That's pretty much our routine. We snack before the morning snorkel, then come back for breakfast. We snooze until the post-breakfast briefing, then back to the water. We come in for lunch some time after noon, then relax until the mid-afternoon briefing. Back into the water we go. If the thought of boredom ever strikes it is soon dispelled but some spectacular citing.
A gentle knock on the door at 615 this morning said it was time to dress and head to the briefing room where coffee and cookies were laid out for us. I headed for the bananas hanging from the back deck and yanked a tiny sweet banana to tied me over until breakfast. I don't dare have my usual green tea or I will be peeing every five minutes. Not easy with a bathing suit, full rasher, top to bottom, and a second rash shirt on top. This is the gear we layer on each morning.
First thing this morning we dipped into the water in the middle of a school of banner fish. Black and white and yellow stripes are topped off by a long sweeping fin. The water was amazingly calm, and full of fish, mostly in schools, floating by. There were surgeon fish and fusiliers, parrot fish and more. No frenetic darting among the corals, just calmly passing through our space dodging the multi-coloured two-legged creatures among them. The morning sun cast rainbows onto the coral, and warmed my back like only the sun can. It was quiet, my own easy breathing the only sound I could hear. With a gentle current going our way, I tucked my arms across my chest and floated along with little effort. There were tiny fish, like you might have had in your goldfish bowl as a child, and big fish, like reef sharks, barracudas, and of course turtles.
After breakfast we stopped at a cleaning station and as promised, swam with the rays. They come to the ledge of coral to be cleaned by the cleaner wrasses. I was mesmerized as a giant manta floated up toward us and slowly passed by. A school of maybe a hundred parrot fish passed through our group, a mass of shimmering green, pink and purple. We are quite south, and here the coral is richer but still white-bleached and damaged. The water is usually pristine clear. We are able to see lobster, their white antennae sticking out from among the rocks, and puffer fish, trying desperately to hide from the pesky cameras. I recognize more and more fish each time I go out, but we have experts here, who can take us through a process of progressively narrowing down the options and identifying what we see. And the library has great books, which combined with people's amazing photos, ends up in an engaging game of name that species, or sub-species, or sub-sub....
The guides are amazing in the water. In addition to keeping track of everyone and making sure we are all okay (they ask me often), they will free dive to point something out or to take a photo for someone. When they see something exciting they holler, point, and dive to bring it to our attention. They will do anything to ensure you get a great experience: fix or defog your mask, take your fins and help you up the ladder, teach you to free dive (one spent a fair bit of time with Margaret yesterday helping her to get down), and of course identifying fish.
Must go. Time for the afternoon briefing. So once again I don a wet bikini, grab my water bottle and towel, and head for the doney (dough-knee). I know what you are thinking--I'm a sworn cover-up girl who hasn't worn a bilini (oops-two glasses of wine at dinner tonight) in years, but when you have to pee as often as I do, a one-piecer just won't do.
Hilight from this afternoon's snorkel: a nurse shark sleeping in a sunny spot on the bottom, undisturbed by pokes and prods, and camera flashes.
Back, and have eaten. We are all sitting up hoping for a whale shark sighting. The light is on at the back of the boat, and we all have cameras ready. Some are in bathing suits ready to jump in the water. The guides have promised they will ring the bell and knock on doors if one shows up, a whale shark that is. I am in pjs on the back deck; others have taken up dress-circle seats on every deck including the lower one. I'm not planning on jumping in.
A gentle knock on the door at 615 this morning said it was time to dress and head to the briefing room where coffee and cookies were laid out for us. I headed for the bananas hanging from the back deck and yanked a tiny sweet banana to tied me over until breakfast. I don't dare have my usual green tea or I will be peeing every five minutes. Not easy with a bathing suit, full rasher, top to bottom, and a second rash shirt on top. This is the gear we layer on each morning.
First thing this morning we dipped into the water in the middle of a school of banner fish. Black and white and yellow stripes are topped off by a long sweeping fin. The water was amazingly calm, and full of fish, mostly in schools, floating by. There were surgeon fish and fusiliers, parrot fish and more. No frenetic darting among the corals, just calmly passing through our space dodging the multi-coloured two-legged creatures among them. The morning sun cast rainbows onto the coral, and warmed my back like only the sun can. It was quiet, my own easy breathing the only sound I could hear. With a gentle current going our way, I tucked my arms across my chest and floated along with little effort. There were tiny fish, like you might have had in your goldfish bowl as a child, and big fish, like reef sharks, barracudas, and of course turtles.
After breakfast we stopped at a cleaning station and as promised, swam with the rays. They come to the ledge of coral to be cleaned by the cleaner wrasses. I was mesmerized as a giant manta floated up toward us and slowly passed by. A school of maybe a hundred parrot fish passed through our group, a mass of shimmering green, pink and purple. We are quite south, and here the coral is richer but still white-bleached and damaged. The water is usually pristine clear. We are able to see lobster, their white antennae sticking out from among the rocks, and puffer fish, trying desperately to hide from the pesky cameras. I recognize more and more fish each time I go out, but we have experts here, who can take us through a process of progressively narrowing down the options and identifying what we see. And the library has great books, which combined with people's amazing photos, ends up in an engaging game of name that species, or sub-species, or sub-sub....
The guides are amazing in the water. In addition to keeping track of everyone and making sure we are all okay (they ask me often), they will free dive to point something out or to take a photo for someone. When they see something exciting they holler, point, and dive to bring it to our attention. They will do anything to ensure you get a great experience: fix or defog your mask, take your fins and help you up the ladder, teach you to free dive (one spent a fair bit of time with Margaret yesterday helping her to get down), and of course identifying fish.
Must go. Time for the afternoon briefing. So once again I don a wet bikini, grab my water bottle and towel, and head for the doney (dough-knee). I know what you are thinking--I'm a sworn cover-up girl who hasn't worn a bilini (oops-two glasses of wine at dinner tonight) in years, but when you have to pee as often as I do, a one-piecer just won't do.
Hilight from this afternoon's snorkel: a nurse shark sleeping in a sunny spot on the bottom, undisturbed by pokes and prods, and camera flashes.
Back, and have eaten. We are all sitting up hoping for a whale shark sighting. The light is on at the back of the boat, and we all have cameras ready. Some are in bathing suits ready to jump in the water. The guides have promised they will ring the bell and knock on doors if one shows up, a whale shark that is. I am in pjs on the back deck; others have taken up dress-circle seats on every deck including the lower one. I'm not planning on jumping in.
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