Jaws reminisced

A thresher shark – at least one if not hordes, was the scene that repeatedly played in my mind creating goose-bumps and palpitations in the process. This is not a scene that is viewed from a safe and dry spot in an aquarium at the mall, but rather down 100 feet or so in the dark and cold early morning hours at a remote shoal in the open sea separating the islands of Leyte and Cebu.

Call it insanity or foolishness and I’ll slap you a high-five in approval. But when you’re a scuba diver, scenes like these are the inner cravings that need to be quenched or your life could be one empty and barren Sahara.

Two blokes and a feisty lady had to satisfy this craving before the unscrupulous Chinese cooked the last remaining shark fin on the planet. The trip to the very spot described above was an adrenaline-packed experience in itself, which added up for the need to memorialize the event in this blog. (At this point I need to take a break to calm my galloping heart and soothe my fatigued erector pili muscles – a result of the mere thought of the event)

In the year 2013 this threesome went diving the Japanese World War II wrecks entombed in the depths of Coron Palawan’s island paradise and while at it they couldn’t shake off the challenge to intrude into the thresher sharks’ territory, which could only be reached by a plane ride, a long 5-hour bus trip and a 45-minute boat crossing to the tiny island of Malapascua off the northern tip of the island of Cebu. This they had to accomplish before flying back to a world of breast lifts and implants, varicose veins and axilla hair and the reconstruction of vaginas that have been to a thousand heavens and back.

Last minute resort accommodations and dive reservations were done by phone while the bus wound its way through the narrow seaside highway. It was then that we were informed that by the time we get to the last town on the tip of the island all boats would have been stored for the night and the only options left were to bed down in one of the cramp, bug-infested lodging houses or hire a boat to take us to the island.

The first option was unthinkable because we only had about 24 hours between that time and our flight back to Bangkok. If we didn’t meet the sharks at Monad shoal the next morning we would have to wait for another 24 hours before the sharks would be available again. (It is their habit to drop by that particular shoal at about 5 – 6 every morning to allow the cleaner wrasse fish to brush them up for another day of foraging in the ocean)

The second option was actually our only hope to be able to come face to face with the deathly jaws and yet it would take another ride through equally deathly darkness on board a flimsy out-rigger over the huge swells and whitecaps of the open sea. 

We called the resort manager telling her to send the boat over at 8:30 pm to fetch us at what now appeared to me to be the last pier at the edge of the world for our final trip in life. After the deal was sealed we rode through the last stretch of the bus trip in silence, detached from each other, thinking of the possible death trap that we had inadvertently gotten ourselves into.

The pungent smell of dried and rotting marine life and the crash of the waves on the breakwater shattered the scenes in our imaginations as the bus grounded to a stop and the driver announced that we were at the end of the road. Oddly, but it seemed to me that his voice was like that of the Grim Reaper. We disembarked and the small pier was right before us and so were three young men who took our bags and motioned us to follow them. They were sure that we were the ones they came for because we were the only passengers left in the bus.

My mind went over a quick check of the situation: a pitch black night, an outrigger pumpboat and three young men who didn't look like they were old enough to take charge of our lives across the deep and dark sea. That was when I realized what it meant by my choices dwindling down to the "devil or the deep blue sea." We got to the boat and I gave a sigh of relief when I saw an 'old' man of about my age waiting for us. He turned out to be the "captain" and my fears were allayed.

They pushed the boat to deeper waters before starting it so as not to get the propeller entangled in the seaweed. The engine sputtered to life and we headed out to sea. Craning my neck and with squinting eyes I tried to take stock of my bearings. The sky and the sea blended so well into one black wall that the horizon was just not where it should be. The boatmen pointed to us a small line of tiny flickering lights in the distance and said that that was Malapascua - our destination.

At my age these ears of mine are not as good as they used to be, but that night it was like they had amplifiers. I could hear every knock of the engine, every rise and fall of the revving of the RPM, which to me was my only hope of making it across. I noted that there was no communication gadget on board. There was not one paddle just a bamboo pole, and I knew if ever the engine conked out we would be left to the mercy of the wind and the waves. I even imagined the headlines in the papers telling of some foolhardy doctors who were swept out into the sea and were the object of a search and rescue operation.

The lights that outlined the horizon got bigger and closer until we were bathed in the soothing and much relieving glow. The boatmen brought us to our resort which was surprisingly modern and clean and that night we dreamed of rows of white shark teeth with bright wriggling fish brushing them to a nice shine.

Before the sun came out the following day, we were on a much bigger boat with our tanks and dive gear all ready. An elderly Brit was with us and so were two dive-masters and some boathands. I also noted a couple of dive boats in our convoy and as we sailed to Monad Shoal our dive-master started briefing us on what to expect, how to behave and how not to become a piece of breakfast for sharky.

Putting on the dive gear is not a difficult task once you have dozens of dives in your logbook, but that morning took quite a while to get all set to dive. Talk about the sympathetic response to epinephrine wherein the body is primed for the "fight or flight" event, where every cell is quivering to jump to any need to run away or fight, where your fingers twitch with every beat of your throbbing heart. Yeah, that was us and we had to check and double check each others gear before taking the plunge just to make sure we got everything connected correctly.

The sun was just slightly over the horizon and there was enough light to make out that we were being dropped on a small plateau about 50 feet down after which we still had to descend by a cliff (to a ledge the same distance deeper) that was wide enough for our team. The dive-master pointed to where we could wait and I made sure that we were a few steps behind the local guys - not exposed in the front, where the action was supposed to take place.

My thoughts were still trying to seize the moment when the dive-master pulled on my shoulder and pointed to a slow-moving shadow about 8 meters away. I squeezed the shutter of my cam and held my breath as the sleek and graceful critter swam to inspect the intruders that were lined up like dishes on a buffet table.

She was the most beautiful and elegant monster that I have ever seen in my entire life. Our eyes met and for a moment I knew that it was love at first sight, and it didn't matter to me if she thought that I was blood at first bite.

The fear and uncertainty that almost had me the night before suddenly vanished and in its place came peace and happiness that I knew would last forever.

That day saw us make 2 more dives in two different dive sites with critters that thought that we were the monsters. We took the same chartered boat back to the mainland, the same bus to the city and the same plane to Bangkok, but we would never be the same again.