#Deep Cove Kayak

[peachesofteal]

Dad!John Price/female reader The Ocean anthology Note: The orcas mentioned in this series are based on a real population. Coolest things on this planet.

The strait is quiet. 

Fog rolls across glass, painting grey sea smoke on top of clear, hyaline waters, mirror images cast from horizon to cliff. It’s a prehistoric stillness, the kind that’s sung low in the belly of this passage for millions of years, volcanos and glaciers all doing their worst, their best, to shape and carve this land to be as it’s known now. 

Granitic wall looms above and below, plummeting into the earth beneath you until the water is too deep to see where it ends and hell begins, water and plants and light refracting into a teal green color. painting the pitch something most only see in magazines. It stretches tall too, forms the base of the islands, of all the land that flanks the strait, and you have to crane your neck to see where rock ends and soil begins. 

It’s a marvel onto itself, but you’re not here for the geology. 

Where are they? 

Your paddle dips, pushes, forging a path through the quiet, preternatural stillness, wrists to ribs moving with hypnotic pace. Left, right, left, right. Dig. Dip. Your lungs burn, muscles ache, and still you paddle, up and down the coast, maintaining your determined pace in the face of exhaustion, forcing yourself past the brink of logic and reason, as always, in the pursuit of passion. You focus on your breath, on the cold, settling it in your bones, falling into the beautiful rhythm that is paddling, cold sea spray dripping down to your gloves.

It’s easy to get lost in the quiet of the water. The fog and the cliffs crowd inwards, silent watchers of a sacred place, protectors of a balance long disturbed and derailed everywhere else in this world. Your paddle strokes in perfect time, kayak cutting through the eerie mists and propelling you forward, focus fixed on the horizon, looking, listening. Waiting. You simmer in the silence, straining to hear the telltale blow of air, the signal of surfacing.

Nothing comes.

Where are they?

Salmon jump in front of the kayak, shattering the serenity in their wriggling flight.

The residents elude you. You say good morning to an otter, a sea lion the size of two men, some curious Dall’s porpoise, but are left bereaved at the noticeable absence of the pods. 

It’s the first day. It’s okay, it’s only the first day. 

The alarm on your watch goes off, just as the lighthouse, affectionately named Little Rock, looms ahead, faded and chipped green paint calling you back to the cove, a glacial breeze whipping under your goretex and neoprene, cutting to the quick, right down to flesh and bone. 

Time’s up. 

“Did you see them?!” Aly bounces on her toes at the edge of the dock, running alongside the pace of your paddling. 

“No.” Your tone is light, but you don’t hide the disappointment, and she smiles sadly, sympathetically. What a smart kid.

“I’m sorry.” 

“That’s okay.” 

“Are you coming in now?” You nod, motioning to the beach, and she skips ahead, running down the steps onto where millions of little pearled rocks give way under her feet, echoing the same as you run the fiberglass bottom of your kayak aground, popping your legs out on either side. 

“I know you wanted to see them.” Her eyes are wide and a little fearful. You frown. 

“I’ve got all year, I’ll see them. Don’t worry.” The assurance is tepid, but present, and she shrugs. 

“You should ask my dad. He knows where they are a lot.” 

“Oh yeah?” You could try. She nods, excited, shiny dark braids gleaming in the mid-morning sun. You glance around, looking for an adult, or someone who accompanied here down here, but there’s no one, and you chew on it, pulling your boat higher up than the tide will reach today. “Shouldn’t you like, be in school or something?” 

“I do school online.” She rolls her eyes, gap tooth grin stretched across her face. “It’s for gifted kids but I always finish early.” 

“Does your dad know you’re running around this place unsupervised?” She shakes her head, and then sobers, glancing towards the woods. 

“I’m not unsupervised.” What? You look the same direction, but all you see is the shadow of the forest, darkness so thick you’re not sure you could see your way in broad daylight. 

A chill traces your spine, ice cold and cautious, slow in its discovery, pressing against your skin like it’s moving under your clothes. You gasp, whirling and- 

There’s nothing. Only the lapping of the tide, the gentle waves that rake through the shore. Your beached boat. Remnants of the morning’s mists. 

Must’ve been the wind. 

The Ranger’s daughter giggles. You raise an eyebrow, and then motion up the hill. 

“Want to head back with me then?”

“Aly!” The Ranger’s voice reaches you, even a hundred meters away. She sprints ahead of you, and your stomach twists, iced over fear spreading through your veins. 

He’s going to freak. He already hates you and now he’s going to think you kidnapped his kid or something. 

“Where have you been?” 

“Down at the water.” She kicks a rock, beaming. One of his too wide palms sweeps over her forehead, moustache and lips kicking to the side with a sigh. 

“Not supposed to be down there on your own, remember?” 

“I wasn’t.” She stands tall with her insistence, and proudly points at you. “I was with her.”

John straightens. He stares at you with a scrutiny that you’ve never felt, an intense pressure building behind your eyes, in your thighs, incinerating all the muscle in your body until you’re sure to explode. 

The silence is painful, and Aly hops from one foot to another. 

“You find ‘em?” There’s no softness in his eyes for you, only a hard edge, hand coming to rest on his daughter’s shoulder. 

“No.” You think he’ll turn away then, drift away in the wake of this encounter, but he holds you steady there, caught between him and the earth, crushing weights on either side. It’s unnerving, this stranger, this Ranger, a moon to a tide, and you swallow when he finally speaks, it’s with that rich timbre, the accent that twists you up in boundless knots.

“They make you earn it.”

“You should sleep with your window open.” Aly pipes up, and John’s mouth twitches.

“You can hear them in the cove, in the middle of the night.” He explains. “They hunt and play in the shallow off the beach pretty often. Though it’s too cold to be sleeping with your window open.” The last piece is serious, like a warning, but you’re already vibrating with anticipation, attention fixed through the trees, like you can see down the hill to the harbor.

When you turn back, John is watching you. Hard muscle and tone turned dulcet, there’s less shadow in his eyes, replaced by something wild, willful.

There for a second. Gone in the next.

“Well I’ve… work to do.” Paltry effort. It sticks in your mouth the way this man has stuck to your mind, lurking and wandering, leaving you wondering what he's doing on the other side of your bedroom wall, your living room. Wondering what he’s like, what he’s really like, under the clipped and caustic words, the churlish airs swirling around him whenever he lays eyes on you. He’s the definition of surly, and the reluctance to interact with you stings, even though you shove it down. Secrets lay beneath his ribs, you have no doubt, protected by his thick coat and wide frame, a mass of tenured muscle and strength visible under the heaviest wool.

He nods.

You turn your back.

"Leave a note, when you're goin' out." He's got Aly in hand, halfway up his side of the porch, breath fogging in the space between your bodies. "Shouldn't be out alone, without anyone knowing, alright?"

Leave a note.

"Alright."

[blueiscoool]

Very Rare ‘Doomsday Fish’ Found Dead off the Southern California Coast

A group of kayakers and snorkelers in Southern California encountered a rare deep-sea fish, which is drawing attention from marine scientists and conservationists.

The discovery of the oarfish was made Saturday in an area known as La Jolla Cove, just north of San Diego.

According to NOAA, oarfish are typically found in deep ocean waters, where they are rarely seen by humans.

Because they live at such depths, the species is known as filter feeders, primarily feeding on plankton and crustaceans found several hundred feet below the ocean surface.

The Scripps Institution of Oceanography reports that there have been only around 20 sightings of oarfish along California’s coastline since 1901.

The species is known for its long, slender body, which can reach lengths of up to 36 feet, about the size of a school bus.

The most recent sighting in California involved a specimen measuring approximately 12 feet long.

The oarfish is now in the custody of researchers who are studying it to learn more about the species.

"With help from NOAA Fisheries Service and California Sea Grant team members, the group was able to coordinate with lifeguards to transport the fish to the NOAA facility. Scientists from NOAA Southwest Fisheries Science Center and Scripps Oceanography will perform a necropsy to see if they can determine a cause of death. After the necropsy, the specimen will find a home in the Scripps Marine Vertebrate Collection — one of the largest collections of deep-sea fish in the world — where scientists will be able to further study this mysterious species," experts at Scripps stated.

According to the Ocean Conservancy, the oarfish is commonly referred to as the "doomsday fish" because it is often sighted during times of disaster.

The fish has been observed around Japan during major earthquakes, but scientists report that they have yet to establish a link between its appearances and events such as quakes and subsequent tsunamis.

By Andrew Wulfeck.

[arikilic]

FFXIVWrite 2024 Day 1: Steer

The ocean currents between the islands were deceptively fast and treacherous for such a short distance, so the yearly journey to Bird Island was no minor feat, no matter how many times one had completed it. 

Nish’a had only lived for nine years, but he trusted his mother could paddle there and back, even with her eyes closed. He’d told that to the tall Elezen in strange clothes, who sometimes visited their small coastal settlement from some other island to the far, far south. The man had just laughed, smiled, and asked the little Miqo’te some confusing questions about how he’d learned to navigate the sea.

That year, he was given his own paddle and kayak for the first time, instead of going in a canoe with his mother. Some of his earliest memories were being swaddled against her chest as they went out to set lobster traps as far as they dared from the home cove, but maybe the memory was an impression of stories told and repeated.

“I don’t think I can do it,” he confessed quietly on the shore, feeling tears burn behind his eyes that threatened to spill out. The rest of the clan, aunts and cousins and all the rest, were already either in their own kayaks or waist-deep in the surf, helping push those who were leaving out into the deeper water.

“Of course you can, little one,” Nish answered, grinning at her timid son and practically shoving the small two-bladed wooden paddle into his hands. “Every Issiq born here makes the journey, and every Tibariah paddles twice as fast as the rest. Imagine the feasting that waits for us, and follow close behind me. I know the way, so just follow where I steer the rest of the group. Count the rhythm of each paddle and don’t stop until you’re at Bird Island.”

That was her advice. He’d practiced paddling a kayak around in the home cove, and even slightly beyond, but this was entirely different. Nish’a trusted her, and he wanted to be as brave and sure as she was.

The hungry currents pulled eagerly at the paddle’s blades on either side of Nish’a’s kayak, and he reminded himself this was simply the way the ocean was made to be. Somewhere beneath the waves, he heard two seals chatter playfully as they launched their elegantly rotund bodies into the deeper current, just for the joy of giving up control.

[traveltricksblog]

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[corrupted-nightmare]

back to the basics -

name: maven alonso cortés name meaning: maven meaning one who understands. alonso meaning ready for battle. nickname(s): mave occult type: shapeshifter, selkie. birthday: july 2nd age: 27 sexuality: bisexual occupation: owner & manager of cortés cove language(s) spoken: spanish, english

extra, extra, read all about it !

personality deep dive -

archetype: the nautical zodiac: cancer - the crab - water - the moon personality type: enfp - campaigner positive traits: caring, thoughtful, hopeful negative traits: distractible, anxious, restrained moral alignment: chaotic good enneagram: type 9 - peacemaker hobbies: surfing, kayaking, boating, painting, comic book collecting, dungeons & dragons pinterest: click heretheme song: don't stop - fleetwood mac

the ties that bind -

parents: ciro (deceased) & renata cortés sibling(s): echo cortés pet(s): namor - beaver

open for the taking -

(connection) going for a dive - you two have bonded over your love for the water. maybe, he has taught you some things, or maybe you frequent the shop. either way, he always looks forward to spending a day on the water with you.

(connection) best friend - maven needs someone that he has been close with ever since him and his sister moved to town. probably another dumbie that helps him make questionable choices.

(connection) roll a perception check - maven needs a dnd group. meetings are on thursdays.

(connection) exes - these would have been more or less a long fling. he tends to keep things on the light side and eventually it probably ended due to his lack of wanting to be serious and not being able to open up to you.

(connection) avengers assemble - a fellow comic lover? yes, please! maven loves reading and collecting comics and the two of you have bonded over this.

once upon a time -

maven was the first born child to ciro & renata cortés. this was not a happy, loving family. his mother was forced to marry his father due to him stealing her selkie coat.

when his sister, echo, came along, maven even at the young age of three, remembered it being a very bittersweet moment for him. he was ecstatic to have a baby sister, but knew she would likely get the same abusive treatment his mother and he received.

as the pair got older, the abuse got worse. their solace could only be found in each other and in the ruins of tulum where they would explore, both in and out of their selkie coats.

while both kids suffered at the hands of their father, echo got the worst of it, taking more after him with her temper.

eventually, echo killed ciro. their mother told them to run and took the fall for the murder.

they ended up settling in san arcadius where maven decided to run an aquatics store.

inside information -

maven and echo can communicate without using many or at times, any words.

despite everything he went through when he was younger, maven is a very happy go lucky person. or at least, that is the types of vibes he gives off. more than anything, it is a coping mechanism to hide his pain.

he is extremely protective of his sister, wishing he had taken more of the beatings when they were younger.

maven's happy place: a joint, some paint, the blank canvas of a surfboard.

he originally got into comics because when he was a kid he daydreamed about growing up and using superpowers to take down his dad.

namor, his beaver, was his first friend when him and his sister arrived to san arcadius. he showed up at the store two days after maven bought it and kept coming back. now, he travels with maven wherever he goes.

[ratdesu]

pairing | midoriya izuku x bakugou katsuki rating | teen (language) word count | 6.2k status | complete, one-shot (ao3) tags | au (no quirks), aged-up characters, mer!midoriya, human!bakugou, natural disasters, loss, grief/mourning, memory, memory loss, childhood memories, childhood romance, ambiguous character death, ambiguous ending

summary

If not for the horror, the place might have been a paradise. If not for the shadow lurking, it might have been a quiet grave.

A search for closure following the threads of a wives’ tale leads Katsuki to a cove, a tomb, an encounter.

crossing "When the tsunami hit, the cliffs were underwater."

Katsuki looked out the cabin window splattered with dried salt to the rock face undulating like a petrified wave, the sun flickering through the cypress. The boat rocked, propeller sputtering to a low hum, its wake fanning and frothy. Gulls cried from scattered islands jutting and golden in the slipping afternoon. The towering cliffs were smooth and white and painted with tide lines like the dragging of an ancient finger dipped in charcoal, casting the boat in their shadow. Trees curled from crevices, roots wedged, new spring leaves bristling.

Where the wall met the sea was cracked with a narrow, dark fissure, like the split of a chisel. The waves broke in shrapnel bursts and surged inside, rushed back out in a heaving swell as though the rock breathed. The ocean echoed in the tunnel, reflections erupting at its lip.

"A few towns north you can walk around deep-sea rocks it brought up, if that's the sort of thing you're documenting."

Katsuki grunted and zipped his rain shell, cinched the cuffs, pulled back to the fracture in the stone.

"You're sure I can leave you here?"

"We meet this side of the cove in two days, as agreed."

A shrug, a wary glance. "Be careful, everything's eroding. The public isn't allowed out this way anymore."

Katsuki slung his pack on, buckling the straps. The boat lurched as he ducked onto deck, the engine rumbling beneath his boots, hull slapping the sea. He unhitched his kayak from the cabin roof and slipped into the cockpit off starboard as the captain passed over the paddle.

A low groan echoed and they both looked to the passage. Wind funneled through the maw, the wail dithering in the dark gash, humming like the held note of a string. An old noise, awakened.

A warning.

"You know the stories?"

"They're why I'm here."

"Two days, I'll wait at first low tide. You can't get out once it starts to rise," the captain said, a tight hold on the shock cords to keep him from drifting.

Katsuki passed a card over the railing. "If I don't show up, call that number."

He tucked it away, patting it in reassurance—though for whom, Katsuki wouldn't guess. "You seem competent. Not really the type to chase demons," he said, letting go. "The tsunami took, but it also dredged. Brought up things that should've stayed down there. Just remember your place, or it'll take you, too."

Katsuki bowed in thanks and tapped the paddle against the hull to push off. A few powerful strokes and he was skimming toward the cliff, the tunnel beckoning. The boat engine burst to life behind him, a sloshing wake rocking, a receding sputter. Katsuki glanced over his shoulder at the shrinking ship, the gilded hour doing nothing to ward off the chilled bite of saltwater. The hollow core of the kayak thudded against the chop. He tensed his legs to steady it.

He hovered near the entrance, sweat building beneath waterproof layers, watching the rush of the ocean sucked into the rift. On the next lull he surged forward with the wave, facing down the dark, swallowed into the throat.

Rock flew by, aching to scalp, curses lost in the roar confined to a passageway no wider than he was tall. The beam of his headlamp scattered against the slick walls, every ridge turned canyon, every pebble a boulder. The sea tried to push him back out, fought him, warned him. A porthole of light glowing emerald and blinding, and Katsuki was spat out like he was a shred of food caught in a giant's teeth.

With succinct strokes he slowed in a spin, bobbing in the gargle, peeling away from the turbulence. Heaving, he paddled tender through the softening water. Cautious eyes roved the tall cliffs, the rocky shore, the crisp sea. The cove was an enclosed, calm bowl, turquoise and clear down to the white shingle. It sloped away from the shore, fish lazing where cobalt met the hard bastion of the cliff.

He'd studied the updated maps and pinned the pile of settled debris forming an immovable wall. What had once been the narrow inlet was blocked with fallen rock, making the slivered tunnel Katsuki had shot through the cove's only entrance above the surface. The new fortification was plaited with seaweed and mussels where the tide rose, darkened with algae. The lip was ragged and sun-bleached, spattered with old roosts. Three jizo sat in a notched recess with faded red caps.

It was quiet, the ocean winds kept out but for the old groaning of the tunnel, the deluge bursting like a kid blowing through a straw.

Katsuki dragged the kayak ashore above the wrack line, searching for a place to establish camp on the rocky beach. He'd have to clear debris and brush, but it was flat enough beyond the largest boulders—deposits from the crumbling cliff. He lifted a smoothed hunk of driftwood with a grunt, a flurry of sand hoppers fleeing their uprooted home.

The reports were dated after the initial terror of the disaster, after the search and rescue subsided and the list of the missing became record.

Two children failed to come home while exploring the newly formed cove, so authorities were notified and a search party deployed. They dove for days, combing the pocked grottoes and underwater passages out into the open sea, but never found any sign of the children. Dissatisfied with the official results, the community with their with generational knowledge of the cape and its currents gathered their own divers. Of two, one returned, nonverbal. She drew a trembling picture of what had taken him.

Dark and long, like an eel. Eyes like theirs.

The media descended, ravaged, then left when no one else went missing. It had been over a decade since then, the story a blip in a time when everyone had one to tell, their own harrows to share or keep or take to rest.

He'd had a hell of a time picking up the threadbare trail his mother had last heard, her eyes cast in a gloss, an apology quiet across the kitchen table.

"I should have told you."

Katsuki had only known he and auntie had survived the earthquake and subsequent tsunami, had fled inland and returned to a leveled town. That he'd been able to rally the community, organize efforts to search and clean and rebuild, requested help for a small place easily forgotten in the chaos. He'd always been like that—moral and stubborn and unfailingly kind.

Of course Deku had volunteered to dive.

The ring of steel reverberated as Katsuki hammered the tarp in place. The tunnel breathed, the tide swelled, the sun arced. Sweat gathered on his forehead, beneath his arms. His camp was set, tent pitched, kayak secured, and he unpacked his camera, stalking through boulders scalloped with barnacles and lichen, shutter snapping, observing tide pools and scuttling crabs. White and blue.

If not for the horror, the place might have been a paradise.

If not for the shadow lurking, it might have been a quiet grave. indentations Nothing stood out of place as he circled the cove and began setting the route up the inland cliff so he might get an elevated view come tomorrow. He had little time and none to waste. If any of the loony books and archived websites he'd been scrounging through for the past year and a half held any weight, there was only a narrow window in early spring. A migratory route that drew close to land on the way north to richer polar seas.

Katsuki was neither gullible nor prone to flights of whimsy. Didn't believe in the gods he prayed to every new year with two claps and a coin. Didn't chase demons. Ancient weavings between human and ocean made gods of the unknown before becoming modern superstition. Harbingers with crimson cockscombs became wives' tales became surfaced oarfish. Great writhing catfish fracturing the mantle and swallowing the coast became seismic shifts. 

But people were prone to stories, myths—a reason for the unfathomable and control when there was none. In the midst of mourning, surviving, sifting through the debris of disaster only to have love and life disappear into calm waters when the worst was thought to have already come and gone, well, Katsuki understood the need for tales. Understood the tight grasp of spirits where the old ways laid foundations like fossils imprinted in strata, the garotte of memory.

He wasn't sure he'd find what he had come for.

Slumped in his tent after a dinner of convenience store rice balls, Katsuki was recording in a field notebook—the same kind that had been stacked on shelves, filled with detritus and etchings and hot days spent frying in the sun—when a sound broke the methodical lull of the waves. A faint, clumsy glide like clammy skin catching on dry. Like something trying and failing to move discreetly between the crashing surf.

He flicked off his headlamp. The moon was not yet full, a day off, but bright enough to illuminate the tent as his sight adjusted, the shades of stone encircling him like a rite. A rock clattered and he gripped the hunting knife tucked beneath his sleeping bag. The hush of sand slipping. Katsuki tensed like a rod had been struck down his spine, teeth creaking.

He'd read enough first and second and third-hand accounts buried pages deep on forums, listened to old audio recordings, picked apart archaic articles, found every scrap he could related to the incident ten years past and then further back and correlated it all. Always the same description: long and dark, eyes like theirs. Always night, always at blurred borders land and water. Always violent.

A shadow peeled from the stolid stone, slinking closer. His chest tightened like a winch. The feeling of treading in the open ocean, the primordial fear of the unfathomable passing in the depths. A soft hiss, an exhale, and he held his breath as the dark coin of a fingertip appeared on the wall of his tent, pressing, dragging down, testing the taut fabric. The click of his knife unsheathing and the nail hooked, stilled, then was gone.

Katsuki kicked off the sleeping bag and ripped the tent flap open, sprinting after it. Bounding, blade glinting, camera forgotten, a long tail curled ahead of him, slithering between the ragged rocks. The distinct shape of arms, human in their bend, clambering toward the sea before a splash made him skid to a stop.

"Shit," he hissed, rooted like prey hunted.

The water was dark—no longer the inviting, transparent blue. It was ink, moonlight thrown like broken glass on the shattered veneer. Nothing could tempt him closer. Knife in his fist, he toed back, flattening against the rubble, looking out to the opposite curve of the cove where the disintegrating cliff rose a bulwark against the open ocean. He breathed hard, nostrils flaring.

Two white saucers hovering, a dark hole cut through the reflection of the moon. It sunk, silent.

The wind was quiet, the tunnel submerged, and he was not alone. rising The sun rose blood orange, wildfire.

The night had been spent in vigil, not daring to offer his back to the sea. He'd not expected to find his quarry so soon—if he'd really been expecting it at all. He'd planned to climb the cliffs, scan the cove from above and explore the stunted forest gnarled over its topside, but his interest was now anchored to the beach.

After a crude cup of coffee to see him through the slog of early morning, Katsuki was draped over a slab of rock looking through his camera, adjusting the lens as he scanned the changing light. Every fluttering feather or cresting wave made him double back. The sky yawned with not a cloud puttering and Katsuki slowly baked like a sunning lizard. Sweat dribbled down his temples, eye socket sore from the viewfinder pressed against it. He worried the shutter, focusing, snapping after a shadow darting beneath the furrowed blue.

"C'mon," he muttered.

His patience—thin by nature—ground to dust and he stood to stretch, joints popping. Several tide pools were carved into the shoreline, threaded with seaweed and snails. Katsuki peered into one and a firework of roaches scurried from between iridescent mussels.

He could tempt it. Might hurry along the waiting game. He surveyed the water, but only fish darted between the ripples. The cast wings of a gull and its grating squawk. Nothing he could see, though that was likely the intent. Katsuki clicked his tongue and returned to his seat with his back to the sea. The feeling of being watched hadn't eased through the night, digging blunt between his shoulder blades, but after only a few minutes spent vulnerable on the rock, it became a hot iron melting his spine down to marrow.

He didn't have to wait long before the surface broke, silky.

He bristled, but didn't turn. "I know you're there." He glanced from the corner of his eye to the gentle lapping, creeping toward his knife haltered at his hip. The glimpse of a variegated fin. "Stupid fish."

A wall of water left him sputtering and soaked and cursing. Another splash, this time like a slap. Katsuki whipped around only to see sloshing foam, whirling kelp, and the flash of a tail. The dark shape orbited the cove, vanishing in the shade of the cliff. He grit his teeth and swallowed the brine in the back of his throat, swiping the stinging salt from his eyes.

It was big.

Bigger than he'd imagined.

Katsuki steadied from heart outward, layer by layer, standing as he searched for a gleam of scales beneath the protective veil of the sea. Every spray against his rock had him tensing, waiting for swiveling fish to turn monstrous. Finally, at the shifting bounds of light, it dipped across and revealed itself for a mere moment, quickly retreating back into the gloom.

"Come out, you're shit at hiding," he called, voice bouncing back. He scoffed at himself, trying to goad it like a child—but it emerged from the shadow and with all the speed of a torpedo, it shot toward shore. "Fuck."

Katsuki braced as the bow wave crashed against his craggy outpost and it twisted to an abrupt stop, writhing beneath fractals like a snake hit with a stick, winding and unwinding in thick knots. Visions of constriction, breath crushed from his lungs.

It burst out of the sea, lunging. Katsuki lurched and fell from the rock with a shout. He landed heaped in the sand and scrambled to his feet, knife bared as it pulled itself from the water. It slunk over the rocks with hands—shit, it had hands—clawing sharp. Thick webbing between each flexing finger. He shuddered and beat down the flaring, primal instinct to run. A coiling rumble like the bellow of an alligator reverberated in his bones. A proud, posturing arch.

It's hair—he guessed—looked more like a knot of seaweed than anything human, and with dull skin tinged green, spotted and rippling like the refraction of light through water, a pale front with a darker back, it was designed to camouflage in the open ocean as much as it was for kelp forests. Sleek and silent with big, dark eyes. An ambush predator.

Like he'd be intimidated by a fish—they were on land and he had the legs. "Oi, ugly, back off," he snarled, all bravado and knife.

The creature showed its own teeth, needled rows curling inward like a sand shark. It slumped out of its arch, slithering down the rocks and toward him. Katsuki slowly backed up against a slab of stone, a hand outstretched as if it would do anything to keep it away, like he was some overgrown fish whisperer. It garbled, pulling lips back fully and opening wide, Katsuki recoiling. A basihyal, light leaking through gaping gills slashed in its neck.

"Got some nasty shit in there." His voice lost its strength, cracking facing the gullet that might be his imminent resting place. Not a chance he'd go down easy.

Barbed points snapped, but didn't make a move for him. The space between them repelled like conflicting poles, but it's bellowing quieted to a low hum, nails scratching, massive tail drooping from its domineering fan. The slits in its face expanded, fronds bristling. The black of its eyes flickered in a flash of green then sank into pitch. Another showing of tiered teeth as it stretched toward Katsuki.

"Stop."

It stopped.

"What the hell," he breathed, rattling. "You understand?"

It chittered with a bob, mouth still open.

"What, wanna see mine?" Katsuki bared all his teeth in a reciprocal display and earned a chirrup, a tail swishing in broad strokes. His brain felt inflamed, like it might burst out of his skull.

Sinewy muscle relaxed beneath rippling scales and the threatening rumble stammered into what Katsuki might categorize as curious—clicks and titters and a quirk of its head like it was listening intently to Katsuki's barely contained panic. A mutual hesitancy outweighed by swelling wonder. He closed his mouth and it mimicked. He made a show of calmly sheathing the knife, hands raised in peace. The tail coiled and webbed hands dug into sand, but it eased just as quickly. Katsuki reached out like one would for a dog, limp and palm down. It stretched cautiously toward the offer and breathed, gills rippling. Close enough that he could see his silhouette bending in dark eyes.

As he thought it might be contemplating the taste of his fingers, the earth jolted with a tremor, and he almost believed it metaphorical. The sea rocked, birds fleeing their roosts in the cliff side, crying as they soared. It whined, tail contorting into a tight knot. A low groan and a crack like the crash of lightning. The cliff thundered as a hunk of its face began to slip, sheared away like a great knife had sliced through it, collapsing into the sea in an explosion of white.

Katsuki was shoved against the boulder hard enough to bruise, frantic hands urging him up—slick as oil, cold—then disappeared. The wave swelled, barreling toward land. He clambered to the crux and curled as the surge roared, inundating in a powerful thrust as the cove folded in on itself. He clung to the stone like a mollusk in a storm, engulfed.

He'd been held under before. A riptide had sucked him from the shore, dragged him out in its undercurrent. Turned him over and over as he tried to swim against it until his vision blurred and ribs compacted. Until hands found him, tore him free, brought him up. As breath was breathed back into him, dislodging the sea that had tried to inhabit every inch of his interior. Wet curls on his cheek, relief in his name, haloed by the sun.

He came up for air, unfurling with a desperate sputter as the wave receded. His hands burned with the scrape of stone, pocked into his palms, fingertips indented with extinct corals. His arm burned with the scrape of claw. origins Empty plots of land overgrown between houses with patched roofs and taped windows. Faded nameplates still nailed to hollow cinder block walls. Rice paddies turned meadow sprouting wild poppies. Cemeteries notched into cliffs with thin, clean markers devoid of remains but smelling of fresh incense. Breakers interlocking like jacks creating new reefs, the sea wall striking a silhouette like that of a wave against the rising sun. A migration inland, only just.

Places skewed by time and a childhood steeped in green. The women selling mochi in their doorways. The clattering planks of a wooden jetty and rusted blue-bottomed boats piled high with frayed nets. The steep hills and drops of a bitten coastline, crooked steps lined in camellia and the mundane magic of a fox, urging curious boys higher, up and up. Play battles, bruised and gap-toothed, scalded and bronzed by the all-day sun.

Summers spent together. Cicadas shrieking, clouds taller than mountains, thunderstorms far out at sea. Shaved ice, bloody red, tongues to match. Bowls of pebbles and shells and kite running on the burning sand. A shared bed with the windows wide, the fan droning some small relief in the sticky swelter, wind chimes on the veranda hiding murmurs in the nightlight glow.

Full turnings of the year then reunion in the heat shimmer. Growing fast, learning faster, searing hands behind the boat house, down the shore when the tide slunk, cool caves, dripping, ruddy. Whispers in red ears on tacky lips, feelings and futures.

Then a move and a missed summer, another, and futures changed and feelings hushed. Distance like the space between words left unsaid. Fading like the ease of youth spent by the sea.

Life goes on.

The ocean is still blue. confluence Katsuki woke with the sun eclipsed. A silhouette hovering. He bolted upright, knife drawn.

"I'm sorry!"

It hit him like a knee in the liver, and he gasped with the rush of blood from his head. "What the—"

"I didn't mean to frighten you."

Freckled and tanned, salt-crusted curls. An unsteady smile pulling at dimpled cheeks and green eyes brimming with worry.

Eyes like theirs. Like his.

"What," Katsuki rasped, sitting slumped like a drunk on the curb.

"You must've been tired after staying awake all night."

He couldn't hear, sinking as he was. It had changed, but in doing so had become known—it had become him. The smile bloomed. A flash of teeth not quite blunt. The same crook in the corner of his lip, the same scar on his chin from a bad fall, the same nick in his eyebrow, the same point of his nose, the same, same, same—Katsuki's heart solidified like a collapsing star, a dense mass threatening to swallow, to tear him apart.

It was him.

Right?

A tail lifted, dripping and glinting, and he caved into a black hole.

"I'm surprised you took a nap so near the water." He tapped along the stone they were situated on, the same Katsuki had clung to. "It's safe, though, since the others don't come here. Are you scared? I hope not—"

"Oi," he snapped, the dull thud of his fist against rock. The gills fluttered. The tail shivered, scales catching the sun. "Give me a fucking second."

"Have I frightened you?"

"I don't see," he gestured from head to fin, "whatever you are every day."

"I think you have plenty of names for us."

Others. Us. There were more. Every simple trip to the beach would be shaped by that piece of knowledge. He scanned the water, but apparently they didn't come to the cove. The dried blood on his arm flaked, pulled against his skin, wound open though clotted and gritty with sand—like he had passed out, unable to make it back to the tent to tend to it. He couldn't remember. A blank after the erosion.

"Are you hurt?"

Katsuki sharpened. "No."

"I can see that you are."

"It's fine." A quick internal sweep and a feel of his head came up with no other injuries. How much time had passed? He checked his watch, but its face had shattered, frozen in morning. The sun was high, around noon, so a few hours at most. Katsuki dragged his attention along the gradient in his body from fish to human. "Are you the same one?"

"Of course." Green roved over him in return. "Are you a diver? Most of the caves lead to open water, we can explore together if you want."

"You think I'm a moron?"

A pointed look at his ruined camera. "A photographer, then?"

"None of your business," he said, suspicion knotting in his stomach. It knew of human things.

"You've come looking for us."

He ignored the fish and wobbled to his feet, brushing the grit from his damp legs and ass, fighting back a wave of nausea. The shoreline was still flooded, dotted with new puddles and pools as the cove adjusted to the displacement. The seabed remained unsettled, flurried like a blizzard in a snow globe. A clean patch of sheared cliff revealing rock that hadn't seen the sun in eons.

Down the beach his kayak sat overturned, snagged by the surge and thrown against the rocks. Probably meant his tent was soaked if the water had reached that far. He clicked his tongue. Katsuki slid down to the sand which sucked at his boots, and fish boy followed, slipping back into the water to drift parallel to his path as he wove toward his boat.

"Why are you interested?" he asked from the surf.

"Thought I might find something."

"What did you lose?"

"Never said it was mine," Katsuki muttered. "You're asking a lot of questions."

"It's not every day I get to speak with," he gestured to Katsuki's whole with a grin, "someone like you."

Katsuki rolled his eyes, keeping his distance, careful not to break the boundary set by the lapping waves, followed faithfully by a smoothly cresting shadow darting to-and-fro. It was hard not to stare, his face exactly like Katsuki had imagined—a boy grown. Uncanny, though, with too many teeth and a shine in seaglass eyes like the inside of a shell. The tail.

"What's your name?"

"I ain't telling you."

The folktales were laced with warnings—they'll steal it and keep it for their own. Take your place and walk the land, leaving your nameless self at the bottom of the sea. The thought jabbed, turned his stomach again. It looked like him. Green and spotted like a quail's egg. Stolen. The soft white shingle fanned the dark ouroboros.

"What will you tell me? You're being very secretive."

"And you're being real fuckin' chatty."

"I'd have thought you'd be more eager. I rarely have a tongue, you should take full advantage of it."

"Don't you have any other freaky fish to blabber at."

"A few, but you're already more interesting."

"You got a preference?" Katsuki asked as he grabbed his upended boat with a curse. There were minor dents and scratches, but no punctures. The paddle was still secured in the cords, so at least he wouldn't have to scale the inland wall to get out of the cove.

"I guess, when I have someone from the other world to talk to." A lopsided smile.

Katsuki snorted, somehow made the stranger of the pair. "How many of you are there?" He placed the kayak down and rolled sore shoulders, the wound in his arm searing, each grain of sand needling into opened flesh.

"There's only one of me, like there's only one of you."

"Smart ass."

He laughed, tinged rough with salt and Katsuki ground the heel of his palm over his heart hoping to relieve its breaking.

"Just a handful in these waters. We see more during migration, ones we don’t know," he said with a glance back, as though they were not alone and needed to share a secret. "Will you tell me your name?"

"Quit asking."

"You can have mine."

"Don't—"

"Izuku."

A violent shudder racked, a megathrust. The axis of the world shifted, spiraling, and Katsuki was sucked into the pit cracked open in his core. He was winded, like when they had fallen from monkey bars onto their backs, wheezing between pitched laughter, like when they had run from the hornet nest accidentally disturbed beneath the eaves of the slanted fishing hut, when he'd learned a small town had been engulfed. When he learned the most important part had remained.

When he learned the most important part had been lost.

Had he found him?

"The others don't come anymore, but I," another wary look around the cove, "I like it. It's safe." He kept reiterating that.

"What happened to the kids?" Katsuki hardened the warble of his voice, trying to collect the rubble of himself. He clutched at his arm, threatening to break open the tender clot. It could be a lie. A trick. Some sort of fish blood ritual—nothing was off the table now.

Green eyes grew thin, distant. His brow pressed like a worry stone, consolidating his silence.

"You don't remember," he mumbled. "Why do you know that name?"

"It's mine," Izuku said, quieter, an uncertain tendril. A tooth snagged on his lip.

"You remember how to write it?"

Scales bristled. "You keep asking if I remember. Remember what?"

"Fine. Do you know how to write it."

"Of course I do," Izuku said indignant, heaving from the water and half onto shore in an ungraceful flop, and dragged eight strokes of his finger through the sand. Katsuki's entire face stung, lungs flattened. "I scratch it into things." Empty shells floating in the current, drifting, deposited on distant beaches like a message in a bottle—don't forget me. "Can you write yours for me?"

"No," he croaked.

"Just a hint?"

Katsuki stared, thickly swallowed. "Do you—" A distant look in those eyes a shade too dark, too light. Something missing, something lost. "Forget it. Why do you look different? Why can you suddenly speak?"

"The moon."

"Of course," he drawled, digging his fingers into his sockets to smear away the pricking behind his eyes, "that explains everything."

"She lets us be who we used to be."

"And are you?"

"Well, I thought so," he said, "but you make me doubt that. I might remember more if you'd tell me who you are."

Katsuki sucked in a breath that felt like his chest was again flooded with seawater. "Why d'you come here?"

"I know this place."

"What happened? To you."

Izuku dug through him, excavating like wind and salt and time, searching for something, anything, but Katsuki gave up nothing. He sighed and dropped his head, sinking into his arms. "It's difficult, like trying to find the surface in a storm." He peered up from the crook of his elbow, tide lapping over his back. "It has something to do with those statues, but I don't know what. Though I have a feeling you do. You came here for me, didn't you? You know me."

"I didn't." Katsuki wanted to crack his skull against a rock. "I don't."

Was it a deception of the sea, a ruse made of foam. It looked like him, sounded like him, seemed to share a heart. There was an undeniably human tether, but how strong was it. How thickly did it wind with memory and whose did it anchor to. The wound in his arm ached with doubt. Had this thing taken him, stolen his face and his laugh and his freckles as a lure, asking for his name with cupped palms like it might be kept like a pearl. Had it dragged him down into the caves and waited for the last pocket of life to leave him, molding itself in his image, a shell waiting to be filled.

What would happen if Katsuki told him, filled him. Shared their childhood, the stories of the marks in his skin, and the meaning of the statues on the cliff. Of the promise he told himself every year that it would be the summer to go back, and how it never was.

A becoming? An undoing?

"I have something for you, stay here."

Before Katsuki could object, Izuku slipped into the water with a powerful kick of his tail and a squall of sand, dissolving into shadow. Into the labyrinth beneath the surface. No light. No air. No one to reach for. No one to pull him up.

Katsuki crumpled, the strength gone from his legs, falling with a wet, choked sob. Held in for years, it shredded through him, tearing up his spine as he ground his forehead into the giving earth when all he wanted was to split it open, to let it all flood out, to finally breathe again. A wounded cry cracked in his throat. It had leeched into every memory, every bit of Deku he held, and into the shape of his absence now distended with the cement of grief.

This thing had seen him, but not known him, and to be forgotten was far worse.

The sea broke, a breath not his, and Katsuki emerged from the fetal cradle of his knees as a long tail encircled him. Wet curls against his cheek, a chin on his collarbone, arms over his in an embrace on the edge of vice. A polished pebble was pressed into his palm by cold fingers like sunlit bronze. Katsuki turned it, thumbing the surface smoothed by the slow grind of millennia spent tumbling in the current. Burnt sienna striated with fawn.

"A rock."

"A gift," Izuku said, a nail lightly tracing the lines of Katsuki's palm around the stone. "Pure red is hard to find, but I looked all night. Please keep it." He closed Katsuki's fingers.

He wanted to put it in his mouth and hold it under his tongue until it melted back to mineral.

From his belt bag he produced a shell once given to him, a spiral flecked with celadon and bottle green and summer earth dipping into ivory interior. Apparently traveled all the way from tropical reefs, or so he'd been told with a field identification guide pressed against his nose. He held it up to Izuku who stared at the little empty home—abandoned or turned tomb, no way out as claws came creeping. Something flickered, was snuffed. Then tears, spilled pearls.

"Sorry, I don't—why," he mumbled, bejeweled.

He felt his beauty in his jaw, tight and hard and jutting.

Was it him?

Was it him?

He wanted to scream. He put the shell in Izuku's palm and closed it all the same.

"Crybaby."

"I'm sorry I can't help you find what you're looking for," Izuku said, smiling, soggy and dimpled.

Katsuki clenched, like he could snare his own heart to stop its thrashing. "Seems like you'll forget soon enough what with the moon playing tricks on you."

"I might." A sad small laugh that tightened the snare into a noose. "When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow, before the tide comes in."

"So soon." Izuku didn't try to mask his disappointment, wiping the last few tears turned crystalline. He unspooled from around Katsuki, coated with sand and salt, a damp imprint left across his back. "Well," a sniff, shell clutched to his ribs, "until then, can I show you my favorite tide pool?"

Suffocated by fondness, a betrayal of his own making. "Lead the way, nerd."

A faraway look, affection unacknowledged. The world stopped its shifting, settling on its new tilt. Deku had drowned. But there he was. Some amalgamation of recollection and myth, and Katsuki was not part of him—unknown, unrequited.

The eyes of the jizo closed in mourning, smiles soft in pity. departures "Will you take a photo?"

Katsuki looked up from breaking down the tent he hadn't slept in. Izuku was draped over a stone, chin in his palm. From the slope of the rock hiding the tail, he might have been human. He looked like he had in summer.

"Of what."

"Me. Us."

I want to remember.

He sighed through his nose, clipping the dry bag. He'd tended his arm, flushed it and wrapped it tight as he and Izuku talked through the night. As he struggled to weigh truth and lie and came up with both palms equal. As he grappled with memory and its changing, like light filtered through water, cambered and dappled and gone too deep.

Izuku both was and was not, both lost and found.

"Fine, but no tail. Not worth the trouble if it ever gets out."

Izuku grinned as Katsuki propped up the tripod, pulled out the broken camera.

I don't want to forget.

Katsuki mimed setting the timer and nudged Izuku as he settled beside him, but Izuku stayed close. Gazing into green glossed in adoration. The curve of lips that had once pressed sweet and clumsy to his. A childish nickname whispered and humid.

"Who was this for?"

He hesitated, turned away. "Myself." He'd thought it might have been for them both. Hoped, in some deranged way.

I've thought of you.

"I'm glad you came."

I've dreamt of you.

Sunken world, land reclaimed.

Where does love go in death.

"Yeah."

Katsuki finished packing and dragged the kayak to the water's edge, paused at the lapping waves. He'd not entered the sea since arriving, an unspoken boundary. A departure from his world since the divide had been drawn. The start of the return, a different form of leaving.

It's safe here.

He pushed in. Izuku hovered where the seabed sank, long and undulating. The boat the last semblance of a barrier and the only way back. Spotted fingers curled over the lip. A face neither here nor there, straddling humanity. But what humanized more than the capacity for love. To know its soaring heights and its mundanity and its grief. To remember. To want to be remembered.

To know love resided in the present, in the living.

"Will you tell me your name?" we met by chance once more

[seabreeze2022]

2023 Bahama Cruise, Part 10, March 20.

Lee Stocking Island to Stocking Island.

We lounged around today waiting on the tide to bottom out at 1400. By picking the top or bottom of the tide, “the rage” becomes manageable. If the current opposes the wind and swell, then you have will have a “rage”. The waves stack up very steep. They will go out a 1/2 mile or so. Did we time it right? Stand by for the answer.

Winds today, and most of the time this week, have been “4 clothes pin winds”. Anything less and you are likely to lose your clothes off the life lines.

Called neighbors today, temperatures in the Florida Keys are 64 degrees. We are right at 250 miles East and South. Very comfortable here, water is still a bit chilly for the the first minute you jump in.

While we waited, we removed the dinghy engine then raised the dinghy on its davits. Shortly afterwards, 11 kayakers paddled by. Apparently they were on a 6 day outing around the Exumas from Georgetown or maybe Barretarre.

Our route took us south of Children’s Bay Cove, then between Rat Cay and Pigeon Cay. Then we take a hard left out Rat Cay Cut, between Rat Cay and Boysie Cay. Tide was still in ebb, Nancy helmed us out. You have to respect the current! It can rip at 3-5 kts. and can sweep you on to the rocks.

What name would you give this rock? It is called “Square Rock”, for some reason. Easily seen for miles from offshore.

Boysie Cay to our starboard as we exit Rat Cay Cut. Our timing was great, “no rage”. Honestly, there was no wind blowing in from the Sound. But you always have swells coming in and breaking on shore.

Lots of boat traffic to and from Georgetown town.

Nancy at the helm as we passed “Three Sisters Rocks”.

Sailing instructions listed on the chart have you head for the pink house on the hill. I hope it is listed on the deed to the house, that you can not change the color from pink. Otherwise you will be responsible for lost, grounded and shipwrecked sailors in the bay. We followed in 4 catamarans, but still closely watched our track.

This is the winter hide out for northerners. The season is winding down, but still around 300 boats in the harbor. When the winds pick up, a couple of boats will start dragging anchor. At night it is a sea of anchor lights. Winds have been out of the SW all week so 50 boats or so are on the west side of the harbor. Winds are due to shift tonight and then pick up Tuesday night. So all of the boats on the west side will move over today.

We are anchored over sand, in 20 ft. of water with 120 ft. of chain out. Which is deep for us. We usually anchor in 10 ft. of water. Currently it is 0330 and dead calm. Everyone swings on their anchors at different rates due to depth of hulls or windage on the topside. With this much scope out, I just walked the deck checking how close our neighbors are. Things look ok for now, about half way through the wind change.

Water is milky here. Not looking forward to diving the anchor. With all the boat and dinghy traffic here, I will have to take a float or dinghy with me.

This blob of weather is coming directly for us from Cuba.

S/V Sea Breeze, Stocking Island, Exuma, Bahamas

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 5

*Warning: Adult Content*   

The five-mile bike ride to ‘Lake Arbor’ should be beyond the abilities of a seven-year-old but as young wolves, Rio and Nico have more than the usual levels of stamina and strength. 

As a grown wolf, the same should be true of their father, Martin Hunter but he can barely catch his breath to shout after his children as they ditch their push bikes in a heap and dash towards the water, tackle boxes and fishing poles in hand.

"Hey, you guys. Stick together and don't go too far."

A distant and semi-exasperated ‘Yes, Dad!’ tells him that at least his daughter Flora had heard him. 

After chaining the bikes to a tree, Martin takes a moment to catch his breath before striking off through the trees in pursuit. 

Lake Arbor is much smaller than ‘Spring Lakes Reservoir’ but much closer to town and much quieter. 

Motored boats are banned from its clean, spring-fed waters and as a result, it's popular with those seeking quieter forms of outdoor recreation. 

Even this late in the season, with autumn's chill in the air and the leaves turning yellow and red, there are people walking dogs along the shore-line trail, paddling kayaks and canoes beneath the open sky, fishing in the shadowed coves and swimming in the cold clear waves.

The Hunter children have a favorite spot, an old wooden dock that juts out into deep water. 

At this time of day it's in full sun and not the best place to fish but the kids don't really care about catching anything. 

They just like to play with the tackle, cast their lines and watch the bobbers bob until they get bored. 

Then they'll reel it in, pack it up, eat their peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches and spend the rest of the afternoon skipping stones, playing along the shore and paddling in the shallows if it gets warm enough to swim. 

Meanwhile, Martin brought along a plain old pad of paper and a pen, hoping to at least get some notes jotted down as he watches them. 

He doesn't dare bring his laptop anywhere so close to water. It's his livelihood and it if breaks he’s screwed. 

When he emerges from the trees, he see Miguel settling in with his art supplies at a picnic table close to the shore, while Flora carefully leads Nico and Rio out to 'the fishing spot.' 

He smiles as he watches her help them open their little tackle boxes and deftly fasten de-barbed hooks on their lines.

"Need any help?" Martin asks, as he join them where they're gathered at the end of the dock. Flora shakes her head without looking up. 

"No, Daddy. You always end up pricking your fingers, remember? I got it."

"Alright, alright. Just be careful. And you two listen to your big sister, okay?"

Answered with a three-part chorus of ‘Okay’ Martin heads back to the shore to find a comfortable place to sit. 

Fishing keeps the kids occupied longer than he'd expected but he can't say the same for his notes. 

As the minutes stretch on, his mind remains as blank as the paper. 

Giving in to the fatigue that seems as ever-present as his shadow these days, he sets it aside and shuts his eyes. 

With his back leant against a tree, the sun on his face, and the children within easy earshot, it's the perfect moment to catch up on forfeited sleep but he’s barely drifted off when a voice pulls him back from the brink.

"Martin?"

Grimacing against the bright light, he looks up at a tall, athletic figure silhouetted against the sky. 

Then his eyes adjust and he sees it's none other than 'Skylar' himself  and in his half muddled state, he accidentally speak his thoughts aloud.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Skylar frowns slightly, his sea-green eyes shadowed by long, pale lashes.

"I often come here. The open water is less confining than a pool and chlorine disagrees with my skin."

As he speaks, Martin registers the fact that he's dressed only in a pair of rather small, form-fitting swim trunks, with a towel slung over his shoulder and his long hair in a braid. 

With nothing to stop them, Martin’s eyes roam Skylar’s smooth, muscled torso and somehow he finds myself staring at his belly button.

"Are you unwell?" Skylar asks.

The question jolts Martin back to himself and his eyes snap up to meet the handsome young art teacher. 

Oddly, he is staring at his chest and fiddling with his necklace, which seems like an odd piece of jewelry to wear for a swim.

“I'm fine," he says, a little defensively, as he pushes himself to his feet. 

"Just getting a nap in while the kids play."

Skylar continues to stare for a moment, then turns away abruptly, looking along the shore to where Flora and the younger twins now splash in the shallows, having finally tired of fishing.

"You leave them unattended so close to the water?" he asks.

"Flora and Miguel are old enough to watch their brothers. They're careful and responsible," Martin says. 

"Besides, they're all good swimmers and they know to stay in shallow water, where it's safe."

Skylar arches a golden brow at Martin. 

"No water is entirely 'safe' my dear. You never know what dangers lurk beneath the surface."

Martin blinks, taken aback but before he can sort out whether he had misheard him or if he's actually being extremely weird and condescending, Skylar turns and walks towards the lake. 

Pausing only to drape his towel over a small boulder, he strides into the water until it reaches his thighs, then dives headfirst beneath the waves.

Martin watches as he darts away, sleek as a fish, before surfacing and breaking into a swift, graceful freestyle. 

As Skylar quickly gains distance, Martin understands why he'd find a pool confining, he swims at professional racing speed. 

Shaking his head, Martin wanders over to check on Miguel, who's still absorbed with his art. 

Then, still a little unnerved by the handsome art teacher's words, he walks out along the dock, from whence he can keep an eye on Flora and the twins. 

‘Handsome’ Martin repeats in his head and scoffs at himself as he shields his eyes and looks out across the lake.

Martin: ‘Gorgeous’ is more like it and I'd do well not to think such words again, not that I'm in any danger of letting my heart lead me astray a second time.’ 

Martin’s ex-wife, Elena, had been gorgeous, too. 

Martin: ‘Gorgeous and charming and so far out of my league.’ 

Martin had felt like the luckiest man on earth when she turned her brilliant eyes on him. 

She hadn't always been cruel either, though in retrospect he suppose there were signs. 

She was quick to anger, quick to blame, cutting in her criticism and seldom truly kind but he'd been genuinely in love with her ‘or so he'd thought’ and found it easy enough to see past these 'minor faults’.

If they had stayed her ‘only faults’ Martin might have still be in love with her now. 

Flora and Miguel were born barely a year after their Mating and ‘as he now understands’ that was part of Elena's plan. 

Once she knew that he'd die for them, she had him in iron chains. 

Then, gradually, she'd let her true nature show. 

Slowly, with looks and words, little everyday cruelties, she broke him down. 

By the time she finally hit him, she had convinced Martin that he deserved it.

Martin: ‘I'll never trust my heart again. It aches a little even now, as I gaze across the sparkling water beneath the cobalt sky, feeling like a man out of time as the world spins beneath my feet.’

Turning back towards the shore, he realizes the spinning sensation is dizziness and curses himself for skipping breakfast. 

There'd only been enough milk and cereal for the kids and he'd planned to go shopping this morning but... 

Unable to ignore the creeping darkness at the corners of his vision any longer, Martin accepts that he’s about to pass out. 

Reaching to steady myself, he grasps thin air, pitches to the side and shut his eyes in surrender as the cold silence welcomes him with a watery embrace.

[sandra-journals]

Paddling Through NYC’s Past: Kayaking the Waters That Shaped the City

As New York City celebrates its 400th anniversary, a unique way to explore its remarkable evolution is by kayaking the rivers that helped build it.

Near Inwood Hill Park, the last vestige of Manhattan’s original forests, the city's usual din fades away, replaced by the serene sounds of nature. Paddling along, I marveled at the gnarled tree roots and ancient boulders left by the Ice Age, and watched a great blue heron land gracefully on a sandy cove—perhaps a scene that early inhabitants of the island might have recognized.

This year marks four centuries since the Dutch founded New Amsterdam, which would grow into one of the world’s most iconic cities. As New Yorkers reflect on this milestone, the challenge has been balancing celebration with recognition of the city’s complex history.

Russell Shorto, author of The Island at the Center of the World, notes that this Dutch settlement was the birthplace of “the world’s first modern city,” characterized by pluralism and capitalism. “Manhattan is where America began,” Shorto asserts, highlighting its role in shaping the nation’s ethos of diversity and opportunity. Yet, the Dutch also contributed to the displacement of Native peoples and the importation of enslaved Africans, adding layers of complexity to the city’s legacy.

In light of this, the city's quadricentennial events are designed to acknowledge both its achievements and its darker chapters. “We are viewing this anniversary more as a commemoration than a celebration,” said Sarah Cooney of the Holland Society of New York. A picnic on Governors Island, where the Dutch first landed in 1624, will mark the occasion.

Manhattan’s development from a fur trading post to a global metropolis is deeply intertwined with its waterways. “The entire city is about the water,” says Captain Jonathan Boulware of the South Street Seaport Museum. The harbor's natural advantages—its depth, its wide expanse, and its connectivity—were crucial in transforming New York into a major commercial hub.

When Henry Hudson explored the region in 1609, he uncovered a natural harbor that would become a gateway for trade and growth. The Dutch quickly recognized its potential and established a thriving trade center, which later evolved into the bustling, multi-ethnic city we know today.

As Manhattan expanded, its original landscape was dramatically reshaped. The 1811 grid plan leveled hills and filled marshes, paving the way for modern development. The Erie Canal, completed in 1825, linked New York City to the Midwest, cementing its status as a key player in global trade and immigration.

Today, as I kayak around Manhattan, the city’s deep connection to its waterways is both a reflection of its past and a guide for its future. This journey through the city’s rivers serves as a poignant reminder of how Manhattan's natural environment played a critical role in shaping its history and identity.

[catherine-media]

Kayaking Through the Waters That Shaped New York City

As New York City celebrates its 400th anniversary, exploring its rivers by kayak offers a unique perspective on the waterways that fueled the city’s monumental growth.

In the quiet near Inwood Hill Park, where the island's last native forests remain, the usual city noise gives way to the peaceful symphony of crickets. Paddling along, I navigate past ancient tree roots and boulders from the last Ice Age, while a great blue heron lands gracefully on a sandy cove, disappearing into the reeds. After a day of kayaking through one of the world's most man-made environments, this glimpse of nature feels like a connection to the island's past.

This year marks four centuries since the Dutch settlement of New Amsterdam—what would become New York City. The milestone has sparked debates on how best to commemorate it. Russell Shorto, author of The Island at the Center of the World, highlights how this small Dutch outpost laid the foundation for “the world’s first modern city,” driven by pluralism and capitalism. “Manhattan is where America began,” he asserts, noting the island's role as a model of multiculturalism.

However, the Dutch also shaped this multiethnic society through the displacement of Native peoples and the exploitation of enslaved Africans. Shorto emphasizes the need to recognize both the achievements and the darker aspects of this history. Sarah Cooney of the Holland Society of New York echoes this sentiment, framing the anniversary as a commemoration rather than a celebration, with events like a picnic on Governors Island on September 14 to mark the Dutch arrival in 1624.

The early settlers could not have imagined that their fur trading post would evolve into the world’s most linguistically diverse city. Manhattan’s growth from a 23-square-mile island to a global economic capital is deeply intertwined with its waterways. “It’s all about the water,” says Captain Jonathan Boulware of the South Street Seaport Museum. “Every aspect of New York’s identity is rooted in its connections to the water.”

In 1609, Henry Hudson, seeking a shortcut to Asia, entered what would be known as New York Harbor. While he didn’t find the Northwest Passage, he discovered a massive natural harbor sheltered by Staten and Long Islands—a crucial asset for maritime trade. This geographical advantage, coupled with the harbor’s deep waters and navigable rivers, drew the Dutch to Manhattan, which became a hub for commerce.

The Dutch, prioritizing trade over religious motives, established a colony focused on capitalism. By 1646, Manhattan was home to a diverse population speaking multiple languages. The Dutch settlement thrived on the harbor’s potential, shipping goods like beaver pelts and tobacco to Europe. When the British took over in 1664, they continued to develop Manhattan as a key maritime center.

In the early 19th century, New York’s transformation accelerated. DeWitt Clinton’s vision led to the creation of a vast street grid and the Erie Canal, connecting the Hudson River to the Great Lakes. This not only bolstered Manhattan’s industrial might but also revolutionized the nation’s economy by facilitating the mass movement of goods and people.

Today, as Manhattan reflects on its four-century history, kayaking around the island offers a powerful reminder of the rivers that shaped its past and continue to influence its present.

[tarachamplain]

Discover Paradise on a Luxury Yacht in Puerto Vallarta

Discover Paradise on a Luxury Yacht in Puerto Vallarta

Puerto Vallarta, a gem on Mexico's Pacific coast, is renowned for its stunning beaches, vibrant culture, and breathtaking sunsets. For those seeking an unparalleled experience, renting a luxury yacht in Puerto Vallarta offers a unique way to explore this tropical paradise. Whether you're looking for a peaceful retreat or an adventure on the open sea, a yacht rental in Puerto Vallarta promises a memorable journey.

Experience the Beauty of Puerto Vallarta

Imagine cruising along the shimmering waters of Banderas Bay, with the sun casting golden hues over the horizon. Puerto Vallarta is blessed with a diverse coastline, featuring everything from secluded beaches to bustling waterfronts. Renting a yacht allows you to explore these hidden treasures at your own pace. Drop anchor at a remote cove, dive into the crystal-clear waters, or simply relax on deck with a refreshing drink in hand.

The natural beauty of Puerto Vallarta is best appreciated from the water. The towering Sierra Madre Mountains provide a dramatic backdrop, while the lush tropical vegetation adds a vibrant contrast to the deep blue of the Pacific Ocean. As you sail along the coastline, keep an eye out for playful dolphins and majestic whales, especially during the winter months when these magnificent creatures migrate to the warm waters of Banderas Bay.

Why Choose a Luxury Yacht Rental in Puerto Vallarta?

A luxury yacht rental in Puerto Vallarta is more than just a boat ride; it's an immersive experience that combines comfort, adventure, and elegance. Whether you're planning a romantic getaway, a family vacation, or a celebration with friends, a yacht provides the perfect setting. Many yachts come equipped with state-of-the-art amenities, including spacious lounges, gourmet kitchens, and outdoor dining areas. Some even feature jacuzzis and sunbathing decks, ensuring that every moment on board is one of relaxation and indulgence.

But the allure of a puerto vallarta yacht rental goes beyond the luxurious accommodations. It's about the freedom to explore at your leisure. With a personalized itinerary, you can visit iconic spots like Los Arcos, the Marietas Islands, and the pristine beaches of Yelapa. Whether you want to snorkel in vibrant coral reefs, fish in the deep sea, or simply bask in the sun, the options are endless.

Tailored Experiences for Every Traveler

When it comes to boat rental in Puerto Vallarta, the possibilities are endless. For adventure seekers, charter a yacht equipped for water sports like paddleboarding, kayaking, and jet skiing. Dive enthusiasts can explore the underwater world with snorkeling or scuba diving excursions. If you prefer a more laid-back experience, opt for a sunset cruise, where you can enjoy the mesmerizing colors of the sky as the sun dips below the horizon.

A yacht rental also offers a unique perspective on Puerto Vallarta's vibrant culture. Cruise past the iconic Malecón, where you can witness the lively atmosphere of this bustling boardwalk from the water. Experience the charm of coastal villages, where time seems to stand still, and savor the local cuisine prepared fresh on board by a private chef.

[wonderfultourslaos]

Vang Vieng’s Untouched Trails: A Nature Lover’s Day

Explore the tranquil beauty of Vang Vieng beyond its well-trodden paths. Wonderful Tours Laos invites you on a day-long excursion designed for nature enthusiasts who crave solitude and untouched landscapes. This adventure delves deep into the quieter, more pristine areas of Vang Vieng, offering a peaceful escape and intimate connection with nature.

Dawn Discovery: Birdwatching at Dawn

Begin your day at the break of dawn, embarking on a guided birdwatching tour in one of Vang Vieng’s secluded natural reserves. The early morning is the best time to observe a variety of birds as they are most active. Equipped with binoculars and a local ornithologist, you’ll discover the rich avian life that thrives in these lush environments.

Morning Wander: Secret Botanical Trail

After enjoying the morning chorus of birds, take a hike along a hidden botanical trail rarely visited by tourists. This path winds through diverse ecosystems, and your guide will help you identify rare plants and flowers native to Laos. It’s a botanist’s dream and a perfect opportunity for photography enthusiasts.

Riverside Repast: Picnic by the Namsong

Midday, settle down by the banks of the serene Namsong River for a picnic lunch. Enjoy locally sourced, homemade Laotian dishes while relaxing under the shade of towering trees. The gentle sounds of the flowing river provide a soothing backdrop as you dine.

Afternoon Adventure: Kayaking to Hidden Coves

Rejuvenated from your lunch, continue your day with a kayaking trip down the Namsong River. Paddle to hidden coves and quiet backwaters that offer a glimpse of river life untouched by the usual tourist activity. This part of the river is known for its crystal-clear waters and stunning backdrops of limestone cliffs.

Sunset Solitude: Meditation at a Secluded Overlook

As the day winds down, journey to a secluded overlook for a guided meditation session during sunset. This quiet spot offers breathtaking views of the Vang Vieng valley bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. It’s a time to reflect, relax, and soak in the tranquil energy of the natural surroundings.

Starry Nightcap: Evening Under the Stars

Conclude your day under the stars at a remote field known only to locals. Lay back on blankets and gaze at the clear night sky, possibly spotting shooting stars and constellations. It’s a peaceful end to a day filled with natural wonders and quiet exploration.

Join Wonderful Tours Laos for a day on Vang Vieng’s untouched trails, where the beauty of nature speaks quietly but profoundly.

Ready to escape into nature? Contact Wonderful Tours Laos at +856 20 222 447 75 or info@wonderfultours.la.

[news1latest]

The Untouched Beauty of Lake Tahoe: A Sierra Gem

Lake Tahoe, a sparkling jewel in the Sierra Nevada, remains one of the most pristine and unspoiled destinations in the United States. With its crystal-clear waters, rugged mountain backdrop, and abundant natural beauty, Lake Tahoe offers visitors a rare opportunity to experience a landscape that feels both timeless and untouched. Whether you're drawn to its serene shores, dense forests, or panoramic vistas, Lake Tahoe is a Sierra gem that captivates all who visit.

Pristine Waters and Rugged Shores

Lake Tahoe's clarity is legendary. The lake’s pure, blue waters are so transparent that you can see to depths of over 70 feet on a clear day. This clarity is due in part to the lake’s high altitude and the purity of the water that flows into it. The shoreline is a mix of sandy beaches, rocky outcrops, and secluded coves, each offering a unique perspective on the lake’s beauty. Whether you’re paddling along the shore in a kayak, relaxing on a beach, or exploring the hidden bays, Lake Tahoe’s waters invite you to immerse yourself in its untouched beauty.

A Wilderness Haven

Surrounding Lake Tahoe is a vast wilderness that remains largely undeveloped, preserving the natural beauty that has defined the area for centuries. The surrounding forests, dominated by towering pines and firs, are home to a diverse array of wildlife, including black bears, deer, and bald eagles. Hiking and biking trails crisscross the landscape, leading to breathtaking viewpoints, cascading waterfalls, and tranquil alpine meadows. Whether you’re hiking the Tahoe Rim Trail or simply wandering through the woods, you’ll find that the wilderness around Lake Tahoe offers a sense of peace and solitude that’s increasingly rare in our busy world.

Majestic Mountain Views

The mountains that encircle Lake Tahoe add to its dramatic beauty. These towering peaks, many of which are snow-capped well into the summer months, provide a stunning contrast to the deep blue of the lake. In the winter, these mountains are blanketed in snow, transforming the area into a winter sports paradise. Skiing, snowboarding, and snowshoeing are popular activities, with resorts like Heavenly, Squaw Valley, and Northstar offering world-class facilities and stunning vistas. In the warmer months, the mountains are a playground for hikers and climbers, with trails leading to summits that offer panoramic views of the lake and surrounding wilderness.

A Place of Quiet Reflection

Lake Tahoe’s untouched beauty is not just about its physical landscape; it’s also about the sense of tranquility and reflection that the area inspires. Away from the hustle and bustle of urban life, Lake Tahoe offers a rare opportunity to disconnect and reconnect with nature. The gentle lapping of the water, the whisper of the wind through the trees, and the distant call of a bird all contribute to an atmosphere of calm and serenity. Whether you’re watching the sunrise over the lake, meditating on a quiet beach, or simply breathing in the fresh mountain air, Lake Tahoe is a place where you can find peace and clarity.

Preserving the Natural Beauty

The untouched beauty of Lake Tahoe is something that locals and visitors alike are passionate about preserving. Conservation efforts are ongoing to protect the lake’s clarity, reduce pollution, and manage the impact of tourism on the fragile ecosystem. Organizations like the League to Save Lake Tahoe are dedicated to keeping the lake “Blue and Beautiful” for future generations. Visitors are encouraged to respect the environment by following Leave No Trace principles, using sustainable practices, and supporting local conservation initiatives.

Conclusion

Lake Tahoe, with its untouched beauty and serene atmosphere, is truly a gem of the Sierra Nevada. Its crystal-clear waters, majestic mountains, and pristine wilderness offer a haven for those seeking both adventure and tranquility. As you explore this remarkable destination, you’ll discover that Lake Tahoe is more than just a place—it’s an experience, a connection to nature, and a reminder of the importance of preserving the natural world for generations to come.

[greatheartprince]

Yacht in Goa: A Thrilling Water Activity Worth Exploring

Yacht in Goa…………

Discover the thrill of sailing with a yacht in Goa, where the sun, sea, and luxury come together for an unforgettable experience. Whether you're looking to relax on the deck or explore the stunning coastline, Goa yacht rent offers an exclusive way to enjoy this vibrant destination. 

From serene sunset cruises to exciting water activities, renting a yacht in Goa provides a unique adventure that combines elegance with excitement. Dive into a world of luxury and create lasting memories on the water.

Top Water Activities to Enjoy on a Yacht in Goa: Snorkeling, Jet Skiing, and More

When renting a yacht in Goa, you can enjoy a variety of exciting water activities, including:

1. Snorkelling: Explore the vibrant marine life and colourful coral reefs in the clear waters around Goa.

2. Jet Skiing: Experience the thrill of speeding across the waves on a high-powered jet ski.

3. Parasailing: Soar high above the sea for breathtaking views of Goa's coastline.

4. Paddleboarding: Glide across calm waters on a paddleboard, perfect for both relaxation and light exercise.

5. Fishing: Try your hand at fishing in the deep waters for a rewarding experience.

6. Kayaking: Navigate through serene waters and hidden coves in a kayak.

7. Dolphin Watching: Spot playful dolphins in their natural habitat during a scenic cruise.

These activities make a Goa Yacht rental an exhilarating and diverse experience on the water.

Essential Packing List for Your Yacht Rental in Goa

When renting a yacht in Goa, it's important to pack thoughtfully for a comfortable and enjoyable experience. Here’s what to consider bringing:

1. Swimwear: Essential for enjoying the water and sunbathing.

2. Sunscreen: Protect your skin from the sun’s rays.

3. Hat and Sunglasses: For sun protection and added comfort.

4. Towel: For drying off after swimming or lounging.

5. Light Clothing: Casual, breathable clothes suitable for warm weather.

6. Camera or Smartphone: To capture memories of your yacht adventure.

Always check with the yacht rental provider for any specific recommendations or restrictions.

What Factors Affect the Yacht Price in Goa?

The yacht price in Goa is influenced by several factors:

1. Type of Yacht: Standard, luxury, and catamaran yachts have different price points.

2. Duration of Rental: Longer rentals generally cost more.

3. Season: Prices may vary based on the time of year, with peak seasons often being more expensive.

4. Additional Services: Extras like catering, entertainment, and water activities can impact the overall cost.

For specific rates, it's best to contact yacht rental companies directly.

Safety Tips for a Yacht in Goa

1. Wear Life Jackets: Always wear a life jacket while on deck or participating in water activities, especially if you're not a strong swimmer. 

2. Follow Crew Instructions: Listen to the crew’s safety briefings and follow their instructions at all times.

3. Stay Hydrated: Drink plenty of water to stay hydrated, especially in the sun.

4. Avoid Alcohol Overuse: Limit alcohol consumption to maintain alertness and avoid accidents.

5. Watch Your Step: Be cautious of wet surfaces and moving parts on the yacht to prevent slips and falls.

6. Secure Belongings: Keep personal items secure to avoid them falling overboard.

Following these safety tips will help ensure a secure and enjoyable yacht in Goa on rent. 

Unleash the Thrill of an Unforgettable Water Adventure

A yacht in Goa represents a thrilling and luxurious water activity that’s truly worth exploring. From exhilarating water sports and serene cruises to celebrating special occasions with breathtaking views, renting a yacht offers a unique way to experience the vibrant beauty of Goa. 

Embrace the adventure and elegance of a yacht rental, and create unforgettable memories on the stunning waters of this coastal paradise.

[recentlyheardcom]

Oarfish: Rarely seen deep sea fish is found off San Diego coast, and scientists want to know why

SAN DIEGO — A rarely seen deep sea fish resembling a serpent was found floating dead on the ocean surface off the San Diego coast and was brought ashore for study, marine experts said. The silvery, 12-foot-long oarfish was found last weekend by a group of snorkelers and kayakers in La Jolla Cove, north of downtown San Diego, the Scripps Institution of Oceanography said in a statement. It’s only…

[hafsasuhair]

Top 10 Must-Do Activities in Musandam Dibba from Dubai

Just a short drive from Dubai, Musandam Dibba is a hidden gem that offers the ideal balance of adventure and calm. It is nestled among the pure waters of the Arabian Peninsula. This beautiful location offers a unique getaway from the busy city life. It is well-known for its beautiful fjords, sparkling waterways, and rich marine life. Musandam Dibba offers something for everyone, whether you're an excitement addict hoping to experience underwater wonders, a nature lover hoping to take in breathtaking views, or just searching for a peaceful retreat. The following list of the top ten things to do in this coastal paradise will guarantee that your visit will be remembered. 

A Musandam Dibba trip from Dubai is an amazing experience that takes you from the busy city to the calm and gorgeous scenery of Oman's Musandam Peninsula. This beautiful area makes for the ideal getaway from city life with its beautiful fjords, glistening waterways, and rich marine life. A typical Musandam Dibba tour from Dubai consists of diving, discovering secret coves, and taking a traditional dhow sail, offering a complete adventure and natural beauty experience. This vacation promises a mix of action and relaxation, making it a must-do for everyone looking for a special and unforgettable escape, whether you're kayaking across calm seas, fishing, or just lounging on beautiful beaches. 

Here are the top 10 must-do activities in Musandam Dibba from Dubai: 

1. Dhow Cruise:   

Take a traditional Omani dhow sail to discover the beautiful Musandam fjords. These beautiful and historically important wooden boats sail along the calm seas, providing amazing views of rocky cliffs and secluded bays. Playful dolphins frequently swim alongside the boat during the journey, giving a magical element to the experience. Enjoy a delicious buffet of Arabic and foreign dishes while seeing the amazing scenery as you travel. 

2. Snorkelling and Diving: 

Snorkelers and divers will find paradise in Musandam's flawless, blue seas. The underwater environment of the area is home to brilliant coral reefs overflowing with a wide variety of marine life, including beautiful sea turtles and colourful fish. Renowned dive spots including Octopus Rock and Lima Rock are well-known for their beautiful underwater scenery and rich fauna. Experienced divers or novice snorkelers alike will be interested by Musandam's underwater beauty. 

3. Kayaking:   

Kayaking in the calm fjords of Musandam is an essential activity for a more personal study of its natural beauty. Paddle across placid seas, skirting precipitous cliffs and finding quiet beaches and inlets. Kayaking is a peaceful and engrossing activity that lets you get in touch with nature at your own speed. The peaceful ambiance of the fjords, broken only by the soft sound of your paddle, is ideal for introspection and rest. 

4. Fishing Trips: 

Take a fishing trip and enjoy the excitement of catching a range of fish species in Musandam's rich waters. The variety of fish in the area guarantees an interesting fishing experience, regardless of your level of skill. You can cast your line and possibly reel in a huge catch at top fishing areas, which are accessible to charter boats that are outfitted with all the essential gear. It's not only about the fishing; you should also take in the beautiful surroundings and the company of your fellow passengers. 

5. Mountain Safari: 

Take a 4x4 mountain safari to explore the rough ground of the Hajar Mountains for a thrilling adventure. An amazing journey across rugged landscapes, deep gorges, and twisting mountain paths awaits you on the safari. You'll pass via outlying communities, historic sites, and sweeping viewpoints with jaw-dropping views of the surroundings along the route. An exciting approach to take in Musandam's varied scenery and rich history is through a mountain safari. 

6. Beach Camping:   

Spend a night camping to enjoy the peace and beauty of Musandam's beautiful beaches. Camp down on a remote beach so you can relax beneath the starry sky and drift off to sleep with the sound of the waves. Musandam beach camping provides a special chance to get away from the rush of everyday life and get back in touch with the natural world. Enjoy a BBQ, a campfire, and the pure thrill of being in a breathtakingly beautiful natural setting. 

7. Visit Telegraph Island: 

Take a boat ride to Telegraph Island, a location rich in natural beauty and historical importance. As a segment of the telegraph line that linked India and Britain in the 19th century, the island served as an essential centre for communication. It now provides tourists with the opportunity to explore the remains and discover its interesting past. Clear visibility and a wealth of marine life make the surrounding waters ideal for swimming and snorkelling, making it a well-liked location for underwater sports. 

8. Hiking:   

Take a trekking trip to discover Musandam's varied landscapes up close. There are many routes in the area that can accommodate hikers of all skill levels, from easy strolls to strenuous treks. Wonderful views of the fjords, mountains, and coastline await you as you make your way across the challenging landscape. In Musandam, hiking offers a close-up look at the area's natural beauty and the chance to find hidden jewels that are not reachable by car. 

9. Paragliding:   

Try paragliding for an incomparable view of Musandam's amazing landscape. Experience the thrill of taking off and the peacefulness of gliding through the air as you soar high above the fjords, mountains, and coastline. By giving you an aerial perspective of the beautiful landscape, paragliding presents a unique perspective on the area's unique beauty. This thrilling sport provides an amazing experience, no matter your level of paragliding experience. 

10. Visit Local Villages:   

Visit the nearby villages to get a true sense of Musandam's customs and culture. With amiable residents willing to share their traditions and hospitality, these communities provide a window into a bygone era. Discover the quaint little streets, go to the marketplaces, and eat authentic Omani food. Travelling to nearby villages offers a more genuine experience and a deeper grasp of Musandam's rich cultural heritage. 

Conclusion: 

A Musandam Dibba trip from Dubai is an amazing experience that takes you from the busy city to the calm and gorgeous scenery of Oman's Musandam Peninsula. This beautiful area makes for the ideal getaway from city life with its beautiful fjords, glistening waterways, and rich marine life. A typical Musandam Dibba tour from Dubai consists of diving, discovering secret coves, and taking a traditional dhow sail, offering a complete adventure and natural beauty experience. Discover the stunning beauty of Musandam Dibba with exclusive musandam dibba tour packages. Enjoy cruises, dramatic fjords, and vibrant marine life in this picturesque Omani enclave. This vacation promises a mix of action and relaxation, making it a must-do for everyone looking for a special and unforgettable escape, whether you're kayaking across calm seas, fishing, or just lounging on beautiful beaches.