Goodbye Cairns. Goodbye 50 hours/week of work. Goodbye over-crowded, over-priced hostel. Goodbye drunken customers, rude comments, no tips. Goodbye.
Hellooooooooo Great Barrier Reef!
Am I sounding too desperate here?
My friend Bas and I booked our trip to the reef together, planning to be buddy divers as both of us had our PADI open water certifications but neither had been out for a while (five years, in my case). With two days and a night of sailing, diving, and lounging ahead of us, it wasn't difficult to get psyched for the trip. Even if we did have to get up at 5:30 to make it to the boat on time.
Sitting on deck in my bikini, soaking in 35degree sun as our sailboat, Rum Runner, gently cruised through ocean swells was pretty much idyllic. I plugged my ipod in and settled down in perfect happiness to read my new novel, The Sex Lives Of Cannibals by J. Maarten Troost. Blue skies met with blue seas, unmarred by grey city clouds, buildings, or land of any kind. We had nothing but the horizon and the promise of the world's largest coral reef ahead of us.
Unfortunately, my dive buddy was not quite as carefree as I. He was not a sailor. He was not a motor-er. He was not even a dinghy-er. Bas was seasick. Following the crew's tip to focus on the horizon when feeling ill, Bas fixed his eyes on the horizon and locked them there. When I asked if he wanted water, he answered without blinking. When people passed in front of him, he stared through them. Mouth screwed shut, eyes wide open, Bas sat immobile for nearly two hours. Staring at the horizon is really more of a guideline than an actual anti-seasickness rule. I decided not to enlighten him.
As we neared our mooring area, the fishing rod off the back of the boat gave a loud buzz and bent double. Shrieking in excitement, the entire boatload of people rushed to the stern to see what gigantic finned creature we had hooked. The struggle between man and sea was short-lived and soon we saw a huge yellowfin tuna thrashing just beneath the surface of the crystal waves. One of the deckhands leapt onto the stern platform with a gaffer in his hand, ready to hook the beast and bring him aboard. Just as he made his swing, however, the tuna made one final mighty effort to break free and he succeeded. Deflated and utterly disappointed, we all returned to where we had been sitting. Two minutes later, the reel buzzed again. This time, we landed a small skipjack tuna (not edible) and put it in a bag for shark bait.
The deck was filled with buckets of fins, snorkels, wetsuits, and, of course, dive vests/tanks. As the deckhands strapped our line to the mooring ball, we began strapping ourselves into weight belts, goggles, fins, and vests. The crew briefly briefed us on the wonders of the Great Barrier Reef and then it was time to jump overboard and experience one of the seven natural wonders of the world for ourselves! Camera in hand, buddy at my side, I deflated my vest and sank into the 18m depths. Visibility was incredible; we could see coral reef and metallic fish flashing 30m away from us through a blue haze of tropical water.
It's not often that the water temperature feels just as warm as the outside air, but this was an exception. Jumping into the ocean was a delicious treat. In one instance it cleaned the sweat off our sun-baked bodies, in the next it enveloped us in a cocoon of warmth. Even at 18m, wearing nothing but a bikini, I felt far from cold. Taking a deep breath of tank air, I could not think of a better way to live life.
On our first dive, we saw Nemo and his father, flocks of parrotfish, damselfish, butterflyfish, angelfish, surgeonfish, blennies, gobies, triggerfish, and several others. The reef was a collage of colours. From the purple and green anemones, turquoise parrotfish, red coral, pink fans, and speckled giant clams, it was a palace of jewels that we could only marvel at as we flicked our fins through the water. All too soon, our first 50 minutes were up and we returned to the boat to dry off under the sun, eat a wonderful a la carte lunch, and move on to our next dive spot.
We had four dives on our first day. Each one was more wonderful than the last, from petting a green sea turtle as it munched on coral to spotting a sea snake slithering through the shallow waves. Our last dive was at 8:00pm, just as the stars were coming out and the water came alive with green phosphorescent flashes. I was the first to jump in and immediately discovered to my dismay that my flashlight was faulty. It turned off upon impact with the water and left me floating in a void of black water and black sky. I tried very hard not to think about hungry sharks circling under my naked legs, about territorial triggerfish and their coral-strengthened beak-like mouths, about the coral snake we had seen earlier - one of the most venomous creatures on Earth. Needless to say, I was relieved when the rest of the crew jumped one-by-one after me. Contrary to my wild imaginings, we had a very docile night dive. Not a single shark spotting, though we had our flashlights flicking back and forth in a tentative but eager search for those tell-tale fins.
Utterly exhausted from a long day of sun and salt, I heaved myself out of the water after our final dive and immediately crashed into bed. Mine was the unconscious slumber of a truly satisfied human being. The Great Barrier Reef was everything I could have asked for and I loved every minute of my day.
The next day had us up at 6:45, donning wet bathing suits in a chill downpour. Gone were the sun and clear skies of the previous days. Grey replaced all blue and a chill wind made me consider donning a wetsuit. Acknowledging that all of them were wet, I decided to just brave the water. Forgoing a tank and vest, I decided to just snorkel this morning to give my ears a bit of a rest.
The first in the water once again, I was met with a truly unpleasant surprise. Jellyfish. The rain had attracted hordes of string-of-pearl jellies to the surface and every muscle in my body stiffened as I received three shocking stings to my wrist, knee, and ankle. I dipped my mask underwater and immediately regretted it, the jellies were everywhere and I had no chance of making it to dive platform at the back of the boat without swimming through dozens. Bracing myself, I kicked my flippers and kept my face out of the water. Two stings later, I scrambled out of the water and warned the rest of the divers of my encounter. A few decided to don wetsuits, but most just jumped in and immediately sank below the surface.
Shaken from my scare, I decided not to re-enter the water. Instead, I wrapped myself in a towel and settled down on some cockpit cushions to read.
The rain cleared as everyone exited the water an hour later. We ate a small meal and moved on to our final dive location. The sun was out and promising a wonderfully warm day to make up for our dreary morning. Undaunted by my red and itchy stings, I strapped myself into my gear one last time and made ready to jump in. Our captain informed us that this was his favourite dive location but he rarely got to bring people here due to wind direction and current. The rain from the morning had set the weather in a favourable direction and we were the lucky few to benefit by diving one of the Great Barrier Reef's most vibrant and alive shelves.
Captain Sparrow was not exaggerating. Our final dive was wondrous. A plateau of coral extended for kilometres, alive with thousands of fish, multitudes of coral species, and the promise of turtles. Sticking to the sunny shallow areas, Bas and I floated with the current, eyes constantly moving from fish to fish. It was a beautiful and truly satisfying final dive. We chased fish, did flips and funny faces underwater, explored trenches and small caves, took several pictures, and made our way slowly back to the boat as our air levels started to dip.
When all our gear was safely stowed in its correct basin and our towels hung up to dry, the Rum Runner started her engines and began moving towards the hazy mountains of Cairns. Heads full of new experiences, we sat in silence and soaked in the sun as we watched the approaching green of land.
With an offer to return to the Rum Runner and work as a deckhand in exchange for free accommodation, food, and my Masters dive certification, I was not sad to step onto the docks. I exchanged numbers with the captain and promised to be in touch, excited to hopefully return in March and begin work! Will I be able to? I'm not sure. I've got a lot going on in my life right now and it will take a lot of prayer and thought to figure out where I will go next. I could return home and recover from my homesickness, I could accept a job offer to work for the National Bank of Australia in Sydney in exchange for an extended visa, I could work and live with friends in Melbourne, I could move on to Fiji and India... or I could go up to Cairns. So many wonderful possibilities! Your opinions would be greatly appreciated : )
Until next time, thanks for sticking with me and I hope that my adventures may inspire you to seek out this wonderful world we live in!
Love and hugs to my wonderful friends and family,
xoxo - Katrina
