135 feet Under the Sea

By Angela Sanford

Life is all about the moments, the experiences, and each time I travel I anticipate the “firsts” of that adventure more than anything else. My most recent travel opportunity had a few firsts but with World Submarine Day being April 11th, this first is very timely. Having generated an extensive list of modes of travel I have experienced, I was able to include a new one by taking a submarine tour off the coast of Aruba this past March.

     Mum was my travel companion and was a bit timid – it wasn’t the first time, on this trip alone, where she was coerced into facing her anxieties – however small – to entertain someone else’s dreams - mine this time. But she was a trooper and, in the end, would agree, I believe, that it was well worth getting past the initial hesitation. Small, confined spaces are not high on her fun list but for me, to date, I have yet to encounter such a space that has bothered me. We took the short walk from the cruise ship pier to a docked boat to join a full entourage of people of all ages ready to experience the world below water.

   As we settled in for our wet commute, we (me) started up a conversation with the family closest to us and could hardly believe when they announced they were from Hatchet Lake – what are the odds? (I’d later learn that week that I had actually taught the father’s cousins in my time at HNRH). 

   We skipped along the water’s surface as the captain shared stories of modern day pirates who lurk the same channels we were riding - and apparently it’s a regular occurrence. Thankful to have not encountered any pirates, we anchored in a bay with nothing to be seen in or on the water as far as the eyes could see, but the waves, a result of the windy day.

   Out of no where, a member of our group announced that they had spotted a sub, perhaps ours, parting the water as it surfaced nearby and glided in gracefully alongside us. We stepped cautiously, one at a time, onto the top of the submarine and edged to the hatch. Turning backward, we stepped down the ladder, careful not to hit our heads on the tight entry point.   In our seats, the sub held 48 passengers and two crew, who joked, to Mum’s chagrin, about making sure the seal was locked tight as we lowered.

    Though we were below the surface for about an hour, the time whizzed by seemingly like minutes and it was much the same when our depth was announced. We were 48 feet below the surface and could easily gaze at turtles, fish, and coral surrounding us. After a short time, which felt like only a few seconds, we dropped to 98 feet and maneuvered around shipwrecks, coral, and an extensive variety of fish. We could see the mountainside of the reefs just beyond our portals and were mesmerized by the world we were invading.

    The entire time I videotaped the tour, but to watch the clip afterward was rather a let down – the camera only captured the shades of grey through the glass, eliminating the fluorescent oranges and electric blues of the fish, the deep rust of the shipwrecks, and the pearl white of the ocean floor. It captured the “oohs” and “ahhs”, the gasps of excitement, and the humorous quips of the guide but lost the energy that was contagious with every new sighting by any one of us. Sure, we were a bit cramped, packed in like sardines, but we were still on the edge of our seats trying to get a 360 degree view from a twelve inch diameter glass.

   Without realizing our depth,  the captain announced  we would be landing on the “moon” – and if he hadn’t said we were now 135 feet below he may have convinced me because the surface my eyes were locked on out my window very much mirrored the craters one might find on the moon. Almost immediately after touch down, we resurfaced steadily and escaped our iron belly to return to our transfer boat and step back onto the pier.

   And I , I was able to tally another mode of transportation on my almost exhaustive list of experiences, leaving only a dog sled and a chuck wagon to go.

.