I'm On A Boat

Komodo National Park lies at the confluence of the Indian and Pacific oceans, where tides rule the seas and currents carry nutrients thousands of miles between major waterways, feeding reef ecosystems that blanket thousands of sea mounts, where pelagic species otherwise found far out at sea come to feed. Water shimmers deep turquoise here, clear and warm, surrounded by islands I’m told comprise the driest portion of Indonesia. Light yellow-green grass rises above deep green mangroves and bright white beaches.

Given the clash of currents and resulting nutrient-rich water and ecosystems, Komodo is a world of its own. In the space of two days while I’m on the boat, two spectacular events occur in the same famous channel known as “the Cauldron:” first, footage surfaces of a school of 300 or 400 cow-nosed rays schooling together so closely as they pass overhead, they blot out the sun. The next day, a diver catches a megamouth shark on camera: the colossal fish is so rare, only 60 sightings have been recorded since it was discovered around 40 years ago. Sergio, one of my dive masters, tells me a bit wryly that obviously the people in the water at the time are “the chosen ones.”

On my end: I spend seven epic days on a liveaboard with a handful of other guests, with an unreal crew, awesome dive masters, and a cook who’s out of this world, placing fresh-baked bread and drink infusions in front of us containing mixes like pineapple, watermelon, lime, mint, orange and cantaloupe. Over the space of 20 dives, I get a crash course in diving currents in one of the most beautiful, diverse areas in the world.

Five minutes into my first dive we come across a sea snake banded toxic black and white. Three or four times as large as I ever imagined them to be, it rummages in a small coral-caked bommie before winding skyward to breathe. The water around me brims with life: reef sharks rest on the sandy sea floor. Feathery coral rises in delicate striped black and white fronds. Spotted box fish, black with deep red spots, shuffle amongst the reef. Miniature fire gobis, crimson head and delicate fluttering fins giving way to white butts and tails, dart between sheltered nooks. Primitive white and orange tunicates, some of the animal kingdom’s first members to develop spinal cords, root to massive fans and rise like neon anatomical hearts veined in deep purple.

We descend into the water for a night dive at a place called the China Shop, so named because you just never know what you’re going to find. A giant moray eel winds into a coral tree. Lion fish hunt amongst bommies and coral pockets fill to brimming with cleaner shrimp. Fans of feathery, ethereal coral rise from purple-coated rock, pale pinky-white feelers extended into the night as they feed. And, we find ourselves in the midst of plankton clouds so thick they darken our flashlights’ beams, swarming and bouncing off our bodies by the thousands as some insane multitude of species flutter and twist through the water.

We moor for the evenings in a gentle, rounded bay surrounded by glassy water, rimmed by a multitude of miniature layered peaks referred to as “the Tellitubies.” A group of native deer greets us as they run along the island’s beaches in front of a broad, round tree bursting with yellow blossoms, dipping heads to drink seawater.

We return to our mooring one afternoon after finding a pygmy seahorse clinging to the underside of a sea fan, and we hike a deceptively steep slope to a point overlooking our sleepy bay, arriving in time to overlook a neighboring heart-shaped inlet as the sun sets behind one of the archipelago’s steaming volcanos. The water edging the shore turns to a shimmering pink and silver wash as we descend light green slopes, speedboat waiting to take us home to the boat for the night.

Day three proves one of the most spectacular days I’ve ever experienced underwater.

We dive early in the morning around Batu Bolong, a small rock adorned with freestanding arches where terns nest in its grassy crown. The underwater world teems with early morning drama: black-tipped sharks patrol the mount, pinning a monster school of fusilier between them and a giant barracuda. A ribbon of pelagic fish wraps the entire rock, appearing out of the blue in a shimmering mass before disappearing again into the deep haze. Pinky-orange fish hover over the entire reef in a shimmering halo, extending from the water’s surface out of sight below 30 meters’ depth. A hawksbill turtle rises out of the blue, skimming our heads on its way to the surface to breathe. The reef itself yields smaller treasures: deadly grumpy scorpionfish, perfectly camouflaged, tuck into coral nooks. Blue dragon nudibranchs stretch elegant, elongated white bodies shining with bright indigo-blue frills as they traverse deep red coral to feed. A sea snake winds its way through the reef below us. Mantis shrimp and boxer shrimp hide in holes, and moray eels extend massive heads, mouths yawning in periodic menace.

Midday brings us to a sandy channel known as Manta Alley, where manta rays appear out of the haze to visit cleaning stations. The rays swoop in lazy circles as little orange cleaner fish follow them, broad, dark wings casting shadows on the golden dappled sand. We float just above the sand as we watch them, losing track of time, and they don’t even seem to notice our presence. Just before we return to the surface, a stubby-faced cow-nose ray descends to pass us by.

In the afternoon we drop down to a white sandy expanse under bright turquoise water. Red flecks enter the sand, then green weed begins to appear as we move forward. This is a land of little things; a place so totally barren at first glance, yet yielding a mindbending array of miniature, delicate life.

Silhouetted clearly against the sand from ten meters away, a small brown seahorse curls its tail around a maroon hunk of coral. A painted frogfish, perfectly camouflaged against the weedy floor in mottled green and gold, stares straight back at us from a squashed, square, grumpy face. It bounces as it walks on its fins as if its moonwalking, face planting and tipping onto its side more often than it lands upright. A miniscule black frogfish hides amongst the stalks of a waving pink and maroon soft coral. Spiny devilfish, otherwise referred to as Indian Walkers, blend perfectly into the sand as they lie motionless on the floor. Their lumpy gnarled fins and globular bodies rest on the tiniest of clawlike fingers extending forward from side fins. A pair of deep brown long-nosed pipefish– longer, more slender cousins of seahorses– flutter along an open sandy patch. A miniature winged pipefish, dozens of gold and tan fins extending from its body in an intricate, leafy work of art, hovers near a devilfish. Compact balls of catfish rove as a single unit, and flounder hide everywhere– camouflaged to the grain of sand, except eyes protruding absurdly skyward.

We return to the same place the next evening for another night dive, accompanied by an absolute monster of a lionfish who uses our lights to hunt, fins fanning up and to the side in a deadly halo, leaving us all a little nervous as it stalks prey from its happy place just below our knees. Miniature neon green shrimp appear from burrows, and an elegant white snowflake eel winds its way along the sand.

Midway through the week we step on to Rinca Island for a short time, following mangrove-lined shores into dragon territory. It’s mating season, and two of the world’s largest lizards have apparently decided the time and place is now, on the pipes running water through rangers’ quarters. By the time we arrive they’ve been going at it for a solid hour. To the side, a pair of baby dragons make their way down through the shade, meter-long bodies dwarfed by the individuals creating all the action.

Our guide takes, who carries a body-length, double-pronged stick for protection, takes us on a short walk to a lookout over the sea and Komodo Island, pointing out dragon dens along the way: deep, cavernous pits dug into the sand where females will go to lay and bury eggs after successful mating.

That afternoon we explore the muck again, at a gentle slope where boulbous, yellow, boxy cowfish scuttle backward across the coral, baring twin horns in our direction. Three-meter dappled gray and white tapeworms rummage through the muck, feathery protrusions extending dozens of feelers as they wind bodies through anything in their path.

Toward the end of the week, as the moon rises near full, Komodo’s famed currents finally raise their heads. As we drift past feeding turtles and schools of parrotfish in a deep depression within a narrow channel, the current sweeps up to spit us out over the rim in a slingshot of velocity commonly known as "the shotgun," pushing us toward open sea as we navigate around the corner back toward the China Shop.

On our return to Batu Bolong the currents shift within minutes as they wrap the sea mount where we’ve been watching sharks glide past and a giant moray twining along the wall. Water shimmers in front of us as we turn a corner and currents collide, intensity suddenly grown so strong all we can do is cling to the reef and hold fast as the water pushes us down. We literally rock climb horizontally underwater, and getting absolutely nowhere as we attempt to inch ourselves upwards. After a few fruitless minutes our divemaster gives the signal to abort and we release, letting the water carry us into the blue as we rise to the surface.

On our last day Komodo National Park says goodbye to us in spectacular fashion. When we drop into Manta Point for our last dive a ray appears within minutes, winging past us against the gentle current. A marbled ray appears from the haze for a few seconds before disappearing again into the blue. A black-tipped shark patrols the water around us for fifteen minutes or so as we drift over scattered black urchins. As we begin to rise for our final safety stop, an eagle ray rummages in the sea floor. Then a family of three monster rays appears beneath us, wings outstretched, gliding in a perfect line as they traverse the rubble-strewn reef. When they disappear another one appears, and another… and then my head breaks the surface of the cerulean water.