Snorkeling in a one-meter swell requires constant care because you never know when a glug of seawater is going to come unannounced down your snorkel. The visibility is limited, but still a good twenty feet. I dive straight down into a wide fissure in the reef, walls of coral tower above me as I swim the length of the gap. The portentous feeling above is lost down here, the cyclone of the century could rage above, but down here the fiddler crabs would still fiddle and flounder would still, well, do the things flounders normally do. I rip the mask off and sputter, hack, and wheeze my way back to the platform, my diving for the day, done.
Lunch is served back on the vessel in a cruise ship like fashion.
The food line is sparse, however the pickings many, salad bowls of shrimp, a tidal wave of fruit and veges, and a carpet of salmon. I m aware that everything I eat could make a reappearance on the way home, but I m powerless to stop myself. Somehow eating seafood while on the sea seems less troublesome. We load back onto the boat and leave the tipsy platform behind. The seas have become such that the same old sea dog I mentioned earlier would now be in the wheelhouse, hands on the wheel, mumbling to himself.