Shallow Water

I had just seen a ray below me and I was scared out of my mind. -It was my first time snorkeling and the guide later agreed it was indeed quite a large specimen. - I was appeased by the guide’s presence and once the ray went its way, he left me alone again. I tremulously continued swimming until, suddenly, I was following a sea turtle and two sea lions came to my sides. I swam in their company in an experience I can only remember as daydreaming. This was 8 years ago and ever since, Galapagos has been my favorite place on Earth.

Work brought me back to the Galapagos. Initially designing a water accessibility project in El Progreso and now with the most passionate group of climate change students - I can feel solastalgia rising but not without glimpses of optimism and particularly with a grounding for a reflective life to be lived. ‘An unexamined life is not worth living’; that has never been truer.

During these days I have also been back snorkeling.  Close to a rock formation commonly called ‘León Dormido’ or Kicker Rock, I jumped again in fear, to be surrounded by fluorescent medusa ballerinas. The cackling of carbon dioxide in my ears is evidence of all the life below me, next to me. And I’m scared again, scared the water will come through my visor and burn my eyes, scared I will be unable to breath through the snorkel and I will swallow salt until my tonsils are pruned.

As I finally get accustomed to the echo of my own mouth-breathing in my head I start seeing the tide. The cadence of the rippling waterfalls forming by the rock walls every time the sponges and anemones at the red edges slow down water’s descent and the tide rescinds.

Gigantic sea lions swimming by my side to reach shore and mate encounter the blue-footed boobies staring down at us. I finally muster the courage to merge with water and look down– black tip sharks below me, small schools of fish, green sea turtles. I am in awe as the sunshine reflects back at me from the water, as though there is a portal to follow below.

This happens every time. By lobería there was also a carey turtle, an endangered species stretching to reach the sponges it devours from the intricacies of the rocks below. (I'm so lucky to be with Judith here, a professor of marine biology who teaches me so much about the species here). By Española, a real school of fish, thousands of salema fish crowded by a cave suddenly visible in silver raindrop texture. The expression ‘out of the blue’ finally makes sense.

There, and with the dolphins and flying fish jumping out on our way back – there was also a fin of a whale shark saluting-.

It’s breathtaking… (as in, I hyperventilate while I write this)

And not to mention all that is visible by sea level. Rayleigh scattering reddening sunsets, getting close to the pier for greeting golden rays at night, having breakfast with the visiting finches, marine iguanas taking a dip and the company of the sea lions by the sidewalks (the latter a reminder of what Vonnegut said we would become in the future in his book ‘Galapagos’). All is mesmerizing.

But today is different. Today I am following that light into the sea portal. I am aware this is an exaggeration but the anticipation to dive is overwhelmingly exciting. I feel a world is about to open to all my senses. In fear of losing the perspective I have from shallow waters, I write this as a reminder of how generous life just at its closest edge has been.

See you from below,

Mel