Jobos, pronounced “Hobose”

 

It was definitely an adventure. A Puerto Rico adventure.

Jerry and I decided to visit Jobos Beach, a gorgeous surfing spot Ross introduced us to on our last trip to Puerto Rico. We settled in Uma’s open restaurant with coconut mojitos and sea bass ceviche, marveling at the skills of a dozen surfers strewn across the bay. A few teens executed multiple 360’s on some of the larger waves. Amazing. After sitting a long while, we waded through waves to the public beach, hoping to cool off with a swim. We’d swum there a few years ago and knew not to go out too far, as Jobos has a current.

We walked out through warm water to our waists, then dove in. The deeper water was cool and soothing; it felt wonderful to swim again. After a few strokes, Jerry said, “We’d better head back.” I turned to see that we were already well beyond the other swimmers (well, wave splashers). I remembered fighting the current the last time we were there and didn’t want to take any chances. Right. We headed back but could make no headway against the current. There was a break in the rocks to our left, and hard as we worked, we couldn’t get past it.

“We need to swim across the current—that way!” Jerry yelled. We turned to our right and continued stroking across the bay. He was about ten feet ahead of me, and we were both fighting the current. I used to think I could swim breast stroke forever, but before long I was exhausted. I rolled over and backstroked to regain my strength. When I rolled back and looked ahead, I couldn’t see Jerry. I scanned the water for his gray head, but he’d disappeared. My god! Had he drowned? I scanned the beach, which was growing further and further away, but he wasn’t there either. I was being pulled farther out and started to panic. What if Jerry was gone? We could both drown, right here in Puerto Rico. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was in trouble.

A wave crashed over me, the saltwater choking me. The current had pulled me beyond the breakwater to where surfers waited on surfboards for the highest rollers. I had to watch for waves as I swam, thankful to ride the swells and grabbing a deep breath before others broke over me. I was exhausted, pushing myself to keep stroking. I counted strokes, trying to calm down. I had to do this. I couldn’t drown. When I was about to give up, I spotted a surfer within calling distance and waved my arm.

“HELP!!!” I yelled.

“Are you okay?” he called back.

“NO!

A dark-skinned head materialized beside me. Thank god! This kind man took my hand and held my head above the water, saying, “I’m here to help you. Relax. I’ll get you to shore.” A young woman appeared, too, swimming beside us. She must have brought the yellow surfboard that they worked me up onto. “Relax,” the man said. “You’re fine,” always with a hand on my back. I collapsed on that board, limp as a fallen leaf, thankful to be heading for shore. I’d been rescued. When I spotted Jerry waiting on the beach, I broke down. I’ve never been so happy to see him.

My rescuer, Carlos, had been watching me from the beach. “I could see you were in trouble. I’m a rescue diver, and I seldom come to this beach, but I know it. I haven’t saved anyone for seven years, and it felt good.” It felt mighty good to me, too, I couldn’t thank him enough.

Carla, the bartender at Uma’s, had been watching me, too, and she’d sent that young woman out to help me. She complimented me on being a strong swimmer. “You were a champ out there, but I could see you were in trouble.” It turned out Carla is a friend of my son Ross. Go figure. I’m beyond lucky—and beyond stupid.

What we hadn’t taken into account was that the wind was strong. Waves were higher and more powerful than the last time we’d been at Jobos, which meant a stronger current. We learned that many have drowned at Jobos, both swimmers and surfers. We were among the lucky ones.

When we shared our adventure with Ross that evening, he said, “The surfers all watch out for each other. We’ve saved lots of people there. It’s a dangerous place, Mom. I can’t believe you did that.”

Well, neither can I.

And I lived to tell about it.