The Fish Did What?

"Sunscreen, visor, towels, granola bars, meat tenderizer."

"Meat tenderizer?"

"For jellyfish stings."

"Oh." I don't want to think about that.

Monica, Sarah and I give the once-over to our assembled supplies as we wait for the bus outside the hotel. It's our last full day on Oahu, and we're headed to Hanauma Bay for an underwater escapade.

We'd juggled vacation schedules to spend the ultimate week in Hawaii. The first morning, we had a sobering visit to Pearl Harbor and the U.S.S. Arizona Memorial. Then we hit Waikiki Beach, a narrow sliver of sand in the heart of the city. A fine place to sun away the jet lag. The days flew by with fun luaus and dance clubs, walks in petroglyph fields, and the Polynesian Cultural Center. This celebration of cultures included food, crafts, hulas and fire dancing. Suddenly we had one day left.

Grabbing brochures from the lobby's kiosk on our way into the lounge, we spread them across the bar. They screamed “come and see,” their brightness competing with the riotous colors of paper umbrellas in our mai tais.

My friends scoffed at visiting more cultural sites; I insisted that we move beyond Waikiki. Monica, the mediator, fanning out the brochures, told me to close my eyes and pick one.

"Snorkeling in Beautiful Hanauma Bay."

"Perfect!" said the tanned twosome, always ready for the beach.

We read about the bay, formed by a volcanic crater and separated from the Pacific by a coral reef. The calm, clear water attracted a plethora of sea life. The tour included a bus ride and equipment rent. It was quite cheap by Hawaiian tourist standards.

The brochure's photos looked alluring, and snorkeling certainly sounded like an adventure. Sarah wondered which of her three swimsuits she should wear. Monica wanted to check the shop and buy a disposable underwater camera. The decision was made. Why was I apprehensive?

I enjoy swimming and am not afraid of water. In fact, I enjoyed body surfing at Waikiki. But that was without a diving mask. The fact is, it's the fish thing I object to. I don't like to think about fish when I inadvertently swallow a mouthful of sea water or when I step on something unidentifiable in the shallows. We are poised for adventure, ready to experience coastal Hawaiian sea life up close and personal. Ugh.

Now here we stand with our gear ready, waiting for our ride. An old yellow school bus chugs to a shop, discharging a puff of diesel smoke from the tailpipe and an enthusiastic teenager from the door.

"Hanauma Bay, Hanauma Bay," he calls up and down the street. A half dozen of us step forward, each clutching a five and some ones. Really cheap, which explains the less-than-luxury transportation provided. We pile onto the bus, laying our towels over peeling black vinyl seats.

The bus stops at a few more corners, gathering several more hearty souls for the trip to the bay. On the road out of town, the teenager grabs a bullhorn and starts his spiel about how to snorkel, where to meet the bus later in the day, yadda yadda yadda.

Then, a timid voice from the back of the bus, surprisingly not mine: "What about the fish? Do they bite?"

"Oh no, none of the fish bite. No sharks. Nothing dangerous. You'll have fun. I guarantee it."

His guarantee doesn't seem to make me less apprehensive.

Across the aisle, a middle-aged man with a sunburned nose and yellow bucket hat leans over to us.

"See this?" He points at a dime-sized scab on his knee.

"I was snorkeling a couple of days ago, and this is where I got bitten."

He looks sincere. Sarah and Monica laugh. I cringe.

Soon the rumbling bus comes to a stop, high above the bay. Snorkels, masks, swim fins and soda crackers are distributed. Final questions about how to breathe through the snorkels are answered as we try the masks. We enjoy the majestic view from the overlook, descend the stairs and walk across beach. Spreading our towels on the sand, we mark our territory before slathering noses and shoulders with SPF 50. It's time.

There are a hundred people in the warm turquoise water of the bay. I check to see if the lifeguard station is occupied -- yes, a good sign. In ankle-deep water, we slip on fins and adjust masks. Monica takes a snapshot as we duck-foot it out to deeper water. Now we're up to our waists, make final mask adjustments, tentatively test the snorkels for real, and peek down into the depths.

Fish! Many quick, glittery, silvery fish. Not wall-to-wall like I had dreadfully imagined, but quite a few, definitely more than enough for me. Leave them alone, they'll leave you alone, I hope. That seems to be working.

We float on the surface, giving an occasional web-footed kick. We're shoulder deep now, but it feels like fathoms to me. Young kids whiz by, gracefully darting through a small school of brightly striped butterfly fish. I guess it's pretty safe. Somehow, I'm starting to relax. Am I actually enjoying this? We bob along, gazing down at a variety of sealife flitting around the coral, admiring the beauty of this ocean world.

Back on the beach, we take a short snack break and compare notes.

"Did you see that one with a big orange spot?"

"I thought I saw a puffer fish, did you?"

"I don't want to see any eels, do you think there are eels in coral close to shore like this? I hope not!"

We return to the water, each of us clutching a packet of soda crackers packed in cellophane. We'd been told to offer them to the fish, creating great photo opportunities. Monica, camera ready, encourages us to feed our fine finned friends.

Crinkle-crinkle goes the cellophane. Something brushes against my leg. There's lots of movement in the water. Oh no! A feeding frenzy! A school of fish is descending on us, yuck! I take my crackers and throw them as far away from me as possible, which is hard to do given that we're still underwater.

As the fish disseminate, we come up for air. I need a reality break after that surprise rush of aquatic animals. Sarah is laughing at me. My heart's pounding hard from that adrenaline surge.

"I never thought you could scream through a snorkel," she gets out between the giggles, "but your demonstration sure changed my mind!"

Monica chimes in, "I hope I got a picture of that terrified look on your face."

Great. I'm suffering from ichthyophobia, and they're laughing at me. I suppose it is a bit comical. I give a weak smile.

"Do you want to go back to shore?" Monica asks.

Just to show them that I'm tough, I shake my head 'no,' resisting the urge to spend the afternoon on the beach. Somehow, I calm down. With order restored, we peacefully paddle around in the shallows, closer to shore. It is fun to watch the fish, if they keep their distance.

"Aaahhh!" Sarah screams through her snorkel, bolting up in the waist-deep water. Monica and I come up for air quickly, wondering what's wrong now.

"A fish bit me! A fish bit me!" Sarah starts running for shore.

A fish bit Sarah...a biting fish is in the water...I'm in the water...

"Wait for me!" I yell as I high-tail it after her. Monica follows in our wake, having the presence of mind to hold onto the camera but not taking time to snap pictures.

"Ow, ow, it hurts! Ow!" Sarah slows a little, impatiently waiting for us to catch up. "What does it look like? Am I bleeding? Ow!"

"Hold on," I say as I flat-foot it toward her. What a spectacle we're making, running through the water with swim fins on. At least our upper bodies are out of this dangerous sea.

"It bit my back, it bit my back by my shoulder, ow, ow," Sarah continues as Monica and I gain on her. We're closing in, we see it. It looks like...

"It's a bee! You've been stung by a bee!"

The relief is immediate and immense. Sarah is feebly laughing again. "Well, it might only be a bee, but it still hurts!"

We're all laughing as we head for shore, we've had enough of a snorkeling adventure for the day. A lifeguard is standing nearby, alerted by our frantic actions but assuaged by our subsequent laughter. He's about 6'2" and gorgeous. Sarah starts with the lady in distress act. He walks her up to the lifeguard station for a little first aid as Monica and I return to our towels on the sand. We've definitely reached an end to today's water sports. But we still have this last Hawaiian evening and maybe that lifeguard has a couple of friends....