NOWRAMP
2002
Liquid
Ceiling (9/12/02)
Written By Carlos
Eyles
Underwater
Photography by Jim Watt
The
sun, not yet breaking the horizon, stains the tip of the
low clouds tangerine. Shaped like horses they seem to surround
us, as though we were in the center of a freshly painted
carousel. For the first time since we have begun this journey
the sea is still, no wind to shake her skin and rattle our
bones. The day bode glorious as the sun breaks over the
sea, like and acetylene torch cracking on. Our Expedition
documentation team will be the first to leave today.
Gone are the first day's jitters and glitches from the teams
and crew. The crew, most, if not all of them, are life guards
recruited off the beaches of Southern California. They are
a hard working, well oiled machine. Their tasks are considerable,
filling seventy-five scuba tanks daily, meals, maintenance,
off-loading the eight and ten man zodiacs each and every
morning, six in all, then off load the teams, lately in
stiff swells that prove to be the most dangerous moments
for the expedition. Then, of course, operate the boats to
far flung places and returning us safely each day. Today
with the swell down and little wind, it will give everyone
a chance to breathe without the tension of injury constantly
hanging over our respective heads.
Yesterday afternoon we dove La
Perouse Pinnacle. The photographer, Jim Watt needed
shots of the corals out that way, but the tide in this strange
area was either going the wrong way, though no current was
evident, or the considerable wind shift stirred the water
up. In any case, the visibility was quite low, no more that
a disappointing twenty-five feet, of very hazy water. By
some miracle I managed to spot a ten foot manta ray in the
gloom and pointed it out to my dive buddy who initially
could not see it, only that I was pointing. He swam in that
direction and saw his first manta ray, and was delighted
with the brief encounter. This morning we are returning
to La Perouse, and I hold doubts. However when we arrive,
the water appears clear and decide to make my first scuba
dive of the expedition.
While
I prefer to free dive, it does have its limitations. Generally
a free diver can get much closer to wildlife than a scuba
diver, but here the fish have never seen a scuba diver,
they have no fear. It seems they possess either curiosity
or indifference. I dive down with the grand luxury of breathing
underwater which is startling clear. The landscape of the
far-flung reef lies out endlessly before us. There is something
intrinsically relaxing when moving unhurried along a seascape
garden filled with a pulsing life that become the beat of
my own heart. Soon I fall into some altered state, that
I feel coming on as I relax deeper and deeper into the dive.
It is almost hypnotic, and it is this state, I think, why
humans are so drawn to the ocean, particularly one that
is overflowing with life. It is as if the ocean itself begins
to flow through me, as if one is touching it from the inside
out. I drift, as if flying in ultra slow motion-on slow
breaths over a molten carpet of yellow fields, over alabaster
sand valleys, with cliffs of dark prisms bounding towards
a liquid ceiling. Fish of every shape and hue painted neon
with the startling brush strokes of Salvador Dali; striping
their wingless bodies in scarlet over lilac, bolts of gold,
sprays of indigo with burgundy mouths and mauve tails with
lavender fins and cerulean heads with amethyst eyes. I have
no sense of swimming, more like flying in dream state, the
ocean filling me with that which I cannot fill myself. Great
coral gardens rise before me, as though the most meticulous
sculptures materialized out of the hand of God, a gem cutter's
masterpiece would pale before such a work. Upon the sculpture
floats a thousand butterflies whose dances could not be
choreographed by the most vivid of human imaginations. I
am swept away by the beauty, my mind does not, cannot, conjure
a thought before the scenes that play before it.
As
the dive progresses, my eye, perhaps because it is overwhelmed,
drifts to the minutiae of the reef. Another world reveals
itself peeking out of the corners of the reef, and of my
mind. The minuscule live in worlds no larger than a goose
egg. There they mate, defend, procreate and die. I wonder
what they see when we are eye to eye, do they see another
world as I do? They seem not to fear me, their tiny markings
of white on black, azure on ruby, cherry on sapphire are
hieroglyphs of a language I do no know and cannot speak,
yet can appreciate.
Throughout
the dive two large ulua (jack fish) follow us, like stray
dogs, in search of an owner. They pass within inches of
each of us, looking into their predator's eye it is not
unlike peering into the eye of a bird of prey. It is a hunter's
eye, it misses nothing. They show a total lack of concern
toward us, yet curious they are never far away. Even when
two white tips sharks appear they treat them to the same
indifference. There are mysteries upon mysteries in this
water so rich with life; language, mystery, magic, and beauty
all the essential elements of life, and of healing. This
abundantly healthy place is a healing place of the highest
order. A place to begin to heal the deep wounds of the planet,
and in the doing perhaps to begin to heal ourselves.
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