Ravings for Remedies

Uncertain of how to walk, let alone swim in our new ‘top-notch’ snorkeling gear, we trod backwards into the tide. I think the steady motion of the waves and the protruding flippers kept our balance. The new gear came at a great cost, though I believe through all our underwater experiences, it was well worth the amount spent and soon afterward that realisation became apparent. It could naturally be expected, with the greater length and surface area of the professional flippers that our swimming speed can be greatly enhanced.

This took some getting used to: for a start, the flippers were a little loose and so adjustments were a common affair, even in deeper water; the flippers slapped together on each successive motion and the momentum was lost, this meant some careful coordination to provide greater thrust; undeveloped muscles and difficult movements previously unused resulted in chafing and rapid deterioration of energy. It took a good few hours to devise some powerful movements and when these were performed, the speed and ease of gliding through the water was amazing. Couple that with superior goggles, which allow us to see a greater depth of field and properly seal against leaks, it’s the makings of a recipe of fun.

Most importantly, the snorkel allows three great new features, I had otherwise in my ignorance, little understanding about: a shut-off valve at the top of the breathing apparatus, which prevents the intake of copious water; jettison valve at the base of the snorkel, to release any water caught in the snorkel; looks really cool.

With this upgrade in technology we were able to swim out further to explore and experiment with our gear. It was late afternoon again, not as late as the previous story, but late enough to have lost a great deal of sunlight, even for such an overcast day. The depth still scares me and more so the unknown lurking beyond the navy curtain. At this part of Canadian Bay, the beach is ruptured in sand bars and slanting rock slides, so that swimming horizontally seems somewhat like diagonally. It was during this confusing optical illusion of the sand bank, that a school of tiny fish some thousand strong charged past. Flabbergasted to say the least, they seemed almost tropical in their colour and markings, as such with fright and an unexpected curiosity, I expelled numerous bubbles through the base of the snorkel. They darted quickly, averting the docile cloud of streaming bubbles, this caught Miss Tash off guard. Like birds, they flew in perfect formation, even during the relentless stirring I displayed and secretly I lament; had I brought a skewer, I’d have enough to make at least one fish finger. Other than this, the left-hand side of the bay was surprisingly dull. Reefs of seaweed and vegetation were devastated by the swarming starfish, littered almost in piles amongst outcroppings of lithospheric examples.

From a previous trip to this same area, we knew that the other side of the bay had two piers and a greater, flatter expanse to explore. It was now approaching dusk and getting rather ‘cool’, when Miss Tash and I delved further out toward the blackened shelf of mollusk encrusted poles supporting the minor pier. The unnerving darkness beneath the pier got the better of Miss Tash as she would not swim too close, but my curiosity could not pull me away. One could not simply believe the amount of crap lying under that pier; tyres, pistons, engines, crates, bolts, nuts, hooks and concrete slabs with people tied to them; the usual stuff. We took off toward a sweeping hill of sea vegetation, all decimated and rotten, this held no appeal whatsoever.

Panic stricken, as my flipper came loose, I grappled the strap back on and tightened the harness. With the momentum gathered from deft movements to catch up with Miss Tash, I adopted the motion of a dolphin, by clasping my feet together and bobbing my head up and down, this actually worked quite well. During this, a small fish launched from beneath the sand away from my looming shadow, quickly followed by numerous others at shorter intervals. I knew these as toad fish and only just worked out why they were called this: they look like toads hiding in the sand and they’re ugly.

We swam around a little longer until dusk, when Melbourne decided summer had to make way for winter this night. Shivering uncontrollably, I lurched icily into Mt. Eliza fish and chippery for some evening grub, where they were kind enough to deactivate the air conditioning long enough to prepare the meal. Awesome chips and an even more remarkable day.