Try on the wetsuit in advance, they said. I did – and couldn’t get it off

Tall tales and true are swapped at the casual beachside Marlin Bar on Lizard Island which is fun, until you realise it’s you they are talking about.

“Heard the one about the chick who got stuck in her wetsuit and had to call for help,” says a local yachtie.

Credit: Jamie Brown

As the sunset streaks the sky and the drinks flow, visitors and anglers exchange stories about boating escapades and catches – size exaggerated, of course.

It’s been a favourite haunt of seafaring lovers and hotel guests since the 1970s and as the night goes on the stories get wilder.

“Do tell me,” I reply.

Apparently, she was short of breath, added one sandy-haired deckhand. Fast-forward another hour and the story is embellished to “she was almost cactus and had an allergic reaction to the wetsuit fabric and it had to be ripped off.”

“Luckily, she lived,” says someone else as they enjoy another round of drinks.

“Really,” I add, digging my toes further into the sand.

So just how do you get stuck in a wetsuit on a Saturday evening in your suite at the stunning tropical island on the Great Barrier Reef?

It’s not that hard, believe it or not.

Here’s my tale.

Wetsuits are design to be worn in the wet, not to restaurants.Credit: iStock

After a few cocktails and some wine at dinner, I wander back to my suite and see my wetsuit has been dropped off for tomorrow’s snorkelling adventure.

There’s a message about trying it on to make sure it fits, so I do. It’s a tight fit as I pull it on awkwardly, wriggling as I go.

Finally, it’s on and I pull up the cord on the back zip and that’s when the trouble starts. The cord breaks so there’s nothing to pull the zip up or down. No matter how much I twist and turn, bend and gyrate it doesn’t make a scrap of difference.

I stretch to the left, hunch over to the right, rotate and try to spin to no avail. I grab the room phone, but it’s come off the hook and the battery is flat and my mobile has no coverage.

So, what to do – should I grab a fluffy robe and drape it over me as I walk to the front desk, passing a full restaurant? Should I get in the shower and try and stretch it somehow? Or find some scissors? All my neighbours are at dinner, so it’s the restaurant route for me.

I wander up the path – no mean feat when you are squeezed into a wetsuit that’s far too small – and I take centre stage. Everyone stops eating.

I hear a guest say, “Is that woman really wearing a wetsuit?”

“Not my choice,” I feel like responding.

Finally, I am at the front desk and I ring the bell. The polite manager can hardly keep a straight face as she grapples with scissors and then decides pliers will do the job. At last, the zip is pulled down and I can breathe again.

Next day on the boat I hyperventilate when I see another wetsuit, but this one has a long cord that seems firmly attached.

“Easy for disrobing,” says my guide, flashing a smile and we both laugh. Word has spread.

Wetsuit woes are forgotten as I watch neon-coloured fish flash by, and a huge grouper checks us out. I wonder if I should fess up at this Marlin Bar gathering, but then decide to let the story grow.

It far outdoes tales of Tommy’s battle with a marlin and Fred’s whopper catch. Mine is definitely the story of the night.