There were eleven of us. Andy had made the arrangements. The owners said we would be doing public service projects as we went around the globe. So far there had been two projects and both had been planned and conducted by the residents. We wanted to do the kinds of things we do at home with the Lions Club. This was an opportunity to do a beach cleanup like we had done several times at home, but this time it would be in Dominica, in the Caribbean.
The driver met us just off the ship in a big white van that could take all of us on the twenty-minute ride to Bubble Beach in Soufriere. Dusty and I were paired up in our orange plastic kayak with the scratched black paint on the bottom. Most of the rest of us were in pairs in slightly newer blue ones. No big deal. As long as it floats.
We had two guides that would go along with us on this beach cleanup. Davie, the more senior guide, helped steady the kayak as we got in, and we pushed off from the sandy shore. As our group got out into the water, we had a chance to look back at the brilliant green hillsides that reminded me of Costa Rica. Dusty had a couple of bad experiences in the past with kayaks, and I was glad she was willing to give it another shot in such a reliable-looking steed.
In the center of the tiny village was an old gray stone church with brightly painted accents, including a saint in blue and burnt umber vestments. All around were the small houses that made up the village and the little "spa" that was a remarkably upscale board shack with drinks for sale and umbrellas and tables for use. This all fronted onto the Bubble Beach, where bubbles came from the floor of the sea from the volcanic hot springs below.
With Davie at the front and his partner at the back, our six kayaks were guided the mile along the rocky shoreline toward the small beach that was our target. Dusty would dip the tips of the two-bladed paddle left and right over and over, giving forward thrust to our two-man kayak. She struggled with accomplishing any direction for the craft, but I tried to make up for it with double and triple paddling to keep us pointed toward the leader of our group.
Davie stopped at a couple of spots along the way to point out sights used in filming Pirates of the Caribbean. This was no surfeit, however, and barely scratched the surface of our group's quest for knowledge about the glitterati. He said the areas were being maintained by locals in the state they were in during filming to create destinations for fans of the movie to experience it in real life. While tourism created a steady income for the island, the movie had given a big infusion of cash into the local economy and inside baseball to dispense while on the trail.
The strapped-in canvas seat backs provided almost no support in the kayak, so I had to keep my stomach muscles tight to avoid laying back in the little boat. My legs were getting a workout too over the mile of paddling, and it seemed that as we went on, the progress was getting even slower. No big deal. We could see the little spit of beach near the point we had been assigned to clean up.
We were the last ones to make it to the beach, and the guides seemed to strain a bit getting our kayak far enough up on the beach to keep it from slipping back into the water while we prepared to complete our task. We met up with Davie in the shade of some trees up off the beach, where we had some water, and he told us about the turtle nests that were in the area and how they had alarms set around them to keep people and predators away from the eggs until they had a chance to hatch.
We were given some green garbage bags and got to work wandering up and down the rocky beach and lava rock outcroppings that made up the shoreline. The variety of stuff we found was remarkable, but there wasn’t a ton of waste here. It would be nice if we could keep it that way. In fact, there may have been more plastic waste created by the green bags we were using to collect it. A handful of fishing line that could easily ensnare a bird or fish was gathered and packed away. The ground was littered more with bright red shells from crabs and conchs than with human detritis. And that’s the way it should be.
By the time I got to the lava rock point that jutted out fifty yards into the sea, we had pretty well cleaned up all that there was to find. I spent a little time enjoying just standing there watching the waves crash up through the gaps in the lava, making foam and spray as they came and went. The wind was picking up a bit, and we would have a headwind and some little swells on our return trip.
We all strolled back to the kayaks, tied our green bags shut ,and strapped them under bungee cords at the back of our kayaks for the last leg of our journey. Davie insisted that he and his helper would get our kayak into the water, and Dusty would climb in first, followed by me.
As we started back, I noticed that the little waves were splashing over the tip of the boat, and we were not making as good progress as we had on the way out. Oh well, I would paddle a little harder and look forward to getting back for a quick lunch and snorkeling. The gap between us and the rest of the party was opening up to about fifty yards or so by the time we were halfway back. Our helper was close behind us and seemed to be just casually paddling while Dusty and I were getting a workout.
It felt like Dusty was having a hard time staying upright, and I was leaning left and right to keep the kayak level. Water started to splash into the inside of the little orange boat, but it was made to drain that straight through the bottom. The buoyancy was kept by the sealed plastic body of the kayak, which was just a giant air bubble. That is, unless there was a problem with the kayak itself.
We kept riding lower in the water. The same little waves were splashing into the boat every time one came across us. We were tilting left and right. I yelled to our helper that the boat was taking on water. He didn’t understand. I said it again with a few gestures. He got it. He tried to yell ahead to Davie, but with the wind and waves and distance, there was no way that they were going to hear. He paddled ahead while Dusty and I turned toward the shoreline with the waves pressing us toward the rocks and lava about a hundred yards away. To the left was a small area of sand and gravel instead of rocks, and we pointed toward that while the craft became less and less stable.
By the time Davie had paddled back to us, we were just about clear of the rocks and making an approach to the little beach. Before we got to the shallows, the kayak leaned to the right and just kept leaning until Dusty and I were both in the water, still holding onto our paddles. Dusty said she was okay, and the life vest on her was pushing up into her face as she tried to stay away from the rocks and get ashore. I started to swim in front of her, grabbed one end of the paddle, and towed her to shore while Davie got ahold of the orange kayak and guided it ashore before getting himself on the beach.
After a brief snarky video about our shipwreck, I went over to help him drag the craft ashore. Just out of the water, it was too heavy to lift. After pulling a drain plug on it, we flipped it over, and water began to pour out. About five minutes later, it had given up enough liquid ballast to allow two grown men to lean it up against the cliff to continue its purge into the sand. The seemingly unending stream of fluid would make a college keg party pale in comparison.
I wasn’t sure if we were going to have a boat come out to get us or not. After over twenty minutes of draining the water, Davie asked if we were up to paddling the rest of the way back or not. I looked to Dusty and was pleased and proud when she said she was willing to get back in the water.
I needed to take a break a couple of times on the way back because the wind and waves had picked up a bit more, and I was getting tired from the work we had already put in, and I was steeling myself for what I will liberally call the face of a hurricane westwind.
When we finally did get the kayak back to the point of origin, the owner of the boats was waiting at the beach, thoroughly ashamed, and promised that this boat was not going to be used again because it was obviously no longer seaworthy. On top of that, he was happy to give us free water or beer for our inconvenience. Dusty and I agreed that both would be a good way to dispurse the lactic acid burn surging through our bodies. Two waters and two Kubuli Dominican beers would more than make up for almost drowning.
While Dusty and I were drying out and rehydrating at the same time, they checked the kayak and found two holes responsible for letting water fill the inside of the hull. It was not our imagination. We had a leaky boat, and a lesser couple would have suspected sabotage. We kept a wary eye for the rest of the journey.
In the end, we did have an adventure that day. And we managed to do some of the cleanup that our group had hoped to do. Our bag of garbage made it back with us and didn’t end up scattered all over for the next group of intrepid volunteers.
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