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Authors: Angela Morrison
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MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D IVE B UDDY : Karen
D ATE : 10/28
D IVE #: 1,251
L OCATION : Mergui Archipelago, Myanmar
D IVE S ITE : Black Rock
W EATHER C ONDITION : Sunny
W ATER C ONDITION : current
D EPTH : 105’
V ISIBILITY : 80+
W ATER T EMP .: 78
B OTTOM T IME : 50 minutes
C OMMENTS :
Shark Cave yesterday. Black Rock today. This place is freaking amazing. Other world. It’s like we’re on a tropical planet, exploring a pristine island continent that’s ours alone. Quiet, peaceful, untouched. Virgin.
Topside it’s blue coves, bleached limestone cliffs, vivid rainforest, white sand beaches with no footprints. Monkeys calling to each other. One island is even supposed to have tigers.
Under the water, I’m in a forest of brilliant orange fan corals—five to six feet across—and multi-colored soft corals. A bounty of fish.
Yesterday, we swam into the big cavern entrance—only about 20 feet deep. We swam down as it got deeper, narrower, and narrower. Along with the current there was a definite surge. My perfect couple was patient, hung there waiting to be moved forward, kicking only when the tension in the water relaxed. The surge threw Karen. She kicked and kicked against it. Wore herself out.
We spotted a couple giant nurse sharks as soon as we entered the tunnel. Towards the end of the dive, Claude took his divers into a tunnel chamber through a small hole. We swam on. And wham, right smack ahead of us coming the other direction we came face to face with a big grey reef shark swimming down the middle of the tunnel. That even made me take a double breath. Adrenaline surge for sure. We kept low and to the side, and it swam past us—glaring with its strange opaque eyes. Captain Jean told us to be careful of the grays. They are not playful pups like the nurse sharks.
But Shark Cave was nothing compared to Black Rock today. Four dives. Each one full of the big guys. Two bull sharks—kept away from them. All kinds of reef sharks. Zebra morays. A pair of cuttle fish—white, gold, black and brown—tinges of orange in the sunnier shallow water, alien creatures, flailing twisty fins. Swimming all over each other. Mating, I guess. Rays. A couple of eagles right off. A massive manta on the third dive. And then on our last dive of the day, we saw an entire squadron of black and white rays—mottled like a leopard—that I’ve never seen before.
Got to work on my fish ID. Karen’s amazing. She studied up.
“Keeps me sane.” She’s sitting across from me filling out the papers for the Nitrox course I convinced her to take. “I have a boring, boring desk job in a boring, boring office.”
“I thought you’d be a teacher. Or a nurse.”
“A nurse?”
“You look after everyone.”
“Must be the mother in me. I’ve got two daughters—eighteen and twenty. You should meet them.”
“Do they dive?”
“No, this is my gig.”
“They aren’t interested?”
“After my husband died—cancer—”
“I’m sorry.”
She nods, accepting my condolences with ease, practice. “I needed something to keep me breathing. I had the girls but—”
“Saltwater heals.”
“Exactly. You say that like you’ve been there. What’s your story?”
I take the papers, glance over them, sign the bottom. “Did you hear about the Dive Festiva? In Belize? Hurricane Isadore?”
“Of course.”
“That’s me. Story of my life. Dead parents. Dead friends. Freaked out from flashbacks. Diving my brains out to try to wash it all away.”
“Poor, boy.” From Karen, I don’t mind the pity. “You need a nice girl in your life.” She digs in her bag for her wallet.
I frown, and my brows draw together.
“Trouble there?” She rests her eyes on my face. Her cheeks get pinker. “I can’t imagine that.”
I shake my head. If only it was still that easy. “Do you think nineteen is too young to get married?”
She laughs. “I haven’t even shown you
MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #10
D IVE B UDDY : Karen
D ATE : 10/28
D IVE #: 1,251
L OCATION : Mergui Archipelago, Myanmar
D IVE S ITE : Black Rock
W EATHER C ONDITION : Sunny
W ATER C ONDITION : current
D EPTH : 105’
V ISIBILITY : 80+
W ATER T EMP .: 78
B OTTOM T IME : 50 minutes
C OMMENTS :
Shark Cave yesterday. Black Rock today. This place is freaking amazing. Other world. It’s like we’re on a tropical planet, exploring a pristine island continent that’s ours alone. Quiet, peaceful, untouched. Virgin.
Topside it’s blue coves, bleached limestone cliffs, vivid rainforest, white sand beaches with no footprints. Monkeys calling to each other. One island is even supposed to have tigers.
Under the water, I’m in a forest of brilliant orange fan corals—five to six feet across—and multi-colored soft corals. A bounty of fish.
Yesterday, we swam into the big cavern entrance—only about 20 feet deep. We swam down as it got deeper, narrower, and narrower. Along with the current there was a definite surge. My perfect couple was patient, hung there waiting to be moved forward, kicking only when the tension in the water relaxed. The surge threw Karen. She kicked and kicked against it. Wore herself out.
We spotted a couple giant nurse sharks as soon as we entered the tunnel. Towards the end of the dive, Claude took his divers into a tunnel chamber through a small hole. We swam on. And wham, right smack ahead of us coming the other direction we came face to face with a big grey reef shark swimming down the middle of the tunnel. That even made me take a double breath. Adrenaline surge for sure. We kept low and to the side, and it swam past us—glaring with its strange opaque eyes. Captain Jean told us to be careful of the grays. They are not playful pups like the nurse sharks.
But Shark Cave was nothing compared to Black Rock today. Four dives. Each one full of the big guys. Two bull sharks—kept away from them. All kinds of reef sharks. Zebra morays. A pair of cuttle fish—white, gold, black and brown—tinges of orange in the sunnier shallow water, alien creatures, flailing twisty fins. Swimming all over each other. Mating, I guess. Rays. A couple of eagles right off. A massive manta on the third dive. And then on our last dive of the day, we saw an entire squadron of black and white rays—mottled like a leopard—that I’ve never seen before.
Got to work on my fish ID. Karen’s amazing. She studied up.
“Keeps me sane.” She’s sitting across from me filling out the papers for the Nitrox course I convinced her to take. “I have a boring, boring desk job in a boring, boring office.”
“I thought you’d be a teacher. Or a nurse.”
“A nurse?”
“You look after everyone.”
“Must be the mother in me. I’ve got two daughters—eighteen and twenty. You should meet them.”
“Do they dive?”
“No, this is my gig.”
“They aren’t interested?”
“After my husband died—cancer—”
“I’m sorry.”
She nods, accepting my condolences with ease, practice. “I needed something to keep me breathing. I had the girls but—”
“Saltwater heals.”
“Exactly. You say that like you’ve been there. What’s your story?”
I take the papers, glance over them, sign the bottom. “Did you hear about the Dive Festiva? In Belize? Hurricane Isadore?”
“Of course.”
“That’s me. Story of my life. Dead parents. Dead friends. Freaked out from flashbacks. Diving my brains out to try to wash it all away.”
“Poor, boy.” From Karen, I don’t mind the pity. “You need a nice girl in your life.” She digs in her bag for her wallet.
I frown, and my brows draw together.
“Trouble there?” She rests her eyes on my face. Her cheeks get pinker. “I can’t imagine that.”
I shake my head. If only it was still that easy. “Do you think nineteen is too young to get married?”
She laughs. “I haven’t even shown you
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