Swimming with pink dolphins

"Was that you Carl?"
"No."
"Oh crap."

"Tranquillo, tranquillo," said Bismarck. Easy for him to say. He wasn't hanging off the edge of the canoe waiting for something to nibble off a digit. It was hard to stay calm.

Hanging of the edge of the dugout

We were drifting in deep water. The dark brown colour made it impossible to see more than a couple of centimetres below the surface. But there was definitely something down there. I felt it brush against my leg. If it wasn't Carl, I hoped like hell it was a dolphin. According to Bismarck, where there were dolphins there weren't piranhas or alligators. I hoped he was right.

A dolphin swims towards the dugout

Two small pods of dolphins were swimming nearby, gradually getting closer and closer to the canoe. They'd been scared away earlier by a boatload of Israeli tourists, who'd bomb dived, smoked bongs and screamed, then wondered where the dolphins went. Thankfully, they didn't stay long.

Something nudged my leg. This time I was sure it was a dolphin ... it felt too smooth to be Carl's leg, too soft to be an alligator and too big to be a piranha. I tried to relax. The dolphins were swimming underneath, letting us move our feet across their backs. Every now and again, you could feel one nibble on your toes. They have much longer snouts than other dolphins we'd seen, and really sharp teeth. Move your foot too quickly and they could draw blood, but they didn't mean too.

Carl braves the dolphins

Reluctantly we pulled ourselves back into the canoe. None of us wanted to leave, but it was getting late in the afternoon. Mosquito hour was nearly upon us. It was time to DEET up and hit the sunset bar. What an amazing experience.