As Doolin Harbour is sheltered by the pier, and as a bay, by Crab Island, one would assume the water to be clearer than in the sea about. Alas, it is not, instead it rather acts as a bin, an eyebrew for the ocean's frown. And this is devastating the visibility. Add to that the churning of the ferry propellors that largely spindrift confettied seaweed through the brine and you have the very reason for me venturing out as far as my wing carries. Thus I dare the ferries' swift pace by crossing over to Crab Island. It's always a relief again when I discern the shallow's weeds waving me in and to find myself in visibility again. Outside the island I keep to the edge for beauty and security. Often times I have to fight myself through ever more massive waves and upon approaching the South end there is a fine line between keeping eye contact with the restless weeds and the safety of the deep. Huge crests are tearing asunder only meters away and a wipe-out would blind me into a havoc and plunge me where there is no telling where is up or down. But the heaving to the top of a wave is a majestic high and when the drop starts to fall I can just dive through the wave and slide down the rear. I keep away from the densy spume and if need be dive underneath it as there resistance is less and I can sprint away from the unforgiving rollers.
Photo: Huba Buba, a chance meeting with this cave diver. Like him on Facebook.
And when I'm past the flanking turmoil I can reap my effort, the waves pushing me forward in long gliding strides. I see the floor racing away at every spur in a dolphin jubilation. And there she is!
As a celestial planet she slowly emerges from underneath me to disappear again, bending into the haze. I know she'll join me again, probably from behind me and wondering what my least suspecting side would be. I make as if I'm going to look back on my left and then quickly turn my head to the right. Got you! With an air of debonair she moves past my right side and cuts me into the left. I go down, get a grip on a kelp stem and pull myself in between the weeds. But there is no hiding from Her Majesty. She flies in close, her body swaying around the tip of her beak. Grinning I let go. She comes for a cuddle and I give her the works, throat, always the throat, but not in submission, rather in yearning, her chest, hard and white and as our little secret treat, a tickle into her axilla. As if impersonating a human she goes vertical. I place my hand upon her head, never on her blowhole, and she turns around her axis, trailing my hand. That's it, enough dolphin love now, let's go for a joy ride.
I push myself up from the waterwing, hook my body, tilt the wing downward and scoop myself under, then I turn onto my back, changing hands and Dusty moves above me. In tandem we glide, pushing away the water between us. After like forever in bliss she moves aside to let me come up for air.
Suddenly I see her rapidly pumping her fluke. I'm taken aback by a wall of water, then hear the rumble of a ferry. It's the 'Happy Hooker' coming in and Dusty is speeding over for a meet'n greet. I hear a cheer and yes, she's jumping, oh what rapture, in high grace and a back-flip too. Then I feel a shiver, time to go back, just a little stop-over at the harbour and then try to leave the water with dignity, through the amassed sea weed, the back-stabbing surges and past the treacherous, hidden boulders so loathed by my toes. Finally to defy the abominable gravity across the stony path up and then my welcome, a hot measure of coffee in my snorkel mouth, a fag and a warming after on the rouse of Jethro Tull.