On mornings when the night before seems like the week after, and your tongue and stomach remembers how much you had to drink (even if you don't), there's a fog over your eyes lodged somewhere between your eyelids, and your subconscious that slows and blurs all perception to a series shuttled images. And the time before that first cup of coffee fogs into an unremembered blur.
At 6 am, the sea was like that; a lumpen disturbed mass that greeted us when we curled out of our own sober beds to greet the sea, 25 miles south and 50 west of the Kwun Tong typhoon shelter we had left the night before. A surreal sight, a floating wine buffet lit against a backdrop of Hong Kong's finest 60's industrial and transport architecture. Consumption was moderate, commitment high.
The sea was rumpled, ominously grey and slightly despondent after the previous pass of "Typhoon Whatever" - the 5th, or perhaps 16th revolving tropical depression - perhaps it's the going around in circles that makes them depressed. The sun shone in an enthusiast attempt to raise the morale of its aqueous acquaintance, but never got much more than a shrug. And the morning after the night before had rubbed some of the depression onto the sea surface, which slouched rather than swelled, and managed only the occasional omni-directional exuberance, if that was its preference.
Diving was slightly delayed by the work of two fishermen who, well versed in the net and anchor snagging ability of the rocks that lie beneath the single rock pinnacle of Pedro Blanco, had brought with them dynamite and a net. The odd dual usage of Stone Age and industrial technology, bobbing up and down in a small boat, farther from land than any of us would dare without a back-up engine or radio was perverse to watch. It also appeared highly inefficient - as David Taylor would prove later.
Half a mile off the rock pinnacle that is Pedro Blanco lies a reef. When I last dived it earlier in the year we were spacemen in 35 m viz. descending to a moonscape of broken rock and blue coral. But this morning with the grey of silt kicked up the previous week's typhoon, space was limited to 3-4 m and your buddy could have been a million miles away if they strayed more than 5. But this site was not without rewards as a proof of the explosives inefficiency fed the whole crew very well for a later lunch, coming in at 5 pounds plus, and accompanied by four smaller siblings.
The diving on the rock itself in shallower water was better, and improved throughout the day, with first time visitors gaining some understanding of the majestic sub-sea landscape that falls away from the pinnacle. Photographers remained frustrated but the tranquil Sunday morning duvet of the sea started to get around to most of us. Almost all did 3 dives on the chance of new encounters and ensuring VFM (Value for Money), after which we resigned ourselves from 2pm to spend an afternoon of enforced relaxation, conversation, and watching the world go by - not a difficult burden on a beautiful Sunday afternoon.
On our return to HK, passing Lei Yue Mun we came across (although its sheer size makes it difficult to miss) the SuperStar Leo cruising out from the harbour. You could spend a night on it and never know you were at sea (which may be the point). But I for one value the sea in all its moods, and the opportunities it brings. And on its off-days you pass your condolences, sympathize, pass the aspirin and enjoy the quieter world that envelops you within its embrace.
[Many thanks to Jason Claricoates for organising the trip and the fancy footwork necessary to maintain the booking, even with the erratic passage of various storms.]
Richard Colwill
19 September 1999