Best Diving of My Life in the Sea of Cortez
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After all this, could there be more to come? Oh yes! Next morning we
were anchored over El Bajo, a seamount summit far offshore. El Bajo is
famous for its schooling hammerheads, but at some times of year they
are very deep, or unpredictable in their movements, or both. We were
hoping October would turn up trumps. Down we went, following the
anchor line into the rather murky depths. As we approached the top of
the reef at around 25m the visibility started to improve dramatically
and below 30m it was very clear.
However, as we swam 'downslope' towards an area favoured by the hammerheads, it soon became apparent that a strong current was running and we were making slow progress. Down below us was a huge sunken tuna net draped over the flank of El Bajo, the 'signpost' to the realm of the hammerheads. I dropped to investigate and then suddenly they were there, 25 or 30 sinuous and powerful grey shapes moving to the left and away from us. We struggled to catch them, but soon realized it was hopeless in such a current. Heart rate and respiration were rising fast, but the sharks were gaining and slipping away into the gloom. How frustrating! So close and yet so far; it had all been over so quickly. As I rose towards the surface I knew we just had to try again. It was all a question of random chance, surely, and next time perhaps we would be in luck.
Our second visit to La Reina was even more wonderful than the first.
As we swam along the border between the reef and the sandy flats we
came across a vast school of Green Jacks, moving like a greyish-brown
sandstorm across a desert until it enveloped us, shutting out most of
the light. As the wall of fish began to thin, I realized that there
was a huge shape coming towards us - yes, a manta was sailing along
just behind the jacks like a huge aircraft that had emerged from
behind a cloud.
Our final day saw us back at El Bajo again, ready for another visit to 'Hammerhead City'. This time it was soon obvious there was almost no current. Perfect! Now we were in with a real chance of close encounters. As we set off downslope a flash from one of the Japanese photographers from another dive boat alerted us, and yes there was the first Scalloped Hammerhead cruising along. I finned forward as fast as I dared at this depth and soon five or six were in clear view, with 20 more behind them.
Down below I could see several even bigger individuals, curving sinuously and exhibiting an immense but almost languorous power. We descended, leaving the Japanese party far behind, and below 40m these big 'guard individuals' were all around us, displaying those huge hammer-shaped heads and extraordinary beady eyes as they circled us in sinister perfection. Awesome! It was at this point, at 47m and with the air already feeling like treacle, that I realized there was something amazing going on out there. Yes, those close sharks had distracted me from the real spectacle, for as far as the eye could see there were hammerheads and hammerheads and hammerheads. It was hammerhead wallpaper out there . Could anything be more awesome than this?!
I could hardly drag myself away from such experiences, but I was well
into deco and it was time to ascend. As I slowly moved towards the
surface a last few hammerheads swept right underneath me and then, in
seconds, they were gone as the crystal clear depths gave way to the
murkier surface layers. I wanted to go back and join them.
I could go on and on and on about that week in the Sea of Cortez, not least the three (yes three!) Whale Sharks we snorkeled with that last afternoon, the pod of Short-finned Pilot Whales that dived right underneath me as I swam on the surface, the impressive Giant Hawkfish that made all those other hawkfish seem puny, and the amazing little Orangethroat Pike-Blennies. I think I had better have lowered expectations about the Sea of Cortez next time too: it would be tempting fate otherwise!