I don’t consider myself a water person – unlike the bounty of surfers and ocean fanatics that I now surround myself with, I grew up inland and only ventured to the cold Oregon Coast 1-2 times each year.
Now in California I have many more opportunities to go swim in the ocean, or just be near the water.
However wonderful my opportunity is to many, even sometimes to me, when I heard I was going camping for a week at Santa Cruz Island, I was less than enthused.
The idea of being surrounded by ocean for five days straight, no matter how clear and beautiful I knew it would be, scared me. We were to be completely isolated – an hour boat ride away from land.
My trip seemed to be the most popular out of the four – everyone wanted to go, and I even felt bad for taking up a spot when I wasn’t nearly as excited as some who couldn’t go.
Once I was on the boat to the island, standing with salty wind blowing through my hair, watching the island grow bigger and bigger, I began to feel excited. No longer was I wishing I was on route to Yosemite, I found myself looking forward to the next week, and what was to come.
What I thought would be a long, torturous week turned out to be adventure-filled and an amazing time. The ocean, originally the object of my fear, was beautiful, full of creatures, and the best part of the trip.
Out of all the camping trips I’ve been on throughout my life, this one was the most fun. And not only did I explore caves, but I also explored my limits.