Snorkeling.

We decide to run barefoot down the road that leads away from the beach and out to the point. We underestimate the heat and even now I can feel the burns on the bottom of my feet from the sun scorched concrete. Yet it gave us initiative when we came to the jumping off point. Between the two bays runs a road of concrete at the top of a sea-wall. At most places there are rocks below this, but about 3/8ths around there is a spot where the water below the wall is over fifteen feet deep. We stop here and hoist ourselves over the burning imitation wood railing. I follow ---,... waiting the second that it takes for my body to connect with the water which was fifteen feet below but now has approached predictably quickly.

* * *

There is no shock though, no cold slap. The water is the temperature that all water should be for a summer swim. Applying the snorkel gear that we had dangled haphazardly as we ran down the road, we turn our eyes to the world below our feet. What looked like only crude, ever-changing brush strokes of greens and blues and browns from the railing above, has materialized with almost a frightening belligerence into a truly three-dimensional world, full of detail. Here are shifting sea weeds. There is a stadium of massive black urchins lined up in the nooks of the rocks at the base of the wall. Further along are two large mullet, gulping at the water as they swim nervously along.

* * *

We swim further out and now the bottom is far below and sandy. Gone are the schools of fish. Our only companions out here are the tidbits of sea weed that drift about sun-drenched near the surface. ----- sees a tan triangle resting on the bottom. Swimming down he brings up in his hand a trigger fish that had been enjoying an afternoon nap. I think it to be sick but as I release it from my hand it vigorously swims downward again.

* * *

We swim all the way across the outside of the bay until we are again against the rock. Here we see christmas tree worms with their florid, polychrome plumes. Further along is a turban shell that has eluded the local divers. Between waves we climb up out onto the rocks, careful not to step on urchins and the sharp goose barnacles (the Japanese call them turtle's feet). Laying on the damp rocks I let the salt slowly crystalize on my face. It will soon be time to slip back in and swim to the bay, passing over the reef and into the uncomfortably hot water inside, through the many playing children and back to the beach.