Since we live a block away from the ocean, we settle on Lahaina harbor as the site. Breathing through a snorkel is a weird, initially unsettling sensation. To snorkel, you must breathe deeply and exclusively through the mouth keeping your head under water, eerily reminiscent of drowning. Quickly though the sensation wears off and the surreality of being a visitor in a marine environment kicks in.
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Perhaps 5 minutes out, we encounter a young turtle that quickly darts off before we get a good look. A good sign though that turtles are around. We swim on towards the wharf and the water becomes murky. Ryan advises me to kick discreetly so as not to attract sharks. My mind rewinds to an Aussie girl I once met with a Hawaiian shark bite on her hand.
The redish-yellow choral below varies from an arm's reach away to dropping 20 feet. It covers the ocean floor like an alien organism. Tropical fish dart in and out of the reef in small schools. Massive black urchins rest in crevasses. Moray eels lurk here as well.
Eventually we arrive at the wharf. Built in the early 20th century, this dilapidated structure is now mostly collapsed. Occasionally the boys and I navigate the fence and fish off the end of it, cautiously walking along the only part still standing, cart tracks suspended by cement and rebar. Now, looking up at the wharf from the water, I have come full circle.
Ryan and I discover that the end of the current wharf is far from the end of the original structure. Indeed, the submerged stones and pillars continue onwards covered in growing coral.
The reef is falling far below us now. Ryan points. I squint and see a bulky form. It draws nearer - a massive honu, gliding effortlessly through the water. It approaches us, batting its leathery black and yellow paddle-like arms.
The honu surfaces. It scrutinizes me for a moment with dark, antediluvian eyes, then opens its beak and inhales with a watery reptilian squawk, then vanishes in the depths.
The journey back is arduous. As we approach the shoreline, low tide is rolling in, exposing the reef. We navigate sharp coral as waves crash. I cut my finger on one. Urchins abound. I think of several people I know with urchin spines embedded in their skin. We swim back out to look for an easier landing. Eventually we find a break in the labyrinth, cut through, and cumbersomely lumber up the rocks. Two drunk bums greet us:
"See any mermaids?" one asks.
"Oh yeah, hundreds," I reply.
"You two are hairy bastards like me," exclaims the second bum.
"We're from the mountains," explains Ryan.
