Beneath the waves

Discovery Magic's Blog
John & Caroline Charnley
Wed 2 Feb 2011 02:20

John and Jane’s two-week stay with us was well-timed in terms of our cruising area, with the cruising community and activities of George Town contrasting with the emptiness and solitude of many of the other places in the Exumas we visited.

 

One of the things that surprised me about the Bahamas has been the lack of wildlife.  The islands cannot be described as lush and even if they can provide a habitat for birds, what can they eat? (Remarkably for me, one small bird flew over and landed on my hand,) The ocean waters provide exciting sport fishing.  For us it has been exciting to catch three fish, all about 5lbs, but it amused me looking through the ‘Atlantic Ocean/Bahamas identification chart’ that if you catch a Great White Shark (up to 3000lb) you are supposed to tag it and release it!

 

Yet the stunningly clear waters of the Bahamas seem almost bereft of fish. When we visited the research station on Lee Stocking Island what was really brought home was that it takes hundreds of years for the coral reefs to grow and yet their existence is so fragile. Pollution and physical damage are factors in the loss of reefs, but it seems that higher temperatures and strong sunlight have been the major factor in an alarming percentage of coral reefs dying in the last few years.

 

As we headed north to Nassau  a highlight was to snorkel in Thunderball Cave, not because of its famed connection with the James Bond film, but because of the treats in store when snorkelling through to the chamber, its roof lit by shafts of sunlight.  The guide book suggested you take a snack (ideally frozen peas) to feed to fish.  As we got out of the dinghy a veritable barrage of colourful fish were leaping, competing, nibbling to get to them first.  We quickly emptied the contents and hoped they would calm down!

 

Coral at its best is a surreal world. Walt Disney would be proud of the rainbow palate of colours, diversity of creatures, the darting flashes of sparkling jewels, weird and wonderful formations with the threat of the sinister lurking.  Great domes of coral rise imposingly from a seemingly lifeless seabed, one community reaching out to the next as the whole life support structure meets the sunlight and swell of the breaking waves.  Here, perhaps more than anywhere, provides a haven for shoals of golden striped fish, whilst small indigo blue fish loll around in twos and threes.  Lower down the angel fish are very haute-couture with their precise suited scales and flouncy tail, whilst individual blue fish with their fluorescent fins provide little jewels of brilliance. But it is the parrot fish that always draw my attention.  They must have been designed by an elite artisan of the Ming dynasty.  They are large, solid with surprisingly short tails and fins and with such a criteria could have little to charm you: yet not only is their clothing opulent, flamboyant and dramatic, the lips seem to have been drawn by a child using its mother’s lipstick which gives a comical twist to the whole appearance.  But the awe of this underwater world also comes from the diversity and colour of the coral itself:  fans of purple and yellow wafted by the swell, domes of brain coral with its intricate design and others of turquoise blue etched with red striping.

 

Yet when the coral has died it is silent, brown, devoid of all colour – a forlorn graveyard of nothingness where once there had been a glorious, virtually inconceivable and magical world. It is a frightening and startling illustration of the effect of climate change.

 

“A true conservationist is a man who knows that the world is not given by his fathers, but borrowed from his children”  (John James Audubon  1785-1851)

 

 

           

 

 

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