Tobago Expedition: Day 9

An amazing morning dive started the day on the right foot. It was another invertebrate pointy, preparing me for the test retake after lunch. I recognized most of them and felt ready to resit the exam (I think). In addition to inverts, we also saw coronetfish and a huge cowfish, one of my personal favorites.
Lunch was spectacular. After the standard carbohydrate deluge, my roommate shared around a bag of oranges and apples. I’m not sure where she got them, but the rare treat of fresh fruit really hit the spot.
While the sudden intake of vitamins was fighting off my imaginary(?) case of scurvy, I took the invertebrate retest. And I passed with flying colors. It’s amazing what can happen when I study and don’t feel the need to retch.
The afternoon dive was my invertebrate validation, an in-water test. You’re paired with a knowledgeable buddy who points at different inverts and you have to write down what they are on your slate. Only after you pass both the computer test and the validation can you be qualified to survey, so it’s fairly important to do well.
I was paired with our staff dive instructor, who is good fun and I was looking forward to diving with her. The dive started well, and I recognized all but one of the inverts she pointed at (to be fair, it was completely covered in algae). We were moving the validation along fairly quickly so we could spend the rest of our dive just putzing around.
Coming across a sandy patch between two coral outcroppings, we saw a barracuda in hunt mode. I didn’t realize they could change color and camouflage themselves, but here this one was hovering over the sand, dressed for Desert Storm. I was so focused on the barracuda that I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. Suddenly, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The instructor points in the general direction of the barracuda. I nod, “Yeah, that’s amazing!” and give her the “OK” signal. She violently shakes her head, which is when I see the terror in her eyes, and frantically points again. Following her finger, I see she’s actually motioning to my left leg. And then I see why.

One of the largest moray eels I’ve ever seen was less than a foot from me. His head had to be a foot in diameter, and he was seven feet long if he was an inch. Now, I know that morays keep their mouths open so water can flow through their gills, but it was rather intimidating to see two razor-sharp fangs coming straight at my thigh. Logic failed me and I screamed like a little girl.
Scrambling out of the eel’s way, I thought I was out of danger. I really need to stop making assumptions.
This eel actually was out to get me. As my dive buddy and I swam to get distance between him and us, he followed right along. We cut hard left and came up off the reef to give him space to pass. He cut hard left and came up off the reef to eat me. Striking out once more, we pushed ahead, trying to shake him off. He continued the chase, either the hungriest eel on record or seriously pissed off. I didn’t stop to find out. Taking another ninety degree turn, we thought we’d lost him. We stopped to look back, and there he was, still coming at us.
Rather than swim away (my new motto), my buddy grabbed the spare knife off my BCD. She whipped around, ready to face the eel down, until she realized the blade was only and inch and a half long. She looked at the knife, looked at the eel, made a weird, indistinct noise and ran for it. I pulled my big knife and swam after her. Not that I planned on using it, but the healthy five inch blade made me feel a bit less vulnerable.
Finally realizing we weren’t going to shake this monster of the deep, we surfaced, knives flashing in the sun, screaming profanities (or maybe that was just me).
Each of us stood guard over the other while we dekitted and handed our gear up to the boat, hoping we had enough time to get out of the water before the moray could find us. I don’t doubt that he’s still looking for us even now.
We provided a fair amount of entertainment for the boat captain. He absolutely refused to believe our story, and had to hold himself upright at times while he clarified that two of the most experienced divers in the group had been chased out of the water, screaming in fear. I wasn’t amused at the time, but now that the horrific feeling of imminent death has passed, I can see that it might be a little funny.

If someone had told me this story, I wouldn’t have believed a word of it. Morays do not act like this. The only time they attack people is when they have been sorely provoked. Like if you’ve stuck your finger into his den. And then you’d deserve to lose that finger. But free-swimming morays are rare, and angry, vicious, homicidal free-swimming morays just don’t exist. If I hadn’t lived this, I would think I was full of it. But I swear every word is true.