Bermuda Activities - The Wildcat 2
Continued from Page 1: Everyone began congratulating each other, exclaiming that
it wasn’t as bad as they had expected. Ten minutes later we
were back on the ocean, speeding up and heading for the
South Shore. We rounded the southeastern tip of the island
and turned west into a sea that was running five to six feet.
The guide yelled over the noise, “Hold on, folks. This ain’t no
pussycat, baby.” At this point the boat took off for the first
time. It hit a wave and rose some 10 feet into the air, and it
stayed there as it traveled forward more than 50 feet before
slamming down and throwing up a huge cloud of spray and a
wall of almost solid water, most of which landed squarely on
me! Yes, my carefully chosen seat was now the worst possible
place to be on the whole boat.
For what seemed like hours, although I now know it was only about 25 minutes, I suffered shower after shower of water and spray that hit me full in the face at more than 50 miles an hour, and that’s not all. The pesky boat spent more time in the air than it did on the water. We suffered bone-shatter ing, pounding hits as the great catamaran sailed high in the air and then crashed down again. Never once did it slow down. The cries of excited joy from the passengers as we had sped across the quiet waters off the North Shore had by now turned into screams of desperation. Everybody on board, except for that excruciatingly annoying guide and his crew, wanted the torture to end. And it did, eventually.
We rounded the western end of the island and sped back
onto the quiet waters and onward toward the entrance to the
Great Sound. The gentle cruise back to the dock was a definite
anticlimax. Everyone was exhausted, glad it was over. At
least, I was. During the 10 minutes it took to make it back to
the moorings on Front Street, however, I began to hear people
telling each other that “it wasn’t so bad.” I don’t know. I
staggered up the steps to Front Street where the guide was
waiting to say goodbye. I shook his hand and thanked him.
Yes, I thanked him for one of the most terrifying two hours I
had ever experienced. Was I out of my mind? I must have
been. That was my first and last trip on the Wildcat, and the
tour guide was absolutely right: It ain’t no pussycat, Baby.
What it is is a real outdoor adventure. It’s not for the fainthearted,
or those with physical or medical limitations, but if
you like to experience thrills on a grand scale, this is a ride
you should not miss. The price of the adventure might, at
first, seem high. I assure you it’s not. This is definitely one of
those times when you get exactly what you pay for. It’s not
my kind of adventure, but, for those who enjoy this type of
wild experience, it would be worth twice the price.
For bookings and information, 441-293-RIDE.
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