Don't forget about high tide

[JennaW]

My first time in Thailand, in 2001, passed without a hitch. Of course, I didn't do anything remotely adventurous except for walking down the streets of Bangkok midday, but my mother can do that without a problem. This time, I was a bit more adventurous, and for my efforts I added Yet Another Scar to my body.

I have multiple scars, but most of them are from lung surgeries for random pneumothoraxes that keep happening... well, randomly. My doctors don't know why I get them, but as far as 2006's CT scans go, they've gotten rid of all the possible ways in which I could get another pneumothorax. So I'm used to scars, bandages, tapes, stitches, etc., but all the times I've gotten these incisions was when I was unconscious.

In Thailand last month, I finally received my first completely conscious experience of slicing my flesh open deep enough to need stitches. And I walked about a kilometer while bleeding from it to boot.

The rocks that we wanted to climb was on the west side of Tonsai Bay on Phi Phi Island (see map), past the hospital, and even past the light-tan "beach" area. During low tide, people can walk across some very sharp coralized rocks, some the size of a bungalow. Most were the size of generators or smaller; in the day time, it's very easy to see where to step because the sun shines bright in the tropics, even during cloudier days.

So Jogl's and my schedule for the day was to check out the rocks on that side as they were on the easy side and apt for me to learn rock-climbing on. I'm fine with that, so we stumble our way over these crazy-sharp rocks over there at 1 pm or so, stopped on a teeny tiny beach for Jogl to boulder on a giant rock sharp as razor blades. By that I mean that touching the rock and putting your weight on it was like hanging while clutching to a rose bush-- it's sharp on your hands. It can cut if you're not careful.

Then we move on to the roped climbing, and I have a lot of fun because it's not something I completely suck at even though there's a learning curve at some points, and I'm "stuck". I ended up enjoying this sport because once I'm climbing, there is a sense of focus along with being aware of your entire body and where it is. Towards the end of the day, the mosquitoes come and chase all the climbers (except for the very stubborn) away from the rocks, so we decide to head in for the day. Jogl goes ahead of me through the dense trees, which have vines that look like snakes-- and are very scary looking in the dark. The sun is setting fast.

But suddenly Jogl stops, and I come up beside him to gape at the black water where there used to be land.

"Where the hell did all that water come from?" I ask, even though I knew. I was more asking, "Do we have to swim our way back to beach, which is who-knows-how-far away? With your giant backpack? Over the sharp coral rocks?" But I don't ask that because I already know the answer.

It doesn't sound scary until the scenery is in front of you: black waters rising, trees with vines hanging into the water, sharp coral rocks underneath the water, no one around at all, in complete blackness because there is no light out here and no people. The lights seem far away, and I have no idea what lives in the ocean here at night, or, for that matter, on land.

We go anyway, wading into the water and immediately tripping on the rocks. I'm wearing a tank top, very short swim shorts, and beige slip on shoes. Jogl hoists his large backpack, carrying all our stuff, including my new camera, his ropes, our money, etc. onto his head and proceeds to walk as if fording a river. He's had to do this in India, while I'm never had to do this. But I'm doing it now, and boy, is fear a powerful thing.

When we reached a house on stilts partway back, I desperately wanted to climb up onto the platform with the Thai living there and just sleep over. I did not want to be in the water anymore, but Jogl kept going because we couldn't just crash this bungalow with the ten Thai men sitting there. They weren't very inviting, and they were staring at us like we were ghosts. So we left them and swam on, past their bungalow-on-stilts, and they were nice enough to shine a large light for us so we could see ahead for a bit. Then it was darkness again.

Fear can also be a cause of not remembering what I said or did during that one kilometer wading and paddling through black chest-high water. I don't know if I was whining the whole way, or was silent. I don't know how I am during these kinds of things, as this was my first time. All I hope for now was that I wasn't a pain in the ass. I know I freaked out on a few occasions: rope hanging from a tree into the water that caught on my ankle and held me; seeing this scaly alligator-like creature the size of a very large cat splash into the water in front of me; and when I fell. And when you fall, it's deep enough that your head is submerged; however, I found out that if you cut yourself, even deeply, the rocks are so sharp that it doesn't hurt and the salty seawater on top of it keeps the pain away. As well as the adrenaline rush and the desperate need to KEEP GOING.

We finally emerge onto the beach but keep walking. I have no idea if Jogl is even scared, or shocked, or in pain. He kept his cool the entire time, probably because he ice climbs in the Alps where they have avalanches, or maybe because he's gone through some interesting stuff while riding an old, old motorcycle through the Himalayas. I don't know, but I felt like part of me had just went away for awhile until I got to the beach. Then I calmly said, "We should stop by the hospital to check our cuts to make sure we're okay." After that, I felt immense relief as the fear slid from me-- all of a sudden I felt tired; and then a lot of pain. I look down, and there's blood that looks black and thick, running down my left leg into my shoe. "Oh, my god," I said, and we limped on, me leading him towards the hospital. I told Jogl, "I really, really, really want a whiskey right now. Let's go get some whiskey." I think he laughed and said "of course."

At the hospital doors, I sit down to check my leg. Sometimes, the pain doesn't come until you see the cut. Maybe this could be a reality-doesn't-really-happen-until-you-see-it scenario, which is exactly what happened to me. I knew I had a nasty cut, but when I saw the cut, and saw the yellow fatty tissue and muscle poking out into the world, my heart lurched and the pain, following the thought "NASTY-ASS CUT", really came. Jogl goes into the hospital and comes back with two band-aids. My cut is still oozing blood, and I try to hold it closed but it won't stick. I don't want to hold my cut closed all night long, and I don't want to bleed all night long. I especially don't want an infection. "No, no, no, I need stitches!" I yell, because I can't look at my cut anymore so I don't know if it's to the bone or not, and the pain is coming like a train. It doesn't hurt as much as I thought, but it does hurt like hell.

Jogl carries me into the emergency room, and all the staff-- who had been watching TV-- gather slowly easy their way around my leg. They ask me what happened. "The rocks!" we say, and point towards the beach. The pain is really screaming now; I wish I hadn't looked at my leg at all. Apparently the doctor on call agrees with me that I need stitches (wow, physiology knowledge is useful after all), so the nurse shows me a gigantic hypodermic needle full of anesthetic and proceeds to give me-- in or near my wound, I can't tell since the pain is the same-- the most painful shot of my life. I'm amazed that my eyes stay completely dry through this whole ordeal, but I scream like a banshee when that needle goes into my leg where the cut is. Jogl held my hands, and I think when I screamed out a few choice words was when he was finally in pain. Ah, a woman's vocal cords...

So I get all numb and happy, because pain is such a huge burden, and two of the staff gives me four stitches. They bandage me up, give me painkillers and antibiotics, make me pay the $70 for the service, and out we go. We hit our favorite restaurant that plays U2 all the time, me limping and him blind because he fell also (and escaped cuts) but he lost his glasses in the ocean. The wounded leading the blind... for dinner I swallow a painkiller, which makes me drunk; he drinks a few beers, and we stay at that restaurant for a long time. I cannot have my whiskey because of the painkillers. I don't care, as long as I have something that soothes my frazzled nerves. Finally we stumble home, numb, laughing about the whole thing. My sleep that night was a sleep of coma.

Later on I realize that the menus all around this area contain barracuda, one of the fresh fish caught around the area. The kind of shiver that ran up my spine was uncomfortable, as I could not have known what creatures were gathering around my leg that was bleeding into the ocean during the half hour I was wading after I'd fallen. I realize during this event that my biggest fear was pitch black-- I'm not afraid of the dark, but I'm very uncomfortable being in strange, foreign situations while in pitch black darkness. I'm a highly visual person, which would make sense. At the same time, I'm not sure that if I had a headlamp while wading, I would feel better-- as that kind of light does not penetrate deep enough and I'd be left to rely on light patches and my imagination. And my imagination can be my worst enemy.

And I will never, ever forget about high tide.

[Mikee]

Jenna,

Excellent story, very well told. Thank you for a few moments of vicarious adventure. Great pictures too.

I find some of my fondest and clearest memories revolve around a scar or two. Nothing focuses your memory retention like adrenaline.