A spot of tropical snorkelling revealed some nasty truths for columnist Wyn Drabble.
Wyn Drabble is a teacher of English, writer, public speaker and musician. He is based in Hawke’s Bay.
OPINION
You couldn’t call it a fault. No, it can’t be considered a failing to live in a dream world from time to time.
Dreaming can provide much-needed escape. Or inspiration. Dreams have even fuelled historical visionaries to groundbreaking discoveries.
Please allow me to share one example which, while not groundbreaking, had a profound effect on me at the time.
Call it mere daydreaming if you will. This dream was shattered on one of the far-flung Fijian islands which you can reach by taking a three-hour flight and following it with a sea journey of similar length.
The dream centred on a tropical underwater wonderland, a magical place where fish were rainbow colours and anemones softly opened and closed their frills trying to tempt the even tinier inhabitants into the fatal interior. The frills, triggered by the slightest touch, could fire a mini-harpoon into the intruder releasing paralysing neurotoxins.
A much larger wise fish might appear to float and watch over the scene, its eyes darting, alert to the perils of even larger predators.
But nothing appeared sinister; each was simply playing its part in the far greater world that is our planet. Sea grass swayed gently as if to emphasise the natural beauty, the purity of the scene.
Now and then a small creature scampered across the seabed, stirring up a cloud of sand which, for just a few moments, obscured one’s view of the enchanted world ahead.
In my imagination, some of the fish would swim right up to the face of the blubbery invader that was me. Of course I said hello but all that produced was a tower of rising bubbles whose trapped sound may have been released when they popped on the sea’s surface.
Me: Hello fish. Any big plans for the weekend?
Fish: !
Me: Sorry to intrude. I’ll get out of your way now.
Fish: !
Anemone (waving tentacles): Can I tempt you to my paralysing toxins?
These were the (perhaps fanciful) visions in my mind as I walked along the white silken sands under the curved coconut palms to the little inlet that would be home to my first experience of snorkelling in tropical waters.
The water temperature did not disappoint. It never does in the tropics; always a welcome change from the rather chillier waters of home. No wetsuit required.
Under the water I opened my eyes and there, not three feet in front of me, was what could have been a large and rotund squid propelling itself gracefully through the water. But it wasn’t.
Closer inspection revealed that it was in fact a plastic supermarket shopping bag inflated into a parachute by the gentle currents. It morphed into different sculptured shapes as new currents changed its direction.
I had just enough time to dismiss it as a one-off intrusion when I spotted the next creature, an almost transparent and probably rare Pacific floating flatfish which seemed to have six perfectly matched holes in its body like six empty stomachs waiting to be filled or six open mouths waiting to be fed with marine bounty.
Then, on the seabed, I spotted a former inhabitant of one of the stomachs. Like a museum exhibit it was even labelled for my convenience; on its green body were written the words Fiji Bitter 4.6% alcohol.
I surfaced quickly and sought the comfort of a fluffy towel and the mother ship. One of the crew members asked if I had enjoyed my dream world. My answer consisted of seven words only: mankind has a lot to answer for.
And I headed to the bar for a frosty Fiji Bitter.