I've written here before about the slabs, these peaks of the underwater rock ranges, which don't quite form islets because they're only a few feet from the surface and can only be seen when the weather is stormy and the waves are low. The slabs are flat, about the size of a table, and it's fun to swim and stand up on them. It's not easy; the sea has to be flat, and you get stuck in mussels, shells, and snails, but if you make it through, you've reached the summit. Ankle-deep in water, you're standing on the great marine esplanade, and all you see is the view.
The slabs pose a navigation hazard due to the coastline, but everyone who goes out to sea knows where they are. Even so, it's easy to find the remains of paint from the hull of a boat that has scraped, and if there's ever an accident, some fool always comes along and asks to blow them up, since they're such an important local heritage. There's one at the entrance to Les Secaïns, a large one to the east, opposite the port, one in Freu, and a couple in S'Adolitx. I've climbed all of these peaks.
On Thursday night, a fishing boat ran aground on the Freu slab. How it sailed so close to the coast is unclear, and rumors have spread. The sea is a realm of fantasy. The eight fishermen were rescued, and the boat spent the night aground until, at noon the next day, the sea swallowed it up.
The temptation to swim out to see the wreck has been very strong, but the weather has been bad these past few days. Getting into the water is easy, but getting out can be very complicated. Garbí Point, where the Freu is located, is a huge arm of rock that directly receives the easterly winds. Five years ago, a wave swept away an angler from Olot, who didn't survive. But I had to write the article, and, taking advantage of a lull in the weather, on Tuesday at noon I swam out to the slab. There was a stray ralinga—the rope of floats that surrounds the net—wrapped around the Freu rock like the spaghetti of a pearl necklace or very long octopus legs.
The area was surrounded by red buoys. I was afraid of getting snagged, so I turned tail. It was a dark day, the water was murky, and I couldn't see anything below me, only the shadow of some fish. Not so many years ago, a wartime bomb was detonated in those waters. Imagining the wreck, I boarded some young, sweet mermaids, like Mexican Catrinas, who invited me to get under and sheltered me in a net. I took the helm, started the submarine's engine, and we disappeared out to sea.
