Of course you can see it as a commercial circus. Masstourists who are shipped on wobbling boats to exotic portrayed destinations like the Cliffs of Moher and the Aran Islands. They stand packed, resigned on the concrete pier and wait their turn to possibly return puked.
But then all of sudden someone sees a dolphin and surprise hits the crowd. Disbelief rapidly turns into excitement. Where will she surface next? There, there and gone again. Daddies lift daughters upon their shoulders and thrill-seekers rush down the landing to get their feet wet. Dusty lithely glides through the waved water and carries the delight off to the mysterious deep.
From the big parking place, where every day I trouble to find a spot, the pier appears to be garlanded with a harlequin company. But in the water many heads show as well and sometimes they also crowd. I take joy in sharing Dusty, but yesterday I got chockablocked. Of recent I swim a lot at the drop, follow it to the Dog-leg and sometimes cross over to round Crab Island.
This in itself is quite an adventure. Even in quiet weather there is a solid surge at the Dog-leg. I time my strokes to make the most from the energy of the waves. Along the coast I swim in a light zig-zag, up with the incoming wave and off with the back-wash. Crossing over to Crab Island is a bit of a dodgy venture due to the ferries. This takes about five minutes and the boats sail comparatively fast. There must be absolutely nothing coming in or out when I dolphin-kick-off and from the water this is hard to figure.
The water around Crab Island is significantly clearer and the topography is very varied. From the harbour you can see the layers running down towards the south. At the northern edge the shore drops abruptly and at the south is a broad kelp field that slides down slowly. There a massive swell builds which is favoured by surfers. The kelp swings restlessly to and fro with the waves and at the turn-over it is lashing. It's difficult to navigate by the bottom due to the thick, flagellating weeds. At times spots of pink rock reveal, but they disappear in a wink, shrouded by kelp belts.
Kelp garden
It's the time of the year for dense schools of sprat that as starlings wave, yield and merge through the water. One time I was catapulted by a wave into their midst and they were suddenly in my face, like a swarm of midges. Also I met a triggerfish, you only see them here when the water is warm, George tells me. A large, high, thin fish, silver and with sleepy eyes. Endangered, they fly into a crevice and raise the thorn on their back like a barb, so you can't pull them out. But they don't scare easy, so you can have a good close-up.
Tête-à-tête
On my way back I swim half an hourish at the harbour, mostly with Dusty, like a delphinarium in the wild. Surprisingly many people remember the 'Dolphin Address' I have felted upon my waterwing, as on rainy days visitors peak into 400.
So yesterday, on my way back, my heel strap tore up. That swims useless so I wanted to get out of the water quickly. It was very ebb and I had hardly enough water to swim in. And just then Dusty brought me two bottles tied together with a fishnet with intact meshes large enough to tighten her snout in. I thought to take the lot to the shore, but Dusty kept very close. In no time I was surrounded by seasiders that only had one zeal, to touch the dolphin. And I was caught helplessly in between, feet togethered in an invalid monofin in knee deep water. I got pushed aside and run across by a blind stampede and literally had to fight myself through with the waterwing. The bottles I threw as far away as I could so Dusty averted the mob. The path of a dolphin swimmer doesn't always go over roses. Particularly when it goes over kelp tourists.