Finding Nemo
When I first arrived in Koh Samui, I stayed in a beachfront bungalow. Dark, damp and, since it was on the path from the road to the beach, far from peaceful, I found it eminently depressing. When I discovered that cleaning my teeth with bottled water also meant that I gave my feet a bit of a wash, I decided to move. Despondent and lonely, I switched on the television. Finding Nemo was on and, after a few minutes of watching Marlin and Dory argue about the best way to reach Sydney, I felt more cheerful. I rinsed off my toothpastey feet and went out to find somewhere else to sleep.
On my last full day in Australia, as I set off on a snorkelling trip to the Great Barrier Reef, I remembered that moment and wondered if I might find the real Nemo, or at least his piscine equivalent. To be honest I was feeling quite guilty. Here I was, having seen the damage to the Samui coral, taking a trip to one of the most delicate ecosystems in the world. I had deliberately chosen a small group, accompanied by a marine biologist, as opposed to one of the 450-strong ferries that plough across the water but I still knew that I was adding to the problem. However, ever since I was little, perhaps because I saw a documentary or maybe another Disneyfied story, I have wanted to visit the Reef and I gave in.
Our first site demonstrated that this was no gentle float in the water wearing a mask. Waves broke over our heads, filling mouths and noses with salt, and the hour and a half journey offshore meant that the t-shirt for sun protection was also quite useful, at least initially, for keeping me warm. Under the waves blue, yellow and purple fish swam lazily beneath us, unfazed by fifteen shadows. Back on the boat, as we motored to the second site, we were invited to ask questions. I wanted to know how much damage such a trip would cause the coral. Tim, the marine biologist, was obviously anxious to reassure me since his business depended on it, but, I determined, not particularly happy that I’d asked. Apparently such trips only visit 1% of the Reef and simply snorkelling is not a threat, unless you touch or break the coral. In fact, the biggest threats, he explained, are the weather and the development of the rainforest: tropical cyclones and storms cause huge waves to lash against the delicate coral, snapping off years of growth in one day whereas cutting down trees to make room for hotels rather disturbs the soil and fills the sea with unwanted chemicals. There was no suggestion that oil-guzzling, rainforest-lopping humans might be aggravating the storms and undermining the earth.
I wasn’t reassured but that didn’t stop me going in at the next site. Tim came in with us, to give us a guided tour. This wasn’t the easiest of prospects, when waves and different swimming speeds separated us and if, like me, you were almost last off the boat and then prevented from progressing by a faceful of flippers, you missed both the turtles and the reef shark. However, Tim then dove under the water and pointed silently to a dark spot. Once my eyes had readjusted, I spotted three stripy fish, blue and white, all different sizes. Back at the surface Tim explained that these were Great Barrier Reef anemonefish, which, like the clown anemonefish made famous by Pixar, live all their lives in one anemone. For a moment I forgot all my reservations as I watched the family dart in and out of their home. It was, is, incredibly beautiful.
The guided tour almost complete, we headed back towards the boat. Then Tim resurfaced with something small and pink in his hand. It was a piece of coral. I don’t know if he had broken it off, or if it was a loose, dead piece he’d picked up but, whichever it was, it didn’t belong in his hand or ours. We had found Nemo, or at least his closest equivalent but all of a sudden I wished I’d stuck to the celluloid version.
On my last full day in Australia, as I set off on a snorkelling trip to the Great Barrier Reef, I remembered that moment and wondered if I might find the real Nemo, or at least his piscine equivalent. To be honest I was feeling quite guilty. Here I was, having seen the damage to the Samui coral, taking a trip to one of the most delicate ecosystems in the world. I had deliberately chosen a small group, accompanied by a marine biologist, as opposed to one of the 450-strong ferries that plough across the water but I still knew that I was adding to the problem. However, ever since I was little, perhaps because I saw a documentary or maybe another Disneyfied story, I have wanted to visit the Reef and I gave in.
Our first site demonstrated that this was no gentle float in the water wearing a mask. Waves broke over our heads, filling mouths and noses with salt, and the hour and a half journey offshore meant that the t-shirt for sun protection was also quite useful, at least initially, for keeping me warm. Under the waves blue, yellow and purple fish swam lazily beneath us, unfazed by fifteen shadows. Back on the boat, as we motored to the second site, we were invited to ask questions. I wanted to know how much damage such a trip would cause the coral. Tim, the marine biologist, was obviously anxious to reassure me since his business depended on it, but, I determined, not particularly happy that I’d asked. Apparently such trips only visit 1% of the Reef and simply snorkelling is not a threat, unless you touch or break the coral. In fact, the biggest threats, he explained, are the weather and the development of the rainforest: tropical cyclones and storms cause huge waves to lash against the delicate coral, snapping off years of growth in one day whereas cutting down trees to make room for hotels rather disturbs the soil and fills the sea with unwanted chemicals. There was no suggestion that oil-guzzling, rainforest-lopping humans might be aggravating the storms and undermining the earth.
I wasn’t reassured but that didn’t stop me going in at the next site. Tim came in with us, to give us a guided tour. This wasn’t the easiest of prospects, when waves and different swimming speeds separated us and if, like me, you were almost last off the boat and then prevented from progressing by a faceful of flippers, you missed both the turtles and the reef shark. However, Tim then dove under the water and pointed silently to a dark spot. Once my eyes had readjusted, I spotted three stripy fish, blue and white, all different sizes. Back at the surface Tim explained that these were Great Barrier Reef anemonefish, which, like the clown anemonefish made famous by Pixar, live all their lives in one anemone. For a moment I forgot all my reservations as I watched the family dart in and out of their home. It was, is, incredibly beautiful.
The guided tour almost complete, we headed back towards the boat. Then Tim resurfaced with something small and pink in his hand. It was a piece of coral. I don’t know if he had broken it off, or if it was a loose, dead piece he’d picked up but, whichever it was, it didn’t belong in his hand or ours. We had found Nemo, or at least his closest equivalent but all of a sudden I wished I’d stuck to the celluloid version.
posted by Louise at 6:34 AM
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