Hold on tight.

I’d say that one of the advantages of living on an island is that they often don’t exist in isolation. Not only does this mean that I get to wake up each morning and look out my bedroom window to be sure that the volcanic island that hangs out in my sight line is still there, but it also gives us island dwellers an opportunity to visit other places.

It’s fairly common for expats here to head off to one of the outer islands for a night (or more). It’s a pleasant way to get out of Honiara (hallelujah!), and though it’s not exactly inexpensive, we’re pretty alone out here so there aren’t many other reasonable options unless you have lots of time and lots of money.

So with this in mind, Jules, a friend/colleague from head office who spent five weeks supporting our programmes decided that we better get off Guadalcanal for a night and planned an overnight visit at Maravagi Resort.

This involved a 90 minute boat ride.

We spent the week before excited. We collected stories of harrowing boat rides from anyone we mentioned our little trip to. I filed them away under ‘meh’ while Jules filed them away ‘stuff to pretend not to stress about’.

Well prepared, we borrowed life jackets from the office, woke up before we prefer to (it was a Saturday!) and arrived at the departure point on time (and then had to wait awhile, of course).

I shared my gravol, as any good friend would, and then we headed off.

‘This isn’t so bad’ we thought at first, as we sat in the middle row of the 3 row fibreglass outboard motor boat, with the hills of Honiara getting further behind us and a toothless old man in the seat in front of us.

Then we started to get wet. Just a little spray off the side of the boat at first. But by minute three we were all drenched and every attempt Jules made at turning to speak to me was met by a mouthful of salt water. By minute four, she had her life jacket on and I was contemplating how I might be able to get to the front of the boat where my snorkel gear was because I thought that would be a really good idea if I hoped to be able to see anything.

Honiara got smaller behind us, and the waves got bigger in front of us. Soon it was just us and an angry ocean (mini angry I’d say, like, ‘you jerk face you ate my last peanut butter cup”, not serious angry like “you kicked my dog now you’re in for a world of hurt”. I’m pretty sure the ocean has a hell of a lot more to throw at us than what it did, and I’d rather not see it really angry).

I laughed for the first 20 minutes. It was pretty exhilarating – I loved the wind and the speed and couldn’t help but yelp as we flew out of our seats, landing with a thud as we crashed through wave after wave.

But after awhile the laughing stopped. It was exhausting having that much fun and I was fairly sure Jules might have punched me if she hadn’t been too focussed on hugging her lifejacket. The rest of the trip was silent, as we feared opening our mouths and swallowing ocean. The toothless man in front of us appeared to stay dry far longer than either of us could comprehend.

The waves continued to get bigger and bigger - as they will continue to do with every subsequent retelling of this story - but with no land in sight what were we do to? So we held on as waves literally crashed on top of me. I passed the time thinking about how I would tell this story here later and avoiding speculation of how many sharks were hanging out below us, while I’m pretty sure Jules was occupied by her life flashing before her eyes.

“Is that a storm?” She asked, looking ahead to the ominous grey clouds and obvious rain

“No” I lied

And we continued to head for it.  The old toothless guy didn’t seem concerned, so neither was I. What good would it have done anyways?

Clearly we survived.

Spotting the beach and setting foot on land was a relief for everyone on board. We were drenched, freezing and pretty happy to be alive. Added bonus was the beautiful spot this journey had delivered us to. After some tea we crashed into an adrenaline and gravol induced nap and woke up a couple of hours later to the sound of the ocean, ready for swimming, snorkelling and yummy eats.

The coral garden just off the beach was worth the ride. You literally put your head in the water and there were fish everywhere. I was attacked by a giant nemo (clown fish) but we also swam through a school of literally a thousand translucent fish the size of my hand that twisted and turned in a fluid group dance around us. It was incredible.

The sea appeared calmer the next morning as we prepared to head back. Part way into the ride Jules turned to me and asked why she kept doing things that scared her. I said that it’s what life’s about. And though I think we both choked a little on the cheese factor, I think it’s kinda true. I’ve been trying to focus lately on how so much of our lives are actually out of our control. Shit happens. You hold on and pop out the other side, with, at the very least, a story to tell. The ride could be bumpy but you take chances in the hopes that the reward at the end will have been worth it. Hopefully you have people along for the ride who will help you out, even if it’s lying to your face so you have a chance to take a deep breath and momentarily consider that everything is going to be ok. Control what you can (pretty much this just means ‘yourself’. I know, I hate it too.) and trust that the rest will work out, even if that just means relying on the wisdom and experience of a stranger with unfortunate dental hygiene.

This is life. This is living. And sure it’s scary, but if you never make choices that are a little outside of your comfort zone you might be missing out on the chance to dance with a thousand fishies (or whatever unexpected moment awaits you).