What Kammuri Did

When bancas look like pond-skaters and the sea looks like glass

Wednesday morning

Kammuri was definitely not a ten-a-penny typhoon. 200,000 people were evacuated from their homes in the central and eastern islands and Manila airport was closed. I have heard on the news that over a dozen people were killed. We caught only the bottom edge here in Siquijor, but there was no denying its strength. Yesterday, high winds forced the rain sideways, closed the ferry ports, and sent the dive shop staff home early.

But still, last night just like every night, while most of the island was sleeping, a handful of fishermen headed out into the Bohol Sea in their small wooden banca boats. And soon after sunrise I saw them appear, one by one, on the horizon as they made their way back to the shore. Bancas are dugout canoes with bamboo out rigs and look like pond-skaters when the water is calm but seem terribly precarious in the wind and the waves. Trading takes place straight out of the nets either on the sand or from a tiny hut on the beach path. Fish are weighed, and paid for, put into polystyrene cool boxes or plastic bags, and whisked away on motorbikes and trikes to homes, hotels and restaurants.

My room above the dive shop overlooks the tiny trading hut and later today, once the trading is over, I’ll be making a shore dive from the fishermen’s beach. The winds have completely dropped and the sea looks like glass. It seems almost impossible that yesterday happened. But even so, I’m not sure about shore diving. I had been hoping to feel at least a little James Bond on my first outing on Monday, but didn’t even come close. A seriously low tide meant Barrie, the dive-master, and I had to snorkel through a maze of belly-scraping rock and corals to get to the reef. And at one point, had to remove our fins and start again. Which is no easy task with a 16 kilogram tank on your back, a mask on your face, and a thousand chocolate chip starfish and sea urchins to consider. It just felt all wrong and I was no secret agent.

Then, when we did eventually reach clear water and began to descend, I realised how unsettled I had become. I found it difficult to equalise and struggled to calm my breathing. It was beautiful down there. The corals were stunning. There was a whole world of reef fish, turtles, and a big barracuda. But I felt like I was sinking and I just couldn’t shake it. I was rattled and jangling for the whole of the dive.

Wednesday evening

I’m sure this has come up already, but it’s abundantly clear that my initial reactions and responses rarely bear any relation to where I end up. And I’m happy to report that shore diving is fun! Barrie confessed he’d made a mistake with my first two dives. His last minute decision to dive the north side of the island to avoid the early winds of Kumarri was flawed. The tide was too low and he should have rescheduled or cancelled. And I can also see now that I should have spoken up. It wasn’t unsafe and I was never in danger, but I was uncomfortable. And feeling that way, for whatever reason, is not a good way to dive.

But all is forgiven and no doubt soon forgotten, because today was incredible. Perhaps one of my favourite dives ever. Snorkelling out over the sea grass and switching to my regulator without surfacing was unquestionably Bond-like. And the turtle that greeted us was pretty special too. It’s so hard to imagine the world underneath when you look out to sea and diving makes me feel like I’ve found a secret door. Every little thing is unusual and rare.

Friday morning

I’ve done two more dives since writing this and it just gets better and better. And I have another two today. The coral reefs here really are mind-blowing and teeming with life. I spent over an hour on one dive yesterday which for me is a milestone. With a big enough tank, I would be down there all day.