Oceanic Life

Tom sat across the table from me. Slouched in the padded blue benches where we ate our meals, Tom flashed an impish smile at me. We'd been sitting for almost an hour sharing stories, telling tales of younger years, Tom, like many diminutive men, tried to regale me with myths of conquest. I looked over at Mick, the other deckhand, who smiled into his Coke swirling it round ice tinkling the plastic glass. We'd finally gotten around the topic that I knew was coming.

"What the (sunshine) is a pastor," he asked as his forehead scrunched up as if the question actually hurt. As my children will eventually read this, I'm going to insert the word 'sunshine' for the word that usually signifies carnal knowledge unlawfully gained. (Sunshine) was a very popular word on the boat, not just with the deckhands. The word seemed to morph into every different kind of speech, sometimes it was even inserted into the middle of other words as if to stress the meaning by adding (sunshine) to it.

I am not a prude by any means, but it was interesting to me to watch (and listen) to many of my fellow fisherman transform from whatever profession they previously held to their new profession which was full time sailor, or even pirate, if you will. As beards grew longer, vocabularies grew smaller. So, when one of the pirates (fisherman) couldn't figure out what to say next it was just as easy to slip in a (sunshine). (Sunshine) was used for all verb tenses, nouns, adjectives, adverbs (which is a really funny thing to behold). I even heard one of the men use (sunshine) as definite article once. Oh well, what happens on the Capricorn Star stays on the Capricorn Star, unless, that is, one of the pirates writes a blog.

I laughed as Tom questioned me on my calling in life. "A pastor," I said, "is a person that works in a church and attempts to help other people."

Tom scratched his head and took a drink. "So you're one of those Christian thingies?"

"I guess you could put it that way, Tom." Mick had begun to giggle a little. Tom, twenty years of age, perhaps had not experienced the vastness of life yet and, due to the house size chip on his shoulder being small, it wouldn't surprise me if it took a while for him to learn a different meaning of life. Mick, on the other hand, had traveled the world, married but as of yet hadn't settled down. Mick was thirty-three, had reddish brown hair and a flock of freckles that covered most of his body. His legs actually looked the skin of a giraffe. I didn't tell him that though. Mick usually had a controlled laugh, hesitant, a few 'ha ha's' and then it was all done, but at Tom's second foray into the wide world of spirituality, he couldn't control himself.

"You don't know what a pastor is?" he asked Tom.

It was obvious that Tom's hackles were about to be raised and I could see him want to assert himself to Mick, but Tom finally realized that Mick wasn't laughing at him, but for him.

I changed the subject. "What do you like to do, Tom? Do you like to fish?"

"Nah," he said settling back into his seat. "I like to dive but I don't like to fish. It's too boring for me." I didn't point out the irony of his working on a fishing vessel and I'm pretty sure Tom would have thought the word 'irony' would have something to do with a laundromat.

"How about you, Mick?" I turned the question on the Mick. It was obvious that Mick was an intelligent, thoughtful man. He reminded me of many bartenders I'd seen, slow to speak, but insightful when asked a question. To this point, Mick seemed a calm, caring man who tended to gravitate towards the pirates who struggle with the trip. During my hours of seasickness, Mick was one of the first to see if I would survive. Almost a saint, I guess.

"I love the reef. I'm planning on getting my captain's license to do reef trips someday."

"I like to kill things," Tom said.

"Thanks, Tom, we'll continue with your journey into your psychology in a little bit," I said. I remembered back to the afternoon, Tom standing on the duck board, cudgel in hand beating a mackerel senseless in order to bring it up. I inwardly shook my concentration to move back to Mick. "I'm new to this side of the world. Tell me something about the reef."

Mick took a deep breath and smiled. This was his sweet spot; I'm sure we could have sat there all night and Mick would gladly have described every part of the Great Barrier Reef. "The reef is about 2,600 kilometers long stretching from the northeast tip of the continent to the middle of the east coast of Australia. Around 8,000 years ago, the water in the oceans was much more shallow but as the waters rose, the land 160 kilometers from Australia was submerged. The reef, which had already started growing in these shallow waters had more room to grow."

"How does it grow?" I asked.

"There are lots of different kinds of reef but the interesting part of this place is that the organisms all grow together. They are dependent upon each each other whether the reef itself, the fish, the snakes, the turtles, the squids - all of it. It's a very tenuous place."

Tom added his bit of knowledge. "The reef only grows about one centimeter every 100 days." He looked out the window his blue eyes seemed to be searching for something in the dark. "I guess you can see how old this place is." My mental arithmetic was not that good, but it was obvious that the reef was old. Very old.

Mick continued after a sip from his Coke. "The reef never breaks the surface. It can't survive in the open air and, usually, when it approaches the surface, it dies."

It seemed to me that the reefs should thrive near the surface as that is where most of the smaller fish tend to be. I told him that.

"I suppose that the reef could do well but it takes an enormous beating from the cyclones that wash through here every year. You'll see it tomorrow when you go snorkeling. You'll notice that the floor of the ocean on the reef looks like a dead wasteland. If you are expecting colors and beauty, you will probably be disappointed."

I was already disappointed because as I had dreamed of snorkeling, I wanted to take pictures with my underwater camera of the colors of the reef, the turtles, snakes, sharks...

"And, there will be sharks. Sharks love the reef." Tom was looking at me trying to gauge my reaction - fearful or feigned bravery. I think he saw more fear than anything else. The biggest fish that I got to see in Illinois was a largemouth bass which you could put your fingers inside of its mouth and maybe come away with an abrasion at best. Some of the fish we had brought up in the last few days had been chewed cleanly through by sharks. Some of them looked as if they had been cut by a laser. "And, they love human flesh."

Mick held up a hand and smiled. "Tom, you know as well as I that sharks are almost completely harmless. They just have a different way of sensing the world." Mick turned his attention to me again. "You know, Reid, how when babies are really little they like to put everything in their mouth - to test what it is?"

"Mick," I said, "All babies are really little."

Mick rolled his eyes, "shut up, (sunshine)er"

I opened my hands to him, "Please continue, Mr. Cousteau."

"As I was saying," Mick started again, "Just like big babies put things in their mouths, sharks do the same thing. It's the way they sense the world. That's why when some really big sharks are caught they have tires and metal inside their stomachs. They aren't really trying to eat them, they just want to know what they are."

"So that's why take a chunk out of people?"

"Exactly," Mick said. "Almost always sharks have plenty of food that they like to eat; you've seen how picky the sharks are here. They will only eat the fish coming up that they want to. They'll leave all the grassies and leatherheads but attempt to take all of the coral trout, sweetlips etc. They can afford to be picky. When a shark takes a chunk out of a person, a leg, an arm, a side..."

"A head," Tom added.

"Almost never a head," Mick said, " They are simply trying to experience what the strange object is in the water. They have an incredible sensing organ in their nose; not only can it locate even the smallest amounts of blood in the water, it also senses heartbeat. Incredibly, a shark can locate its prey by the rapidity of the pulse of an object. When it can't sense a heartbeat, it will often think that the object is either struggling or else dead. As sharks are tremendous foragers, they will cull the easiest prey that they can."

"So, what are you trying to tell me?" I asked.

"Sharks attack surfers because they think it is a struggling fish. When surfers paddle out on their boards, sharks see something that looks like a fish in distress. Then, when they approach the object, they don't sense a heartbeat because the surfer's heart is hidden by the board itself then, voila, surfer is now down to three limbs."

"Or headless." Tom was being very helpful.

"I'll make sure that I don't take my surfboard out tomorrow."

Mick smiled. "That would be good. And make sure you don't wear red."

The next day dawned brightly. The ocean seemed to be making her bed for us, the waves diminished to almost nothing. Warwick, Russell and I decided to try out one of the dinghies motoring out to the shallower parts of the reef to catch some other reef fish. We caught plenty of fish; at first I was catching the most as Russell was hopelessly working with what he termed the (sunshine)ing anchor rope. It was fun to watch my brothers-in-law work out their differences of opinion. Like two bulls squaring off, they argued over where to drop the anchor. I stayed out of it knowing that my opinion would be like the sound of mosquito swirling around the head of said bulls.

Eventually, we brought in a good catch of fish, then, as the morning ceased to be morning and the afternoon sun rose hot over the waves, we motored back to the mothership to prepare for our snorkeling adventure.

After lunch, Mick drove us to another shallow part of the reef where we could swim amidst the columns of reef. On the way, he explained to us why we weren't allowed to spearfish anymore, which was a source of annoyance to Russell as he had purchased a relatively expensive (for my taste) spear gun for the trip only to find that spearfishing was not allowed on Capricorn Star expeditions.

"Last year, not on Capricorn Star, but on a different boat, a man died from spearfishing not from shark but from drowning. There is a thing called shallow dive blackout. He had been doing too many dives down and simply blacked out while underwater and had drowned." I was already checking my breathing and preparing not to go under the water too many times. I'm such a wuss. It's like some well meaning Australian once told me, "Guess what, I heard that a guy was killed by a spider bite when the toilet seat he was sitting on released its eight legged prey on his butt."

I've been checking every toilet seat since.

Mick pulled over the reef and invited us to drop over the side and check out the underworld of water. He hoped that we saw some sharks as well. I didn't really like the sound of that, but I felt more comfortable as I looked over at Russell who was sporting a brilliant red sun-safe top. He looked like a gigantic coral trout. I remembered Mick's words from the night before, "Just don't wear red."

I guess Russell could feed the sharks first.

As we entered the water, it was incredible to notice how dead everything looked. Broken pieces of coral were littered across the floor of the ocean not twenty feet down and instead of brilliant colors, oranges, reds, blues - all those that I'd been expecting and hoping for - the only colors were greens, grays and dull whites. There weren't many fish either, some small ones floating across the top, but as I finned my way through the water in my oversize snorkeling boots, I realized how difficult it was to swim not only because of the oar sized fins but the current in the ocean is incredibly strong. It was like swimming upstream in a river. Added to that was the fact that I was swallowing enough seawater to fill an indoor aquarium, I didn't stay in the water that long. But for a few moments, I watched Russell and Warwick picking their way through the columns finding mackerel, cod, shark, turtles and such. Even in the wasteland, there is life. I waved to Mick, giving him the international distress sign of a horrible swimmer thrashing about in the water hoping against hope that nothing was getting in front of my rapidly beating heartbeat and he drove the boat over to me telling me to pull myself in. I was cold and ready to be out of the ocean but I was really surprised how difficult it was to pull myself over the edge of the dinghy. I landed with a thud. I looked up at Mick who was doing his best not to laugh at me.

After we retrieved the other two, Russell in his shark attractant top and Warwick with his six foot something frame, we drove back to the mothership and, after changing clothes, we hurried back onto our own dinghy to continue fishing. During the next hour we caught relatively little. I did catch a shark which was exciting for me, but Warwick caught a grassy and let it flop into the boat by my leg. I felt something sharp but thought nothing of it at that time but I should have looked at Warwick's face as he noticed that the fish had actually stuck in my leg for a moment. If I would have have known that, I would have noticed that a piece of its fin was sticking out of my leg. Funny thing, though, Warwick wasn't going to say anything because there was still fishing to be done.

There's a true pirate for you.

The reef is a beautiful place. Oceanic life is completely and utterly different than I ever could have imagined. The sea life, the five meter wingspan of a giant manta ray that flew past our boat, the poisonous sea snakes, the squid (I imagined a kracken to come take down our boat a few times) - everything including the currents of the sea was alien and beautiful. It is something that I never would forget.

That night we returned to our boat, our beds and our lives off the water. I approached Tom and asked "What are we going to be doing tomorrow?"

"(Sunshine)d if I know," he said. I could have sworn he added an 'aargh matey'. "But all I know is, I'm ready to kill something tomorrow. And, I'm ready to go home."

Isn't it a great thing to be trapped on a boat one hundred and sixty kilometers from home?