Always trust the boatman.

That’s not a proverb or a figure of speech. That’s just good, literal advice. Because, let’s face it: humans aren’t meant to be in the water. While we can survive the water, it’s generally best to be wise about it, including deferring to those who know it best.

We were in Belize, and since we discovered a love for snorkeling, we tried to work a snorkeling trip into any travel that had some kind of spot worth checking out. As Belize is home to the second largest barrier reef in the world, we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to visit.

We booked a trip out on a boat to a particular little island, which we could use as our launching pad for snorkeling. But the morning of the tour, the boatman canceled the trip. He said the water was too rough to traverse.

Surprised to learn it was canceled, I ventured out to the launch site where we were supposed to begin our journey that day. I found it pleasantly—and a bit surprisingly—calm. There were a few little laps of water, much like you’d see in a lake. To put it another way, it was certainly far from the epic waves that require Jesus to calm them—or walk on them. If you pulled out your surfboard at this site, you’d look like an embarrassment to think you were going to have any kind of a decent day out there.

Douglas and I looked at each other, our mutual expression sharing disappointment and incredulity. We were both thinking the same thing. “Guy must be lazy,” we commented to each other. He just wanted a day off! We watched the water for several minutes, waiting for a sign that the water was dangerous. But nothing came of it. It only confirmed to us even more our suspicions: laziness, maybe drunkenness, but something other than the water was actually keeping the guy out of the water.

Rescheduled for the next day, we found a way to pass the time, meanwhile laughing at our lazy boatman. We swam in the water. It was more like a bathtub than a wave pool. We hoped that the next day we would be able to take our make-up tour, as our days in Belize were limited. It was the last chance we had.

To our surprise and relief, the tour was on for the next day. We showed up back at the site that we scoffed at the day before. Admittedly, it did look a little bit calmer, but that was like comparing water before and after someone threw a skipping stone.

It was just us, another couple, and the boatman. It was a tiny boat, like a little lifeboat you’d expect to see hanging off the side of a huge cruise ship. Maybe that’s precisely where he got the boat from, but who knows. It had a motor in the back and could burst across the water in no time. We selfishly boarded the front row before the other couple had a chance to consider their options. We wanted photos with no one else in it—no life vests to ruin our picturesque “Boat in Belize” motif.

Soon everyone was settled, stuffed onto the stiff plank seats with unsightly orange life vests so thick they actually probably work better than any neck pillow you could buy at the airport. On many boat rides outside of the US, life vests tend to be optional, but this time the boatman insisted we wear them.

We soon found out why.

Within just a few seconds of starting our journey, the boat lifted up high on a wave and came crashing down into the water again. It startled us. Had there been a wave we hadn’t seen? The water looked calm. Must have been a fluke.

But it wasn’t a fluke. After a few more seconds, the front of the boat lifted high out of the sea again, and came crashing down. This time I knew for a fact I had not seen a wave. But there wasn’t a whole lot of time to think about it, because soon enough, the boat was lifting up again, crashing down again. It was like the ride at the fairs called The Pirate Ship, where you lift up so high you only see the sky and you’re convinced that, just a little further up, and you’d complete a 360 circle.

Douglas and I were hanging onto to our plank seat for dear life, screaming at the top of our lungs. It was the first time in my life that it crossed my mind that I hoped this life vest could actually work, because I was pretty sure we were going to get dumped overboard.

And yet the water remained as calm as ever. We looked at each other, and between pausing to scream, we recognized that the boatman had good reason to cancel the trip yesterday. If this is how the boat ride is in calm water, those little tufts of waves were going to completely ruin us.

We were thankful for the cancellation, but also wondering if maybe today would’ve been a good day to cancel, too. All we knew was, the boatman was definitely right. And we should definitely trust him.

For 45 minutes we battled this bucking bronco of a boat, screaming with every lift, bracing for every crash, praying during the swings between that we wouldn’t dump overboard.

Oh, and the couple behind us? Completely calm and relaxed, enjoying their boat ride. Probably wondering why on earth the people up front were insane enough to scream every few seconds and ruin their silence. But the back of the boat seemed unfazed by the waves. Apparently, we were the only ones on a roller coaster ride, while they were riding the Log Flume.

We couldn’t be thankful enough to finally get off that boat and get to snorkeling. We dared not think about the boat ride back, but eventually we did have to return. We strategized again: we’d get on the boat before the other couple so that we could pick our preferred seats—this time in the back of the boat.

Smug with ourselves and ready to sit back and enjoy the show of the terror of the couple in front, we waited for the show to begin. The boat took off, and we were right: sitting in the back was a much smoother ride. But as we watched the couple ahead of us, something seemed off. They were calm. They were enjoying the trip. They didn’t seem to have the same Pirate Ship experience we had had.

We justified it to ourselves: clearly the trip back was a lot calmer. A lot. These people got really lucky, didn’t they? Did they still not realize the terror we had faced on the way there? How could they be so calm and happy? Worse yet, did we still look like lunatics due to lack of evidence on the contrary?

Maybe our experience was real, and no one else got to experience it. Or maybe we were being dramatic and the boat ride really wasn’t that bad. What I do know is, I have the boatman to back me up that the waters could be rough out there.

But I choose to stick with my Pirate Ship story.