Still under scattered clouds and mediocre wifi (thus no pics or clever graphics).
Today was the dive for which I held much apprehension, during which huge amounts of fish heads, guts, and other unrecognizable body parts were strewn into an area chock full of hundreds of trevally, remora, and fuselli (those are fish which I may have listed with questionable spelling).
Oh, and a dozen or two bull sharks, which were upwards of 18-feet long and three feet through, with wide mouths laced with rows of razor sharp teeth.
We dozen, or so, deranged divers lined up along a rope line, mere feet away from the feeding frenzy.
The water is a blur of flashing fish, slashing through clouds of drifting chum.
We, of the faint mental acuity, somehow assume the fish whipped into a frenzy will inexplicably honor a one-inch diameter rope and stay on “their side.”
These mammoth monsters of the briny depths are clearly habituated; they show up as soon as the dive masters arrive with sealed bright yellow garbage cans, and as soon as they pop the lids the maelstrom of swirling sharks stick their snouts deep into the fish-filled cans a la the rubbish hunting bears of Yosemite.
Luckily, the large man-eaters eschew a large man covered in a thick matt of bristly hair.
I doubt it was that limp old line we held on to with little more than faith and naivete.