Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
“Those skins would make great belts,” observed Gavin, as he peered intently into the water.
“I'd be very careful of catching any of those snakes,” I warned, “They look pretty deadly
to me.”
Undeterred, Gavin, one morning soon after, donned his diving gear and gloves and went
snorkeling over to Snake Island. I followed up with the dinghy and a bucket of freshwater.
Soon we spied a young moccasin snaking through the water near the bank of the island.
Gavin flippered over to it and quickly grabbed at it with his gloved hands. He was suc-
cessful in grabbing the little fellow, whose head jerked from side to side, trying to bite his
captor. He swam up to the dinghy and I offered the bucket over the side. In plopped the
snake which now wriggled about and finally slowed down and expired.
“I think the next one you must kill more humanely than that.” I said, quite moved by the
snake's last pitiful movements. “Maybe cut off its head,” I suggested.
“No, that would ruin the belt,” he argued, turning the lifeless snake around in his hands.
“How about a sharp needle through the brain? That way he wouldn't know what hit him.”
“I don't know; how about just leaving them alone?” I continued. “This is not very cool.”
I was also afraid that one of us was going to get bitten. We had recently been advised by a
local Fijian fisherman that they were very poisonous and could be fatal.
Gavin obviously went back again for a few more, as one day I happened to notice two or
three quite large skins tacked out on a scrap of wood, salted down and drying in the sun.
Their diamond shaped yellow heads were intact as they bared sets of sharp teeth in death;
they also stank from here to high heaven, a fact that he would never know due to his lost
sense of smell and taste. Gavin got his belts in the end, and no more was said about them.
It was around this time that we met some girls. They were both local Negro Fijians and
were young, in their early twenties. Both were very pretty, natural beauties with lovely
white smiles and curly, bushy Afro-styled hair. Both spoke English well, and they laughed
at our ways all the time. They had dinner with us on-board a couple of times, and neither
touched a drop of alcohol. There was no hanky-panky, I was dismayed to discover, unlike
my wild bouts with young Penny. Still, they were great companions, and they took Gavin
and I on some fun hikes around the local area. They always smelled of spicy cloves, were
meticulously clean, and a joy to be with.
My girl, Florence, her ebony skin smooth and supple, would take great delight in lying next
to me on my bunk upon her elbow facing me and gently picking at imaginary fluffs of cot-
ton specks, as she would look into my eyes and ask me little questions about myself. She
would howl with laughter at the silliest things and was easily offended; I had to watch what
