Some two decades ago I visited the bridge of the Superior Producer, a 164 ft freighter that sailed under the flag of Panama. "Nothing special", most of you would say, "We've been aboard ships too". I guess you're right, except for the fact, that the Superior Producer capsized and sank in 1977. It lies some 100 ft under water, just of the coast of the Carribean island of Curacao. The only way to visit it, is to put on scubagear and dive down to it. And that is exactly what I did, more than once.
It all started with Jacques Cousteau. He showed the world, and me, how beautiful life under water is. Every sunday I watched his documentaries about the wonders of the seas, and I dreamed of joining his crew and exploring that world myself. It remained just a dream ofcourse, I was just a kid after all.
In the summer my parents often took us to the beach. Inspired by that famous frenchman, I tried swimming underwater wearing a diving mask, but the North Sea wasn't exactly inviting. The sand whirling up in the surf and all the algea made it look brown and murky, so I quickly gave it up and stuck to just swimming, playing in the sand and catching crabs and starfish on the breakwaters that stretched out into the sea.
Everything changed when I first went on holiday to Benidorm in Spain. I had taken three steps into the Mediteranian Sea, when I saw fish swimming in the cristal clear water, right in front of my feet. I splashed back to the beach, crossed it, crossed the boulevard, went into the first shop with beach stuff that I saw and bought a diving mask. I ran straight back to the water, put the mask on and dove in. And there they were, big silvery fish with thin yellow stripes, smaller ones with shades of light blue and yellow and hundreds of tiny fish. I was in heaven!
I soon found out, there was a small problem in my newly discovered heaven. You can't breathe there. I had to lift my head out of the water every half minute or so, scaring away the fish that just were beginning to come a bit closer. It soon bugged me so much, that I went out of the water, back into the shop and I bought myself a snorkel. For a while I was happy, I could now keep my head in the water and watch the fish. It took a bit of practice, you'd be amazed how much water you can suck into your mouth and airways through such a small tube, but I soon got the hang of it and I enjoyed myself immensely. I saw all kinds of fish and even a small octopus. Still, I had a problem. All those fish swam so fast, I just couldn't keep up. One little flick of their tail and they were gone. Luckily, that shop was still close by, so out of the water and into the shop I went again, and I bought myself a pair of flippers. The rest of those two weeks in Spain I only saw the beach, when I crossed it from the boulevard to the water or back. I was hooked on the underwater world, forever.
From then on I never went anywhere where the water was clear, without my snorkling gear. Over time I bought better equipment, added a weight belt, and learned to control my breath. That allowed me to dive down deeper and to stay down longer, enabling to see even more of the beauty that lives beneath the surface of the seas. I loved every second I spent under water, but after a while something began to sting. Everyone I knew brought home pictures from their holidays. Pictures of all the places they went to, of the beautiful things they had seen, images of what they had done. I had nothing to show, yet nothing they brought home even closely compared to the beauty of the world I had discovered.
I was in luck. Close to where I lived was a photographer's shop and the owner of it had a hobby, underwater photography. He even gave courses. To my dismay, he only took licensed divers and no snorkelers. After some serious convincing and buying a real underwater camera set, I became the exception to the rule. Needless to say, I never entered the water without my camera after that. For years in a row I came home with slides that made all my friends jealous. When they showed "Me on the beach" and "Us on the rented bike", I showed that blue world and its inhabitants, fish in all colors, anemones, corals and even moray eels and octopuses. Still a snorkeler, I had become skillfull enough, to easily reach a depth of over thirty feet and stay there for almost two minutes. Then, one day, that was no longer enough.
I was on holiday in Turkey, snorkeling from Cleopatra Beach in Alanya, when I spotted an octupus, some thirty feet below. As I dove down, the intelligent animal spotted me too, and retreated into what seemed to be the remnants of a small amphora. Patiently I waited with my camera ready, because I knew how curious they are. If I wouldn't move too much, it would come out to take a closer look and then I'd have my perfect picture. It decided to come out of the circular opening after some two minutes, timing it perfectly with my need to go up and breathe. That movement drove it back into its hiding place. Again I dove down and waited patiently for almost two minutes. And again it waited with showing itself until I could no longer hold my breath and had to go up. After a few more tries I gave up. I took a picture of the smartass peeking out of its hole, went up and swam away, angry and unsatisfied. Right there and then I decided I would become a real scubadiver, a son of Cousteau's legacy and an explorer of the depths.
Since then I've seen a lot of the underwater world, both in salt and sweet water. I've met with sharks, large schools of baracudas and stingray's the size of a smal table. I saw fish and corals in all shapes and sizes, I swam with a 3 ft and 7 inches long pike, I admired anemones and large shrimps living in symbiosis, and seacucumbers and nudibranchs in all the colors you can imagine. I've waved to the passengers of a yellow tourist submarine and swam with pilot whales. And if you think, that sums it up, you're wrong. Diving took me to heaven and it eventually took me to that shipwreck of the Superior Producer, sitting upright on the bottom of the Carribean Sea, as if it sails the sandy bottom. Since it sank, corals, seaweeds, anemones and scores of fish have taken posession of it, proving, that in the end, nature is stronger than our creations of steel. It is often described as one of the best diving locations in the Caribean. I can only agree.
I haven't been under water for almost 15 years now, for multiple reasons. My slides with all that beauty are stored away and I doubt if my airtanks are still safe to use. I still miss it though. That world of wonders, of beautiful colors and movements, that world, that to my initial surprise, is filled with noise, sounds of fish eating at the coral, waves crashing on the shore, sea mammals clicking, rattling and whistling and always the sound of your breath and the bubbles of exhaled airt, slowly rising to the surface. A world so beautiful, words will never be enough to describe it. If you're still looking for a hobby, diving is one I'd seriously consider. Just watch one episode of Cousteau and you'll know why.
It all started with Jacques Cousteau. He showed the world, and me, how beautiful life under water is. Every sunday I watched his documentaries about the wonders of the seas, and I dreamed of joining his crew and exploring that world myself. It remained just a dream ofcourse, I was just a kid after all.
In the summer my parents often took us to the beach. Inspired by that famous frenchman, I tried swimming underwater wearing a diving mask, but the North Sea wasn't exactly inviting. The sand whirling up in the surf and all the algea made it look brown and murky, so I quickly gave it up and stuck to just swimming, playing in the sand and catching crabs and starfish on the breakwaters that stretched out into the sea.
Everything changed when I first went on holiday to Benidorm in Spain. I had taken three steps into the Mediteranian Sea, when I saw fish swimming in the cristal clear water, right in front of my feet. I splashed back to the beach, crossed it, crossed the boulevard, went into the first shop with beach stuff that I saw and bought a diving mask. I ran straight back to the water, put the mask on and dove in. And there they were, big silvery fish with thin yellow stripes, smaller ones with shades of light blue and yellow and hundreds of tiny fish. I was in heaven!
I soon found out, there was a small problem in my newly discovered heaven. You can't breathe there. I had to lift my head out of the water every half minute or so, scaring away the fish that just were beginning to come a bit closer. It soon bugged me so much, that I went out of the water, back into the shop and I bought myself a snorkel. For a while I was happy, I could now keep my head in the water and watch the fish. It took a bit of practice, you'd be amazed how much water you can suck into your mouth and airways through such a small tube, but I soon got the hang of it and I enjoyed myself immensely. I saw all kinds of fish and even a small octopus. Still, I had a problem. All those fish swam so fast, I just couldn't keep up. One little flick of their tail and they were gone. Luckily, that shop was still close by, so out of the water and into the shop I went again, and I bought myself a pair of flippers. The rest of those two weeks in Spain I only saw the beach, when I crossed it from the boulevard to the water or back. I was hooked on the underwater world, forever.
From then on I never went anywhere where the water was clear, without my snorkling gear. Over time I bought better equipment, added a weight belt, and learned to control my breath. That allowed me to dive down deeper and to stay down longer, enabling to see even more of the beauty that lives beneath the surface of the seas. I loved every second I spent under water, but after a while something began to sting. Everyone I knew brought home pictures from their holidays. Pictures of all the places they went to, of the beautiful things they had seen, images of what they had done. I had nothing to show, yet nothing they brought home even closely compared to the beauty of the world I had discovered.
I was in luck. Close to where I lived was a photographer's shop and the owner of it had a hobby, underwater photography. He even gave courses. To my dismay, he only took licensed divers and no snorkelers. After some serious convincing and buying a real underwater camera set, I became the exception to the rule. Needless to say, I never entered the water without my camera after that. For years in a row I came home with slides that made all my friends jealous. When they showed "Me on the beach" and "Us on the rented bike", I showed that blue world and its inhabitants, fish in all colors, anemones, corals and even moray eels and octopuses. Still a snorkeler, I had become skillfull enough, to easily reach a depth of over thirty feet and stay there for almost two minutes. Then, one day, that was no longer enough.
I was on holiday in Turkey, snorkeling from Cleopatra Beach in Alanya, when I spotted an octupus, some thirty feet below. As I dove down, the intelligent animal spotted me too, and retreated into what seemed to be the remnants of a small amphora. Patiently I waited with my camera ready, because I knew how curious they are. If I wouldn't move too much, it would come out to take a closer look and then I'd have my perfect picture. It decided to come out of the circular opening after some two minutes, timing it perfectly with my need to go up and breathe. That movement drove it back into its hiding place. Again I dove down and waited patiently for almost two minutes. And again it waited with showing itself until I could no longer hold my breath and had to go up. After a few more tries I gave up. I took a picture of the smartass peeking out of its hole, went up and swam away, angry and unsatisfied. Right there and then I decided I would become a real scubadiver, a son of Cousteau's legacy and an explorer of the depths.
Since then I've seen a lot of the underwater world, both in salt and sweet water. I've met with sharks, large schools of baracudas and stingray's the size of a smal table. I saw fish and corals in all shapes and sizes, I swam with a 3 ft and 7 inches long pike, I admired anemones and large shrimps living in symbiosis, and seacucumbers and nudibranchs in all the colors you can imagine. I've waved to the passengers of a yellow tourist submarine and swam with pilot whales. And if you think, that sums it up, you're wrong. Diving took me to heaven and it eventually took me to that shipwreck of the Superior Producer, sitting upright on the bottom of the Carribean Sea, as if it sails the sandy bottom. Since it sank, corals, seaweeds, anemones and scores of fish have taken posession of it, proving, that in the end, nature is stronger than our creations of steel. It is often described as one of the best diving locations in the Caribean. I can only agree.
I haven't been under water for almost 15 years now, for multiple reasons. My slides with all that beauty are stored away and I doubt if my airtanks are still safe to use. I still miss it though. That world of wonders, of beautiful colors and movements, that world, that to my initial surprise, is filled with noise, sounds of fish eating at the coral, waves crashing on the shore, sea mammals clicking, rattling and whistling and always the sound of your breath and the bubbles of exhaled airt, slowly rising to the surface. A world so beautiful, words will never be enough to describe it. If you're still looking for a hobby, diving is one I'd seriously consider. Just watch one episode of Cousteau and you'll know why.
