I'm so eager to go to sea that I'm the first one on the large catamaran taking me out to Moore Reef, part of the Great Barrier Reef, about 30 km from Cairns. Diaphanous clouds waterfall from the sky, and wilfully fall in places no real waterfall would go. It's rainy, and promises to be a bit rough, so I swallow three ginger pills. Advice is to look at the horizon to settle the stomach, but today horizons are not horizontal, and not always visible as the boat tosses and rolls, and a great trade in sick bags begins. I resist that commerce: after all I didn't spend $190 to be sick. I have fun photographing from the rain-streaked windows, and some shots manage to capture the turbulence. Their increasing blur reflects the state of mind of many passengers. There is a brief burst of sunshine, which turns the sea from green oxide to pale indigo.
We eventually reach the pontoon on the reef, but the rocking does not stop and I am very wobbly-footed. I risk going to sea in an even smaller boat, glass-bottomed this time, and we glide above the coral at a pace too fast for a photographer who is trying to adjust eyes to a new environment. I want the boat to stop, but it isn't going to, so I alternate snapping and gazing and don't even notice the unsettled seas.
Almost immediately I board the submersible, a bit dubious about descending into claustrophobia. The coral is not so healthy or colourful this time: there are patches laid waste, by cyclones the guide tells us, and the colours are mostly drab. We do see a shark and a turtle gliding by, and a couple of divers, alien humans in an underwater world: all suddenly and unsnappably gone.
After lunch I put on my swimmers, last worn in the lake at Gryżyna with the twins. I undulate my way into a lycra top-to-toe, and grab flippers and goggles. I edge my way down the slippery stairs, and sit half-submerged, waiting for snorkelling instruction. I haven't snorkelled for thirty years and then it was to spy on a very large eel in the swimming hole in the Tuross River. A humpheaded Maori wrasse glides his blue spots and stripes past my knees, almost touching me.
Suddenly the life guard blows his whistle and we're all hustled out of the water while a floating swimmer is rescued. I'm no longer keen to go in. The water looks rough and grim-coloured. So I seek help to extricate myself from lycra, and miss out on a pleasure my six-year old great-niece enjoys without a qualm a few days later, when of course she spots Nemo, as well as spectacular coral.
The trip back is no smoother. Scuba diving gear is piled higgledy piggledy, and a great pillow of excess bread rolls sits on the shelf. Waves toss their manes energetically; the crew run barefooted and keep their footing; passengers stagger drunkenly, grabbing for any support they can find. The horizon again despises the horizontal, until we reach the shelter of the mountains of Trinity Bay.
When I disembark, I join the family and Kate's Bamaga friends at the Courthouse Pub, and eat pizza with my brother and his family. I manage to catch a bus home mwith a wait of only five minutes, and then spoil this efficiency by overshooting my stop in the dark. So the day ends with me walking a bit fearfully on the verge of a busy road for two kilometres, flicking my torch (yes! I was prepared. I had a torch) on and off so I could watch my footing, and announce my presence.
My regrets? I didn't snorkel, and I didn't have my credit card to do a helmet dive, which seems to require you to grin maniacally, but which also puts you underwater without requiring expertise, where fish swim by, literally in front of your eyes.
pommepal said:
Quite a different trip from the brochures but you got some lovely coral photos.
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Madhu said:
Agree with Tish. Your writing is very evocative Meg. Pity the snorkeling had to be ditched. But like you say, there is always a next time. I do not swim, and have never snorkelled, and watch the children dive in effortlessly with a fair bit of envy 😦
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Tish Farrell said:
Hello, Meg. I love the sense of adventure in this post – especially the opening paras – where you grasp the moment, come hell, rain or choppy waters. You also give a real feeling of BEING there – and in every sense.
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morselsandscraps said:
Thanks Tish. Makes me feel better about my timidity!
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Tish Farrell said:
Timidity – surely not – just common sense 🙂
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Lucid Gypsy said:
Oh how disappointing for you Meg. You did better than I would have – I wouldn’t have got out of the first boat! I snorkelled in TAR park Borneo but it was in water where I could see the bottom and in bright sunshine. You have some great coral photos at least 🙂
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morselsandscraps said:
One of the few disadvantages of travelling alone. I’m sure I’d have been jollied in if I’d had company – especially the 6 year old.
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Lucid Gypsy said:
Well done for getting yourself out there 🙂
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Heyjude said:
Oh, I think I would have been quite ill on that trip. We went out to the reef in much calmer weather I must add and in a submersible boat too, didn’t get as good pictures as you did and all ours were very green! I wish I knew how to snorkel 😦
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morselsandscraps said:
I was almost ill, but ginger pills and forethought saved the day. The ferry ride up the estuary at Port Douglas was a different story – and almost a sunset, but subtle apricot and grey rather than blazing.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
Oh Meg, what a huge disappointment for you. So unlucky with the weather. I know how good this trip can be as the view from the submersible (or is it semi-submersible) was wonderfully colorful and interesting when Mum and I went on a day trip to the reef in 1988. Full marks to you for being prepared to don wetsuit and prepare to snorkel, but again a shame that you had no opportunity to sample the delights of that before the window closed. You pay a lot for these trips and while nothing can be done about the weather one would think that a little more time, or encouragement, or both, could be afforded those who wish to snorkel but who are tentative about it.
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morselsandscraps said:
Hang on a minute! You were the one who relished a rainy day up the Clyde. The weather gave me a totally different experience from the travel brochure one, and the weather was what the weather was. There was no space for snorkelling help because I wasn’t lined up waiting for it after the emergency, and my wimpishness was totally my responsibility. I’m sure if there’d been no rescue I’d have received all the help I needed. I didn’t actually feel unlucky. Next time! I’m driving a campervan and braving a car ferry (nothing to brave!) so I’m sure I’ll snorkel again one day.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
The Clyde was a different kind of adventure, in which overcast skies and light rain enhanced opportunities for photography. To me, anyway, being on the reef is all about bright light and colour. So, while understanding that nothing can be done about the weather, it is OK to be a little disappointed, isn’t it? Thanks for explaining a bit more about the emergency. It would have taken a bit of a bite out the available time if you were at all hesitant. As I said, good on you for being prepared to have a go.
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