Finally, I
was there. I was in the shore-diving capital of the world, Bonaire.
Bonaire is
an island in the Leeward Antilles in the Caribbean Sea. Aruba, Bonaire, and
Curaçao form the ABC island chain, located less than 100 miles northwest of
Venezuela. This trip had been years in the making. Not that it is complicated
or expensive to get there; timing was really the issue. Delta flies into and
out of Bonaire only on Saturday, so you have to commit to staying the entire
week. I finally committed.
The beauty
of shore diving is that you can go where you want, when you want, without a
guide, and without being on the dive-boat schedule.
Two days
into my trip, I sprained my ankle. That’s the treachery of shore diving. It’s
not as easy as rolling off the back of the boat. When I got out to the marker
on my second dive that day, I heard a faint hissing sound. My companion and I
tried to fix my air tank in the water but were unsuccessful, so we headed back
to the truck. On the way out, thanks to a slippery rock and a nice-sized wave,
I fell and twisted my ankle.
Of all the adventurous things I do, skydiving,
trailblazing, sky yoga, cycling, playing tennis, Orange Theory Fitness, etc., how ironic that I hurt
myself scuba diving; I can’t think of anything with less physical impact.
I opted not to go to the hospital because
international ER visits can get complicated when dealing with insurance
companies. Besides that, I knew what they were going to say: RICE (rest, ice,
compression, elevate).
What now? My
companion couldn’t dive alone, and his dive buddy was down for the count. With
that many days left on the island, the alternate plan became clear: he should get
his solo diver certification. He fought me on it a little because he didn’t
want to leave me alone all day, but I was persistent.
He spent the
next three days in class and doing practicals, and I rotated from bed to couch
to balcony to restaurant to a beach chair in the shade, and back. I was
bothered by my immobility, and had to remind myself that life happens for you, not to you. The trip was still a win. My companion got his solo dive
certification and I read three books.
By the way,
this incident affected my plans for my next adventure. I’d intended to head to
the Grand Canyon next month to do some hiking. Needless to say, that is no
longer an option. So I’ve made other plans, and now we are going to Roatan,
Honduras.
Instead of
looking at a detour as keeping you from where you were going, perhaps consider
it as an opportunity to take a new path. As hard as it is, sometimes you just
have to trust where you are being led.
What do you
do when unexpected events derail your plans?
