The Hancock-Henderson Quill, Inc.
R.A. Ascidians
The saleslady at the Korean grocery sells under-eye patches to cure wrinkles that I can wear overnight.
My husband would never go for this.
She tells me to wait until he is asleep and get up and put on heavy cream and the patches. Then, she assures me I will be beautiful when he awakes.
When we were on a ship going visiting the islands of Raja Ampat, my husband continuously wore a sea sickness patch behind one ear. How a 26 year Marine gets seasick is beyond me. The first night, the waters were very calm. Yet, we both awoke feeling queasy (unusual for me).
I stumbled into the bathroom and checked the mirror. His patch had travelled: It was stuck smack in the middle of my forehead. He did not get the medicine and got sick. I got sick from his medicine. Which is why my husband would object to my wearing a patch.
What if it travelled to him? He doesn't care about the wrinkles behind his ears. The saleslady looks confused. "How did the patch:?" Her husband starts giggling. Suddenly, she realizes. "Tee hee heee."
Once anchored at Weigo Island in R.A., the dive team are busy dissuading folks from scuba. Oh, they have nice snorkeling equipment that won't bother the photographers and the scientists.
Witnessed a nice looking couple be turned away because they had not dove in the past year. A hunk of a man had a medical condition.
Three others were denied, but oh no, the celebrities are not being subjected to this inquisition. Sherryanne, the lowly Economist is up next:
"When was your last dive?"
"Four days ago."
"When did you last get certified, where, and by whom?"
"Four weeks ago, in Mexico, Advanced Diver, by a PADI certified dive master."
"How many dives have you done, over how many years?"
"50 dives, three months. Here's my log with maps and color drawings of the fish and corals I saw."
"Gasp" and look of disbelief, as they thumbed the pages.
"You'll have to do a check out test dive, before we can approve you," they threaten.
They thought their tone was menacing, but I've been to the principal's office for April Fool's pranks gone wrong.
I cross my arms in defiance and brightly state, "I'm wearing my bathing suit. Shall we go now?" There are ten permitted on the check-out dive. Only six will pass.
Learning to scuba at the YMCA, we put our gear on in the pool. To get into the freezing quarry, I waddled across a beach backwards (so as to not trip on the fins).
Now, I'm seated on the side of a bouncing black rubber inflatable boat. R.A. is a collection of tiny limestone islands that rise high into the air, covered with jungles thicker than Cambodia. A white bellied sea eagle is circling us. Raucous tropical birds, parrots, cockatoos, great billed heron, egrets are everywhere.
Unfortunately, on this craft, there is no platform to gracefully step off, no ladylike twisting around with your knees together and daintily sliding in. Horrors! We are to do a backwards roll into the water. I got my first "F" in third grade, simply because I could not do a backwards summersault. And still cannot, but still fail to see how lacking that skill has ruined my life, until today.
Thank heavens, I brought along moral support in case I failed: I volunteered my husband to be the bubble watcher. He is to keep track of where we are, by watching where our exhaust bubbles surface. He tells me this is very silly, as a nice current can send bubbles off in a different direction. Sometimes, I wonder if his parents wasted their money sending him to Yale.
Sitting in the scuba vest that I wore on the six flights to get here, I'm thinking I look pretty hot in my diving attire.
I ask my husband to take my picture before I attempt the gymnastic entry into the water. He spent so much time fiddling with the focus that this is what he took:
"Look how I captured how you displaced the water. BTW, Honey, your hair looked great!"
The test has started. 40 feet under, we take off our masks. The salt water stings so much more than chlorine. Back on goes my water laden mask. Nostril air must be utilized to clear it. As a dedicated mouth breather, this will take me longer than everyone else. I just shut my eyes, assume a Buddha Lotus position, maintain my depth and clear that dratted mask.
The remainder of the test was proving I could be quiet and not get lost. Easy peasy.
Am excited to expend the remainder of my tank of air having a first peek at where we will be for the next several days. I am ready: My husband and I have spent Sundays after coffee hour at the Shed Aquarium memorizing fishes. Plus, we hung a laminated poster of fish in the "reading room." The names were in Latin, Italian and English with captions that read, "Moray eel, excellent flesh for eating;' "John Dory, excellent flesh for eating;' "Halibut, excellent flesh for eating.' Trust the Italians to only put edible fishes onto an educational poster.
The water is pristine. I see hundreds of multi-colored sponges, branching blue staghorn corals in every direction. A Regal Angelfish picks minute invertebrates from giant pink and brown barrel sponges (which look like pole transformers with vertical fins and no lid). The current was gentle, so we drift past purple soft corals sporting feathery crinoid stars. An octopus flashes a dazzling color display, as if expressing changing moods. So many Moorish idols, wrasse, parrotfish, surgeonfish and snails without shells, as well as nudibranchs (another article).
The most unusual fish was the Ascidian, commonly referred to as a "sea squirt.' The Ascidian starts life as a free swimming tadpole with a well-developed dorsal nerve, brain , sensory organs and eyesight. This tadpole permanently attaches itself to a coral reef. It morphs into a four inch tall, creamy white barrel with orange patches and purple blood vessels oddity. And, they say we change as we age!
It has a beating heart, central nervous system, and a brain, more than many folks I know. An opening at the top takes nutrients into its digestive system.
Unlike the above-mentioned barrel sponge that filters water from a single opening, the Ascidian has a means of eliminating feces through an exit hole. If you try and take one, it squirts smelly pee on you. Should have called it a sea skunk!
Stay tuned: Next week is "Exotica and Erotica of the Deep.' Just kidding, Dessa!