Chapter 19 #3
“Sure did. We wanted to make sure Around the Globe gets A-plus treatment.”
This isn’t what I prefer; as a writer I want to view any experience as I would through the lens of a typical tourist. However, sometimes this preferential treatment is unavoidable.
(Although the most it ever got me as a Local was a front-row VIP ticket to Jersey City’s pumpkin-carving contest.) In this specific case though, I’m more concerned about Ben.
And I know from his stiff nod when I glance over my shoulder that he isn’t going to sit this one out when they’ve reserved the entire boat for the two of us.
“Thank you, Cassandra,” I say with a broad, No Worries! smile to hide my very real worries. “Lead the way.”
As we make our way down a row of wooden vessels, Cassandra tells us that the boat we’ll be using for our excursion today was primarily a fishing boat until about thirty years ago when it was converted for the specific purpose of taking tourists out into the bay to experience close encounters with sea life.
Ben keeps swallowing hard in my peripheral vision, and I can only hope he doesn’t end up hanging over the back of the ship spewing last night’s cold pizza into the bay.
On board the ship, we’re lulled back and forth with the gentle waves while Cassandra sizes us each up before handing over two more jumpsuits from a rack stuffed full of them. “These should work. The wind can be fierce out on the water.”
Ben and I slip our jumpsuits on over our clothing and follow Cassandra to a built-in bench along the front of the vessel. Around us, a few other crew members tug on ropes and fidget with levers, doing all the important boatly things, I imagine.
Right as I ponder why one crew member in particular looks somewhat familiar, he comes closer and…oh shit.
“Fridrik?” I question with a nervous glance back at Ben. Our overly truthful snowmobile guide isn’t what he needs right now. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be snowmobiling?”
“Ah. Yes. Snowmobiling volcano glaciers is my one true passion,” Fridrik proclaims with a far-off look and wistful shake of his head. “But alas, my father owns this vessel and was injured in the line of duty two days ago, so I’m here to help out this week. Today, I’m your captain.”
Fucking hell.
“That’s great!” I say at the same time Ben asks, “Injured how?”
“He fell overboard.”
“Oh my god!” I exclaim. “Is he okay?”
Fridrik’s expression remains blank, as if we’re talking about the weather forecast. “Of course. He’s a man of the sea. Very strong swimmer.”
“That’s good. He’s fine,” Ben mutters, more to himself than to me or our blunt Icelandic friend. “He’s okay. Strong swimmer.”
“Not completely fine,” Fridrik corrects. “Nasty bite wound to the leg.”
Jesus.
“Bite wound?” Ben sinks onto the wooden bench, complexion slipping one shade closer to the green spectrum of the color wheel. “From what?”
Fridrik shifts the weight of the ropes he carries and shrugs. Beside him, Cassandra’s wide-eyed stare indicates she might be witnessing a slow-motion train wreck. “Large fish. Small whale. Maybe a seal. In these waters, who’s to say?”
Ben drops his head between his knees.
“They have to monitor him for bacterial infections. Whatever sea creature it was ripped the flesh right off his—”
“Fridrik!” Cassandra cuts in. “We should get this tour started. I’ll take over with our guests from here.”
Fridrik shrugs again, but before he shuffles off to find someone else to overtly terrify, he points at me and says, “See, now this is a tour where we don’t expect you to drive.”
“Got it,” I say, nodding. “Thanks.” Once he’s gone, I take the seat next to Ben and rub soothing circles between his shoulder blades.
“Sorry about him,” Cassandra says. “His father never learned the art of subtlety, either. That’s why I do all the talking on our tours.”
“That’s a fantastic business decision,” Ben says from his slumped-over position.
A few minutes later the boat pulls away from the harbor, and Cassandra delves into her spiel on the types of whales we may see on today’s tour: humpbacks, orcas, pilots, and, although rare, the blue whale has been spotted from time to time in the bay.
Which I must admit scares me a little, too.
I’ve seen the YouTube clips on how massive blue whales are, even compared to an entire boat full of people.
I’m not sure I want a close encounter. An orca would be nice though.
When I was young, I went through an embarrassingly long period where I was obsessed with Free Willy and convinced myself I wanted to be a traveling marine biologist. Who knows if that’s even a thing.
The first half of the tour is uneventful, and Cassandra and I chat about her move from America to Iceland five years ago.
She tells me how she burnt out working a job in health care, threw caution to the wind, and moved to Iceland on a whim because it’s somewhere she’d always wanted to visit.
As someone who understands a strong sense of wanderlust but can’t imagine being that fearless, I am endlessly fascinated by her story.
While she talks, Ben manages to sit up and listen, and while he certainly doesn’t look great, he looks like he might survive, which is a vast improvement.
Off in the distance, movement catches my eye. “Hey, look!”
Ben and Cassandra turn to follow the direction of my finger, pointed out over the water where multiple sleek black fins curve over the surface and then roll back under.
“Pilot whales,” Cassandra announces, rising from her seated position to get a better view. “They look very similar to dolphins—only larger—and travel in groups. You two are lucky, we don’t always get to see these!”
A soft groan sounds from Ben’s throat, low enough only I can hear, communicating that he’s not feeling particularly lucky about this new development.
But as a professional, he now has a job to do, and he pulls his camera from his bag, props his elbows on the side of the boat for stability, and starts snapping pictures of the group of whales off in the distance.
“Your partner okay there?” Cassandra asks me quietly as we both watch him work.
“Yeah, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry,” I assure her. “Seasick or not, his photos will be incredible. Ben’s amazing at what he does. I don’t know if you’ve seen any of his work, but if you have, then you probably already know how stunning his photos are. I’m in awe of his talent sometimes, and—”
I stop talking when I look over and see a knowing grin stretching Cassandra’s lips.
“I’ll shut up now,” I say, blushing.
Her loud, bubbly laugh fills the open air around us. “It’s okay. I get it.” She shoots a pointed look to the enclosed wheelhouse where Fridrik steers the ship with a solemn expression that suggests this boat could go down at any moment.
“Really?” I question. “You two seem like complete opposites.”
“Oh, we are. And he doesn’t know how I feel. He’s not the best at picking up on social cues.”
“You don’t say,” I tease.
We continue chatting while Ben swaps out his lens, then focuses his camera on the mountain peaks across the bay.
Eventually, Fridrik turns us back in the direction of the harbor.
We don’t see any more whales on our excursion, which, for Ben’s sake, is probably best. But I am slightly disappointed I didn’t see Willy.
We pull up to the dock a little later, and I stay on board to thank Cassandra for her time and expertise while Ben makes a beeline for solid ground. From the wheelhouse, Fridrik shouts down at us to watch our step so we don’t slip and concuss ourselves on the solid oak ship.
The absolute absurdity of the moment makes me laugh, and for a brief second, I even forget about Calvin’s call this morning.