Technically Within Standards: A Brief Disagreement with Visibility

I love fish.

Some are angry.
Some look like they’ve never had a thought.
All of them are excellent.

I’m not particularly fussy either. As long as I see fish, I’m happy.

On this dive, it’s fair to say… we saw quite a few.

If you’ve done a few dives, you know what a fish looks like.

Which is why it’s confusing when you drop in at Hayden’s Rock and see what appears to be seagrass swaying below you.

And then your guide swims straight through it.

Seagrass which, I was fairly confident, should not be swum through.

Seagrass which, upon closer inspection, politely moves out of the way.

This is when it clicks.

Not seagrass.
Fish.

Hundreds, maybe thousands of Yellowtail Scad, packed together like an unwoven ball of wool.

I don’t usually get intimidated by fish.

But dropping into a wall of them does make you pause.

Are they going to move?
Are we going to collide?

No idea.

I follow the guide in.

And then, magic.

The shoal parts.
Clean. Effortless. Like we’ve been granted access.

For a moment, it’s almost poetic.

Then they close ranks above us.

Sunlight gone.
Visibility… no longer participating.

It’s like accidentally swimming into a cave made entirely of fish.

This is where it begins - the quiet, unspoken agreement to stay close to your buddy without making it obvious you’re slightly concerned.

It’s inconvenient.

But it’s also… weirdly cute.

We push on, following our guide like slightly overstimulated disciples, when we start to hear it.

A dull, distant thud.

Not threatening. Just… noticeable.

Then we see it.

A tail cutting through the shoal.

A Grey Nurse Shark.

Then another… Then another.

Suddenly there are five or six of them, moving through the fish like they own the place.

Which, to be fair, they do.

Conveniently, they start breaking up the shoal.

Inconveniently, they’re fast - appearing briefly, then disappearing like they’ve got somewhere better to be.

This creates two immediate problems:

The fish are moving in every direction, making sense of direction impossible.
And my group has no idea which shark to look at.

Within seconds, we begin to… spread.

One drifts left.
One drifts right.
Both completely hypnotised by “the better shark.”

Behind them, the fish close in.

And just like that - they’re gone.

For a solid thirty seconds, I am alone.

Surrounded by a wall of fish that have absolutely no interest in improving visibility, I briefly consider the possibility that my buddies now live here.

At one with the scad.
Forever.

I swim up slightly.

Two sets of bubbles.

Good enough.

New mission: retrieval.

I don’t use a tank banger, they’re annoying, so I go direct.

Swim to one.
Eye contact.
Retrieve diver.

Repeat.

After a firm but friendly “stay close,” we are once again a functioning unit.

And then, having reintroduced ourselves to our dive guide, I turn to my right.

And there, about a foot from my face, is a Grey Nurse Shark.

We’ll call her Debbie.

She’s hovering. Calm. Completely still.

For a brief second, we make eye contact.

Then, waking from her daytime slumber, she notices me.

One flick of the tail - thud - and she’s gone.

Leaving me there, slightly stunned.

Up close, they’re incredible.

Jagged teeth.
Pointed nose.
Slightly grumpy expression.

And yet, completely uninterested in you.

We surface to laughter, mild accusations of abandonment, and a debate over which shark deserved which name.

Not the most chaotic dive.
Not the most technical.

But one of those dives that just… sticks.

Also, we found a shark tooth.

Which, given the earlier disagreement with visibility, feels like a win.