Coral reefs; some call them the
rainforests of the Ocean. Home to an incredible diversity of fish,
reptile and invertebrate species, coral reefs possess a wealth of
biodiversity, but this wondrous bounty of plants and animals also
comes at a terrible price. The beautiful reef systems around the
world that we study and enjoy are also home to a terrifying arsenal
of threats, ready and waiting to seek out and kill the unwary, the
ignorant and the foolish.
From the mighty moray eel, which can
grow up to 10m in length and has been known to strangle divers to
death, to the vicious damselfish, which use large numbers to swarm
and overwhelm their victims, the coral reef is a veritable
smorgasbord of danger and death.
I've witnessed my fair share of carnage
at sea. One time, I startled a golden trevally, which promptly swam
straight into my face before fleeing into the open ocean. On another
occasion, a pack of ravenous lionfish chased my team and I from our
transect line during a survey, forcing us to abandon our equipment
and abort the dive. Every diver I know has their own tales of terror.
Some have been menaced by triggerfish, others chased by sea urchins.
I even know someone who gave themselves concussion after bashing
their head whilst unwittingly surfacing beneath a manta ray.
 |
| It's easily done. |
To this catalogue of horrors, I must
however add my own tale of marine savagery. Never will I forget my
brush with death in the ocean, nor the beast that nearly robbed me of
my life.
I was working out in Madagascar at the
time, and my buddy and I were nearing the end of our dive. We'd been
carrying out a routine rapid reef reconnaissance dive, searching for
new areas of hard coral cover to record and map. We were just nearing
the end of our 45 minute sweep and were preparing to begin our ascent
and make our safety stop. I checked my instruments, noting my current
depth and remaining air supply, and signalled to my buddy that it was
time to begin our journey to the surface. We orientated ourselves
correctly, and were about to begin swimming for the shallows, when
suddenly my buddy began to signal desperately at me.
He had locked his hands together, both
palms down, with one hand on top of the other, whilst wiggling his
thumbs in little circles on either side. I instantly knew what this
meant, but I couldn't believe that it was happening. Not now, not to
us. We were both experienced divers, and had prepared for all sorts
of eventualities and crises, but through all our training I had never
imagined that I'd find myself in a situation such as this.
I signalled back to my buddy, hands
outstretched with palms facing upwards in the universal “Where?!”
gesture, and he began to point frantically behind me. Slowly, I
turned around to look over my shoulder, and out of the corner of my
eye, I saw it coming.
Roughly four metres from where we were
drifting, a Green Turtle, Chelonia mydas,
was making her way straight towards us. Turtles are often portrayed
in the media as gentle, ponderous creatures, but nothing could be
further from the truth. Amongst the dive fraternity, they have a
well-earned reputation as vicious and relentless killers, and are
often referred to as the “sharks of the sea”. As I stared into
the turtle's cold, dead eyes, I realised that at that very moment, I
could be looking directly at my own downfall. This was to be the
creature that ended my life. This hideous reptile was to be my
undoing.
Repressing my initial impulse to make a
dash for the surface, I turned to face the oncoming nightmare. At our
current depth, a rapid and uncontrolled ascent to the surface could
easily result in decompression illness, and I struggled to remain
calm and assess my options. Obviously, I'd never be able to out swim a
turtle. Maybe if we were on land, I would just about be able to
outrun her, but here I was in her domain, and surely I would pay
dearly for my trespass.
I had strayed into the turtle's
territory, and I knew that the only way to escape with my life, would
be to face her head on. I reached down to my leg and grabbed for my
dive knife, feeling a surge of adrenaline and relief as my fingers
clenched around the sturdy plastic handle of the blade. As I pulled
the knife from it's sheath, I suddenly thought back to my dive
training; “Remember, a dive knife is a tool, and should never be
used as a weapon.” I cursed silently and slipped the knife back
into it's holder. A good diver should never act in contradiction of
PADI guidelines.
Nearly a minute had passed, and the
turtle was closing rapidly. She was now a good three and half metres
away from us, and still approaching fast. I was quickly running out
of options. If I didn't act soon, the beast would be upon us, and
then there would be little chance of escaping with our lives. I
looked back to my buddy, who was still signalling and pointing
towards the turtle. Maybe he had yet to grasp the peril that we were
in, or perhaps he had simply lost his mind in terror, I couldn't be
sure, but clearly it was up to me to act. If I didn't, we'd surely
both be doomed.
With the turtle now only two metres
away, survival instinct took over. I had to confront the creature,
but I don't remember making a conscientious decision, my body simply did
what was necessary to protect itself. I kicked up with both my legs,
placing them between myself and my armoured nemesis. Still she came
onwards, cutting through the water like a Toyota Yaris. As she
closed, now only a metre from my buddy and I, I realised that, if I
were to defend myself, now was to be my only chance. In one swift
kick, I finned the turtle in the head, sending her spinning away into
the blue.
This was our chance to escape! I
motioned back to my buddy, giving the ascend signal. He replied with
a sort of, “What the hell did you do that for?” gesture, which to
this day I've still never really understood. We immediately headed
for the surface, pausing only for a three minute safety stop.
This time, we'd been lucky enough to
escape with our lives, and as we clambered back onto the dive boat, I
vowed that never again would I be as reckless as to allow my life to be threatened by a
turtle (hence the reason I insist on taking a cricket bat on every
dive).
No comments:
Post a Comment