SMASH! The first wave breaks over the bow of our Zodiac like the hammer of Thor, throwing a deluge of angry water over us. We clutch our daypacks, already wrapped tight in plastic, as if our lives depend on it. We pull away quickly from Silver Discoverer’s transom and head for the rocky shore where we are certain a rough landing awaits us.
“Sorry ’bout that,” murmurs Luke, our two-metre Irish skipper at the helm of the little boat. Six of us look back at him in trepidation, but that boyish grin is unflinching.
“Just slide towards me a bit if you don’t mind,” he gestures with his gloved hand and we shuffle our bottoms awkwardly along the edge of the rubber boat like wounded penguins.
With droplets of frigid seawater still clinging to his full beard, Luke fixes his gaze on the landing site, opens the throttle on the outboard motor and steers us in.
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