Linds_and_ryan's travel blogs:
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Whale Sharks? Whale Sharks!
Entry 15 of 17 | show all | print this entry |
Wednesday morning we caught a taxi to the pier, twenty minutes east of
town. From there we bought passage to board the MV Galaxy for an
hour-long crossing to the beautiful island of Utila. Utila is the
nearest of the three Bay Islands-Caribbean Islands under the dominion
of the government of Honduras. A true pirate refuge, Utila is a densely
forested, terrestrial animal and plant paradise, but its biggest
attraction is the coral reef that surrounds it on all sides. Known as
the cheapest place in the world to learn to Scuba dive, Utila draws
backpackers from every continent who are interested in discovering the
last unexplored, earthly frontier. Due to the small number of permanent
residents and the overwhelming number of people "just passing through",
Utila is a collection of twenty-somethings who have yet to figure out
exactly what they are going to do with their lives but are taking
advantage of the independence of their situation to see the world-just
like me. Like most tropical paradises, Utila has the power to slowly
drain you of any and all ambition, leaving you in a perpetual state of
relaxation and lack of concern. I am afraid if Clay and I had not left
when we did, we might still be there, diving in the morning, eating
tortillas with beans every meal, and sleeping under fans at midday.
As already suspected, our original intention for going to
Utila was to take the beginner's Scuba diving course. Half-hour into
the four day course we had already decided we would extend our stay an
extra few days to take the advanced course. Although there were
classroom and video requirements in order to learn the techniques and
the equipment, most of the course took place underwater. Our instructor
was a 20 year-old Quebecois who had been traveling since he was 16. A
photographer, diver, and traveler, it hardly seemed possible that he
could have lived all the adventures he shared with us. He was
adventurous and fun-loving; so much so that on one dive he had us drop
our swim fins and do the fifty meter dash underwater.
For those of you who have snorkeled before, putting a mask on and
sticking your face under the water opens up a new view of the ocean
that is startling and gorgeous. The sea is so grand, mysterious, and
inaccessible that it conjures emotions of fear, excitement, and
uncertainty. The metaphor of water-its power, its mystery, and its
unwillingness to be controlled-is ubiquitous in our literature,
religion, and speech. Therefore, the idea of putting oneself at its
mercy, descending into its depths, entering into an environment to
which we are not naturally adapted creates anxiety. In fewer words, I
was a little bit scared. Once underwater however I was quickly calmed
by the majesty of the underwater world. The feeling of weightlessness,
the lack of boundaries, and the astounding animal and plant life drew
my consciousness away from worry. Scuba is a floating meditation with a
thousand and one images to fill your thoughts. Three particular dives
stick out in my mind.
The first was a deep dive to over
100 feet, a requirement of the advanced course. We were lucky enough to
be able to dive to a wreck that rested at the bottom of the entrance to
the harbor. Once a scuba diver arrives to depths over 80 feet, the
combination of the increased atmospheric pressure and the nitrogen that
comprises almost 80 percent of the air we breathe effects the mind. The
sensation is similar to laughing gas at the dentist's office;
lightheadedness, lack of concern, and a silly grin plastered across
your face. Thankfully, as you ascend the effects dissipate
immediately. On this dive we were able to drop into the open cargo
hold and see a green moray eel that was purported to be the captain of
the ship. When we reached the wheelhouse, the three of us stood in the
now defunct little room; one at the wheel, one at the lookout, and one
on the radio, all of which were still intact in the recently sunk ship.
The second dive that stands out was actually the trip to
the dive site and the dive itself. While we headed out to the dive site
our captain spotted a tuna feeding frenzy on the horizon. He told us
all to throw on snorkel masks and fins and to jump into the water as
quickly as we could when he said "Go". When he gave the command it was
a spectacle of flippered lemmings off the side of the boat, none of us
knowing exactly what to expect. When the bubbles cleared, right there
in front of us was a 20-foot whale shark, a plankton eater and the
biggest fish on earth. We frantically swam to match its graceful motion
through the water. We were so close that I could have reached out and
touched it. Absolutely amazing. One the shark tired of us it simply
swam deeper and disappeared. Back on the boat we began scanning the
horizon to catch site of another fin and as we watched a manta ray
skipped across the surface gathering plankton. From there we proceeded
to our dive site where we were able to swim alongside a sea turtle who
graciously allowed us to accompany him while he ate.
The final dive was by far the most spectacular. The last requirement of
the course was to complete a night dive. We set out from the pier with
a red-gold sunset painting the western harbor sky. At dusk the ocean no
longer sparkles with the strength of the daylight, but shimmers with
alternating mirrors of moonlight and pockets of darkness. Clear
aquamarine waters become seascapes of shadow and profile and
familiarity is lost as vision reaches only as far as the cone of light
from your torch. We descended and explored until we found a patch of
sand where we could kneel in a circle. Then we turned all our lights
off. At first the only distinguishable thing was the blanket of
reflected moonlight on the surface. However, as our eyes slowly
adjusted, the objects become more apparent, never to the point at which
one could classify them, but enough so that it was possible to get a
bearing. The more patiently we waited the more richly we were rewarded.
At first we noticed that slight movements stirred phosphorescence. Next
we saw the eyes of shrimp and lobsters redirecting what little light
there was into little reflective spheres. Finally a jellyfish passed
into the very center of our circle, with its two long tentacles
drifting in a symmetric pattern. Like beckoning airstrip lights, two
symmetric rows of consecutive lights began from the body and lit
outwards until they reached the tips. Once the row was complete, the
initially illuminated points of light began to blink out until all was
darkness again. All the while we knelt there hoping not to upset the
amazing balance of these creatures with our presence. We swayed back
and forth in the surge of the restlessness and perpetuity of the ocean.
This place does not fall under our dominion. The harmony of it all
bears a powerful message for us.
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