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Travelling without moving

Dominico untied the black plastic and scraps of fabric from the aqua coloured, paint chipped, salt-pitted machine and began to disassemble it's exhaust pipe. Measuring three and half by five feet the entire apparatus; a small motor, compressor and gas reservoir atop to two ancient air tanks, took up a full third of the tiny rustic panga he, I and the sun-weathered captain had launched from the beach a few minutes ago. More than anything it looks like a prop from a 1950's science fiction movie and I, in spite of the rustic simplicity of my surroundings, can't help but wonder if Bill Murray as Captain Zissou will make an appearance.

I stand in the bow amongst the masks, fins, gaffs and two hundred feet of hose that, once attached to the compressor (together known as a 'Hooka'), will allow Dominico and El Capitan to roam relatively freely, though at great risk of death, in the cold water below.

With a strong tail wind we make our way out of the bay and follow the coast south past imposing rock faced cliffs, arid points of cacti covered land and the magnificent beaches they harbour. An hour later we anchor alongside a small island dominated by one single piece of rock the size of a ten-story building. Here El Capitan and I don our gear as Dominico fires up the old machine.

By now I have declined politely at least a dozen times to have a turn on the Hooka. Aside from being fully aware of the great risk of serious decompression sickness from rapid ascent, it is a well-known fact that many have died from lack of air below due to a kink in the hose or any other number of possible scenarios that might take place unbeknownst to the surface operator preoccupied with piloting the boat. Fortunately the offers have been gracious but not insistent as time used up by me subtracts from reaping the harvest needed to feed their families. In addition they are humoured by the fact that I prefer to practice 'Pulmon' or breath-hold diving and are curious as to what results I can achieve.

Over the next six hours we cover every piece of rocky bottom surrounding the island and its vicinity. Dominico and El Capitan trading off on the Hooka and myself making over a hundred freedives. Though my diving reflexes are at full force poor visibility limits my catch to two pargo (snapper) and a half dozen reef fish only good for making soup. The two Pescadores however have done reasonably well and manage to sell several lobster and a lucky octopus to group of touristas on a passing sport fishing boat.

Cleaning the fish on the bow during our return to port attracts a trail of seagulls, pelicans and other flying scavengers at times hovering so close and steady that the illusion of flight takes over and I forget whether it is us or the world around us which is doing the travelling.

Posted by pike at January 30, 2005 12:56 PM