Late last week, a number of media outlets in the UK published a series of photographs of a dead blue whale that I took during a recent visit to Sri Lanka.

Dead blue whale (Balaenoptera musculus)

I thought it worth augmenting what appeared in the mass media with some additional background information for anyone who might be interested, as well as to add some personal thoughts about the experience.

Cause of Death
Let me start by stating that I cannot be 100% certain that the cause of death was a ship. It is impossible to know exactly what happened without witnessing the actual event.

I put together what I saw with the information I gleaned from other people, and I pieced together a narrative that seemed to make most sense.

The exact text I sent to my media rep was:

“I photographed this whale in the afternoon of 3 April 2012, between five and ten kilometres south of Weligama Bay, which is at the southern tip of Sri Lanka. Many people on whale watching boats saw it.

The whale was not significantly decomposed when I saw it, so it had probably not been dead for very long. My guess is that it may have been struck by a ship during the night, while the animal was resting at the ocean surface.

When whales die, internal decomposition causes gas to build up inside the whale’s body, causing the carcass to bloat. There was no visible bloating, so this suggests the whale had not been dead long when I photographed it.”

Dead blue whale adrift in an area of heavy shipping traffic

Note that I wrote “My guess is…”, because that’s precisely what it was, an informed supposition, based on the lack of significant decomposition, absence of bloating, the nature of the wound, and the circumstances in which the whale was found.

More specifically, the whale was in a zone of high shipping traffic. Shipping lanes in the vicinity pass through prime blue whale habitat. Humongous ships (ones so big I initially mistook them for islands) cruise through the area on a constant basis.

Another consideration was the fact that another blue whale had arrived in port perched on the leading edge of a ship’s bow just a couple of weeks before I photographed this one.

Of course, nothing is impossible, so there is some chance that the whale died of other causes and was subsequently struck by a passing ship, or that the wound was caused by something else.

One possibility I considered was scavenging by a large shark. The wound was huge, so had it been a shark, it would have been an enormous one. I looked for teeth that may have been lodged in the wound, as well as for scrapes or other signs of scavenging, but was unable to see anything to suggest a large predator was the cause of the wound.

Moreover, there were no signs of any sharks (or any other scavengers) during the entire day, despite the fact that the whale carcass was leaking bodily fluids into the water. If a shark had been nearby, it would be difficult to imagine the fish passing up a free meal as tempting as a dead blue whale.

In the final analysis, the most probable cause of death seemed to be a ship strike.

Surface view of the dead blue whale

How Can a Whale be so Stupid? How Can a Ship be so Careless?
It is perhaps natural to wonder how a blue whale, a highly intelligent animal with senses finely attuned to surviving in its environment, could possibly let a loud, gigantic ship sneak up and clobber it.

Similarly, it is probably natural to wonder why ships don’t have a system to avoid such collisions.

Well…I don’t believe it’s really a case of unintelligent whales or negligent ships. It’s probably fair to say that whales avoid ships when they can, and most ships would probably choose to avoid whales as well. In other words, ship strikes happen despite the best of intentions by cetacean and human alike.

There was a good opinion piece that came out in the Independent discussing some of the possible reasons why whales sometimes aren’t able to avoid ships and vice versa. It’s worth a read, as the author does a better job of explaining the scenarios that I probably can.

But in any event, ship strikes on cetaceans are not a particularly unusual occurrence.

In fact, the International Whaling Commission (IWC) has a database of documented ship strikes, which you can access on this page: http://iwcoffice.org/sci_com/shipstrikes.htm

If you download and view the Excel file, you’ll see that there are a lot of entries, from all over the world, involving many cetacean species.

The IWC database is neither comprehensive nor definitive. There is inherent uncertainty when considering ship strikes, because there is no way that every incident is reported, and there is always the possibility of mistakes being made.

But…if you look at the table…there is little doubt that ship strikes are a serious issue. And with levels of commercial maritime traffic on the rise, it stands to reason that the chances of ship strikes are also growing. Of course, not all ship strike incidents are by large commercial vessels. Some involve whale-watching boats, military vessels, or private leisure craft.

One other thing worth noting from the file is the range of species: blues, fins, humpbacks, rights, orcas, sperms, Bryde’s, grays, and more.

Many people understandably get upset about the practice of whaling. It’s bloody, cruel, and arguably unnecessary. But whaling is targeted to specific species, mostly minke whales. By most estimates, there are hundreds of thousands of minke whales. That’s not an endorsement of whaling by any means (i.e., don’t flame me for stating a fact).

But the thing about ship strikes is that they are indiscriminate. Ships inadvertently injure and kill many species, including ones that are in serious trouble, such as blue whales or right whales in the North Atlantic, both listed as endangered on the IUCN Red List.

That’s an issue worth mulling over. The loss of a single blue whale or North Atlantic right whale represents a disproportionately large impact on those species’ depleted populations. And yet, there is not nearly as much public concern about ship strikes as there is about whaling.

Doesn’t seem right, does it?

For reference, here are whale population estimates from the IWC: http://iwcoffice.org/conservation/estimate.htm

Close-up view of the dead blue whale’s wound

A Bit of Math
To provide a sense of scale and perspective for what happens when a large commercial vessel and a whale meet, here are some representative numbers:

Blue whale: Let’s way(!) overestimate and say 30 metres long and 200 metric tonnes (200,000kg).

vs.

Example large container ship: 350 metres in length carrying 10,000 TEUs, with each TEU representing an average of 15,000kg = 150,000 metric tonnes, before accounting for the ship’s mass

You can certainly dispute my very-rough assumptions, but the end conclusion remains the same: a blue whale, as large as it seems to us, is puny by comparison to a large commercial vessel, both in size and mass.

In addition, large commercial ships can cruise at 20+ knots in open ocean (37km/ hr, 23mph), which means any cetacean that happens to be in the way doesn’t stand a chance. It also means that it’s very difficult for a large ship to change course quickly, even if it notices something in its path and tries to avoid it.

Thoughts About Sri Lanka
Although this specific experience was in the waters of Sri Lanka, I think it important to underscore that this is not an issue that is unique to that country. In fact, as is apparent in the IWC file, this is a global dilemma. Cetacean deaths from ship strikes occur in shipping lanes around the world.

It just so happens that there are active shipping lanes just south of Sri Lanka, where many large ships travel at high speed, ferrying consumer goods and supplies among major ports. And it just so happens that there is a nascent whale-watching industry in Sri Lanka, which is how I and other people ended up seeing this specific blue whale.

My view is that the development of a whale-watching industry in Sri Lanka is positive. It generates tourism revenue, introduces people (both locals and visitors) to the wonders of the oceans, and hopefully, in the long run, provides incentive to protect the whales, other marine organisms, and aquatic ecosystems in general.

Sri Lanka is a wonderful place, somewhere I may have never had the opportunity to visit were it not for the whales.

There are, however, challenges to be overcome, the most immediate of which stems from the rapid profusion of boats and visitors. As in other locations where marine-based tourism is popular, boating discipline on the water is of paramount importance.

Lots of boats trying to please lots of people, all of whom want to see lots of whales..is a situation that can potentially lend itself to less-than-ideal behaviour at sea. The challenge for all concerned is to understand and accept that in the long-term, safe encounters that don’t harass animals or place people at risk are the only way to ensure a solid reputation, ongoing revenue and happy cetaceans.

Rear view of the dead blue whale

The Silver Lining?
Whenever something bad happens, it’s a good idea to look for the silver lining.

I don’t know yet if there will be one that appears from this situation, but I’m hoping that documentation of this dead blue whale, as well as the one that was photographed in March this year, may give occasion for pause…for concerned people from many different walks of life to consider whether there may be a constructive way to reduce the chances of ship strikes taking place in Sri Lanka, with minimal, or ideally no, disruption to the flow of commercial shipping traffic.

On the positive side, there are existing examples of shipping companies, cetacean researchers and conservationists working together to do exactly this, notably in the North Atlantic to protect the few remaining North Atlantic right whales.

But to get to such a position, there must be consensus that this issue needs to be studied and addressed, and then, there needs to be sufficient funding dedicated to this task…funding for data collection about the ocean, about the blue whales and other large marine fauna in the area, and about shipping traffic…in order to derive conclusions and recommendations based on fact.

It’s easy, and tempting, to demand justice now(!) for the whales. But getting emotional rarely solves problems; it often exacerbates them.

In the long run, only meticulous gathering and analysis of data can lead to positive change.

Close-up view of the dead blue whale’s throat grooves

Dead Blue Whale

It has become all-too-apparent of late that certain denizens of the sea, namely sharks, have been receiving disproportionate attention relative to their peers. By many estimates, over 100 million of these cartilaginous fish are killed each year, mostly for their fins.

For too long, sharks have been getting all the attention.

It is not that I object to the mass extermination of ecologically important apex predators per se.

Shark fin soup is, after all, a vital part of Chinese culture and history. Moreover, as any reasonable person knows, consuming shark fin is proven to cure all manner of ills; provide otherwise “ineffective” men with that special “oomph” required in conjugal (and extra-conjugal) activities; and confer exceptional and undeniable social status on otherwise undistinguished persons who, through quirk of circumstance, possess a more substantial ratio of monetary means than good sense or moral propriety.

No…my singular objection is to the plight of certain kin of sharks…specifically, mantas and their smaller brethren mobula rays.

Consider for a moment the fact that these rays have received nowhere near the level of attention that sharks have in recent years.

One doesn’t, after all, visit an exclusive dining establishment to sample an overpriced bowl of chicken broth labelled “manta fin soup”, does one? Neither does one come across canned “manta fin soup” on grocery store shelves, or contend with obstinate parents demanding the serving of “manta fin soup” to mark the joyous nuptials of daughters and sons.

Such is my inherent sense of fair play that I find this imbalanced state of affairs outrageous and entirely unacceptable. The paucity of attention afforded to mantas hardly seems just, particularly in light of the many similarities between sharks and large oceanic rays.

Besides being cartilaginous and living in the sea, both sharks and rays are at the top of their respective food chains, meaning their numbers are inherently sparse. Both often roam great distances, which complicates any effort to track and monitor them.

Both also have long, drawn-out reproductive cycles, characterised by infrequent mating and extended gestation periods, as well as by low numbers of progeny.

Finally, sharks and rays require many years to mature, meaning that populations of both types of fish are susceptible to overhunting.

It is thus, after exhaustive analysis, painstaking deliberation and measured consideration, that I have arrived at a simple conclusion…expeditious action is required to rectify this abhorrent situation.

As such, I hereby present for general consideration the following modest proposal:

• Whereas the market for shark fins is already well established and highly profitable, but global shark populations are disappearing en masse as a result;
• Whereas manta ray populations are as-yet relatively unharmed, but have long been underappreciated, existing in the shadow of their close cousins…sharks; and
• Whereas credulous Chinese (and other Asian) consumers seem forever eager to overpay for miscellaneous parts of rare animals in a never-ending search for elusive magical healing powers and self esteem;

The conclusion is inescapable: The time to exploit mantas is now.

The time to exploit mantas is now!

Please allow me to elaborate.

Sharks have been the centre of attention for many years in no small part because of their fins…their “unique selling proposition” so to speak. People go to great lengths to kill sharks for their fins.

Mantas and mobulas are filter feeders; they use gill rakers (branchy filaments of cartilage) to extract life-giving sustenance from the vast, seemingly empty ocean…almost as if by magic.

It doesn’t, therefore, take an inordinate degree of imagination to recognise the compelling market opportunity represented by this situation: Gill rakers are the perfect “unique selling proposition” for mantas rays, just as fins are for sharks.

If consuming over-boiled, congealed strands of cartilage from the fins of sharks can impart great power and prestige, then it only stands to reason that anyone consuming the cartilage comprising gill rakers would be the beneficiary of unique energy, longevity, wisdom and healing powers that can be imparted only via the transcendental essence of large oceanic rays.

Manta ray gill rakers: the perfect market opportunity

By hunting mantas and mobula rays in great numbers across the world’s oceans in order to harvest their gill rakers for sale at exorbitant prices to gullible Asian consumers…everyone wins:

• Mantas and mobulas get to bask in the limelight along with sharks;
• Purveyors of animal parts throughout Asia benefit from a new, remunerative business; and
• Asian consumers have the opportunity to lavish extravagant sums of money on quixotic potions and elixirs in the name of vanity and superstition.

Genius like this, my friends, is why Homo sapiens rule the planet.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Note: Just in case you haven’t figured out that I’m being ridiculous to illustrate a point…let me just state, for the avoidance of doubt, that I’m being ridiculous to illustrate a point.

The links below are a good place to start getting the facts:

Manta Trust
Manta Trust Facebook Page
Manta Ray of Hope Project
WildAid

Gill rakers, extracted from a mobula ray to cater to gullible consumers

A Modest Proposal

On one level, this is a photograph of a female sperm whale executing a playful flick of her fluke at the ocean surface.

Stories are to images as souls are to people

The thing about photography though, at least for me, is that images should be about more than just taking a snapshot of a particular moment in time.

Compelling photos, those that make you sit and stare for a while, are ones that convey stories. In fact, the more intricate the stories are, and the “deeper” (excuse the pun) the tales go…the more memorable the image.

Take the photo above. It’s by no means the most exciting picture of a sperm whale I’ve ever taken, but I like it…in large part because there are multiple stories embedded within the image.

I could, for instance, describe the immediate experience of having a 12-metre toothed cetacean swim up, take a look at you, then saunter off in a nonchalant manner. Woohoo!

Or…to look beyond the actual encounter…I could tell you about the series of events that led up to this face-to-face rendezvous: the dozens of whales we came across, the interactions among them, and how this particular individual seemed to fit in to the cetacean family’s activities for the day.

To go beyond even that, I could tell you about the hundreds of hours I’ve devoted over the years to sitting and waiting for whales like this…enduring extreme boredom in the process but also loving every second.

I could elaborate, and talk about how little knowledge we have about large marine mammals in general, because…well…they just don’t spend much time in places and conditions that make it easy for us to observe them. And even when they do, they often have more pressing matters to attend to than entertaining inquisitive landlubbers.

I could tell you about how this whale and its family group were similar to, and different from, other sperm whale families I’ve encountered in the past.

I could tell you about the first time I met a sperm whale, about how scared I was due to ignorance (they do have big mouths and big teeth, after all); how it decided to take my leg into its mouth (which, naturally, exacerbated my trepidation); and how I finally ended up making friends with the inquisitive animal (after taking back possession of all my limbs), resulting an experience that literally changed the course of my life.

Stepping back even more, I could tell you about the sad history of men and leviathans, about how “intelligent” humans, for many years, saw these majestic animals as a source of blubber and spermaceti…used to make truly important things like margarine.

My point is this: Stories are to images as souls are to people.

There has been and continues to be a lot of chatter on the net about gear…new cameras, different formats, amazing lenses, manufacturer A vs. manufacturer B, lighting modifiers, and so forth.

Gear is important. There is no question about it.

But when it comes time to create an image, it’s what you do with the gear that matters. It’s the story/ stories you convey.

In the final analysis, it’s the soul of the image that counts, not your choice of hardware.

The Soul of an Image

So I’m cruising along, and I see a blue whale take a massive dump. Naturally, I get in and swim through it:

That’s no surprise really, given my “talent” for being poo-ed upon by massive marine mammals (sperm whale poo, humpback whale poo, humpback whale poo too).

The unexpected, and entertaining part of the experience though, was that my (previously dignified) friend Serene also jumped in and swam through the pungent potage.

After we got back on the boat, she said: “That has to be the grossest thing I’ve ever done.”

To which my reply was: “See how much your life has improved since getting to know me?”

(Julia also jumped in, but I already expected nothing less from her.)

Blue Whale Poo

Lytro cameras started shipping a few days ago.

Since then, major news and tech sites have published a flurry of reviews and write-ups, describing what a Lytro is (the world’s first lightfield camera for the consumer market) and offering a range of opinions about the camera, the underlying technology, and various pros/ cons.

If you’re unfamiliar with this new camera, I’d suggest you visit the Lytro website to get a quick overview. Particularly useful are the videos that describe the basics of how to use a Lytro.

Thanks to my friend Eric Cheng, who is the Director of Photography at Lytro, I’ve had a bit of a head start playing with and learning about the camera.

Given the number of sites and well-informed people who have opined on the Lytro, I’m going to steer clear of discussing anything remotely technical. Instead, I’m going to tell you about my own experience of getting to know the Lytro over the past couple of weeks, and why I think this camera is meaningful.

Lytro camera, 16GB Red Hot model

Context
First off, let me put the overall experience in context…the Lytro is different.

This may seem like a major “Duh!” statement, but just how different the experience of photographing with a Lytro is…is something that’s difficult to appreciate until you’ve spent some quality time with one.

The best way I can think of to describe what I mean is to draw a comparison between photography and verbal communication: If acquiring a new lens or camera body is like adding vocabulary; and if figuring out how to use new photo techniques is like refining nuances of grammar and syntax; then shooting with a Lytro is like learning a new language.

It’s that different.

The basics of photography obviously still apply, but the unique characteristics of this new camera make it imperative for you to re-examine how you look at and interpret a given situation, and most importantly, how you decide to communicate a message with it.

What Makes a Lytro Image Different?
With the benefit of some hands-on time with the camera (and a reasonable amount of head-scratching), I’ve worked out that what makes Lytro images unique is the ability to infuse multiple dimensions into a single scene…to convey a story by enabling the viewer to explore into a given “living image”.

It took a bit of time for me to figure this out. As is typical, I didn’t look at the Lytro site or otherwise seek advice before going out to shoot. Eric gave me a rapid-fire rundown on the basics of how to turn the camera on, turn it off, zoom, etc., but beyond that, I basically just experimented…which is pretty much how I approach anything new (yes…I never read instruction manuals).

I’m not ashamed to admit that I didn’t really get it at first. I took photos as I normally would, and ended up with shots that, well…didn’t do much for me, either aesthetically, or in terms of making use of the Lytro’s re-focus capability.

My Eureka! moment came when I decided to devote an entire day to fiddling with the Lytro. I waited for good weather, then hopped over to visit the large Buddha at the Kotoku-in temple in Kamakura, Japan, where I took this photo:

As soon as I reviewed the picture on the Lytro’s built-in LCD, I knew I had a keeper. I realised that a big part of the reason the photo worked was that I had thought of the “story” I wanted to convey first, and then took the photo.

As I walked into the temple grounds, I thought: “Wouldn’t it be cool if I could show my friends that I visited the big Buddha statue, and also illustrate that the admission tickets have an image of the Buddha printed on them?”

Of course, this would’ve been possible to some extent with a normal photograph (or series of photos), but with the Lytro image, I’m able to let the viewer explore one aspect of the story at a time…to use the “depth” engendered by the re-focus capability of the Lytro to convey multiple, inter-related messages within a single, static image, but in a dynamic manner. (Click on the image to re-focus.)

With this understanding…that dynamic multi-dimensional storytelling is at the core of a Lytro image…it quickly became easy for me to spot situations that might be suitable for a Lytro picture.

This photo, for instance, communicates the pleasant experience I had of purchasing nicely packaged osenbei (Japanese rice crackers) from a very helpful saleswoman:

Clicking on the branches in this photo highlights the accumulation of snow on branches, while clicking on the person immerses you in the experience of someone enjoying the snow:

In all of these images, the ability to dive into and explore various parts of a picture adds a new dimension that doesn’t exist with traditional still photographs.

Why Should You Care?
I’m sure there are people who won’t see value in photos like these. Some will no doubt deem Lytro images a fad, a one-hit-wonder that’ll pass without much lasting effect on photography.

It is, of course, impossible to predict the future, but for what it’s worth, here is my take:

The Lytro is a version 1.0 device. It’s simple, and it’s fun on its own; it has created a novel way to communicate with still images; but more importantly, I believe it represents an initial step toward what will be a fundamental transformation of imaging technology.

Think about it.

Though resolution is relatively low now, it’ll improve. It’s just a matter of time.

Though controls and functionality are dead-simple compared to other cameras on the market today, that’ll no doubt change soon as well, perhaps with software updates, or maybe with future changes in hardware.

Though it’s only possible to have one area in a photo in focus at any given time right now, that’ll no doubt change. Imagine having pinpoint-control over exactly what you want to be in- and out-of-focus. It’s just a matter of writing the appropriate software and having sufficient computing power to process more data.

Though the re-focus capability is applicable only to pictures now, it’s not difficult to imagine how this could apply to video as well. That’s also just a matter of time, appropriate software and sufficient computing power.

In fact, the Lytro represents a fundamental shift from hardware being the major determinant of the type of imaging that is possible…to software.

Mull that over for a while.

In every other instance I can think of when software has replaced hardware as the determining factor for any endeavour, the pace of advances has increased exponentially, opening up all sorts of new opportunities not just for technology, but also creativity.

That is why I care, and why I believe you should as well.

Disclosure: The Lytro camera I used for these photos is on loan from the company.

Learning To Use A Lytro

I haven’t been able to post much lately. There was the usual post-trip chaos after my visit to PNG in January, followed immediately by pre-trip chaos for a short visit to Palau earlier this month.

Since getting back from Palau, I’ve had to contend with yet another malicious hack into my server (this is getting really old), plus catching up on a backlog of communication stretching back to last year.

Anyway, it’s the 29th of February today, which only happens once every four years, so I couldn’t let the day pass without posting at least one image.

So here is a photo of two jellyfish bumping “heads” in Palau’s Jellyfish Lake:

Two jellyfish bumping into each other in Jellyfish Lake, Palau

If you’re not familiar with these jellyfish, they are a species of Mastigias, which have been isolated in this saltwater lake for a long, long time. As a result, they have gradually lost most of their stinging ability (there’s not much to prey upon, and hence not much reward for manufacturing and maintaining metabolically expensive nematocysts), and instead rely primarily upon symbiotic algae for sustenance.

It was nice weather when we visited, so there were lots of jellyfish milling about, bathing their algae in sunlight in order to encourage them to manufacture food.

From a distance, I saw these two blobs pulsing toward one another, and I got to them just in time to watch them collide, then careen gently off one another like gelatinous bumper cars moving in slow-motion.

Incidentally, there are a number of isolated saltwater lakes in Palau with jellyfish like this, but only one is open for tourists to visit. (There’s also a similar lake at Kakaban Island, Indonesia, and perhaps more scattered around the Pacific.)

If you travel to Palau and want to visit Jellyfish Lake, make sure you pack adequate foot protection. Accessing the lake requires a hike up and over a steep trail with sharp rocks. There’s a rope to hold on to for balance, but you’ll definitely want neoprene booties or some other sturdy footwear to protect your feet.

Jellyfish Lake

I’m back in Port Moresby. Everyone has left the boat, so it’s quiet time for a day. I have yet to pack, which means I’m looking for ways to procrastinate.

Got up early this morning. Not sure why, given the lack of immediate pressure to get anything done. I’ve had three cups of coffee so far, sorted out a handful of logistical issues, and scarfed down more cookies than I probably should have.

Outside, the winds are howling…running a continuous 30 to 35 knots, exceeding that every now and then, while pelting rain adds a bit of excitement from time to time. A nearby boat apparently sank last night. The few trees that line the harbour’s edge, short ones with sparse foliage, are doubled over, appearing as if they’ve been sucker-punched by Mother Nature.

We were forced back to the coast earlier than scheduled, which is unfortunate, but all-in-all, the past few weeks of diving in the Eastern Fields of Papua New Guinea has been awesome. The water was clear; marine life plentiful; and until the winds and swells picked up a few days ago, the weather ideal.

This being my fifth trip to the Eastern Fields (spanning about 16 weeks since 2004), you’d think I might have grown tired of diving the area. Not a chance.

Large school of bigeye jacks (Caranx sexfasciatus)

The Eastern Fields is a submerged atoll comprising around 150 square nautical miles. That’s really big. Actually…really, really big. It means the extinct volcano that spawned the atoll was enormous, almost beyond comprehension.

The reefs are about as close to perfect as you can get, given the realities of modern-day pressures like shipping traffic, commercial fishing (especially shark finning!), and marine pollution. This remote atoll and associated reefs have some of the best dive sites in the world, including one site that is the most action-packed reef dive I’ve ever experienced. And despite the fact that Captain Craig has been visiting the area every year since 1992, there are still many parts of the Eastern Fields he’s never dived. In fact, we explored and named four new sites over the past few weeks.

In short, the Eastern Fields is a magical place, which is why I keep going back, and will continue to do so as long as I’m able.

This is a pristine reef top: a profusion of coral in two metres of water.

Diving Carl’s Ultimate
As Craig tells the story, the first time he took my friend and mentor Carl Roessler to this reef, Carl was so amazed that he asked Craig to name the site after him.

The first time I went in, I understood why.

The site is small. Small enough to swim around in 10 to 15 minutes if there’s no current working against you. Small enough to swim over in much less time.

What the site lacks in size, however, it makes up for in action.

The best way to describe what Carl’s is like, is perhaps to allude to the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Just like the perfect porridge in that tale, Carl’s Ultimate is the perfect reef.

It’s located in the perfect spot with the perfect shape, size and orientation, so that currents are neither too strong, nor too weak, and hit at precisely the right angles during both incoming and outgoing tides to make it a happy place to be for fish and other marine life.

When the currents are running at Carl’s, there are, as many have put it: “More fish than water,” ranging from tiny ones like damsels and basslets to impressive dogtooth tunas, trevallies, barracudas, groupers, reef sharks and even a large hammerhead on this trip.

Thousands of fusilier damsels and magenta slender Anthias
swarming over staghorn coral at Carl’s Ultimate dive site

On normal charters, Craig only spends a day or so at this site, as most people want to travel around and dive multiple locations across the atoll. While I certainly understand why visitors want to see a broad sampling of what the Eastern Fields has to offer, I’d be perfectly content to sit at Carl’s for an extended period of time, doing two, maybe three, long dives a day timed to coincide with peak currents, and hence peak action.

In fact, that’s exactly what we did on the second of the two recent itineraries. After leaving port, we went straight to Carl’s and stayed for four days. The tides were exceptionally long and strong, meaning peak fish time was jaw-dropping crazy.

When Craig and I planned the dates for this itinerary at the end of 2009, we consulted forward schedules for moon phases and tidal flow, picking dates specifically for this reason. Who knew the two of us could actually get something right?

Carl’s Ultimate dive site: Hard corals, soft corals, sea fans, sponges, swarming fish
…even an inquisitive squirrelfish (Sargocentron spiniferum)

The action at this site is so dramatic that I can’t recall ever having taken a macro lens down before, but I did this time. Craig performed his excited-little-girl-who-ate-too-many-sugar-cookies impersonation and said he wanted to show me a “really pretty” fish. Sceptical though I was, I had no choice but to humour him; it’s the only way to settle Craig down.

He showed me a colony of Pseudanthias lori, which were down relatively deep (33m or so), swimming upside down, at an odd angle, in erratic fashion, at high speed over a wide area, beneath a ledge that obscured nearly all available light. In other words…perfect conditions for photography (not).

With the aid of a rebreather, I was able to stay down for an extended period to get a few images, which only made Craig more giggly when I showed him. I should’ve known better.

This is one of several male Pseudanthias lori individuals in the colony:

Beautiful Pseudanthias lori basslet at 33m, Carl’s Ultimate dive site

Same fish, different angle, just as spectacular

To give credit where credit is due, Craig certainly has an eye for cute, colour-coordinated fish (with a particular penchant for pink).

Exploration and Discovery
As I mentioned above, we dived, explored and named four new dive sites during the trip: Xanadu, Soi 16, Jellybean Corners, and Silk Road.

Xanadu is a small passage Craig had never noticed before. The outer wall is gorgeous, with corals covering the entire reef, and lots of fish swarming about. The passage from the outside to the interior of the atoll was healthy as well, with troops of multi-hued parrotfish milling about, pooping streams of newly manufactured white sand here and there. During our second visit to this magical place, several co-adventurers came across mating white tip reef sharks. I named the site Xanadu in recognition of its unspoiled condition, and in keeping with Craig’s Asia-themed nomenclature for the sites in this area.

Strawberry-red soft coral at Xanadu dive site

Soi 16 is a submerged barrier reef near Emmmo. The terrain comprises a series of bunkers or “hills”, for lack of a better term, interlaced with channels and cut-out areas. The hills are covered(!) with corals, both hard and soft, and there are tonnes of fish swarming above…fusiliers, jacks, surgeonfish (the largest school I think I’ve ever seen), trevallies, etc. There was so much fish traffic in the area that diving the site reminded me of standing on a street corner in Bangkok. It was the 16th of January, so we called it Soi 16.

Soft coral and fish at Soi 16 dive site

Jellybean Corners is also at an opening in the atoll, where the outside walls rounds off into two nice corners at opposite sides of the passage opening. When I first dropped in, a gang of adorable baby grey reef sharks paddled in say hello, at least ten of them, perhaps as many as 20.

Though there wasn’t much current when we went there, I’m pretty certain the site gets hit with significant water flow, as there is a profusion of large, multicoloured soft corals on both corners. The brilliant yellows, reds, oranges and pinks of the plush soft corals reminded me of jellybean flavours, hence the name we assigned the site.

Colourful soft corals like this abound at Jellybean Corners

Finally, we dived and named another small passage in the same general area as Xanadu. Once again, it’s a passage Craig has probably passed many times, but hadn’t noticed. (It would perhaps be appropriate to insert a snide remark about Craig’s power of observation here, but I guess I shouldn’t do that to him, should I?)

Near this passage, the wall folds in and out in an S-curve pattern, covered wall-to-wall with a profusion of corals, mostly hard structures, but also some fans and soft corals closer to the actual passage opening. I gave this site the name Silk Road, in reference to the meandering pattern of the reef, and to go along with nearby site names Mantchuria, Great Wall of China, and Xanadu.

Soft coral at Silk Road dive site

It’s amazing to think that after 20 years of diving in the Eastern Fields, Craig is still finding new sites. The possibility of being the first person to explore a section of the reef is an incredible feeling, something I hope to experience again in the future.

Silly Sallie Story
A trip aboard MV Golden Dawn wouldn’t be complete without a silly story of course, preferably at the expense of my good friend Captain Craig. You would think that after all these years, Craig would’ve learned to be on guard when I’m around. To some extent, he has, but his (futile) efforts to foil my schemes just make it more fun to pull pranks on him.

Sallie’s whale shark encounter is a perfect example.

On the second day of the first itinerary, Sallie had a close encounter with a whale shark at a site called Point P. She was alone, in crystal-clear water. The whale shark practically came up and planted a big wet kiss on her cheek.

Naturally, she was delighted, and showed several of us photos and video when we got back to the boat.

The proverbial light bulb went off almost instantly, and I got everyone to agree not to tell Craig about the whale shark…until dinner.

Sallie’s whale shark, with barracudas in the background for bonus points

At meal time, Sallie sat next to Craig, showing Craig pictures on her camera, innocently(?) asking him to help her figure out what she had seen during the day (i.e., Sallie batting eyelashes at Craig in feigned damsel-in-distress manner).

She started with a genuine puzzle, the shadow of what appeared to be a hammerhead shark in the deep. She moved on to several other fish; then showed him a series of whale shark photos, starting with one taken at a distance, gradually getting closer and closer.

If you’ve read my posts about Craig over the years, it should perhaps come as no surprise that he fell hook, line, and sinker for the “Help me, Obi-wan; you’re my only hope” performance that Sallie put on. (The fact that she’s a lawyer and devious by nature certainly didn’t hurt.) She played the part to perfection, luring Craig directly into an immaculately choreographed trap.

Seated across from Craig and Sallie, I got up and started to video Craig’s reaction when Sallie showed him the whale shark photos. Greg recorded Craig’s reaction from another angle.

Demonstrating the mental acuity for which he and Elmer Fudd are renowned, Craig immediately became suspicious. He was perhaps already inclined to doubt Sallie’s whale shark sighting, but seeing me stand up to video his reaction prompted Craig to undertake critical analysis of the situation at hand:

“Hmmm, Sallie is showing me whale shark photos; but I didn’t see a whale shark; and Tony and Greg are video-ing me,” he thought.

“This can’t be good.” (pause for brain to process).

“Wait a second.” (pause while pained expression crosses his face).

“Tony obviously wants to see me react to Sallie’s photos. He must be setting me up.” (pause for Eureka!-moment expression).

“Aha! Tony probably gave her photos from somewhere else to put on her camera, which means there was no whale shark.” (pause for brain to rest and recover from prolonged exertion).

“Well, I’ll show him who’s smarter!” (pause for look of smug determination to appear on his face).

And so it was that Craig opened his mouth (as planned) and stuck his foot in it (once again, as planned), while I recorded the moment for all to savour:

What Craig didn’t count on, of course, is that I set him up to anticipate the set up, thereby resulting in his being set up even though he deduced that a set up was in progress and concluded (in error) that he had foreseen and hence averted said set up. Nice set up, no?

In all fairness, I couldn’t have pulled this one off without Sallie’s deft manipulation of Craig’s ego, which just goes to show you that sharks are definitely not the most dangerous animals in the sea.

Links to Sallie’s video of the whale shark: Video 1; Video 2

Equipment Note
I started using a KISS rebreather back in 2004 with Craig, during my initial visit to the Eastern Fields. The rebreather units themselves haven’t changed much since then, but there have been some notable improvements in peripherals, two of which I think worth highlighting.

First is the Shearwater Predator dive computer. I don’t usually get excited by dive computers, but this one is perfect for diving with KISS rebreathers.

Shearwater Predator dive computer (before hooking up to O2 sensors)

The Shearwater computer can integrate directly to the O2 sensors on KISS units, thus eliminating the need for bulky, clunky O2 gauges we used previously. Moreover, the computer’s colour-coded OLED readout is dead-simple to understand:

Green = all good.
Red = problem.
Yellow = maybe problem.
Orange = slightly more of a maybe problem.

The display automatically adjusts brightness based on ambient light, and the interface is intuitive. The only minor issue I’ve experienced is that it’s difficult to take the battery out, as the compartment is snug, and there’s no tab or tool that makes it easy to yank the power source out when it needs replacing. Not a huge problem, but seems like one the manufacturer could address easily.

Bottom line though…I can’t imagine diving a KISS unit without the Shearwater Predator now.

Me using the Shearwater computer. The bubbles are from a leak. Doh.

Second is the Nautilus Lifeline. When you’re on a rebreather, you don’t give off many bubbles. Plus, if you’re like me, there’s a tendency to stay down longer than divers using scuba tanks (mild understatement), so it’s tough for spotters on the surface to keep track of you.

This is a particularly relevant issue on Golden Dawn trips, since Craig’s itineraries tend to be to remote areas, many in open ocean with the potential for strong, unpredictable currents.

Safety sausages are the usual precaution against getting lost, but they can be cumbersome to carry and unwieldy to deploy/ put away. In some cases (especially with relatively compact safety sausages), they can be easy to miss in bright light or bad weather.

Nautilus lifeline

The Nautilus Lifeline incorporates GPS capability and a VHF radio, so you can (a) communicate with your dive boat (or any other nearby vessel with a radio for that matter) if you surface and no one is around, (b) tell them your exact GPS location, and (c) broadcast an emergency distress signal if you find yourself in a real bind.

Like the Shearwater, the Nautilus employs colour-coding:

Nautilus lifeline: Green to chat;
Orange to hail on Ch. 16; Red to broadcast GPS position.

It’s an electronic gadget, so you have to keep it charged, and having one doesn’t preclude carrying a safety sausage as well, but the Nautilus Lifeline seems like an ideal fit for rebreather divers. It’s probably a good idea for normal scuba diving as well.

If you’re contemplating a trip on Golden Dawn and plan to dive with a rebreather, Craig has a couple of Shearwater computers and Nautilus units aboard for rental.

Jenny (foreground) and Frederick (background) trained on rebreathers this trip

The Alchemy Challenge
Meet Megamouth, a drab, nondescript sponge I came across at a dive site called Tokyo Express:

Megamouth: Steadfast solitary sentinel of the sea

It was so dull that I’m almost certain no one else gave it a second glance during the dive. Among colourful sea fans, resplendent soft corals and glittering tropical fish, it was a lump. A lone, unappreciated lump with no lump-friends nearby, and no polychromatic costume to induce the adulation of camera-toting divers.

Paradoxically, the sponge’s intrinsic lack of charisma attracted me to it. I found myself drawn to the pigment-challenged poriferan, unable to resist staring, feeling something akin to compassion for the aesthetically uninspiring organism before me.

I stared and stared, first from one side, then the other; from above, then below; and finally, after perhaps five minutes or so, I decided to photograph it. A while later, I ended up with one of my favourite images from the trip, depicting the lackluster sponge in the best possible light (please forgive the pun).

Emphasising the sponge’s characteristic “mouth” and its position on a ledge with nothing else around, I used the curvature of the reef and just a tinge of deep blue to impart the somber mood of a tireless, solitary sentinel standing watch over Poseidon’s realm.

In hindsight, I probably should have taken a normal photo at normal exposure of the same area and subject, to give you a better appreciation of how utterly uninteresting the sponge looked, but I wasn’t thinking about writing this text at the time.

Anyway, here’s a photo challenge for you: The next time you’re on a dive trip, see if you can create an inspiring, visually pleasing image of a ho-hum subject, something most people would pass by without a second thought.

It’s not easy, and it can certainly be frustrating trying to turn lead into gold, so to speak, but it can also be exceptionally rewarding when you succeed.

Transforming the mundane into something inspiring…photographic alchemy, so to speak…will hone your photography skills, and more importantly, your imagination and creativity.

Manta, Manta
For some reason, PNG and manta rays don’t mix for me. I’ve been to the manta cleaning station at Gona Balubalu in Milne Bay three times, where, despite assurances that “Mantas are virtually guaranteed,” I’ve never seen one there. All I’ve ever done is sit at the rock and twiddle my thumbs. I have, in fact, become quite adept at it.

In the Eastern Fields, the site that vexes me is Mantchuria, where there are inevitably multiple mantas “last week” and “the charter after you”, but never when I’m there. Sigh.

Well, as of the first itinerary of this trip, I’ve finally broken the string of manta ray no-shows. I saw one manta.

The only manta I’ve ever seen in PNG

Other people on the trip saw more (figures, doesn’t it?), but I’m resigned to my fate, so it’s not a big deal.

The main reason I bring up the topic of mantas is that we had a repeat encounter with one. On 14 January, several of our divers photographed a relatively friendly female at Mantchuria; four days later, we bumped into her again at Carl’s Ultimate.

The two sites aren’t an enormous distance apart, but still…it’s cool that several people on the trip had the presence of mind to make the connection between the two sightings.

The ray in question was recognisable from a missing chunk of her body and unique marks on her belly as well.

I, of course, didn’t see her on either occasion, but Adam in particular was lucky enough to have the manta approach while we were at Carl’s Ultimate, go underneath and flip belly-up to him, then swim along for an extended period. Adam was all grins when he surfaced. Quite understandable given his unforgettable interspecies interlude.

Wrap-Up
There were, of course, many more notable experiences and adventures during the trip. It’s impossible to write about everything that happened; the best I can hope to do is convey a sense of how much fun we had (a lot!), and how terrific the company was on both trips.

My home for the past month: MV Golden Dawn

I’m grateful as ever to the brave and foolhardy people who volunteered to be trapped on a boat with me for an extended period of time: Franck and Beck, Thomas, Adam, Sallie, Frederick and Gina, Jenny, Dan and Kozy, Colin and Nana, Sue, Bart and LeAnne; with special commendation to Jim and Greg, who each deserve a medal for surviving two back-to-back trips(!) with me; and last but certainly not least, my good friend Eric, who has been busy working a real job and was unfortunately feeling a bit under the weather during much of the trip.

In addition, I am indebted to a number of parties for their help and cooperation to make this trip a success: Captain Craig, master and commander of MV Golden Dawn; my friends at Wetpixel; Dan Baldocchi (thanks for coordinating the logistics!); Zillion; Aquaforum; PNG Japan; and Air Niugini.

Craig and I are plotting more adventures soon (he’s such a glutton for punishment), including the possibility of a very special rebreather-only trip to explore the twilight zone of the Eastern Fields (deeper waters, from 40m on down); an exploratory cruise to check out the southern reefs of the Louisiade archipelago, areas of which we believe few (if any) people have ever dived; as well as more exploratory trips.

If you’d like to get an early heads-up for one-of-a-kind adventures like these, please sign up for my trip newsletter.

Thanks for reading!

PS: If you’re planning a trip to PNG and are flying with Air Niugini, take note of the company’s baggage policy for divers: Air Niugini offers the following baggage allowance for scuba divers; International flights – 20kgs (44lbs) plus an additional 15kgs (33lbs) per person. Domestic flights – 16kgs (35lbs) plus an additional 15kgs (33lbs) per person. Air Niugini honours the International allowance for International passengers in direct transit on same day to a domestic port in PNG.

PS for the gang on the 2nd trip: It’s called an airboat or fanboat.

Sea fans and soft coral at Northern Passage

March of the Damselfish, Carl’s Ultimate dive site

Soft coral with curtain of bigeye trevallies in background

Small school (more like a classroom) of barracudas

More soft coral at Jellybean Corners

Vignettes from the Eastern Fields

A new group of friends is aboard MV Golden Dawn with me now, so it’s time to head to sea once more to visit unspoiled coral reefs and say hello to friendly marine life like this:

Large school of bigeye jacks (Caranx sexfasciatus) in Papua New Guinea

Will be back in a couple of weeks.

Heading Back to the Eastern Fields

After nearly two weeks at sea in the Eastern Fields of Papua New Guinea, we’re back in port for a short interval to re-provision, drop off passengers and pick up a new group of adventurers.

So far, the trip has been amazing. Pristine coral reefs + great visibility underwater + lots of marine life + awesome group of travellers = very happy Tony.

The weather has treated us kindly as well, and the seas have been flat calm for the most part, with the ocean surface appearing on some days like the finest of handmade silk.

This photo of my friend Jenny swimming above the reef at a site called Passport Point conveys how idyllic the conditions have been:

The seas were as smooth as silk for most of the trip.

More updates and photos to come after I get back from the second part of the trip.

Back in Port

It’s a brand new year, and time for me to head to one of my favourite dive destinations…the Eastern Fields of Papua New Guinea. It’s been slightly over two years since I was there last, so I’m anxious to get back and see how things are.

As of this morning, I have news from Captain Craig of MV Golden Dawn that the conditions are fantastic. Keeping my fingers crossed that it’ll stay that way.

One of the highlights of my previous visit was when we stumbled upon a plump, pink frogfish at a dive site called Shaw Thing.

This discovery caused Craig to clap his hands in the water, skip around, and squeal like a gaggle of giggly girls high on helium.

This pretty pink piscine caused Craig to squeal with delight

Not that there’s anything wrong with said hypothetical congregation of snickering schoolgirls of course. It’s just that Craig so wants everyone to take him seriously and accord him the respect otherwise due to the captain of a marine-going vessel.

To this end, he invests considerable effort in trying to look steadfast and stalwart:

Craig trying (in vain) to look captainly

…but just can’t quite seem to pull it off (the dopey expression being an obvious contributing factor).

So back on the boat, pursuant to the Frogfish Incident, I felt obliged to advise him, as a caring friend, that tittering about in the water doesn’t help his cause.

We’ll see if he’s learned his lesson.

For everyone joining the upcoming trips…safe travels and see you soon!

Off to Papua New Guinea