking into the clear, shallow water. I can see him in the distance: a silhuette dangling from the edge of the boat, reaching into the water to collect coral.

                *             *             *             *             *

One night, the rain emerges suddenly – a downpour that silences all other sounds.

The wind whips the trees together, and bright claps of lightning strobe and streak across the sky. A deep, threatening rumble of thunder follows. 

The next day we’re meant to hang gutters, but we give up after two hours. The rain is incessant, and, although it’s still 25 degrees, discouraging. We change into dry clothes, make hot chocolate, and spend the day indoors, writing letters and watching movies. John makes curry.

We make up the lost hours the next day, when the rain stops. After evicting a gecko from my ladder, I’m ready to measure things, and use a drill to hang the brackets for the guttering. Then we cut or glue the gutters together, until they’re the right size, finally installing them perfectly with a flick of the wrist.

After six hours as John’s assistant I’m exhausted, although, to be fair, he did most of the work. 

I spend the evening in bed reading, listening to the waves, the wind, the crickets. The next day is Sunday – our day off.  In this moment, I am completely happy. I can sleep as long as I want to, but I’m in no hurry. I’m clean, full, comfortable, and entertained. 

I finish my novel and dream about snorkeling.