Hearing Aides in the Deep

Being in the cool water up in the U.P. (in the Great Lakes), is my drug of choice.  

When I get into the water I like to do it quickly and immediately start swimming as my body hits the water.  My skin tingles as soon as it gets wet.  It’s like putting on a exquisite flowing robe.  Spiraling around me as I move, it stimulates every layer of my senses.  

When this natural high hits, something in my brain allows me disconnect from the emotional part of my life.  The connection then becomes a physical.   My brain responds to the cold water, the deep, the sounds and sensations. I'm free from everything but the moment.  I have to breath deeper to handle the cold.  My heart races at first, then adjusts.  It doesn't take long for me to not register that the water is very cold.  

When I was snorkeling recently, in St. Ignace, I decided to take off my mask and just float on my back when I was done and about ready to get out.   It’s a new luxury I’ve allowed myself when I’m about to get out of the water.  (Truthfully, I think it’s my NOT wanting my swim to end)

One afternoon I’m doing my “Luxury” float, on an unusually calm water day.  My ears are in the water and I’m relaxed.  My eyes are focused on the birds flying above me with splotches of white clouds behind them.  I tell myself to enjoy the silence and wait for a few more trips of “Arnold Line Boat Waves” to toss me about,  before I get out and pack up my snorkeling gear.

Then I hear someone shouting, “Ma’am!  Ma’am!”  The voice, sound-waves travel through the water clear, if this person stood right next to me. 

I turn around, off my back, to face the shore and sure enough, there’s a woman in white shorts, fancy sunglasses and a patriotic-colored shirt on the shore.  She’s waving me in and trying to tell me something.  (My first thought is she’s going to tell me it’s too dangerous to swim by myself and I should come inland, where’s it’s safe)

I wave to her as soon as I spot her, to acknowledge I can hear her yelling at me.

“I hate to disturb you, but do you dive?” she asked as I was closer to the beach.

“Yes, I can dive.  Why, did you lose something?” I answered

She explained it wasn’t for herself that she needed me.  

“There’s a man in a yellow shirt at the marina, who dropped his hearing aides in the water by his boat.  He’s all worked up and having a fit about losing them.  Could you see if you can find them for him?  He’s really upset.”

“Sure, I’d be glad to,” I said. I swam to shore and gathered up all my things by the big rocks and started up the small gravel hill to head for the marina.

Marina in St. Ignace, Michigan

“He’s in slip #11.”  She explained.  “He’s about ready to go into the water himself to find them, he’s so upset.”

Walking to the marina from where I got out from my swim,  was like no other experience I’ve ever had.  

It felt a nightmare I've had of walking through a large group of people and all of a sudden I realize I only have on my underwear!  

It just happened to be the popular, annual, “Fish Festival Night”, in St. Ignace.  It’s an evening, in July, to look forward to because of the fresh water fish served in several booths on dock #2. (and beer)

I had to cross through wall-to-wall people to get to the marina. St. Ignace locals and tourists were lined up across the dock and the parking lot, to get a fish sandwich, a beer (or both).  All the people who had accomplished getting served were dotting the space like a rain on a windshield.

All dressed for a Saturday night, they are having a good time from the sounds of the chatter. Not only did I have to get through a mass of bodies in my bathing suit, but I ran into several local people on the way who recognized me, stopped me and wondered what I was doing.

I have my large, bright, yellow duffle bag across my left shoulder and I’m dripping wet.  It’s hot and humid and I’m glad I’m not dressed for a night out.  But the food sure smells good.

My brother, Tom was wondering, too. 

“What are you ’Fr___’ doing?  Go home and get some clothes on!  Go get dressed!”

• Tom, standing in line for his food. 
• Me, trying to explain to him why I was out at a public event in my suit, (through the noise) 
• I'm embarrassing him, I'm his sister!

It was quite a humorous moment, actually.   Who would think I could embarrass Tom.  I've tried to tease him since he was a kid and I nailed it unintentionally. 

I turned and walked down the long, wooden ramp that takes me to the marina part of the dock.  I still have to dodge people walking by, up the ramp, with drinks in their hand.  My duffel bag is swinging on my shoulder as I walk and I dodge them so I don't get them wet or to spill their beer.  It's a slow process.  

I find the pier that #11 is on and turn.  

Again, I can see the pier is loaded with people (on both sides of the dock) drinking and visiting with their friends.  Many of them are also on their moored yachts, partying.

So, I have to dodge past a few inebriated boaters before I find dock #11.  I figured the best thing to do was to put back my shoulders and walk proudly by them, like I was dressed appropriately for the occasion.  (There are "NO SWIMMING" signs posted)

The man who lost his hearing aides did not appear to be the age I had imagined.  He looked about forty.  He really was frustrated.  I didn’t have to tell him, or his group of drinking friends, I was the person who could dive for his hearing aides.  Now I was dressed for the situation!

Some of his drinking buddies were laughing and commenting:

1. the water is very cold and very deep
2. the hearing aides were lost between the yacht and the dock
3. didn’t I need more than what I had with me,  to go down and find them
4. they’ll be impossible to find
5. unspoken….I’m female

I thoroughly enjoyed telling them that’s why I was there, to help.  So I could salvage them.  I also responded, “If any of you guys want to dive in this cold, deep water, why aren’t you?”  They quickly changed their stance to flirting with me and encouraging me (in a man-huddle - more than intoxicated).

The owner of the yacht wanted me to go through his yacht to get to the stern, where the ramp was located.  I told him I could just jump on the ramp from the dock and proceed to find the lost aides.  He was very nervous, but excited he might get his $2,000-plus aides back.

Now, I want to explain to you, I’m in my bathing suit. My body is far from what it was when I was sixteen years old.  I’m still walking through a living nightmare to have so little on — in front of so many people.  

I muster all of my courage to suppress the social anxiety I was experiencing, as I jump in the water.  

I shouted up from the water, to the owner it may take me awhile.  He wasn’t worried, he was more relieved than anything. 

I treaded water for awhile.  I wanted to get my eyes on the hearing aides before I tried to dive down to get them.

I know from experience, swimming at the marina, there is a five to six inch layer of muck, above the seaweed, under all the boats and docks.  If I couldn’t get my hands on them the first dive, it might stir up all the muck and make it impossible to ever find them.

He kept pointing to where he dropped them.  I listened, but had to ignore his directions. I figured he wasn’t thinking about what happens to a small coin when you drop it in the water.  It spins and darts, in slow motion, before it finds its resting place.  

Finally, I spotted them.  Black!  The small circular part at the end grabbed my attention. They were about six inches from each other.  I dove down and grabbed each one at the same time, one in each hand.

I swam up and set each one of the hearing aides on the dock at the same time.  A roar of applause and cheers erupted from the dock.  There was quite a crowd gathered on the main dock.  

Truthfully, I was thrilled by the attention.  My mom said, “Maybe you should have paid them!” when she saw the smile on my face from being the hero of the day.

I declined the monetary reward for salvaging the hearing aides and asked for a drink instead.  "We only have light beer." (UGH!)  I'm not a beer drinker but that sounded awful.  So someone offered to make me a gin and tonic.

I pretended for another five minutes that I wasn't self-conscious being in my bathing suit, talked with the group that had gathered about "Duck-Diving" and about being raised to swim at a young age, in St. Ignace.

After taking two sips out of the drink,  I set it down on the wide, wooden dock-planks, said goodbye to my short-lived "Stardum", walked back into the swarms of people, bought a fish sandwich and left.

When I went through the crowd this time it didn't feel the same.  I didn't have to try to put my shoulders back.  I didn't have to pretend to feel confident.  I felt amazing. Sometimes a natural high can be found where we least expect it.  I don't want to repeat the experience, but I won't forget it either.