My friend asked me to write him a story of my "sun-laden snorkelling
adventures", so I wrote him this sunny li'l ditty:
...it's dark and cold and alien as you descend beyond 70 feet into the
bottomless watery midnight. When the bottom is too far down to be seen, it
feels like there _isn't_ one, as if you could fall and fall and fall into the
darkness and never be found. Slivers of light, like millions of cerulean
moons, twinkle down dimly from above, where the darkness gradates up into
shimmering brilliance toward the surface. Your mask prevents any peripheral
views of the other divers around you or behind you... you know they're back
there, but you may as well be the only person in the world.
You aren't snorkelling, darling; you're scuba diving; and you're in Hammerhead
territory. Hundreds of them are out there, and you are looking for them. Of
course being predators of the highest caliber and jam-packed with sensors for
detecting prey, they know _exactly_ where you are. Fortunately they are
slightly wary of you, as opposed to being fond of your flavor. Since you've
never actually seen one of these things in person, never really had the urge
in fact, you're a little uncertain what to look for, and surely, of what will
happen if you do see one. You keep feeling a little like an idiot, like
standing in the middle of the 101 freeway at a sharp bend, looking for
semis.
When, after a half-hour of exhaustive finning into emptiness, one 6-foot
freakish alien shovelheaded monster quite suddenly emerges from about 20 feet
away exactly at your level and glides directly at you, swinging its bizarre
snout back and forth like radar, your brain starts stuttering into a whirlwind
of unfinished thoughts of the possible outcome of the next 10 seconds.
But it quietly bends into a turn, passing on your left without more than a
glance at your irrelevant figure. You spin around, to see your 4 closest
friends experience the same exhiliarating experience, wondering what their
thoughts are, if they're afraid, whether rightly so; and then the shark is
gone into the chalky dimness. And that's it, your first hammerhead experience,
and you're back to finning into the expanse with nothing but your thoughts to
keep you company, your own bubbles the only sound, your regulator feeding you
all the air you need, the weight of the water both oppressive and calming as
it forces your movements into slow, graceful sweeps and arcs. The only thing
that's changed is now you know _exactly_ what you're looking for.
