Underwater ghosts

As the coral started to tear through my gloves and the Tahitian currents slowly began prising me from the safety of the canyon wall, I found myself thinking “What am I doing here?”…”No, really WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING HERE!!”

 

35 metres under the atoll-studded sea, breathing uber-compressed air had started to have an effect. I recalled lying on the deck of the boat earlier today. Cool tropical breeze gently blowing through the palms of my own personal tropical atoll near our mooring. The crystal blue sea was just bliss. My vaguely twisted mind could no longer comprehend how I could have got from there to this…place.

 

Ahead was a narrow chasm through which the incoming current was clearly intent on sucking me. Which was fine, except that floating in the middle of this canyon, seemingly

oblivious to the torrent was about 60 sleek white and grey 3 metre sharks. Like ghosts, they had appeared out of the blue, effortless drifting towards us against a 25 knot current. A current that was about to rip me free and send me hurtling into their midst. Oh good.

 

 I remember how pleased the dive group had been once the found that their onboard expedition doctor would be accompanying them on this dive. I was tempted to disperse their air of invunerability by explaining that if something did actually happen 40 metres under the water, there would be very little that I or anyone would be able to do apart from nod wisely and attempt to steristrip the dismembered limb back in place. But no matter. I had pride of place at the front of the zodiac. I looked around marvelling at their expensive cameras, diver equipment and titanium-impregnated gloves…hmmm.

 

My grip finally broke and I was catapulted into the current. With a flailing last grasp, I caught the edge of a rock one handed. For a moment I must have looked like one of those idiots from  hurricaine documentaries…grimly hanging onto a lampost before disappearing off into the storm. Oh well, there should be some good photos, I reflected as I drifted philosphically towards 1000’s of knife-like teeth.

 

 Every ripple and change in the current was mirrored in the school as they drifted, trance-like around me. I slowly floated through the middle of these beautiful creatures. They barely heeded me, only adjusting their position to avoid my flailing flippers. I couldn’t  breath, in fact convinced that allowing bubbles to escape my regulator would somehow trigger a mass feeding frenzy. Their sleek forms, unchanged for thousands of years were the epitamy of the ultimate hunter. Effortless, graceful. I was in love. In a moment I was through the school, floating gently away unscathed as these haunting creatures once again disappeared into the blue.

 

I was elated. Euphoric. The rest of the dive complete with manta rays, dolphins and huge hideous grouper was a blur. As the group collected in the relatively still water of the atoll, it was clear even on the faces of these infinitely experienced divers and photographers, that that had been a very special experience.

 

At that point someone decided the day had lacked sufficient action cleverly placed their foot into the home of a large green Moray eel. The moray, clearly unimpressed at being flippered in the face, had retaliated appropriately by ripping a piece of flesh from the small amount of naked ankle showing.

 

The gush of green blood was quite spectacular. Yes. At 20 metres below the surface, blood is green. A beautiful fluoro-green. It turned out to be a reasonable impressive wound requiring some significant debriding and intravenous antibiotics. 

No matter. All cleaned and dressed in time to share a sun-downer on the deck and reflect on an unbelievable experience.