Like every other morning, it was cool and windy when we arrived at the dive site. The clouds were low and heavy. They promised rain, but we knew by now that the rain would not come. So, threatening skies notwithstanding, we donned our gear and waded through the surf, sometimes clutching each other for support as the waves lapped our legs and threatened to topple us with all our heavy gear on our backs. Once we were far enough out, we pulled on our fins and, with a last wide smile at each other, dove.
The reef was bare here, and the visibility was less than ideal. Some days, one could see the sunken ship almost from the shore. This morning, though, its massive hull slowly materialized before us only when we were quite near. There were no other divers this early in the morning; we had the wreck to ourselves. We explored her from bow to stern. Coral adorned every surface like jewelry on a fat old lady.
As the others explored the deck, I hovered out in front, following their progress by watching their bubbles. I turned and scanned the deep blue behind me. Just as I was about to turn back, I realized a long, slender shape was emerging from the gloom.
My heart hammered in my chest. I could feel my excitement mounting, and I carefully regulated my breathing so as not to use my air any faster than usual. Was this it? I’d hoped and hoped to see a shark. A diver had mentioned to me over dinner the night before that he’d seen a gray reef shark near this site, and of course early morning was a good time to spot one.
The silver, torpedo-like shape floated serenely nearer, barely moving a fin. Gradually, the mouth became clear, and the wide silver scales. My heart sank. Just a tarpon. He was nearly as big as I was and held the cold, calculating air of a predator, but a shark he was not. He regarded me with cool interest. I lifted my camera. Even if he wasn’t a shark, it wasn’t a bad start to the day at all.
The others emerged from their exploring and the tarpon, seeing the divers, moved away. My moment with him was over.
