Across the Ocean

The boat’s motor coughed and spluttered as it puttered through the open waters. I looked around and saw a pair of splintered oars nestled amongst the fishing spears on the floor, relieved we could still get back to the island if the long boat’s motor actually gave out. Our guides were probably 15 or 16 years old, but the two of them seemed relaxed enough that no one seemed bothered by the inevitability of becoming castaways. I can still taste the damp saltiness on my lips, feel the wind burning my eyes and feel the hard wooden edge of the boat bouncing under my ass with the passing of every wave. There was no longer any land in sight and I had lost all sense of direction; the sun was directly above us and North, South, East and West no longer seemed relevant. The engine stopped, our guides said nothing and I knew we needed to start rowing, or start looking for a flare. Instead, I was tossed a snorkel.

Half-disintegrating from days of blistering sun exposure, a faded fluorescent yellowing tube with a mask as blue as the waters around us, was paired with flippers not only mismatched in color, but mismatched in size. I clumsily extended my feet out in front of me, only to realise everyone else had left the boat. It took a moment before I found the line of colored tubes bobbing up and down as they swam away. I held my nose and ungraciously flopped into the water beside me. The cavalcade of colors that passed beneath me as I moved over the coral reef was barely noticed with my one over sized flipper flailing behind me.

When I finally reached the group we had stopped at a cavernous break in the reef; the ocean floor just 12m below us. Our guides dived down, spear in hand, and pierced two fish before banging rocks together on the ocean floor. Slowly, the reason we were here began to gingerly swim out from their coral havens. 3-4 foot silver beauties curiously emerged around us; their curiosity peaked by the vibrations of the rocks, their full attention held by the faint red stream of blood that trailed behind the speared fish. White tipped reef sharks danced between our legs, glided up our bodies and gazed into our disheveled snorkeling masks. Our guides continued to spear fish and pass them to us for the sharks to eat from our hands. Their rubbery skin silkily ran against our bodies as they moved with grace throughout the cavern. The colors of the coral seemed brighter then; the Pacific Ocean was alive and talking to us somewhere between islands in Fiji.