Fading Into The Blue

The rough seas of the monsoon season can make it difficult to get off the Aldabra atoll but the Save Our Seas team found themselves wishing it was even harder to leave…

Standing closer to the bow than the rest of my expedition team, which sat huddled in wet t-shirts at the back, the ocean’s salty spray lashed at my eyes with each breaker that washed over us and I could see every wave that loomed ahead, magnified ten fold in my blurry vision, before we climbed it. Our Seychellois captain had many years of ocean tales to recount and I assumed he could see more sea than I. While rubbing his eyes in a futile attempt to keep them dry, however, he announced: “You never can tell which waves the boat will glide down or which ones we will fly off”, and my knuckles paled a shade whiter. We flew off quite a few, but considering the battle between the current and its opposing 35knot southeast wind staging all around us the four-hour journey from the Aldabra Atoll to Assumption Island went relatively smoothly.

During this monsoon season research scientists on Aldabra are often unable to get safely off the island for months at a time, and watching Aldabra gradually fade into the blue, I couldn’t help but wish I were one of them. How do you breath in – freeze frame the memories of an expedition to a place so far removed from most places on Earth today that it feels like another, forgotten, world? More importantly, how do you take Aldabra to the rest of the world? The Save Our Seas Foundation has joined forces with the Aldabra Foundation to do just this. Our expedition footage and photographs will be become part of an exhibition, travelling to cities worldwide in an effort to raise awareness of the extraordinary natural paradise that still exists on Aldabra and in its surrounding waters.

Back on Aldabra I realized as I watched a little blonde 4 year old, the daughter of Aldabra’s research officer, splashing in the sandy shallows with blacktip reef sharks swimming nonchalantly past her, that this is how it is meant to be. Day by day the atoll revealed more and more of its treasures to us, and with them uncovered a forgotten past that has existed here, unaffected by human influence, since the age of reptiles, millions of years ago. That existence, which once belonged to every tropical reef and mangrove forest on earth, still remains on Aldabra today. Over time these portholes back in time have been narrowed down to a few fragmented protected areas, and most people will never experience first hand planet Earth in all its glory revelling in a life undisrupted by humans.

Even though statistics show that New Yorkers bite more people than sharks, sharks have suffered terribly at the hands of man, and with more than 100 million killed each year, we are busy wiping a group of animals that has survived since before our existence to extinction. The world needs people to appreciate the intrinsic beauty of sharks and their absolute necessity for maintaining a healthy ocean, and I hope that what we found and have brought back from Aldabra will inspire people to go against the ingrained media driven perception of sharks.



We went to Aldabra to document the abundance of large shark species. What we found in a place termed ‘the most inhospitable place on earth’ was one of the most hospitable places in the sea for inshore shark species. Inside the lagoon and fringing reef the blacktip reef sharks proliferate in high numbers – they were everywhere on all our inshore dives. Given time, the sicklefin lemon and gray reef could also be counted on for an appearance, both in the lagoon channels and on the reefs, and on a couple of occasions we were graced with the presence of elegant silvertip and whitetip sharks.

Outside the protection of the reef our search for pelagic shark species revealed empty blue water, and considering the amount of bait we used, which can be detected by sharks miles down current, it looks as if they have vanished from the surrounding waters. Reports of tigers sharks in the lagoon haunted us day and night but these gray ghosts with their vibrant tiger stripes eluded us. We cannot say with certainty there are none left, perhaps those that have survived the long lines of baited hooks in the surrounding waters were hunting turtles in the more remote and inaccessible parts of the lagoon or perhaps they were further a-field; Tiger sharks have been recorded migrating between Australia and South Africa. Another explanation is that they are active more at night on Aldabra, but even if one of these possible theories is correct the numbers are still drastically low. As for the other oceanic species, such as oceanic white tip and the great hammerhead, there were none there for us to photograph.

The words of greatest naturalist George B Schaller could never be more poignant than in this day and age: ‘Pen and camera are weapons against oblivion; they can create awareness for that which may soon be lost forever.’ I hope that the images we have come away with of the magic we did find, of a land and ocean living as it is meant to be, will help to fill in and repopulate the blue voids of the places that have lost their life.

Sleepless at Dawn - with Green Turtles

This morning was one of my favourites. I crept out of bed, unclipped my pelican case quietly (which is near impossible) and crept down the veranda – between our sleeping habits on this expedition, which are far off in zombie land and the crashing of the waves against the champignons below the veranda my tip-toeing probably made no difference. It was before dawn and the beach belonged to me… and the nesting green turtles.


The tide was still high and I was hoping to photograph the late turtles, those that had not yet returned to the ocean after laying their eggs in the darkness of the early morning. Half way down the beach I spotted a turtle in the throws of completing her egg burying routine and managed to get some images of her returning to the ocean. The night had not yet relinquished its star embellished sky to the sun when I headed out camera and tripod in hand but by the time this turtle was on her way down to the water for a photo shoot it was harsh daylight, and she was in hurry to return to the safety of her wet world.


Further down at the very end of this particular beach the first clues of the last late turtle were the sand grains flying skywards in every direction. She was frantically covering her egg chamber and over an hour later was finally ready to shuffle down to the water’s edge. Her eyes were focused on the waves rolling up the beach and once they brushed against her scaly flippers she was gone – part of the sea in seconds.




Sadly, the rest of the day was not as eventful or inspiring. We were all exhausted and pre-occupied with our least favourite task - packing. It always takes longer than you think – especially with multiple strobes, camera housings, cameras, flashes and all the nuts and bolts in between that hold it all together. By midnight we were loading the boat with the final waterproofed bags – ready for an early start the next morning on our “Water World” back over the waves to the island of Assumption.

The Crabs Went Down to the Beach Today

We pulled up both bait stations out of the water today, and with them our hopes to find and photograph large shark species off Aldabra also dried. Inshore, however, we did enjoy a last dive at high tide with the black tip reef sharks, photographing them silhouetted between the champignons. Conditions were not great - a pumping current, which was dragging us and the sharks with it, combined with a rocking bottom surge made it very difficult free diving.


No sooner did we get out of our wetsuits were we rushing down the beach again with cameras in hand. On his way to get his dive equipment from the boat Dan spotted several crabs coming down to the water’s edge together – clutching a bundle of black eggs. For a split second in the flurry to grab cameras and flashes I thought perhaps we were in for the biggest crab treat of all – to see the coconut crabs spawning. They were not coconut crabs but cardiosoma crabs, a terrestrial crab that lives inland and in the mangroves. Still, witnessing these crabs crawl down to the beach en mass at this new phase of the moon specifically to release their eggs into the ocean was a memorable Aldabra surprise.

Turtle Power

Life was back in our warm blood this morning and we headed out at first light to see if we could find some life with cold blood. Aldabra is a haven for green turtles and we hoped to catch some on film making use of the morning’s hide tide and returning to the water after a long and tiresome night digging nests in the sand and laying eggs. Dan arrived just in time to film one green heaving herself down the beach and into the water. They are incredibly graceful creatures in the water – one flick of a flipper and they are off in a different direction or swimming tens of meters down below. Underwater, good photos are almost impossible unless the particular character is feeling photogenic. After the monumental effort they make to nest on beaches it must be such an incredible feeling of freedom for them to sink back into weightlessness.

Later in the day the team split. Dan went out to film on the reef while James kept a look out for sharks at the baiting station. As I have said before, it is the smaller ones you have to watch out for… and on this dive it was one of the balky potato bass that tried to swallow Rainer’s arm. He succeeded as far as his wrist and even dragged Rainer, with his SCUBA gear, along the reef a little. He wasn’t a small potato bass, but the point is he was not a shark!!

While that was going on I was working with Tom, photographing the black tip and lemon sharks inshore in the high water against the champignons. Black tips and lemon sharks swirled around us in a flurry of fins and inquisitive eyes until it was too dark to see any more and we hurried back for Pascal’s (the station’s chef) supper.

We spent the night and early morning hours looking for nesting green turtles on the beach. Each day on our travels to the dive sites we have counted dozens of turtle tracks along the beach and vowed many times to stay up to watch them lay. As expected, we found many tracks but they all had a parallel set along side, return tracks, which meant the turtle had been and gone. Near the far end of the research station beach we hit gold – a single track. Quietly following it up the beach and letting our eyes adjust to the natural light without torches we heard the shuffle and scrunching of sand mingled with heavy puffs of air. She was busy digging a pit large enough to fit her whole body in, flicking sand backwards with her fore-flippers. We watched for half an hour as she dug and shifted sand, until she hit a root and decided the position she had chosen was not suitable for her eggs and shuffled herself further up the beach only to start the process all over again. The top of the beach looks like the surface of the moon there are so many craters and pits lining it from the turtles that come up each night and sometimes dig multiple pits before actually digging the egg chamber and laying.

Moving further down the beach we found another turtle starting the same process and sat watching her for hours, until she gave up, turned around and headed down the beach back towards the water. We left her in peace and moved back to the first turtle just in time to watch her dig her egg chamber and drop her eggs neatly inside it. The precision with which they dig the chamber is amazing – one back flipper at a time they scoop a spoon sized portion of sand and earth and deposit it on the side. By one in the morning she had finally finished laying and proceeded to cover the eggs and compact the sand around it. We didn’t stay to watch her finish, but when we left the eggs were well and truly hidden and she was still busy spraying sand in all directions. By then the tide was at its lowest and I did pity the journey she would have to make across the reef before reaching the water, but at least another generation of this endangered animal was safely buried and waiting to hatch on Aldabran sand – the same sand that is now engrained in our camera lenses!

“No Holiday Camp”

Breakfast each morning in the station’s dining room, a veranda of sort that looks out over the reef flat and onto blue yonder, is usually full of banter with plans for the day being finalized according to the weather and the tides over several cups of Seychelles’ vanilla tea. This morning, there was silence and many cups of coffee. The whole team was feeling rather bleary-eyed after our mid-night unloading escapades and many days on the go in succession, on and in the water. My Dad often says to me with a smile on his face “Do you think this is a holiday camp” when referring to serious situations, and believe me our expedition is not a holiday camp. Photographers and cameramen are not afforded the luxury of going out when the conditions are perfect… to get the shots you have to try try try and try again, which means never ever giving up and going out again and again and again. No complaints though, I don’t think any of us would have it any other way.


After catching our breaths and catching up with important housework, writing, downloading, backing up etc etc. we headed back to the lagoon channel (where Dan floated around with his camera on the lilo) next to the research station and then went up one of the mangrove channels as far as the little tin boat could go. The tide was high and because the mangrove trees were submerged up to their leaves we could photograph right inside the heart of the underwater forest. Hoping that we would get some lemon sharks in the mangroves we pushed on until the sun had disappeared and we were left with little natural light. No sharks arrived, but it gave us a chance to photograph the mangroves themselves and use the light to decorate the water around them.

Back to Base

The morning sunrise over the channel was spectacular – and what a relief to have clear sky and sunshine for the day. We photographed the frigatebirds soaring over the island and the channel, waiting for the wind to die down and for the birds to drop closer to our level before catching the strong gusts and cruising to higher altitudes. In the mid-day heat, when the tide was low, we walked across the lagoon with cameras on our backs in an attempt to photograph the mangroves and the colony from the topside (not underwater). We took the wrong route at first and rather nervously held our cameras aloft as we waded through water waste deep, but soon spotted the shallow ridge and avoided almost certain disaster!


The area is vast – a shallow lagoon fringed with mangrove forest and covered in rippling layers of sand and water. Two hours later we hurried back across the lagoon before the tide turned – too late, we discovered, the strong current was already pushing against our strides. Luckily it was still only at calf level.

After packing up (what seems to be our favourite past time), beaching the tin boat and lining our equipment along the beach we waited for the boat. I sat on my pelican case photographing the frigates again – they are masters of the air and perform great aerial displays from their dizzy heights, mainly to steal something from another bird. The frigatebirds intercept boobies, the Western Indian Ocean version of the gannet, on their way back to land after the seabirds have been fishing at sea and steal their catch by chasing them relentlessly until they regurgitate all their hard earned fish. They also pick on each other, squabbling in the air for pieces of nesting material or simply for what looked like just the fun of it!

Our captain did arrive, albeit late enough to make us wish we hadn’t given the tortoise the remains of our rice or emptied the juice cartons, and we motored back to Picard, narrowly avoiding another thunderstorm, and the luxury of the research station. We arrived at high tide; we are now back in Spring Tides so the tides are at their maximum range, and there was a swell pushing onto the beach that made unloading tricky. Rather than risk the equipment Gilbert moored the boat and we piled into the small tin boat for a ride ashore – piling out on the beach before being dumped by the waves. It was the IUCN team’s last evening and after a hearty supper with a glass of wine, the last thing any of us felt like doing was unloading the boat – but at 23h30 the tide was low and we trundled across the sand flat one pelican case after another.

Black Tip Reef Sharks in the Roots

After an early morning lull the rain clouds returned and we were battered by strong winds and rain until the afternoon. The dark light made photography in the mangroves impossible and we were left at camp with the tortoise and the rail. (more on these characters later)

In the afternoon’s high incoming tide we ventured back into the mangroves. A party of black tip sharks pre-occupied Tom and I as we tried to capture images of them swimming through the roots, while Dan filmed the enchanting network of channels and overhanging branches. When the current was flowing fast and furious I hugged the roots of one tree and toyed with images of the fish flying around the corner of the channel into the main stream. Once the current subsided we finned down the main channel into an area with a cavity along the floor that forms a pool of water at low tide where fish get trapped. Even on the tail end of a high tide the pool was teaming with numerous fish species in great numbers, turtles swimming in all directions, rays cruising past and one extremely large brindle bass lurked in the shadows of a large coral outcrop.

I think our hut could have been pelted by hail and coconut crabs could have been dancing with the egrets on our roof all night and I would have slept through it all.

The Mangroves at Middle Camp

Our journey to Middle camp took longer than I expected. The southeast monsoon wind has stirred the ocean and our 30ft boat feels very small on its surface, especially riding against the swell of the waves. Our departure was delayed an hour due to last minute technical difficulties – hard drives full with thousands of expedition images crashing and frantic efforts to ensure all images were backed up twice on working devices, and we left sometime after 14h00. Two and a half hours later we, together with all our gear, were deposited on the shores of Malabar and Gilbert, our new and most accommodating captain, promised to return in two days at 16h00 to pick us up.

A small wooden hut with a corrugated tin roof, a few bunk beds and a view over the Pass Houareau channel on one side and the lagoon on the other was our new home. Large Dracula shaped shadows zigzagged across the shore cast down from the soaring frigate birds ahead and the thick mangrove forests that edge the inner lagoon beckoned us to explore – we took to the place immediately; it felt wilder – more Aldabra somehow than anywhere else we had stayed on the Atoll.

Arriving on a high incoming tide gave us the opportunity for an afternoon and evening venture into the mangrove channels across the lagoon. For the first time I was seriously torn between donning fins or balancing on the boat to photograph the raucous of the frigate bird colony in the tall (Rhizpophora) mangrove canopy, which was already speckled with the white of nesting boobies. The different hues of the blue lagoon and the emerald green of the mangrove foliage glowed under that beautiful golden light that only appears in the hour before dusk. The lure of the drowned forest and the multitude of fish sheltering amongst its labyrinth of buttress and knee roots was too strong and I joined Tom and Dan underwater.

Mangroves are essential for the health of the ocean, provide a source of income for coastal people, and protect coastlines from erosion, surge storms, and tsunamis. They support a unique ecosystem and provide a habitat for a wide spectrum of animals, from adult and juvenile fish to sponges, crabs and shrimps. Shrimps use the muddy bottom as their home, and sadly mangrove forests all over the world have been totally destroyed, cleared for intensive prawn farms. (So think again when you see prawns on the menu.) Mangroves desperately need protection – in recent times over half of the world’s mangroves have been lost. Thankfully the mangrove forests here on Aldabra are protected and snorkeling in them with the sun percolating through the leaves and between the roots is a magical experience.

We motored back as darkness started to fall, pushing and pulling the boat over the sand flats in low water. Luckily sleep wasn’t a priority as the coconut crabs, which scratched their claws across the corrugated tin roof, screeching like nails down a chalkboard, all night was followed by a cracking tropical rain storm, and just as silence fell, dimorphic egrets catching insects started banging on the guttering during the early morning hours.

Lemon Sharks Night and Day

Morning...still there


Eighteen hours of lemon sharks! Eighteen hours! … We collected R2 this afternoon and as soon as we were back James downloaded the data and sat watching R2’s recordings. A mix of characters swam past R2’s eyes: plenty of squid, a few green turtles, one swam straight into the camera and eyed it out suspiciously – giving us a full close up, but it was the sicklefin lemon sharks that stole the show, appearing on camera for most of the night and morning. Alas, not one tiger shark or any other large shark was recorded. It really does look like all the large sharks off Aldabra are no more.

On a happier note, our drift dive up the main channel this afternoon on the incoming tide yielded some good images of a couple of grey reef sharks and more lemon sharks. Dropping in on the left side of the channel I looked down and was taken by surprise to see the undulating ripples of the sand on the floor of the channel. The water was the pure royal blue that only comes with excellent visibility and filled with dancing light rays. The current didn’t leave me with time to investigate the deeper part of the channel there and we had to fin hard to get to the side of the coral reef, where it slopes down in a dramatic wall of colour. It was one of my favourite free dives, mainly because the grey reefs were extremely inquisitive, and each time I dived down below them one would turn and swim straight up to me –just to check out what I was and what I was doing there. The good visibility enabled a bird’s eye view of the channel, from the decadent coral wall to the sand and rubble floor. On the surface, however, visibility for part of the dive was down to almost nil as a thick black cloud battered the water’s surface with such heavy droplets of rain that we lost sight of the boat. Not wanting to end up separated and being swept into different parts of the inner lagoon Tom and I stuck close to James, who was dragging the bait drum attached to a very obvious red buoy, while Rainer and Dan were watching the turbulent surface from below on SCUBA.

Tomorrow we shift gears again from diving in the main channel and reef dives on our baiting stations and return to the magical mangrove forests in Pass Houareau, in between Malabar and Grande Terre islands. We will be camping in the little research hut known as Middle Camp, which will give us the opportunity to work that part of Aldabra for three days… and two nights. Mangroves are one of my favourite ecosystems and crucial for the health of oceans. There is no internet connection there so I will be left talking to the frigate birds, but look forward to sharing with you what we find, film and photograph upon our return.

R2 is Out There and the Coral is Talking

We are still in neap tides. Yesterday, like today, the low water prevented us from crossing over the reef until after lunch, but this is Aldabra and a gateway to another world. I never get bored of photographing the shore birds, such as the endemic dimorphic egret or the more common white egret. The harsh middle of the day sunlight makes good exposures almost impossible, especially when the dimorphic, which is dark brown in colour, is in the same frame as the dazzling white feathers of its cousin, but afternoon dives make morning topside photography in beautifully soft light possible.

A team of prestigious IUCN scientists arrived on the island a few days ago. They are here to do coral reef surveys and it is very exciting to be here at the same time to bounce ideas back and forth and catch up on the latest in coral reef research work across the Western Indian Ocean. After-supper discussions last long after our Creole meal and are followed by the sounds of fingers tapping on keyboards, which continue past midnight. We joined the IUCN team on a reef dive yesterday afternoon, located west of Malabar Island near Pass Gionnet (in between Polymnie and Malabar), a new site to us. Dan filmed them as they hovered over the coral, clutching plastic slates and noting factors such as coral cover, fish diversity and coral disease along each line transect. I look forward to learning more about exactly what they are doing this evening, as tonight it is their turn to give a presentation.

After leaving them we headed back towards our bait station 2 and James deployed R2D2 (the remote camera). Yes, after much consternation and determination on James’ part it is working, and as I write R2 is sitting on the reef recording anything that swims within its view. We are all very much looking forward to seeing what R2’s lights flashed in the dark last night.

By 17h30 we were skimming back over the top of the reef but the tide was already too low and we had to push the boat when it got stuck on sea grass beds in the shallows. Back on land Tom and I photographed the coral fossils in the champignons against a cloud-bellowing sunset. The distinct fossil corals decorate the limestone like a patchwork quilt, and sitting in the maze of champignon caves I feel as if I am in a true Jurassic Park. The rocks are alive, speaking of another, more prehistoric time they gurgle and crackle with water and air bubbles and shuffling crabs. These fossil corals, upon which Aldabra is built, reach down well over 1000metres.

The Hunting of the Snark, By Rupert Ormond (Save-our-Seas Foundation Chief Scientist)

We have been extremely honoured to have Dr Rupert Ormond, the Save-our-Seas Foundation’s Chief Scientist, on board as our scientific advisor. We were sad to see him leave the Atoll last week but students were waiting for him in the Red Sea. He kindly wrote a few words and took some images of us, which I have posted below.


Hard to believe my stay on Aldabra is coming to an end. I am having to leave earlier than the rest of the team to run a coral reef course in Egypt. And the past 10 days have been hectically busy, with times of high tides (when we can get out across the encircling reef) and of slack water (when we can work in the channels that connect the outer ocean to the inner lagoon dictating early starts and long days.
As the science “guru” at the Save our Seas Foundation my task was to help launch our hunt for the most impressive marine life that Aldabra has to offer, and support the task of documenting some of this fauna, both on paper and on film (or these days, even in a remote location like Aldabra, in word-processed and digital image form). We have made a good start. Underwater, Aldabra boasts an abundance of reef fish, and an impressive variety of corals, which seem to be recovering well from the high mortality caused by coral bleaching and record high sea temperatures in 1998. And during a lull while we waited outside one of the minor channels for the tidal current to slacken, watching green turtles courting and mating, and the frigate birds harrying the returning red-footed boobies for food, one could imagine that this scene had been played out, unaffected by human influence, for tens of thousands of years.
But we were particularly anxious, of course, to locate and record the very largest animals that Aldabra is believed to harbour - it’s larger sharks. After a week of baiting, chumming and drifting in the most likely places, a clear pattern is beginning to emerge. The small black-tip sharks are common almost everywhere, and given time, lemon and grey reef sharks also turn up, especially in the channels and on the outer reef. But of the tiger shark, the biggest animal haunting Aldabra, there is no sign, though twice during our stay research station rangers think they may have seen one from a boat, the only solid confirmation, short of taking a specimen, would be capturing it on camera. Considering the amounts of bait we have been using, that sharks down current can most likely detect miles away, it’s beginning to look as if there are very few, if any around.
The one possibility is that there are one or two about, but they have been busy elsewhere, hunting turtles or the like in more inaccessible parts of the lagoon (they often enter quite shallow water), or in deep water (where in some areas they prefer to spend the day). Also the home ranges of individuals may be pretty large. Tagging studies have recorded tiger sharks migrating between South Africa and Australia, so the few surviving individuals could easily encompass the other islands and atolls of the Aldabra group within their territory, meaning they could spend most of their time at a distance beyond which they can detect us, or we them.
The other possibility is that tiger sharks may only be willing to respond to our bait and chum at night, though their behaviour in this respect seems to vary between different parts of the world. This is where our remote camera system comes in. Can it document further shark species, or even provide usable footage for our documentary film? James (our science assistant) has valiantly struggled with a whole series of technical glitches, and finally, just a few days ago, got night-time shots of black-tip sharks near the shore. So it was a bitter blow when, on deploying the assemblage to deeper water on the fore reef, the camera control system refused to work. The most likely explanation seems that, now that the computer and power pack box was floating in the sea, rather than on dry land, sea-water got in somewhere and shorted connection. Doubtless it will take more frustrating days to work out. Our hunt for the tiger shark on Aldabra is becoming as convoluted as that for Lewis Carol’s “snark”!

Low Tides, Slow Day

We are back once again in our old research station rooms, bordered by champignons and black tips cruising in the shallows – home sweet home. The school kids left this morning in rough seas for Assumption and the sounds of the island have returned to full volume. The southeast wind brushes through the big broad-leafed trees and needle thick casuarinas, and the resident rail is investigating the mess area for food options.

The tides are playing games with us again… they are neap tides and are at their minimum range. This happens when the moon is in the first and third quarter and the Sun’s forces partially cancel those of the moon. The low tides slow down our work considerably as it prevents our big boat from crossing over the reef to reach the dive sites.

We spent the evening photographing the black tips’ fins in the shallows until it was too dark to shoot, and Dan took advantage of the golden evening light on the champignons, which were exposed down to their base with the low tide, to get some topside footage.

I feel we were lucky to have had the calm, flat waters for so long. We were spoiled, and even though the southeast is not blowing a storm it would make conditions for many shots better if the stillness returned. Perhaps the wind will be kind and we may get another lull before the monsoon is here to stay.

Aldabra on Chocolate and Lemons

Our fresh fruit supply has dwindled to nothing, the last extremely over-ripe banana was cooked a few days ago, the school kids have wiped out the chocolate supply from the island tuck shop (a sight I foresaw upon their arrival but was too slow to beat them to it) and the bait is smelling pretty rotten – but we are all talking big fish, photography and watching new footage every evening – so we are still full steam ahead - whenever we have a boat to steam in that is.

After an extremely frustrating down day yesterday for the team (we lent our boat to the school kids early morning and by the time it was back the tide was too low to cross the encircling reef) we were in good spirits this morning to feel the wind in our faces and wet our fins. The deadly still waters that blessed us these past few days have moved elsewhere, and in their place the ocean has been woken by southeast wind. Definitely not rough compared to the South Africa’s stormy seas - but the water was choppy and the surface speckled with white horses. We managed to time our dive in the coral gardens up the main channel perfectly, as the tide was still going in when we got in the water and the current perfectly slack for most of the dive, unfortunately the visibility was not good. Nonetheless, it was good to spend time free diving in the coral without being pulled along by the current. It gave us a chance to explore the various channels and get id photos of the impressive variety of corals.

Tom and I spent a good half hour trying to get the perfect composition of damsel fish above a beautiful acropora coral head, but the fish insisted on corralling in one particular section. The first time we were there Dan caught a fleeting glimpse of a hammerhead, but today all that came in was a very large lemon and a few black tips. Tom and I were last back to the boat and the lemon surprised us both by appearing out of nowhere to check us out. He was so large at first glance I didn’t even recognize him for a lemon shark. Sadly we didn’t have time to stay on the reef and photograph him, as once again we had to rush back to beat the tides.

I completely forgot to mention that the other day James pulled an all nighter on us. We have all been wondering what the shark population looks like at night here and whether we would finally get some images of large sharks if we did some night dives. … so James volunteered to keep watch for us, put some bait in the water and waited in the darkness to see what showed up. We thought perhaps that the tigers patrol the reef here at night and with powerful strobes we would at least get some images of them, but James never woke us up with news of a tiger or any other large shark. Only the usual characters, grey reef, silver tip, and sicklefin lemon. He did, however dream that a nice big hammerhead arrived but no photos to prove it.

Silver Tips and Rainbows

Tom and Dan spent a couple of hours this morning in the mangroves off the Passe Houareau channel between the islands of Malabar and Grande Terre photographing and filming the abundant marine life. There wasn’t enough room in the unstable and leaking tiny tin boat for the whole team to get to the mangroves, so I waded with a bright yellow pelican case full of camera equipment balanced on my head towards the circling frigate birds. Not far down across the lagoon the boat came into view and I abandoned my plan of photographing the circling frigate birds ahead in the harsh light and squeezed in a quick snorkel in the channel in the last half hour before we had to escape from the out-going tide. It is the healthiest mangrove system I have ever seen, with countless fish species and numerous hawksbill and green turtles. All levels of the ecosystem were present, from the fish that graze algae and nibble on sea grass to predators such as barracuda and the black tip reef shark, who has accompanied us on almost every single dive on Aldabra. Lined with knotted roots where black spotted snappers mingled and studded in large coral outcrops surrounded by schooling fish, this channel was particularly impressive, and one that deserves more of our attention. We reviewed Dan’s footage this evening and it truly captured the spirit of an intact mangrove forest! It also reconfirmed what we have been finding – that the basis of what makes a great still photograph and HD film are totally different. Video is all about the movement and photography is about capturing a moment. Tom wasn’t particular pleased with his results but he made up for it by getting some unique shots of jacks from behind the boat.

Our time at middle camp was cut short for lack of fuel and we motored back to base this afternoon, with the intention of going back there for a couple of days. I was lucky enough to get in the water this afternoon to photograph one of my favourite sharks, the silver tip. As their name suggests their fins, especially the pectoral fins, are splashed with a prominent silver sheen. Shy at first she soon lost her inhibitions and became a very fast and inquisitive subject. They can reach up to 3 metres but we are only seeing small ones here of 1.2 metres, mainly because the fully grown adults are most likely in deeper water - if they have not all been fished out.

On our way back to base we found more mating turtles. Not in crystal clear deep water today, but surfing on the back line! Dan snuck up to them on SCUBA but feeling vulnerable they didn’t stick around and took off for more peaceful waters when he got close.

Every evening is beautiful here, but this evening there is a huge cloud over the Atoll with a rainbow leaping across it.

INSPIRATION for the next GENERATION

I mentioned before that a group of school kids were on the island... Each year Seychellois school children around the ages of 10-16 compete with one another to win a visit to Aldabra courtesy of the Seychelles Island Foundation. From first setting foot in the Seychelles on the SOSF expedition I realized that for most Seychellois Aldabra is a destination all have heard off but most will never reach. As the immigrations officer who proudly stamped my passport with the Seychelles’ coco da mer shaped entry stamp put it when he discovered my final destination was Aldabra… “Ah Aldabra, yes well that might as well be in Europe.” It is another world even for the Seychellois and only the cream of the environment/biology crop are invited to experience 10 days here. Last night Tom, Dan and myself provided their entertainment. I gave them an introduction on shark conservation and the Save Our Seas Foundation’s mission: to document the role that sharks and rays play in maintaining healthy marine ecosystems and the consequences of removing them from the world’s oceans. They learnt that sharks and rays are elasmobranches and were amazed that they are made of the substance in our ears, cartilage. Dan Beecham presented his HD footage showcasing SOSF’s marine projects around the world, from manta rays in Mexico to white sharks in South Africa - all exciting projects that hopefully brought to life what they learn in the class room. SOSF’s photographer Tom Peschak presented a slide show of some of his most outstanding images, which can’t help but inspire people to if not love, at least admire and respect the Ocean and its life. I hope all the images he showed of us free diving with big sharks helped change their perceptions. Who knows we might have inspired the next Jacques Cousteau.

We are working from a new part of the Atoll for the next couple of days called Middle Camp. After a morning spent cleaning and re-organizing camera gear, we took advantage of the crystal clear water and free-dived (and SCUBA dived) along the reef. Faining a complete lack of interest I had a hawksbill turtle follow me for a few metres. I had to look at him at some stage but as I turned he took fright at our proximity and proceeded to taunt me by swimming slowly parallel to me - keeping just far enough away to make his image a mere dot in my frame.

Rainer is our new Water World captain and the rotting fish that he and James trailed behind the boat attracted about ten black tips and one tawny nurse shark. Tom and I photographed the mayhem of them behind the boat before the current became too strong for me to hold the camera housing in one hand and the boat with the other.

Moving on from there we explored Passe Houareau on a drift dive, Dan on SCUBA and James, Tom and I free-diving. You get a much better over-view of what is going on fee diving and the fish seem bolder – less scared than when you approach them with a noisy breathing apparatus and bubbles billowing out everywhere. Tom is a fish underwater and free diving, like most sports, is all about practice. Dan is always on SCUBA as filming with the bulky HD video camera is a whole different story, but he is fast down there when he needs a subject in frame. I preferred this drift dive to our first one at Pass Dubois. There is a more diversity of coral and reef fish. We had hoped to see a great hammerhead or a tiger shark, but once again they evaded us or they simply are not there.

Ocean Surprises

The last few days have bounced between episodes of patient waiting (for our boat) and frantic gulps for air…

Our accommodation has moved around, meaning we have carried crate after crate after pelican box after camera - in fact most of our 1,515kgs of luggage back and forth up the beach more than once. Working from one base yesterday and today we had time again to focus on looking for sharks and getting the shots.

Yesterday we went to the outer reef to refill bait station 2 and see what shark species we would find. Sharks = 0 : Massive Net = 1. The net, a big green monstrosity hanging from a platform of floating bamboo poles and attached to a fish-attracting device (FAD) is put to sea by fishermen who return, with the help of its satellite/ GPS beacon, weeks or months later to pole the fish. The fishermen mainly catch tuna that are attracted to the smaller fish species using the net as cover, a scarce resource in the blue ocean. While Rainer was busy cutting the net free from the reef and our bait station Dan hovered over the reef’s bottom filming the coral and a friendly grouper.

This morning kicked off with some high action acrobatics. Heading out for a dive up the main channel to film and photograph the abundant and healthy coral life, the ocean surprised us with a display of somersaulting, twisty turning spinner dolphins – living up to their name in style. After photographing them bow riding the boat Tom and Dan slipped into the water in attempt to capture the whirlwind underwater. A trick that normally works if the dolphins are feeling playful is to drive the boat in circles – they sometimes start following the boat and use the wake as a jumping platform. Today their mind was pre-occupied, with perhaps a mixture of mating and fishing and no matter how many circles we did they were not particularly interested in the two neoprene-clad figures with their cameras in the middle. After a few sessions with these marine mammals we headed up main channel before the tide brought in dirty, silt-laden water from the lagoon.

Drifting alongside James, who was tasked with holding onto the baited drum line and keeping it near the reef’s edge, Tom and I photographed the reef and added a new species of shark to our list – a white tip reef shark. Meanwhile the others were diving on SCUBA and almost at the end of our drift Dan popped up asking if we had seen Rainer and Kim. They had drifted into the centre of the main channel, where the current was fast and furious and were already at the mouth. The boat collected them safely and we continued our drift until the visibility was unworkable.

In the afternoon our mission was to look for silvertip sharks in a place that Rainer swore was silvertip central. On the way we found turtle central instead and when Tom got in the water to photograph he found about 8 green turtles lying on the sandy bottom and proceeded to try and hide himself on the reef in the hopes a mating couple would swim close and not spot him. We watched from the boat as one by one the turtles, wise of his hiding place, left the area. Every now and then one would drift close to the boat or Tom, come up for a breath of air and get the fright of its life before darting in the opposite direction. Not easy subjects!

Our mission to find silvertips continued but they remained elusive and we abandoned searching for them in favour of more reef dives. The ocean, however, surprised us again and on our way we found a particularly amorous pair of green turtles that were so intent on mating they ignored the camera. Tom spent a good half an hour photographing and finning after the couple before Dan jumped in with his HD film camera. Follow turtles in the water is exhausting – their gracefulness makes us look (and feel) very very very clumsy – especially when dragging heavy cameras in housings, with flash arms that look like giant aluminum spiders or in Dan’s case a 30kg monster! I think I swallowed litres of seawater while trying to catch up to them, dive down, photograph them and breath in one go! It was definitely worth the effort though and I think we are all looking forward to downloading and watching some footage.

We did see a silvertip in the end!! A beautiful, sleek little one… two new shark species in one day.

(Photos of the day to be posted later… not possible to download them now).

I Think We're Going to Need a Bigger Lilo

Happy Easter!

I woke to a tropical downpour and silence in the little wooden house we are all sharing – grabbed my camera, pulled its raincoat on and tip toed out the door. Half way down the beach the rain stopped and I sat waiting for the shore birds to do something – catch a fish, fly over a shark fin, go for a swim – anything. That’s the game, and in the early morning with the light still soft and the air cool it is beautiful.

Our planned dive in the mangrove channel this evening was washed away as we arrived and discovered that the clean water that flows on an incoming tide had not yet made it into the channels and visibility was down to 1 metre. Plan B moved forward and we snorkeled in the lagoon, which was pumping with a current of clean water. The lagoon is full of limestone islands that have been carved by the sea over the years into gigantic mushrooms and nicknamed champignon, mushroom.

Dan finally got the opportunity to try out the latest technology in HD video and introduced to Aldabra the lilo technique. Cracking the silver floater out of the box he blew it up with a scuba tank and put the 30kg camera (and underwater housing) on the lilo. We proceeded to come up with novel ways of fine-tuning the rig, which involved life jackets in a number of strategic places both under the housing and around Dan. We let him merrily sail away to float amidst the mangrove trees and around the champignons full of confidence he would have no trouble gliding with the current and filming, all the while keeping the lens free of water droplets. A cry for help a few shots later meant things weren’t going so smoothly. Flying with the current and almost impaling myself on a mangrove root on the way down I met up with Dan several hundred metres down current and spent the next hour finning, swimming, walking and sinking him around a champignon. I think even the passing black tip reef sharks had a chuckle at the sight of Dan with his rig being steered by me – as I walked along the bottom breathing through my snorkel, much like the swimming elephants off India. I am sure the footage is superb, but next time I must remember to take my ankle weights off.

Mangrove Magic

Last night was our first night off and instead of catching up on some much needed sleep we stayed up watching the classic film Blue Water White Death, a documentary made in the 1970s about the first expedition to find great white sharks. It is interesting to step back in time and see how easy it was to drop in on an ocean full of sharks, when our expedition is spending hours upon end searching for them to no avail. Also what we know now about shark behaviour has changed dramatically in the last 30 years, most of the last ten.

Today, the island was invaded by Seychellois children. While our boat went to Assumption early this morning to pick them up Rainer, Tom, Dan and myself went to sea in a little tin boat. Perfect timing, as we needed a small boat to get into the mangrove channels early this morning and again later this evening with the high tide. Both times we had exactly two hours to work, Dan filming and Tom and I photographing non-stop to capture the magic of a healthy mangrove system. Where we go so does the bait, but the black tips only came in close enough for good images in the last five minutes. Sharks or no sharks mangroves are so interesting I could spend the entire day exploring their channels. Large expanses of mud and sand coat a floor upon which an underwater forest with intricate cathedral like structures is built, and as the tide dropped around us their fascinating aerial root systems were uncovered. Mangroves are a nursery ground for fish and shark species and as such are essential for healthy oceans. 90% per cent of Aldabra’s lagoon is fringed with a thick 1.5kms wide belt of mangrove that grows as much as 10m high in places.

Our second shoot this morning took us to a place unlike any I have been before. First crossing part of the sandy lagoon we travelled through pea-green mangrove channels to a small opening between two champignons (limestone formations) that spilled out onto a crystal clear pool fed by an underground source. At about 12m down along the pool’s edge a crack in the limestone wall was covered in bright corals – a big surprise. As we were free diving there was no cave exploration today, but being in the first few meters was definitely good enough.

The Easter Bunny is a Black Tip Shark

It is Easter Friday also on Aldabra and the little blonde 4 year old daughter of Aldabra’s Research Officer is getting excited at the prospect of a certain tropical bunny. As she splashes in the shallows with the black tip reef sharks around her, the creatures she calls her friends, I think how fantastic it would be if the world saw this scene. Perhaps it would change the media influenced perceptions of people across the globe for the better and for the benefit of our marine realm. As soon as I have a chance I will photograph Anna with her friends.

Tom and I had a day on the atoll catching up with downloading and backing up our images. The digital age has taken photography to a higher level but it has also created much more work in the field. Downloading and backing up (repeatedly and several times) is extremely time consuming!

The rest of the team went out on the boat specifically to deploy the remote camera in the reef running off our island. It has been giving James endless amounts of trouble and today he thought it would finally be up and running. It failed, but they did see a large lemon, 10 black tips, 1 tawny nurse, and 1 grey reef shark, all inshore reef sharks.

The SOSF Team Goes Green

The wind changed direction yesterday and has brought in a slight swell compared to the flat, calm waters we have been lucky enough to have for our first few days here. We just made it over the reef this morning – our captain could not put the engines down as we were too shallow and we had to hold our breath, praying a large set of waves didn’t come through. It is nearing full moon and with it we have spring tides, caused by the reinforced tidal forces of the sun with the moon, a time when the tide is at its maximum range (it is named after the verb “to spring”). The waves of high tide crashing against the ancient fossilized coral limestone meters away from my bed were so loud at 3am this morning I thought at one stage that they would come crashing over our balcony.

Aldabra is green turtle paradise and this morning as we motored along parallel to the beach we came across one making her way down towards us, and the tracks from where she clambered up the beach to lay her eggs in the dark of the night were still visible. We didn’t have time to photograph her as we were on a pelagic or open-ocean mission this morning.

The pelagic zone is not near the coast or continental shelf and because Aldabra is an atoll we only had to go out a couple of kms to get to water as deep as 3kms. The ocean was the purest form of blue, crystal clear and filled with dancing light beams. The guys made a gargantuan effort to create the biggest chum slick possible and Kim and I got off easy letting them mix a soup of putrid tuna oil with sand and then dispense it overboard one scoop at time – using a cut open plastic water bottle. How they were not sick I have absolutely no idea.

The rank smell that wafted around the boat and turned us all a shade of green for six hours was only compensated by the green reflection on the clouds above Aldabra. There are two thoughts on the derivation of the name Aldabra. With Arabs settling in East Africa from the 7th century and the island sitting close to their trade links with Madagascar and the Comoros it is possible they were the earliest visitors to the island and named it either after the Arabic word for ‘green’ (al-khadra), describing the reflection of the vivid green lagoon upon the clouds, or the star ‘Aldebaran’ which guided the Arabs in their journeys across the seas. After seeing for myself how startling the green is that lines the clouds, I would go with the al-khadra.

It didn’t take long to get a good chum slick going and the strong current had no trouble carrying it far out of sight (the slick is clearly visible - the oil makes a long corridor on the water’s surface that snakes along with the current). The sand and tuna oil soup would have sunk through water column to the seabed, and any shark for miles around would have followed the odor corridor back to the us, even if the shark was at the opposite end of the slick or below the surface. We did not see one single shark. NOTHING!... a terrible disappointment and one that has disastrous implications. We couldn’t film or photograph anything today and were left with an empty ocean. I can’t say yet that all the large shark species such as oceanic white tip, tiger, and great hammerhead have been fished out but the signs do not look good.

As for tonight, we are all starving and there is still quite a ripe smell drifting around - I think we all need a good scrub – anyone know how to get rotten fish odor out of hair?!

It's the small things that get you...

Chaos rains in the school of Bohar snappers. The red big-eyed fish are everywhere – darting beside the plastic blue crate of dead fish, changing direction with the flick of a tail and nibbling at anything they think resembles food. Apart from the frenzy the media love to build around sharks I don’t know why anyone gets hysterical at the sight of them – it’s the small things that get you. On our drift dive in the main channel late this afternoon we had four or five grey reef sharks at one time cruising around the bait box together amidst the wave of the red snappers and Rainer in the middle of it dragging the buoy back to the reef’s edge. Smelling the bait but only being able to catch the escaping morsels the snappers had a go at his mask, Tom’s ears, Kim’s blonde hair and my fingers! I think we all now have neat little puncture marks either on us or on our equipment and Rainer’s hands are beginning to look like they have been through a cheese grater courtesy of several attempts by a potato grouper to chomp his hand. All the while the grey reefs swim around keeping their cool and know exactly what’s fish and what’s not.

Our mornings are now down to precision timing: up at 6h00, load boat at 06h30, head out at 06h45. This morning we went straight up the main channel, anchored and baited the water with litres of tuna oil, two mesh bags and one large crate of mackerels. We sat, stood, mashed fish, and baited constantly for four hours before the sharks showed up. The current was too strong for them to swim against as we arrived on an outgoing tide, and even once it was low tide the lag time for the immense volume of water to empty out of the lagoon meant that the current continued at a rate of about 5 knots long after low tide. Once it slackened a train of lemon sharks and a few black tips slowly approached the baited crate. Shy at first we lured them all the way to the back of the boat with dead fish, counting a total of 12 sicklefin lemon sharks before joining in them in the water. With us in the water and the bait out, however they soon disappeared. The visibility was horrendous but it was good to be in the water with a few large lemons, besides Tom got some super split level images from the back of the boat before we got in.

Bait station 1 at Pass Dubois was refilled but the current pouring into the lagoon vetoed our planned dive and snorkel and we couldn’t even find bait station 2, despite GPS co-ordinates, because the visibility was so bad.

The swell is up and our return to the beach was not quite as smooth as it has been – resulting in all of us pushing the boat out from the sand before a wave tipped it over!

With still no large shark species about we are heading off shore tomorrow to the deep blue to see what we can find. A Turkish ship that has been moored here for a couple of days left today – with no map and not enough fuel to get to the African Coast… I wonder if we will find them and not the large sharks tomorrow!?

Shore Bound for the Day

Up when Aldabra’s coconut crabs were still roaming in the hour before dawn we were all ready and rearing to go this morning for a full day’s diving, but those tricky tides fooled us and we were half an hour too late to get over the reef. Some of us sat patiently on the beach waiting for the sun to light the water and splash some colour on the grey heron fishing along the shore and the dainty crab plovers mingling with the shark fins. Most of the team spent the rest of the morning doing more scheming and discussing the dive scenarios for the week.

Later in the day James volunteered as shark caller and for almost four hours splashed the water from the rocks above with a mackerel baited bag, just enough to gather all the black tips into the small bay where we were photographing. The sicklefin lemon sharks are finally relaxing a little and not being as timid as the first couple of days, making it possible to catch a couple of images.

As if the tide against us wasn’t enough - again are plans for an afternoon of diving were thwarted when the boatman, Steven, informed us that the boat was broken! … and Dan had a “good feeling” yesterday about today!!! Luckily, whatever was broken was fixed by sundown and we will be heading out first thing tomorrow morning.

Living by the Tides

Our life revolves around the tides, high tide, low tide and the severity of the level. If we are on the island and the tide is too low the boat cannot navigate over the reef and if we are on the outside of the reef and the tide drops too low before we return we cannot get back to the island until the tide turns and the water level rises. It takes about six hour on average for a complete turn in the tides, for high tide to become low and visa-versa. Thus, this morning we did not set out until 12h00, on the incoming tide when the water was sufficient for us to glide out without touching any corals, and returned full speed at 17h30 just in time to get back over the reef.

With a low tide the reef is exposed and this morning it was covered in startling white egrets fishing in the shallows. From my room they look like the sails of miniature sail boats floating across a flat bay. Rainer spent the morning stalking them with his 300mm lens, while I photographed the scientific officer’s 3 year old splashing in the shallows with her friends – the black tip reef sharks.

At midday we headed out to dive the bait station number 2 that we fixed to the reef on the Atoll’s outer rim reef yesterday to see what shark species, if any had come in. After drifting over the reef’s edge, where it drops from about 10m to more than 30m, with a baited drum following us we found an area on the reef that looked like a particularly productive spot, with plenty of yellow banded snappers, bohar, humpback snappers, a large assemblage of groupers and many more. One grouper was particularly grumpy today and tried to swallow my flash strobe several times – it has even left teeth marks on it! So you see it is not the sharks that give the problems. I saw four green turtles swimming out over the drop off and into the blue, but our turtle spotting expert, Kim, must have seem about twice as many. It looked like it had potential – in other words we thought that a slick of potent fish oil had a good chance of attracting in some large sharks.

After refilling the bait tube a few black tip sharks, a couple of sicklefin lemon sharks and one tawny nurse shark swam in to investigate. Disappointing results, which mirrored exactly what Dr Ormond and the SOSF team found on the preliminary expedition last year. Are we baiting in the wrong area or are there simply no more large shark species left to find the odor corridor?

Determined to find the answers we continued on to investigate the next site. Venturing up the main channel for the first time it felt like we were traveling up a river in the ocean and only then did I really get a grasp on how large the lagoon itself is. The main channel is the main channel for a reason – approximately 60% of the lagoon’s tidal flow passes through it between our island Picard and Polymnie. Smaller channels branch of the main channel and we spotted one grey reef shark when we hopped in the water to look at the reef drop off along one of these smaller channels.

Further up the main channel we squeezed in a quick snorkel, and it turned out to be the best of the day. I photographed a hawksbill turtle lying amidst the coral and Dan caught a glimpse of a great hammerhead before he turned about in terror at the sight of us, and we couldn’t find him again.

The whole day has been overcast and both this morning and this afternoon we were pelted by a tropical downpour. The tide tells us to head out at 6h00 tomorrow, so we will have a full day. All the more time to see what sharks we can find.

Meanwhile the remotely operated camera is doing a test run overnight in the shallows off the beach and I wonder how many black tip reef sharks are swimming through James and Dr Ormond’s computer screen.

Action Stations

An Aldabra Tortoise was having a chilled morning on the beach, an unusual site as they love their food - leaves, fruit, and pretty much anything else that drops from the trees – and that is what seems to drive them!

Things are taking shape in the waters here. For the past two days James and Dr Ormond have been configuring, tinkering and adjusting Save Our Seas’ new remotely operated camera unit. It looks like a small R2D2 robot and its technology is capable of similar wonders, but its assembly instructions seem to also be in star wars language. Nonetheless it is almost up and running. The friendly black tip reef sharks that patrol the shallow waters here acted as the guinea pigs this afternoon, triggering the camera’s motion sensor each time one dutifully swam past and OB1 recorded their images on a hard drive, which is viewed live on a linked computer. Once it has been fine-tuned and emits the right light intensity at night (too much and it will spook the sharks, too little and it will not detect them) it will be deployed at strategic places on the reef and in the inlet channels for 24hr periods at a time.

We initiated our search for large shark species by setting up the first of the baiting stations. Returning at 9h00 to the channel we reccied yesterday, Pass Dubois, we free-dived in search of a suitable anchorage point and soon found a large boulder-like formation of dead coral at 6m depth on the floor of the channel with a tunnel running through. Dan, James and Rainer donned their SCUBA equipment and began threading a thick chain through the tunnel, looping it around the coral bommie. The chain is attached to a rope, which is attached to a piece of perforated pvc piping that sits at about 2m and held taught by a bright red buoy a couple of feet above it. The piping is stuffed to the brim with frozen mackerel and attached to the chain are several bottles with perforated caps of tuna oil. This ripe mixture produces a chum slick, an odor corridor that spreads with the current, and any shark that gets a whiff is lead straight to us. Before any sharks found us the big potato bass did. Akin to dopey puppy dogs they did their best to get to the bait but resorted to nibbling on James’ head instead.

Two large lemon sharks between 1.5m and 2m (much larger than the ones that swim around the shallows with the black tips along the beach here) and about 6 black tip reef sharks appeared, but they were the only sharks that were drawn in. We are hoping that the word will get around and more of the larger shark species will appear. The snappers certainly can’t get enough of the tantalizing odors we produce.

Clean Air and Black Tip Sharks

Today was in technical terms a ‘down day’. Consisting of equipment preparation, checking, rechecking and scheming. The compressor problem was fixed and Rainer boosted our confidence by announcing “It SEEMS fine, ah hum hum, correction. It IS fine.” A huh! All the filters were replaced; the air was tested and passed with a clean bill of particle free.

Tom, Dan and myself spent the evening ankle, knee then chest deep surrounded by inquisitive black tips. They are much smaller than their cousins the black tip (Charcharhinus limbatus) but there is no comparison as to who of the two species has the most paint on their dorsal fin – the melanopterus wins hands down, with a distinct black tip, whereas the limbatus’ is virtually non-existent. As the water darkened a couple of large sicklefin sharks swam by, as their name suggests their skin above is a yellowish brown. The black tips ignored her, continuing to swim in front, behind and around me.

More on the mangroves, coral mushrooms and black tips, but before the story continues, I need sleep! (A line I fear you might read fairly often).

Cockerels and Black Tip Sharks

Yesterday morning one extremely frustrated, tone dead and jet-lagged cockerel broke through the chorus of snores and shuffling rats with the most piercing crow I have ever heard. It was 4h30am and he did not stop there. This morning I woke to the chorus of birds and the stirring of sand amidst waves along the water’s edge.

Although they are neighbors Aldabra and Assumption are two island extremes. The latter fell to the hands of man when guano greed took over and the layers of white gold created by sea birds over the centuries were scraped away for use as fertilizer, destroying the island in the process. Aldabra escaped this fate and today is still one of the wonders of the world because it is built like a fortress, its fossil corals providing an impenetrable lunar-esq barriour to all but the absolute determined. It almost fell in the 1960s, but the plans to turn the island into a military base and build an airstrip for bombers over its lagoon were thwarted by outraged conservationists.

By 7h45am yesterday we had reloaded all our gear, one final time (for the next few days anyhow) on a 30ft Miami Vice look alike boat and begun our cruise north to Aldabra. Standing at the front of the boat, not daring to do the Titanic manoever with such revered scientists and cameramen on board, I closed my eyes and imagined what it must have been like to sail unbeknowingly to this piece of paradise somewhere in the Indian Ocean before man had ever set foot or circled it with destructive long lines and baited hooks. As Assumption disappeared behind the ocean in front bubbled with diving boobies and as we slowly maneuvered through our first bird bait ball (the stuff the famous South African sardine run is made off) I squinted to see if any sharks below were visible. It took under two hours to reach Aldabra and another two to unload and settle in at our superb accommodation in the Aldabra Foundation’s research station.

We spent the day checking dive and camera equipment and I know I kept pinching myself to make sure I was really here. Slight problem – the compressor for filling the SCUBA tanks with air was shipped here upside down (despite the very large arrows pointing to the right way up) and the compressor oil had leaked out. It is easy enough to refill but the concern is if any oil actually contaminated the air system, as breathing in oil particles would not do wonders for the lungs and ‘the bends’ would be the least of our worries

At 18h00 the tide was high enough to navigate the coral reef and we ventured out for a quick recci (without SCUBA) to assess the topography of Pass Dubois, one of the channels that leads into the lagoon in between our island of Picard and the largest island Grande Terre.

A fast 2knot current swept us through in about fifteen minutes. A sicklefin lemon shark (Negaprion acutidens) scurried away in fright at the sight of six snorkel-clad figures flying through the water, but the very large Napoleon wrasse (Cheilinus undulates) seemed much less perturbed. Fast currents make photography extremely difficult and on the second drift Tom and I finned to the far right of the channel where a slacker current enabled some split level shots (underwater and topside in one image) of the coral mushroom formations clad with mangroves, characteristic of Aldabra. After two drifts the sun was low and we headed back to base fifteen minutes away. There, greeting us as they had when we first arrived were about twenty small, sleek and swift blacktip reef sharks (Charcharhinus melanopterus). We photographed in the fading light while Dan splashed the water to grab their attention and bring them into frame. The real fun with them, however, started today….