Fish Soup (It’s Been a While)

I’ve not really been underwater since leaving PNG, which was where I really developed a love for diving.  I also learned to be comfortable (mostly) in the water.  I’ve always been a good swimmer, but what lurks beneath the water, out of sight, has always scared me a little.  Not until I saw my first shark (a cute little black-tip) did I realise that the wildlife under the waves is overwhelmingly beautiful, and something to be cherished, not feared.

In Fiji I managed a couple of dives, and a good deal of snorkelling on one of the most spectacular beachside reefs I’ve ever had the joy of splashing across.  I re-acquainted myself with some old fishy friends (you’ve already seen my latest Anemonefish post- bless their stripey orange socks), as well as meet some new ones.

A little sampler below.

First off the mark is an old favourite.  This colour-strewn fellow is known, for painfully apparent reasons, as the Picasso Triggerfish.  He looks rather as if a box of crayons has vomited on him (similar things could be said about the work of his namesake, if you ask me).  As my old diving buddy Jan continuously points out, Triggerfish are notoriously territorial, and it’s well worth keep an eye on what they’re up to when you’re in their territory.  However the Picasso is not generally among the most aggressive species (at least in my experience).  They are, however, incredibly flighty, and I was very chuffed to be able to get this shot before he shimmied off among the coral branches.  I am always delighted to find one of these flitting around the reef, as they are visually stunning to look at.  One I’ve seen for years, but never fails to delight.

A bit of trivia, for those not in the know: The Picasso Triggerfish, and its similarly patterned cousin the Reef Triggerfish, together share the honour of being the State Fish of Hawaii.  In the native Hawaiian tongue, they share the polysyllabic but oh-so-delightful-to-recite name of Humuhumunukunukuapua’a (“triggerfish with the snout of a pig”).

This ethereal beauty is a species of Reef Squid (I have no idea which one).  I’ve seen squidlets around on dives before, but I’ve never seen this species, nor anything quite like its enchanting behaviour.  Nearly translucent in the water, they drift with an almost tangible silence, the fins that surround their body undulating to propel them forwards.  Or backwards.  I’m not actually sure which end is which.

We came across them as they approached us in a curious line, almost like a flight of aircraft on a recce.  Again quick to flit off, eventually they came back for another curious gaze, and hovered in the water just below us.  On the third or forth occasion that they delighted us with a swim-past I managed to get a series of shots which I was very pleased with.  You can clearly see the delicate markings on the larger shot, while processing the other image for white balance and colour temperature revealed a pink-red hue that was quite unexpected but utterly wonderful.  One of the stranger wayfarers we stumbled upon on the reef, but certainly one of the more wonderful.

Next up, another tried and true favourite.  Known to Nemo fans as Scar, and regretfully voiced by Willem Dafoe, the Moorish Idol is commonplace to many tropical reefs- but is by no means common in appearance.  (For clarification, I have nothing against Dafoe- in fact, very much enjoy his on-screen presence; but his gravelly voice is far too sinister to represent such a gorgeous fish).  While the fish itself is seen often, many people don’t know its name, and assume it is a type of Bannerfish, or an Angelfish (justifiable because of its spectacular appearance, not because it bears any resemblance to the various species of Angelfish, which are markedly different).  The yellow-black-and-white patterns also resemble some species of Batfish, though on the latter- which is larger- the colours are far more muted.

This photo isn’t about to win any awards, but like many other fish on the reef, the Idol doesn’t stay idle for long.

This is a Three-Stripe Damselfish (Dascyllus Aruanus).  I don’t have much to say about it, except that they’re very pretty.

The Three-Stripe has a little cousin, the Reticulated Dascyllus.  These much tinier fish are often seen congregating around coral plates and outcrops, and have a terribly delicate appearance- very lovely to watch.

And this one is a Royal Angelfish.  REALLY pretty.  I like these ones. 

These next two shots are of another favourite, the Blue-Green Chromis.  Here they’re flitting among the branches of a coral thicket.  They’re beautiful fish- they swim in shimmering shoals near the surface of the water, darting down as one unit with a gleam of shining flanks that looks positively metallic (hence the name).  Out of direct sunlight, the strong colour of their scales really shows up.  They’re a delight to snorkel amongst, always hovering just beyond the tips of your fingers as you drift past.

Another commoner- so common I don’t even know its name- is this stripey fellow.  I leave you with this one, and a cheeky little face-off from our regular guest here, the spunky Anemonefish.

Blue Lagoon Beach Resort: The Real Slice of Paradise

The last time I wrote about Paradise, I was being more than a little ironic. PNG was far from my idea of a good time- however pretty the pictures look. The post was hard, I struggled with the culture and the professional isolation, and for all the good diving and some of the good folks I spent time out there with, it was still a relief to move on to a different stage in my personal and professional life.

I went to Fiji in July. It was my fourth trip to the little island nation. I went once for a family holiday in 2001, followed by a couple of work trips in 2008 and earlier this year, and this latest trip was a combination work-play. The first two weeks were to be spent helping manage an interagency disaster simulation for NGO staff in the Pacific across half a dozen agencies, as well as Fijian government representatives. The third week I was to be joined by my [now] fiancee for a bit of relaxation on a small island.

I’ve always figured Fiji for a nice enough place, without being really special. It’s a bit synonymous with package holidays and honeymoons, a sort of upmarket Bali with fancy hotels belying a fragile national economy. We booked into a resort hotel based on input from TripAdvisor, and despite the glowing reviews I was a little dubious. The idea of packaged meals and a resort-style trip (something I’m not at all familiar with) left me a little uneasy.

Besides, I’ve been to a lot of places. Over 50 countries worldwide. A whole bunch of beautiful beaches and coastal holiday areas- Cairns, Noosa and Sydney in Australia, dozens of places in New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu, the Solomon Islands, Thailand, Sri Lanka, Haiti, Hawaii, Tahiti and Mombasa- to name an incomplete list. I’ve snorkelled or dived in most of those places, swum and relaxed or sunbathed (to some extent) in all.

So when I say that the Blue Lagoon Resort in Nacula is as close to beach paradise as I’ve come across, I know what I’m talking about.

Overview

Where to start? I’m a bit overwhelmed really.

Well, first off, an overview. A brand-new resort, Blue Lagoon pitches itself as a mid-range option to independent travelers that suits budgets of better-off backpackers and flashpackers and young families. It’s quite boutiquey- probably around sixty guests at any one time- and it’s a ways out there too- some four and a half hours’ boat ride from Nadi, and at the top end of the Yasawa group of Islands off Vitu Levu’s west coast.

Nacula is a decent-sized island about 10km long and maybe 2-3 wide at its widest. The resort is situated on a beach shared with one other low-key resort on the west side of the island, giving it stunning views at dusk as the sun sets over the Pacific.

And the beach is the one you’d create if you had a drawing board and 10 million years of geological time at your disposal.

It’s an arc of white sand sloping from a green verge into a turquoise lagoon of calm warm sea. The lagoon itself slides away on a shallow gradient where a natural channel has formed through the coral reef, while small waves lick quietly at the shoreline.

More on the reef presently.

I’d heard nice things about the resort, but had a feeling that, based on the slightly backpacker-ish pitch of some of the material I’d read (they have a backpackers dorm as an accomodation option) I was concerned that maybe the rooms would be a little pokey. I’d settled myself with the thought that even if the rooms were a bit small and/or run-down, the main attraction was being out and about on the beach, so I steeled myself for the worst.

Unnecessary.

The Place

The rooms are delightful. We booked a Delux Garden View room, set back a row from the beach among lush and flowery growth, riddled by sandy footpaths. Stepping inside, the bure was large and spacious, with a high open ceiling, fan, wooden slat-blinds that allowed free-flow of air, and an open-air bathroom with magnificent shower. It was clean, new, well-built, and smacked of simple quality.  It was light. It was airy. And sitting on the foot of the bed, you could look straight out of the front door and (despite not being an sea-view room) see the irridescent aqua of the lagoon itself.

Really, once you hit location and accomodation, you don’t need too much more than that to go right to have a good time. None the less, there was more.

I’m not a fan of Pacific cuisine (sorry to any of my island readers out there). A year in Melanesia didn’t overwhelm me with vibrant culinary experiences, so I was a little suspect at having to package all our meals in with the accomodation, and face the prospect of not getting to choose off a menu. But again, this was completely unnecessary.

The food is great. A wide variety of styles- curries, fish, western, asian and Pacific- is on offer, with meals varying each night of the week, and a limited a-la-blackboard menu option at lunch time as well. The dishes themselves were nearly universally tasty, and the variety and volume left nothing to be desired. You do need to plan ahead a little, as meal-times are set and there aren’t stacks of between-meal options, but we had a little heap of biscuits with us that we never made it through, testament to being well fed. Communal eating didn’t really appeal at first (dinner takes place at shared tables- gasp!), but the barefoot vibe of the place (and the travellers frequenting it) facilitates a really chilled-out opportunity to get to know people.

The Experience

Never a package-holiday traveller, I wasn’t particularly interested in the daily activities that the hotel lays on, but in fact they had some fantastic little trips available, of which we partook several. Snorkelling trips to explore other nearby reefs, sunset and drinks on the sandbar (we missed this one, sigh), a hike up to the island’s highest peak (beautiful views), and a handful of cultural visits as well were all on the menu. A must-do trip is to the Nacula Caves, which involves a series of swim-throughs of saltwater limestone caves at the top end of the island- not for the claustrophobic, but otherwise a unique and fantastic morning which everybody enjoyed.

An aspect of the resort which we really appreciated was the attitude of the management. Run by Australasian expats, the management are accessible, friendly and helpful, and mingle easily with the guests. The local Fijian staff are warm, welcoming and hospitable, as well as being very professional. It’s the sort of place where you get to know the staff by name- and they you.

More to the point, the resort prides itself on its links to the local communities on the island- something that we found especially important in terms of our own values in this area. As well as trips which incorporate, employ and interact with villagers, the resort runs a scholarship fund for students on the island to which cover costs of fees, uniforms and school supplies, as well as contribute to the maintainence of the school facilities. Guests are invited to contribute to the fund, and the resort will match dollar-for-dollar whatever is donated. There is a sense of respect and interaction between the resort and the village, which I hope the management will be able to maintain as the resort ages.

I would be wrong not to return to the lovely reef. Quite aside from the access to a number of dive-sites in the area via the on-site dive-shop (do the shark dive), the snorkelling is, well, unlike any other beach snorkelling I’ve done. While I’ve seen a handful of reefs that are more vibrantly coloured close in to shore (but only a handful), the diversity and volume of fish-life was a delight, and never this accessible, anywhere. If I reel off a bunch from memory, there were Triggerfish, Moorish Idols, Parrotfish, Chromis, Anthias, Unicornfish, Sweetlips, Jackfish, Dascyllus, and a host of other reef favourites. The more special visitors included a shoal of Reef Squid, Stingrays, a huge Octopus and a metre-long Barracuda- all within 10 metres of the beach itself! The reef is accessible at high- and low-tide (and in fact the reef life differs at the two extremes, worth checking out), and more to the point it’s a joy to swim along; the channel provides a shallow sandy-floored passage that drops to a couple of metres in depth for a long way out into the lagoon and which is very comfortable to swim along, and the reef raises a wall along the southern edge of that passage where most of the action is. It’s a safe, enjoyable way to investigate the sea life, and we did it every day, and loved it.  For sheer accessibility to a really exciting reef, this can’t be emphasised strongly enough.

As I referenced in an earlier post, I proposed out at Blue Lagoon (and would have been hard-pressed to chose a better location for it). Before heading out, I dropped Kylie (one of the managers) a note letting her know my intentions and asking if there was anything a little special I could arrange with the hotel’s help. She was most supportive and immediately gave me a list of options, including a lobster dinner for two on the beach (away from the horde), and the option of having a picnic on a secluded private island nearby- both of which I seized upon and both of which were thoroughly enjoyed.

Some Balance, Please?

Words of moderation? Well, a couple probably. First up, once you’re on the island, you can get away without paying much more, but the temptation will always be to do things and have drinks, and these will add up. You don’t use cash out there, everything gets recorded in a book and you pay up at the end, so if you’re not keeping track you could be in for a bit of a surprise- nothing (except some of the activities) is particularly cheap- although it’s not extortionate by resort standards either. That said, having food taken out of the equation is a pretty good thing, and we managed just fine with our bill.

My biggest fear for Blue Lagoon is that as word gets out, the place will get a little overrun. The reviews on Trip Advisor are pretty rave, and with good reason- this is a very special place right now, and somewhere that we will never ever forget (not just because we got engaged out here). It’s been open less than a year. I’d love to think that the management will be able to maintain the relaxed vibe several years into operating with high demand and through-flow, but it’s not impossible to imagine it getting a bit worn-out, so I’d recommend getting in sooner rather than later.

And, well, the cocktail list could probably be improved on. But really, when you’re four and a half hours from the mainland and everything has to come by boat, you can understand why these things might be a little lacking, if that’s your thing.

All up, this was probably my best single hotel/resort experience, mixing a lovely blend of quality, relaxation, activities and experience, all at a very reasonable price. My hat goes off to the team running the place as they’ve created a really special location with a perfect unpretencious vibe. Great for travellers, flashpackers and families with a reasonable budget, this goes right to the top of my list of ‘places you should visit in the Pacific’.

Verdict

Accomodation- 5/5 Light, fresh, new and spacious. The open-air shower has to be experienced to be understood. A range of really pleasant options from budget through laid-back comfort, this isn’t the Denerau Hilton, but why would you want it to be? Ask for Garden Villa 11 and get sea views thrown in for free.

Food- 4/5 Great taste, decent lunch options and a good range of evening meals, despite not having any control over the dinner menu. This would be a total win if there were more between-meal snack options and a wider range of drinks at the bar, but really, I’m just looking for things to quibble about because there’s really not much else to add balance.

Location- 6/5 Amazing reef, gorgeous beach, sunsets and tropical vibe- this has to be one of the best-located resorts in the Pacific. What can I say to the Blue Lagoon’s detractors? Would you like the hotel moved a little to the left?

Activities- 5/5 Relaxation is key here, and relaxation and swimming are free, but the creative options for daily activities mean that for those unable to entertain themselves still have an option to keep busy. Do the cave trip. Not for adrenaline junkies- but hey, this is Fiji. If buzz is what you’re after, Queenstown is to the south. And there’s always the shark dive.

Vibe- 5/5 Just brilliant. Beanbags in front of the open-front bar, barefoot dresscode, bonfires on the beach, and a general emphasis on chill-out throughout. And small enough to keep it personal. Really, really lovely.

Management- 5/5 Friendly, accessible, helpful, flexible and professional. What more would you ask for?

Ethics- 4/5 It’s refreshing to see a resort pay more than just lip-service to supporting local communities. It’s hard to know what impact a throughflow of western travellers will have on the island’s economy and environment, but the fact that they invest in local education is a great thing, and the friendly disposition of both local staff and local villagers we interacted with suggested that the attitude is more than just a marketing ploy for the time being.

Value- 5/5 Value is an entirely subjective term. I appreciate every dollar we spent at Blue Lagoon and don’t have any regrets, as we came away with a set of beautiful memories and a great time. It’s not the cheapest option out there, but my word do you get what you pay for in terms of location and vibe.

Blue Lagoon also gets an extra 5 points from me for that little extra something for laying on a really special time for us as we got engaged. Just fantastic.

Thanks guys for an amazing stay.

Details

You can check the Blue Lagoon website here for tarrifs.

Room rates start from FJD 40 per night for a dorm bed, through lodge rooms at FJD 140, and villas ranging from FJD 209 through to the delux ocean-front villa at FJD 449. Food packages are included at FJD 70 per person per day, and return transfers to the mainland, FJD 276. (FJD 1 = AUD 0.57; FJD 1 = USD 0.51)

All up, it means a mid-range stay option for two adults for a week comes in at around FJD 2,000, so if you couple that with a good flight deal from Australia, it can be quite accessible- though is by no means at the bottom end of the price scale. Worth every penny, in my opinion, but everyone values different things.

Of course for a different extreme in the travel stakes, check out a couple of my tales from West Africa. Now there’s a cheap way to have a travel adventure…

Close Enclownter

After an eighteen-month hiatus, I finally got back into the water in Fiji.  Or not so much into it, but under it.  And I got to take my camera (the Powershot G9, not, sadly, the 5D) swimming too.

The snorkelling along the beach was fantastic- probably the most beautiful beachside reef I’ve ever had the opportunity to explore (more on that presently).  However I did also get the chance to do a little diving as well.  A refresher dip, just so I could recall how to submerge myself without panicking/drowning/getting decompression illness.  Then a shark dive (way to ease yourself back into the hobby), replete with Grey, White-Tip and Black-Tip Reefers, Grey Nurses, and a couple of pretty bulky Lemon Sharks as well.  Awesome fun- but sadly, in my haste (and a tickle of nervousness as well) I accidentally left the camera on the boat.

I also did a dive with my fiancee.  It was her first, an explorer dive, which she very bravely accomplished with the instructor with just 15 minutes’ worth of briefing- something I never would have done.  But I managed to remember my camera this time, and took it along to document the fun, and explore the reef at the same time.

As I’ve mentioned before, anemonefish are great subjects, because unlike most fish, which scurry away the moment you home in on them like a cycloptic predator, anemonefish tend to stay put.  You know where to find them (check out your nearest anemone), and not only do they not swim away, they often charge at you, all teeth and tiny bouts of indignance.

This little reel is a set of six colourful shots I managed to snatch of one pair of such little critters.  The combination of bright colours, the exotic location, and the semi-translucent tentacles of the anemone itself, all make for fun viewing.  I hope you enjoy.

For the record, I suspect that the little fishies showcased here are all Cinnamon or Fire Anemonefish (Amphiprion Melanopus)- a little different from the Anemone Clownfish of Nemo fame which most people are familiar with.  I have no idea what the anemones are (there are at least two species shown here).

More Fiji shots- above and below water- to come.

Note: Photo at top taken snorkelling in Blue Lagoon; photos at bottom taken diving at depth ~10m on Blue Lagoon Reef.

Rocking Planet Rock

I can safely say I have never seen quite such a plethora of fish than that which I saw at Planet Rock on Saturday.  I couldn’t begin to number them.  In this small sliver of a shot you can see- what- three hundred?  Five hundred?  I haven’t even tried counting.  And there was a solid three-dimensional wall of them, like a gigantic underwater swimming-pool jammed full.  An immense living morass of sleek flitting fish.  My only regret for the morning’s exploits was that a smudge in the middle of my underwater case on the inside of the glass ruined most of my shots.  You’ll have to bear with me on the few that I’ll share here.

Here you can see Jan doing his thang.  A graceful and experienced diver, Jan’s pretty much lost track of how many dives he’s done, but it’s over 2,000.  Most of them here in Madang Harbour.  He’s also a darn good underwater photographer and a true artist with Photoshop.  When he puts his stuff up on RedBubble I’m sure buying some.  Here’s an older shot of him cruising along the bottom of Madang Harbour, sans smudge and with a bit more light.

A pair of barracuda were gliding in a lazy circle like a pair of cruise missiles looking for something to bomb.  They’re cool fish.  Very benign to be close to, but with those maws they look like mean buggers.  Like sharks they’re so streamlined and graceful.  We had a shark out there on Planet Rock, too, but I didn’t get a photo.  We only caught distant glimpses of him up near the surface, a big Grey Reefer, perhaps eight feet long, just that unmistakable silhouette up against the light.  It’s a wonderfully eerie and humbling experience being close those ancient predators.

Overall, Planet Rock has to be one of my favourite dive sites, and I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to get a better range of photos out of my time there.  I’d say next time, but sadly as my time in PNG draws to a close, that next time may be a very long way off…

Any Given Sunday

Sunday.  I hooked up with Eunice, who’s the head chef down at the Madang Resort.  We’d been talking for a few weeks of doing a dive outside the Harbour, where folks do most of their diving.  I poached a car from the office, we loaded up with four tanks of air, an esky with ice and sandwiches, and set off down North Coast road.  Destination?  We weren’t really sure…

But we had a few places in mind, and figured we’d play it by ear.  Just over an hour out of town is the village of Kubugum.  This is where boats leave for Karkar Island six days a week.  On Sundays, however, the market is shut and the banana-boats, usually drawn up on shore, are conspicuously absent.  There’s an island out in the harbour, maybe five hundred yards off-shore.  So we found a friendly man and his wife with a little aluminium row-boat who was willing to paddle us out there.  We didn’t know what we’d find around the island, but we thought we’d give it a go anyway.

We loaded up.  It was a 10-foot boat, teeny-tiny.  Into the boat climbed Eunice, myself, the man, his wife, two tanks of air and associated breathing and diving aparatus.  And six children.  There was a hole in the hull about the diameter of a kitchen tap.  Water came through it at a similar rate.  There were two little plastic tubs with the lids cut off.  One little girl stamped her heel over the hole in the bottom of the boat and two more bailed out the boat for all they were worth while the man and his wife paddled us across the channel with leisurely strokes.  I comforted myself with the knowledge that if the boat did in fact sink, I had an hour’s air supply with me under the water.

Pulled up on the island, we pulled on gear and got straight in.  The water was warm and once away from the sandy shoreline, quite clear.  There was a reef shelf about ten metres deep, then a nice drop-off that sloped gently away into the ocean.  Fish life was copious, and the coral landscapes were exotic and enticing.  It was a wonderful dive, all the more fun for the freshness of it.  Eunice and I circumnavigated the island and ended up where we started an hour later, myself with all of 30 bar left in my tank.

We paddled back across the bay.  This time our leaky skiff was accompanied by three little boys in an outrigger.  If they were wise they’d keep their distance so that when we sank to the bottom, they wouldn’t get pulled down by helpless floundering escapees.  Back on the road, we backtracked a short distance to a little village whose name I don’t even know, looking for a spot called WaraWall.

WaraWall we know as Hole in the Wall.  It’s a sheltered little lagoon bounded by a reef wall, into which time and the relentless surf has worn a great natural archway about five metres across in the lagoon floor.  It’s entirely underwater, and is a bit of an attraction among locals.  Keen snorkellers can swim the little passage out into the open ocean.  The lagoon itself is very picturesque, with a white coral-sand beach and children playing in the surf, while brown thatched huts peek out from the bush at the water’s edge.

After a surface interval we got back in the water, this time fighting the waves on the way out before dropping over the reef wall.  The visibility was perhaps a little lower, but the small network of gullies formed by the reef were a treat to explore.  Sea cucumbers and small reef fish abounded close in, while at the rollover into the Bismarck Sea, we found shoals of Fusiliers, Angelfish, Moorish Idols, Butterflyfish, and plenty more besides.  A highlight was a pair of large Hump-Headed Parrotfish towards the turning point of the dive.  We entered the water via the Hole, finding a beautiful Lionfish drifting with the surge before resurfacing.

What was great about this Sunday was that it really was like any given Sunday out here.  Dive gear notwithstanding, the day cost us twenty-five Kina in access fees and a bit of fuel money.  Sites like this abound up and down the North Coast, and for those of us who enjoy taking advantage of the diving opportunities here, every weekend we spend it out on the water (as those of you who’ve been watching my photos and stories over the last couple of months have realised, with me sounding increasingly like a record stuck on ‘dive’).  When I get back to my other life in Australia, I have no idea what I’m actually going to do with my weekends…

Something Lionfishy

This beautiful Lionfish (Scorpionfish; Firefish; Turkeyfish) was floating in the surge beneath Hole in the Wall on Sunday.  I really adore these guys- such a wonderful display of feathery creativity.  I will sorely miss being able to get close to such wonderful creatures.

Biodiversity

One of the great attractions of diving is the abundance of life you get to witness. It’s true what they tell you in the handbooks- a half-hour dive on the reef will let you see more diverse flora and fauna than ten times as long walking through a forest or a field. Pick the right spots, and life is teeming around you, always moving, always interesting, always colourful. It’s a never-ending procession of the creativity of the Creator, and I get high off it.

Since getting into diving, I’ve discovered that one of the coolest things about being underwater is that a lot of the stuff that lives down there is downright weird. I’ve posted a few nudibranch shots, for example. When I say the word ‘slug’, you’re going to think of some ugly grey slimey thing that oozes on your lettuce head. But these marine versions are so phenomenally diverse, with bizarre and seemingly extraneous appendages and blatantly unnecessary colours, they could have stepped right out of a Gaultier costume extravaganza.

Take Christmas Tree Worms. These guys are awesome. I had no idea what they were at first. They look like little plastic toys, sticking out of holes in rocks or coral heads. Their bizarre spirals cluster like superfluous decorations, a teeny tiny forest, so for a while I wasn’t sure if they were plant, animal or mineral. They look just like a soft coral growth, but when you get too close, they suck back into their holes, curling up and vanishing in the blink of an eye- distinctly un-plant-like behaviour. Again what strikes me each time I see them is the wonderful colours. I’ve only got this one shot of a blue one, but I’m determined to see if I can’t collect a full set of colours.

These next shot I don’t have a lot of intelligent things to say about. I don’t know what you’re looking at. It’s just a random piece of reef scenery. Most likely coral. I just love that it looks like nothing else you’d find on the earth’s surface- it could almost be some alien flora. And this is a tiny six-inch fraction of a reef. Imagine if you could catalogue everything living and growing on Madang’s ten miles of living barrier.

This giant spiny Sea Slug was one of the highlights of Sunday’s dive. I’ve no idea what species it is, but it was huge- about a foot long, and as fat around as a clenched fist. You could headline it in a Ridley Scott feature and nobody would have any problem believing it was some extra-terrestrial parasite. The outrageous colours and bizzare protrusions make it like a giant step-brother to the fragile little nudibranchs, a behemoth among molluscs. Enjoy it in all its grotesque, spiny glory.

This little Hawkfish I shot in murky light near Tab Island last weekend. I really loved how his patterns and body-makeup make him blend perfectly into the spiny coral.

And on the subject of patterns, neither of these shots are as crisp as I would have liked, but both were taken in suboptimal optical conditions (say that three times very quickly with a marshmallow in your mouth). I hope to get a better chance at catching them again in the future. The first is, I think, some species of Angelfish. I’m not entirely sure. I found it flitting around coral off Barracuda Point on Saturday, during a dive that was full of exciting wildlife, but low on photographic opportunities. This one moved just a little too much for me to get a sharp shot, but even so I think you can appreciate the wonderful colouring and patterns.

The second photograph is of a juvenile Emporer Angelfish. The Emporer Angelfish is a relatively common sight along the reefs here, but apparently the juvenile version is a little less prolific. The two look nothing alike- in fact if you didn’t know it, you’d think it was a completely different species of fish. I will try and get a photo of an adult for comparison. But this juvie’s rings and swirls and splotches of white and blue are just delightful- truly one of the prettiest fish I’ve seen. This one was lurking around the wreck of a Cessna just off Tab Island.

From a little juvenile a few centimetres long, to a great walloping lump of fish more than thirty metres down, this guy is some species of Rock Cod, I think. He was the second of these I found lurking under a coral growth in just a couple of minutes. I spotted his cousin a little earlier while loitering at forty metres, but as I was about to line up a shot I noticed Jan had moved on and was around the next spur, and I didn’t fancy being left alone. Ascending, and this one made his presence known. At over half a metre long, I bet you could get quite a few steaks out of him.

And from the plain and almost ugly to the extravagantly beautiful. This one is a reefside classic, alternately known as a Firefish, Lionfish, Scorpionfish, or even Turkeyfish. I think that the common name for this species is the Red Firefish, and it belongs to the order Scorpionidae, so Scorpionfish works as well, but with a big mane like this you can see why it gets the Lionfish moniker. This is with out a doubt one of my favourite fish in the sea. It is posessed of a delicate beauty, with that fan of long fragile trendrils that float like so much extraneous crepe-paper. The stripes are full of drama, a veritable siren screaming ‘do not touch’: the Firefish gets its name from the row of poison-tipped spines protruding from its dorsal fin. And like the sub-adult Sweetlips, its locomotive habits make it a joy to photograph. The Lionfish hangs motionless in the water, looking deceptively like a piece of discarded seaweed, drifting with the surges, before pouncing on smaller unsuspecting fish. I got my lens to within six inches of this young one- always cognisant of the dorsal spines- and it never really gave me a second look.

Just a teeny tiny sampling of the vast and rich diversity life has to offer beneath the waves. When you think about the size of the oceans, it’s enough to blow your mind…

Daylight

Looking up from beneath.  Water, air, fire.  Madang, PNG, near the B-25 Bomber wreck.

This Wreck is the Bomb-er

I won’t say that it’s one of my favourite dive sites, because I pretty much love them all. It is however a fascinating blend of history and nature that teases the imagination, above and below the water.

The American B-25 sits in shallow waters just off Wongat Island. She was shot down during the Second World War by the Japanese, when they held northern Papua New Guinea and had one of their major bases just a few miles down the road. The story of her six crew is not a happy one. Although just one crewman died in the crash itself, the other five were captured and, in retaliation for recent bombing raids carried out by the Americans, executed. The aircraft sits in almost perfect condition as a lasting, living memorial beneath the waters.

It’s only even been murky when I’ve dived the B-25, so I have yet to get a good shot of the wreck as it lies. It’s at a considerable angle, with one wingtip at about twelve metres’ depth, the other down around twenty-eight. The wings and tail-plane are still intact, and even remnants of the undercarriage can be spotted. The deeper right wing has the propellor fixed to the engine, bent back by the crash-landing but still recognizable where it sticks vertically out of the sand.

One of the favourite features of the aircraft are undoubtedly its machine-guns, still mounted in the wreck. There are four guns protruding from the nose housing, two inset in each wing, a tail gun, and the B-25’s distinctive gun-turret mounted atop the fuselage towards the rear of the aircraft.

Divers can drop into the roofless cockpit and sit in the pilot’s seat, the steering-wheel still mounted in the control board. This is my boss. I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to have that second stage between his teeth…

Over time, as with everything discarded in the sea, nature has claimed the craft, which has now become a naturalised reef. A giant barrel-sponge sits on the up-slope wingtip, a distinctive marker during the descent and now growing so big that there are concerns it could snap the wing off altogether. Coral and sponges and algaes and all sorts of other undersea flora have colonized the surfaces. Fish spawn in the hundreds inside the relative safety provided by the abandoned fuselage. Others graze the vegetation under the wings and around the tail mount.

There are regulars here. A White Leaf Scorpionfish lives among thorny corals at the back of the left-hand wing, elusive and hard to spot even on a clear day. The bottom shot shows him in natural light rather than flash-lit, and you can see why he’s not that easy to find. He’s about four inches long. Check out that beautiful eye.

I’ve seen these guys a couple of times when I’ve been down there. I can never tell whether they’re False Moorish Idols, Three-Stripe Angelfish, or some other form of Bannerfish, all of which look pretty similar. They are beautiful- though a tad skittish and hard to get close to, hence the murky shot.

Ribbon eels live in the sand beneath the downslope wing and are predictably easy to find, worming their way half out of their holes like Cobras swaying to a snake-charmer’s pipe.

Yesterday, there was some giant lobster living under the wing. I haven’t seen him before, I just noticed his antennae and the front knuckles of his long spindly legs dancing out from underneath the wing. I didn’t get too close. He must have been nearly a metre in size, when all the protrusions and probiscuses were taken into account. He was a little shy and slipped back into the silt before I could get a photo.

The other resident we came across yesterday was the polar opposite, both in terms of size and body complexity. This little nudibranch was spotted by Bec, who managed to prove to me (as has been proved to me time and again) that I suck at finding nudibranchs. I do, however, love a bit of nudi action when I can get it.

My favourite family of Anemonefish lives on the right wing of the bomber. They’re just back a little ways from the cockpit in a big writhing blob of anemone, predictable and easy to find. Unlike Lionfish or Sweetlips, the Anemonefish tend to be a little camera-shy, and as soon as you point the thing at them, they’re dancing like they’ve got ants in their pectorals. In fact they’re some of the most highly territorial little fish in the sea, and even though relative to them I am the size of an Enterprise-class aircraft carrier, they still try and see me off from their patch. As a result, getting an in-focus photo of one is no mean feat. I resort to the age-old practice of firing off as many pictures as I can take and hoping that by sheer dumb luck, at least one will turn out right.

It works occasionally.

The shot below shows the difference between shooting flash and shooting natural light (this one using natural light).

After spending half an hour on the wreck, we come back up for a safety-stop on the chain holding the marker bouy.

It’s hard to avoid celebrating the diversity of life, even on something as incongruous as a war wreck. I find the triumph of creation as one of the great beautiful mysteries of this world. Left to itself, we find the force of life manifesting in almost every circumstance, even one where death previously triumphed. As if the natural world is telling us with one loud voice, everything can be redeemed.

Sweet Lips, Dude

My knowledge of Sweetlips is pretty limited. I first heard of the fish as a species hand-feeding chunks of bread to them from the end of a reefside jetty in Vanuatu about six months ago. Big squat things without fancy colour or graceful shape, they’re still somehow appealing in their brute ugliness, like many fish I paddle across. Apparently they taste great, though I’ve never (to my knowledge) eaten one.

These here are sub-adult Silver Sweetlips- given away by the array of yellow spots over their body. They’re not pretty. They’re not streamlined. As far as I know they’re not possessing of any uncommon intelligence. What makes them special for the photographer, however, is that they’re about as dynamic as cows. They sit there on sandy bottoms- in this case in rock crevices about twenty metres down the reef wall- and hang there an inch off the ground. They don’t really move much, and they don’t appear to be particularly bothered by the presence of divers. If you’re careful, you can get to within a few inches of them, and they might give a lazy flick of the tail and drift just out of reach, but so long as you don’t charge in amongst them, that’s about as much movement as you’re likely to see.

So I had some fun lining up a few shots with them. Here, one Sweetlips shows off the distinctive pattern of yellow spots that sadly fade with time.  You can see the distinctive fat pout that presumable gives the fish its common name.

Firing flash catches some of the silvery hues off the fish’s flank. While I like using natural light where possible to photograph underwater, conditions often make this challenging. If the dive is deep or the sun is behind cloud, not only does this adversely affect shutter-speeds, but you lose the natural colours of the subject, and everything cools down to shades of blue. Firing a flash is like putting a burst of sunshine on a fish, and if you’re subtle about it, you can make it as bright and colourful as it would be at the surface.

Listen to me. I make it sound like I actually know what I’m doing here.

This Sweetlips below clearly had enough of my photographic intrusions and tried to make a run for it. Happily it still moved slowly enough that I could keep it lined up in the frame. Its more colourful piscine cohabitants like the Moorish Idol and the Anemone Clownfish (forthcoming) are rarely so accomodating.

As well as making moves on loitering Sweetlips, we came across a whole bunch of other life down in Sek Passage yesterday. In fact, there were shoals and shoals of the stuff above us near the reef crown.

I only had a split second to fire off a shot at this torpedo-like Barracuda as it streaked past me, so it’s not as sharp as I would have liked. Mind you, his teeth certainly are.

This little fella I have no clue about. All I can say is he was slow enough for me to get a bead on him before he scuttled off. If anyone knows his name, drop me a line. I’m always curious.

My final offering from Sek Passage is somewhat less natural than the rest of my portfolio. This is a diver’s weight, the sort we hang from our belts to help us stay underwater rather than cork to the surface. I spotted it almost directly beneath where we’d anchored the boat at the mouth of the passage. To give you an idea of scale, it’s about three inches long. I don’t know how long it’s been down there, presumably dropped by some slip of wet fingers and lost to the deep. It was about seven metres down. It’s an anthropic intrusion into an otherwise natural environment, but I really like how it’s been colonized by the reef anyway. With luck, in another few years, you won’t even be able to see it at all.