Friday, 2 June 2017

The Moalboal Sardine Run



I was so excited about the famed sardine run that I dreamt about it the night before.  I dreamt of deep clear waters and being able to breath underwater.  And I dreamt of fish.  Thousands of them.

But as I sat in the shallows of Panagsama putting on my fins I was gearing myself up for a disappointment.

We have been so spoilt with diving - including schooling fish - that I couldn't help but wonder if it would live up to my expectations.  And as we kicked out towards the boats moored along the wall I was unsurprised to see only a handful of fish flitting into the blue.

I popped my heat out of the water to see where I was and to find Nathan.  He was looking at me, smiling through his snorkel, and motioning for me to come towards him.

Sardines.



As soon as I saw the giant ball of silver and blue I was lost at sea.  Nothing existed except me and the fish and the light that gently coaxed me towards the surface when I remembered to breath.

I broke the surface of the water and inhaled deeply and saw Nathan and half shouted, half sang "I love the fish" and he smiled and disappeared beneath the water and swam into the shimmering mass.  In unison, a dance, the fish flicked their tails in and then out breaking away from each other to make a path for him to pass through and then coming back together to envelope him in a perfectly synchronised choreography.


I followed the schooling fish under a boat and into the pule and slowly pivoted to see them encircle me.  I stretched my arms wide as if waiting to be embraced by the sea and floated towards the light and wondered for the gazillionth time in my life why I had been born with lungs and legs...



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