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Thursday 6 November 2008

night dive with the manta rays

For these last 2 days on the large Hawaiian land, I rented a car, a Chrysler PT Cruiser. I drive to the west coast where, close to the airport, during the air waltz of the jumbo jets, a handful of boats agglutinate in a little bay where they thrived a peculiar activity, the manta rays night dive. It's precisely where I will be tonight. On the way, I make a detour by the black sand beach the turtles lay down on. They are only 3 today, but my joy to approach them is as great as yesterday. I can't linger because the road is still long up to Kailua. 1H30 later, I arrive at the diving center where I comply with the formalities. The price is exorbitant, it adds up to 170$ for 2 dives. I get to the boat at 3PM where the staff welcome the divers of the day. As we navigate to the bay, a dolphins' family offers us a aerobatics show. A savoury starter preceding our immersion.

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After the briefing, we go into the water for the first dive. A tasteless immersion, far from the marvels of the Indian Ocean. However, the interest focuses on the second dive. The dusk motivates us to put on our equipment again and equipped with a torchlight, we jump into the water. A several-torch-kitted box was established at 10m deep underwater and light the surface. Different series of divers come and kneel down around this luminous seamark and put their lamps upwards. This cluster of light attracts swarms of plankton which manta rays are very fond of. After a 20-minute vain waiting, the dive master decides to move on to the spare plan with a normal night dive when one of the divers shakes his torchlight and all our eyes turn back. The sea devil flies to the light shaft. Our breathing cuts themselves off, the time of this mind-blowing dance. The creature will make two other rides before vanishing into the dark blue. We will wait for its or one of its fellow member's come back but in vain. We get on the boat, glad of this brief appearance when another ray comes by the hull. Each one of us is delighted with this double encounter while we go back to the pier in a starry sky.



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Friday 17 October 2008

some fears on the Yasur volcano

From a tip to the other one of the Vanuatu archipelago, I leave the underwater scenery of Espiritu Santo to dive into the smoking steams of the Yasur volcano on the Tanna island. A 20-seat small plane drops us off at the tiny airport of Lenakel. In the arrival hall, a driver of the Jungle Oasis resort (a gathering of wooden huts built for the tourists) holds out a sign with the name of the campground on it. I unload my bag at the back of the pick-up and we head towards the inside of the island. An about-2-hour lift on a road furrowed by continuous rains. The abundant vegetation isolates me from the sight of the surroundings. We go over a hill where the view clears out and we dash down again into the meanders of the forest before the verdure suddenly stops, pushed back by a grayish strange sand made up of minute particles of pumice. The Yasur volcano spreads out its claws and marks its territory outwards the crater. A hoarse rumble soars out of the gray thickness. A shout of an angry nature who shows the beginnings of an encounter with an genuine active volcano which expresses itself by expelling its venom of lava.
One of the singular activities, probably unique in the world, is the opportunity of surfing on the ashes of the volcano. Jungle Oasis owns a worn-out, bad-quality snowboard which will do for the occasion (I will learn later it was possible to rent a better snowboard at the next-door village). The ascent is exhausting with an eye riveted skywards, at each new chuckle of the mountain. Each step sinks deeply in the particles of ash. Practically arrived at the top, I put on the board and face the steep slope. I make up my way onto the volcano. A total freedom punctuated by otherworldly splutters which make me jump at each new expression. A unique experience in a unique scenery.

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However, the main part of the action stimulated by a pathological curiosity drives me to the origin of this telluric cough. From the campground, it's a 45-minute short walk on a 4WD path. I pay the right of going ahead at the end of the village and stride along this rocky-ash-covered soil. The greenery-clad sides accompany my stroll when the track opens out a car park where several 4x4 vehicles are still there. A mailbox (the only one on a volcano!) marks the beginning of the final path dotted with the footprints of number of thrill-seeking adventurers wannabes. The detonations sound clearly when a explosion, louder than the others, propels glowing residues high in the sky. My eyes rise, a natural firework illuminates the firmament. The survival instinct of each guest present on this inhospitable land assesses the size of the lava projectiles. No worries for this time, each chunk of magma heavy falls down in the crater. A muffled and choked sound which leaves us a break before the next explosion. I sit down and wait. The roars are constant and the episodic gushing out of melting rock delight the spectators. With this hint of continuous fear when the reddening mouth spits out its drops of lava, each one lift his eyes towards the highest particles and size up their potential danger as they fall down.
The next day, I climb again the Yasur, the viewpoint of the last day is filled with smoke and I stop on the right side of the crater. The activity seems calm until all the visitors of the evening leave the place. I'm alone. The crimson shine of the volcanic hearth breaks through the black night. A weird feeling takes me up, an awe-inspiring mixture of curiosity and fear. The reason should have wanted me to go down with the last tourists and yet the irresistible urge to remain, to listen to and to marvel at another explosion, to thrill again at the rhythm of the earth vibrations. But, the activity of the volcano increases, the interval between two expressions reduce and the incandescent shells fly higher and higher. My heart palpitations fidget far beyond bearable, I stand up and clear off. The volcanologist Aroun Tazieff will wait to find a successor. However, reminding it again, how exciting it was to be sitting alone at the edge of this crater.

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Wednesday 1 October 2008

feeding the sharks

Since my South-African bath with the great white sharks and the sandtiger sharks, I developed a certain fascination for this often extraordinary-sized cartilaginous fish. The animal which stands at the apex of the food chain reached such a level of perfection for predation that it has hardly evolved for the last 200 millions years.
After a fruitless attempt a week ago, I go back to Pacific Harbour where two dive centers offer the shark-feeding, an activity we can condemn on one side since it interacts with animal kingdom but respectful on another side because it serves to promote the protection of this sensitive fish which often finishes in the too tight-meshed nets or hooked up a rod of a stupid fishing game.
On the boat, we receive strict orders because no protective cage will surround us. We'll stay behind a rope flanked by two stick-equipped divers who will move aside a possible oncoming shark. 2 other divers will be in charge of feeding the sharks, opening two big dustbins full of tuna leftovers. And the festival begins. A lot of opportunistic fish such as big-eyed jacks or remoras swim around and try to pick up a chunk on the way. But these fish give way when the cartilaginous predators arrive, among them the two most aggressive ones in the world, the tiger shark and the bull shark. Lemon-, tawny nurse- and reef sharks will complete this great diversity.
One of the crew members approaches me, seizes my arm and pulls me to the stage. A tawny nurse shark lays down on the bottom when my hand holds out towards the animal and gently strokes its rough skin. Because the skin of a shark is not smooth; it's dotted of countless mini-teeth and was formerly sold as tool to sand the hulls of the boats. These bumps serve to break out the vortex of the water which forms when the shark swims and improve its hydrodynamism. I take back my position behind the rope and keep my eyes wide-open in front of the show. A dive not as the other ones among the kingdom of the predators.

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