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No one is warned about the dangers of snorkeling in Hawaii. Mention Hawaii and visions of palm trees, glowing beaches, and rolling wave come to mind. I have been to Hawaii some eight or nine times, and never realized that danger I was putting myself in daily when I stuck my feet into plastic flippers and pressed a silicone mask to my face.

Capitan Cook's Monument is in travel books and known to snorkel instructors throughout the Island. But, you can't walk there, and the swim would be too exhausting for most, leaving the only options of exploration by tourist yacht or kayak. I fell into this latter category, believing in the satisfaction connected with propelling myself over the water. And so, I started paddling.

Upon reaching the Monument we were met with a few smiles and one joyful squeal as we turned to see a large seal playfully splashing alongside some fellow kayakers. My love of animals, and my ten-year-old desire to become a marine biologist came flooding back to me, as without thinking twice I jumped into the water to feel the thick blubber of this large creature.

I was in heaven. The rubber of his skin felt like a wetsuit stretched tight over a thick sponge. After several minutes we decided we would explore the depths around the Monument in search of other creatures worthy of our attentions. My mother stayed ashore, fearful that this 300-pound animal might follow us on our journey. Looking around and seeing that other people were now playing with him I chose to climb over the rocks and jump in on the other side of the cove.

It was only a matter of minutes in the rolling tides before we realized the sea was too rough for much marine life to be visible today. My father, my friend, and I swam forward searching for something of note, when my friend spotted an eel. I, turning the other way, and seeing the seal coming towards us tried to yell out "Seal" though the plastic hose in my mouth.My friend, thinking I was saying "eel" kept his eyes downward as 300 pounds of body made its way towards me.

At first I thought he was playing. He nuzzled my back and rode up on my shoulders. It wasn't until he started wrapping his huge flippers around my midriff that I began to get nervous. My own sweat mixed with the saltwater as my heart raced and the seal continued to push his body on top of mine. At 150-pounds I knew there was no way I would win this fight. I began to struggle under his weight begging my friend to do something—anything.

And then, it happened. His whiskers moved downwards brushing my buttocks. The keratin beard poked through the turquoise of my bikini bottom and just as I was trying to swim towards shore, the bristle of his beard turned into the sharp ivory of teeth as he playfully took a mouthful of my right cheek.

I shot out of the water, screaming. My dad, a few yards away came to my rescue as my friend treaded water nearby unsure of what to do next. We made our way to shore, escaped from the water by climbing onto an abandoned pier framed with barnacles and discovered that while I was not bleeding, a circle of puffy red marks could be easily seen.

As we tripped our way back along the rocky shore back to where my mother had wisely sat-out of our adventure. I was too shocked to laugh, and too stunned to realize this 300-pound animal was only playing—I had received a "love bite" as my dad called it. Had our friend of the sea wanted to, he could have done some serious damage, but instead only scar that remains in my memory—not on my skin.

The next day, sitting on the lanai eating pineapple, I realized, to my dismay, that I was not a special case. This friendly seal, which was not picky in his love interests, had made the paper. He was notorious for his many offenses, and had been shipped further out to sea so as to not bother tourists any more. My name was not even mentioned. I turned out to be nothing more than just another notch on his bedpost.