On my first school bus journey to Costa Rica, I remember reaching a beach south of a town on the Gulf Coast side and how excited everyone was to swim in the warm Central American waters. We were a bus load of guides who had traveled overland from Washington state to Costa Rica. It had taken more than a month to reach this particular beach. It wasn’t a destination. It just happened to pop up on our collective radars. The excitement over swimming had much to do with the fact we could not shower daily. This was a prime opportunity to rinse off.
And, at the same time, get in some play time.
I joined the whole group, which was about twelve of us at that point, chest deep in the coastal waters. I made certain I was smack dab in the middle of the chattering, youthful swimmers. If anyone moved around in the herd, I adjusted by tacking to the center. Treading water with the occasional dog paddle, constantly wondering what was ‘out there’, beneath me, around us. I couldn’t get comfortable. My only comfort was in knowing that someone around me would come in contact with whatever creature I feared first.
I am not a fan of water anyway. I am very much not a fan of water that hides monsters as large as Godzilla.
Recently, I found out it is called thalassophobia.
Thalassophobia (Greek: θάλασσα, thalassa, "sea" and φόβος, phobos, "fear") is an intense and persistent fear of the sea. Thalassophobia can include fear of being in deep bodies of water, fear of the vast emptiness of the sea, of sea waves, sea creatures, and fear of distance from land.
I might also have aquaphobia to some degree, but I’ll come back to that.
The smash hit movie, Jaws, did not help matters much. Growing up in land-bound Dallas, I rarely gave sharks a thought. When I would travel to South Padre Island for spring break in high school, I avoided going into the water. You know how some people drive around with a surfboard strapped to the top of their vehicle but never use it? I take that concept to a whole new level. I could laze around on the beach all day while hardly ever going further than ankle deep into the water.
It didn’t help matters when I would read newspaper articles about fresh water sharks found in the Trinity River near Dallas who had somehow wandered hundreds of miles inland. It merely reinforced my idea of the ubiquity of sharks off shore on the coast.
Fears like these are so unreasonable and yet so ingrained.
In Belize, I ventured out on a sit-on-top kayak on my own. I was within this gargantuan coral reef which formed a ‘swimming pool’ and was connected to this island where I was staying. The depth of the hundred acre pool was no more than ten feet. I sallied forth alone intending to anchor the kayak at various spots and snorkel.
My thalassophobia was quelled, to some degree, by the depth of the pool and the clearness and stillness of the waters. I was boldly snorkeling along when my reptile brain caught glimpse of a shark shape below me. Just the shape. I have no idea to this day if it were an actual shark.
My reaction from a distance would have looked comical because I went from serene calm to flustered, frantic flight mode. Zero to sixty in a split second. I don’t know if an observer would say I swam to the sit-on-top moored metres away but, in my mind, I was making Olympic time getting back to the craft, no matter what technique I used to get there. Once mounted on top, I paddled back to the island in another record-setting performance.
My heart did not quit racing until I was safely standing on land.
My fellow travelers laughed and said it was most likely a harmless nurse shark. Just another reminder and reinforcement for me that nowhere was safe.
If I am thalassophobic, you might be wondering how I survived those ten days I endured working on a shrimp boat? It must have been blind trust, or youthful ignorance, the captain knew what he was doing. We never encountered rough seas and I only recall one day we had off when all of us “bathed” in the Gulf waters. I will guarantee you my time off the boat was brief and business-like.
And what of that touch of aquaphobia? How could I be aquaphobic and spend a lifetime floating rivers? (I am also a non-swimmer. I was never formally taught. I merely emulate the motions I have seen on television. Mimicry is effective.)
Confidence.
I am confident my skills will keep me out of the water. I am also confident those I am boating with have the skills to retrieve me if I fail. Barring that, I am counting on my knowledge of the river and my lifejacket.
In addition, somehow the things I love about being on a river overwhelm whatever fears I might have about the water. I’ve mentioned them all before but to recount: the suspension of time, the camaraderie, the disconnect from our daily grind, societal woes, ubiquitous electronica, the reconnection to genuine human interaction. These aspects of river trips quieten my fears.
The same can not be said about my relationship with oceans and gulfs and seas and Texas lakes rife with ‘nests’ of snakes. All they bring me is a niggling sense of anxiety and dread.
And, no matter the size of the boat, in open waters I’ll still feel trapped.