Under the Sea

Unfortunately, this posting does not have pictures to accompany it because Jon and I do not have an underwater camera. Shameful, I know, but an expensive proposition. From past diving experiences, we never got any good photos off the disposable underwater cameras, and we also found that focusing on photography really distracted us from fully enjoying the experience of being underwater.

This lack of pictures, however, has inhibited me from writing about our underwater experiences. But truly, they have included some of the more memorable, more magical, and more otherworldly experiences of our adventure. They say a picture paints a thousand words, but in this case, even a picture cannot fully convey the experience of being under the sea. Nevertheless, here’s my feeble effort.

We first wiggle ourselves into neoprene wet suits, don heavy BCD’s (buoyancy control devices) attached to heavy air tanks, strap weights around our waists, put on huge flippers and top ourselves off with big googley-eyed masks. We couldn’t look goofier nor move less gracefully if we tried. (Photos of this are possible, but I have some pride!) Quickly, however, we roll backward off the edge of the dive boat and we are in another world for about 40 minutes.

Initially, the loss of noise seems stark, but we quickly adjust to the sound of our own breathing as each inhale sounds like a spaceman’s and each exhale sends gurgling bubbles that look like jellyfish back up to the surface. As we descend, clearing the pressure from our ears and feeling the pressure squeeze our masks tighter to our faces, a new sound emerges: the crackling popping sound of live coral. Coral is a live animal, but it’s hard to believe. In Vava’u, Tonga, another sound caught our attention at about 40 feet underwater; a male humpback whale singing in the far distance.

After the descent, we get the lay of the land. Reefs have similar attributes, but each also has its own topography. Often, we begin on a flat plateau, which is the top of the coral reef, and descend along the edge to what is called a wall. These often descend in a stair step manner. Imagine a mountain that’s ¾ underwater; the ¼ above the water is the island, but the rest tapers down gently. There are also chasms underwater. Coral does not grow in fresh water, so a river or spring flowing into the reef creates channels that make for fun exploring. The island of Niue is an uplifted coral atoll, not a volcanic mountain, and has a large underground water aquifer stored in its limestone foundation, with many fresh water springs along its shore. There the many chasms and caves created mazes of reef that we explored only with a local guide.

Rarotonga, like many South Pacific islands, has a large, flat and shallow lagoon on its southern side, which made for fun snorkeling. A lagoon is the area between the island and the reef that surrounds it. After first being treated to a 10-minute show by a breeching humpback whale, we dove this reef, which, instead of having a stair stepping wall, the edge of the reef had a 2,700-foot cliff! As an acrophobic, if I were on land, I would be well clear of the edge of such a cliff. But under water, I hovered over it, peacefully, calmly and grinning from ear to ear. Not just along the edge, but actually pretending to be a hawk or and an eagle floating on an air stream well over the edge and looking down into a bottomless abyss.

The visibility has been amazing throughout the South Pacific. Visibility in water can be affected by choppy water stirring up sand and by run off from land. On coral atolls, this is not so much a problem. Many islands are small and have no rivers or streams for run off. They also often have coralline shores rather than sandy shores. The result is crystal clear water where one can see clearly up to 40-50 meters and 70 meters is not unheard of! When snorkeling off the outer reef in the Tuamotus, looking though 30 meters of sea was like looking through air on a clear day.

Then there’s the coral itself. The diversity has been amazing. In addition to the familiar brain and elk horn corals, we’ve enjoyed seeing red and purple fan corals, soft corals, and multi-colored corals. As a gardener, it’s difficult for me to look as them as animals and not exotic plants. Some grow out in semi-circular plates and look a bit like fungus you’d find in a dark woody forest. One type grows like a twig; no branches, just one long thin twig that sways in the current. The colorful ones often grow in clumps; a favorite of mine grows a mound of light brown stalks with robin’s egg blue at the tips. In Fiji, we saw small mounds of soft white coral, the color of ground chalk, but swaying in the current. And, it is impossible for me not to get excited when I see anemones. A soft coral, their pinkish soft tubes sway in the currents with their mouths in the center opening and closing as food passes by. We saw our first one in Niue and then again in Tonga and Fiji. In addition to being more animal like, they are home to anemone fish, otherwise known as Nemo.

Finally, there are the fish. Colorful little tropical fish, which dart up quite close but always manage to evade the hand that is tempted to touch them, include a myriad of angels, triggerfish, tangs, unicorns, butterfly fish, and sergeant majors to name just a few. Trumpet fish and flute mouths skim the surface while parrot, squirrel, hawk, and groupers cruise the bottom. Creepy eels, lionfish and octopi like to hide but are easily espied under rocks and behind crevices. Sea turtles are also fun to watch, but they don’t seem too interested in us---we’re not food. Fortunately, I’ve never seen the poisonous stonefish whose venom is a powerful neurotoxin and can kill you within 20 minutes of a sting. Unfortunately, I also have never seen a sea horse, but I keep my eyes out for one. Starfish and sea cucumbers appear static on the bottom, but I’ve read they move in herds.

And of course, there are the reef sharks. At first, I was afraid to be with sharks underwater, but I have come to learn that reef sharks are not very aggressive; they hunt at night, and do not find us humans particularly interesting. Still, I have no desire to provoke them, and follow the local wisdom of “leave them alone and they’ll leave you alone.” It’s their world and they are at the top of the food chain. I am just a brief interloper, as alien to them as they are to me. The same goes for the sting rays and lovely manta rays.

By far, however, sea mammals offer the most exciting experience. Whales and dolphins offer a kind of kinship with their intelligence, playfulness and ability to communicate. They permit us to be in their presence; and, considering that some of mankind has wanted to hunt them into extinction and to pollute and corrupt their oceanic habitats, they are actually quite tolerant of us. When I have had the chance to encounter these magnificent animals, I am overwhelmed by the sense of respect I feel for them. And I am thankful they were willing to share the water with me for a few moments.

It all makes me feel quite fortunate. I don’t take for granted that I’ll always be able to dive under the sea. It is a serious and technical endeavor, a privilege that can be lost for the slightest of health reasons. But as long as I am able to dive, I will be grateful for each opportunity, knowing that each submersion offers a brief glimpse into the alien world that comprises most of our planet.

Now, Jon and I are anchored a few kilometers off the Great Barrier Reef of Australia; one of the seven natural wonders of the world. We are waiting for the arrival of Katie and her boyfriend Dustin, and David and his fiancé Marisa for Christmas so we can all enjoy a couple of dives together. Maybe we’ll even try a night dive.