Free Casting Off by Emma Bamford Page A

squealing.’
    We held our breath, listening intently. And there it was, like a quieter version of a pig’s squeal, followed by a splashing noise.
    ‘Monkeys?’ I whispered.
    ‘I don’t think so. Come on.’
    We climbed over the exposed mangrove roots, following the sounds and scanning the surface of the water. I spotted something, a head, but it wasn’t a monkey. Then I saw another sleek black
head and another.
    ‘They’re otters,’ Steve said.
    There was a family of eight of them and they were having a whale of a time playing in the water, swimming, diving and calling back and forth to each other with their squeaky squeals. We watched,
enchanted, for a few minutes, taking photos, until one of them saw us and stood up on its hind legs, front paws dangling. Suddenly it herded up its companions and they dived under the water and
were gone.
    In the absence of man-made sound, the jungle was creating music around us. The sounds were distinctly tropical and nothing like what I had heard back home: cicadas singing, geckos calling and
unseen monkeys chattering. I heard a woodpecker drilling away at a tree and the repeated cries of what I termed the Laughing Policeman Bird. Its call was a cross between the unnerving guffaws of
the model constable in the penny arcade and the sarcastic laugh of Nelson from
The Simpsons
. ‘Haa!-ha! Haa-ha! Haa!-ha!’ it cried, over and over, rising in pitch. Even the
plant life on the edge of the rainforest was noisy – the coconut palms rustled scratchily in the breeze and the driftwood cracked as it dried.
    Feeling more in tune with Mother Earth and taking advantage of the slower current in the protected harbour, I decided to have another go at swimming. I jumped in from the yacht and started
breaststroke, up and down the 46-foot length of the boat, concentrating on my breathing and on keeping count of the number of lengths and total distance covered to crowd thoughts of biting,
nibbling, fishy things out of my brain. I was doing OK, just about managing to push down the fear, when I reached the stern of the boat and saw something in the water about a foot or two in front
of my face. It was brown, long and thin and its head was raised above the surface, moving from side to side. I screamed and splashed my way towards the ladder to get on to the boat and to safety.
Steve heard the commotion and came to see what all the fuss was about but froze when he saw the look of terror on my face.
    ‘Emma! What is it?’
    I couldn’t speak. Time had slowed down and my progress was agonisingly slow.
    ‘Tell me. Then I can help you.’
    ‘S-s-snake!’ I managed to stutter. A few more strokes and I was at the ladder, adrenaline helping me haul myself out by my arms faster than I’d ever managed to before. My legs
were shaking as Steve handed me my towel.
    ‘A snake?’ he asked. ‘In the water? Wow – that’s really rare.’
    ‘It was there, I’m telling you. I wasn’t just imagining it. I even looked at it twice to make sure it really existed. That’s it. I’m not going back in the
water.’
    He was comforting but disbelieving and, once I’d started to calm down, his incredulity was infectious. I began to doubt myself. Was it really a snake? I could have sworn I’d seen it
raise its head out of the water, like a cobra about to strike, and turn towards me. Now, on the safety of the boat, I wasn’t so sure. When Steve returned to his work, I wandered about the
deck of the boat, looking into the water for an infestation of snakes. I couldn’t see any. But what I could see, just off the bow, was the seed pod of a mangrove tree being carried slowly
along in the current. I frowned and leaned over the rail to get a closer look. Hot embarrassment crept up my neck and into my cheeks. The pod was brown coloured, long and thin and stood vertically
in the water, its tip slightly curved over. As the gentle waves pushed it along, it bobbed up and down, rotating slightly from side to