Carl Hiaasen, �Team Rodent: How Disney Devours the World�
This is part three of an eleven-part story about Kaua�i, which begins here. Part six of the story is here. The rest, you�ll have to find on your own.
---
Since my father was, well, cheap, every time I�ve gone to visit him he�s presented me with snorkeling gear that was more fit for homeless people trying to look crazy than someone who was interested in seeing underwater life.
I�m talking about masks that were held on by bungee cords and snorkels that were the equivalent of using a previously used straw from McDonalds. Since I wasn�t able to do much scuba diving with said equipment, I asked if I shouldn�t pick up my own gear and bring it with me. After all, it had to be cheaper purchasing it over here on the mainland, where no sane person would dream of going in the water. But he insisted he had found some better equipment. For some reason, I trusted him.
My father�s arm was still giving him grief from his accident while hiking (see last year), so he took me out to the breakwater pier that was a block from his house. The tour boats all leave from this site, so that seems promising, and the pier keeps the water calm so neither of us will get swept into the open ocean. But as we get in the water, all I can see is sand and so I start moving away from the pier.
This was a mistake, as all I could see was murky water and nothing else. I finally stuck my head out of the water and noticed that I was at least 50 feet away from the pier, in the path of the tour boats coming into port. I reversed direction, and came across my first fish feeding off the rocks.
Realizing the fish stayed by the rocks since that was where the food was, I start edging up the side, toward the open face of the ocean. The premise worked not unlike your rudimentary video game: the further I got, the bigger the fish were. As I first noticed them swimming along, they were the size of my fingers. Then they grew to the size of my palm. I kept swimming further out and they kept growing in size.
This being the summer season, those who watch television can�t help but notice that the cable stations begin to show lots of programs about sharks, and since we�re a sensationalist culture, the shows concentrated on shark attacks.
Normally this wouldn�t have any effect on me, as I don�t really watch TV. But the house I live in has two guys that will watch television almost constantly. I have to give them credit, as they don�t sit around and watch the lame sitcoms, but the television is always on when they�re home, and they watch a lot of extreme nature documentaries. Put these two pieces together, and this meant that I was constantly walking by a show about sharks biting the shit out of some guy in the middle of a speech about how sharks are more afraid of humans.
I�m trying not to remember these shows as the fish grew to the size of my arm, then my torso. But it�s impossible to swim amongst these calm waters without the song running through your head.
You know the song: �DuhDa... Duhdahduh... Duhda... DuhDahDuhDahDuhDah....�
I�m looking at the most ridiculous fish imaginable, all covered in bright colors that makes them look tastier, and I�m thinking; if this is where all the fish hang out, wouldn�t it make sense that the sharks � sharks who feed on fish mdash; would come here? Meanwhile, I swim further away from shore.
DuhdaDuhdaDuhdaDuhdaDuhda...
I keep trying to force that song from my head, thinking of Dead Kennedys, thinking of Victim�s Family, thinking of Roberta Flack and Dianne Warwick... trying to think of anything besides John Williams� score. It doesn�t work, and I notice the fish have grown juicier and plumper, some now three feet long.
Finally I let out a surprised shout through my snorkel, which sounds something like �moldy shit!� as I practically run into a fish that�s the size of a boxer breed dog.
The fish has the face of a boxer as well. In fact, it has to be the ugliest fish I�ve ever seen, despite being a bright blue with yellow polka dots, which sounds cute. He is not only the size of a boxer, but he looks like a boxer that was shoved into a mermaid costume. He is not, in other words, cute in any sense of the word.
He wasn�t graceful either, having nearly missed me, he nearly knocked himself senseless against the rocks. I watched him for a while, from a distance, uncomfortable with hanging around a fish that�s the length of my leg and twice the size. I eventually keep swimming away from land.
But there are no other fish around, presumably because this fat fucking fish ate everything in sight, which means the only fish left in the chain is...
Duhda...Duhda...
DuhdaDuhdaDuhdaDuhdaDuhda....
I turn back and start swimming toward shore, looking above water to try and locate my father. He�s nowhere to be seen.
This can only mean the shark already got him.
I can�t do anything but fight the current and try to get to shore. I pass the boxer in the mermaid costume.
I heard a voice from the pier, not being something I want to hear because it reminds me of Roy Schnieder yelling, �get out of the water!� But I tread water and look out, only to see my father on the pier, yelling that he lost sight of me. I continue back, the fish shrinking in size as I get closer to shore and eventually pull myself out. I tell him about the �dog� in the water and he explains that he�s seen some big fish before whilst swimming in this area.
As if to crush any television paranoia, he explains that sharks don�t really come to this side of the island. I breathe a sigh of relief, as I was freaked out enough by the boxer. I�m ready to be out of the water, but I�m thinking about how I plan to return to this spot � after all, it�s only two minutes away from his house.
But I�m bringing a speargun next time.
