Sipadan: Waterspouts and "Fish Twisters"
It was 6 a.m., a few minutes before sunrise. The twisters began with two slender, gray fingers
protruding several hundred feet from the ragged clouds above. One finger lengthened, became
translucent and dissolved halfway down. The other slowly extended downward - gray at the top,
white in the middle and transparent at the bottom - until it touched the surface and became visible in a swirling, gray eruption.
Fortunately, it was traveling on a course that would bring it no closer than perhaps a quarter-mile from my location and nowhere near any populated area. I said a prayerful "thank you."
More than once I had wondered what I would do in this situation. I could only stand in awe of
the spectacle - until I had the presence of mind to run to the hut and grab a camera.
Five minutes and several photos later the twister slowly retreated into the clouds. This demonstration of nature's power took my breath away. Yet the day had just started on this tiny 30-acre island called Sipadan in the Western Pacific Ocean, a few degrees latitude above the equator and just 20 miles from the northeast coast of Borneo.
It was the morning after Thanksgiving, 1997, Sipadan time, but in Lincoln, Nebraska, on the other side of the planet, it was still the evening before the Cornhuskers would play the Colorado Buffaloes. I had asked a friend to record the televised broadcast, but after my close encounter with the waterspout (the name for a tornado on the water), football was the farthest thing from my thoughts.
Our sixth day had just dawned on the remote island, a jungle-covered speck in a region of the Pacific Ocean called the Celebes Sea. Fellow-Lincolnite Jim Zimmer and I spent 27 hours in the air, another 10 in layovers, and 6 more in surface travel to experience what has been described as some of the best SCUBA diving in the world.
On this particular morning, I hoped the waterspout would be an omen for another rewarding day. But now it was time for breakfast. I picked up my journal, camera, and tea and headed back from the dock to the collection of thatch-roofed buildings nestled in the palm trees along the beach.
None of the 12 other resort guests, divers from all over the world, had stirred, although Ahmed, one of the boat drivers, greeted me on the steps of the open-air shelter that served as the dining hall.
Ahmed, Jim's camera and I were the only witnesses to the waterspout. Ahmed said that he had never seen one in his 40-plus years living in this area. Such storms never get this close to the equator he explained. That's why this part of the world is called "The Land Below the Wind."
Chalk up another one for El Nino.
Three hours later Jim and I were hovering weightless beside an underwater cliff with 110 feet of turquoise water above us and 2000 feet of cobalt-blue ocean below.
As in the week's previous dives, we slowly cruised along the vertical reef surrounded by marine life of unimaginable variety, beauty and richness. This dive, like all the others, was a sensory overload. Nothing could be more thrilling.
The second dive this day was equally awesome. By now the island's undersea wonders had become almost commonplace. It was rare to finish one of our 50-minute dives without viewing a dozen large turtles, half as many sharks and schools of colorful fish in the thousands.
However, it was the day's third and last dive, in the afternoon, that surpassed all of the others.
We had been in the water 40 minutes and were gliding over a submerged plateau on the edge of an abyss, at a depth of 50 feet. Then, slowly, out of the haze, at the limit of our visibility, loomed a gigantic shape.
At first, it appeared to be an underwater tornado like the one I had witnessed earlier.
However, as we swam closer, we realized it was a vortex of Barracuda, numbering in the thousands.
With awe we cautiously approached this moving "fish twister," which, despite the Barracuda's fearsome reputation and toothsome grin, seemed oblivious to us. The 3 to 4-foot fish parted politely as we cautiously penetrated the school. We then entered the hollow center where a spinning wall of life, illuminated by a circle of sparkling sunlight 50 feet above, surrounded us.
Even if I could have spoken, no words could have described the moment. I felt as if we had just strolled into a pride of wild lions that casually ignored our presence. Amazing! For several minutes we peacefully drifted with the school until our diminishing air supply required us to reluctantly exit and ascend to the surface.
Back on the boat, we were all smiles and excited chatter. Then we asked the inevitable question: "Why"? The Divemaster, who was our local guide, could provide no answer. "No one knows for sure,"
he said.
As we headed back to the island, the noise of the outboard motor squelched further conversation. Introspection and long-distance stares replaced talk.
That evening I sat on the dock reflecting on the day's incomparable events. A moonless sky glittered with a million stars. On the dark horizon, thunderstorms flashed over Borneo, silhouetting its rugged landscape. A warm, moist breeze carried sweet jungle smells from our island's dense core.
As I looked down into the black water, constellations of Flashlight Fish, with their glowing eyes, flitted amid the coral a few feet below. The beauty of God's creation seemed so profound in this place. But maybe, I thought, it just takes getting away from the routine and familiarity of home to realize that Nebraska is no less blessed. I whispered a "thank you" into the humid night air.
My thoughts wandered and I considered our return home in a few days. Home was so different and so far away. How can I try to describe these experiences and the wonderful people and culture of Malaysia? Will my photos reveal the beauty of this place? How long will this unspoiled site resist the onslaught of development, pollution and over-fishing? Will I ever have the opportunity to return? When back in Lincoln, how can I benefit from what I've learned?
Oh yes, I remember there's a Cornhusker football game that weekend! Who ARE we playing against, anyway?
Gary Rex began SCUBA diving in 1993 and has dived on coral reefs in many
areas of the Caribbean and Pacific. He is a certified Divemaster and amateur underwater photographer. Gary is a Regional Human Resources Director for ALLTEL Communications.
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SIPADAN (in the western Pacific Ocean) - Until this moment, I had never seen a tornado,
I mean personally. I have lived on the Plains for 40-some years and heard dozens of sirens.
I have seen scores of television reports but had never experienced a tornado up close.
Frankly, I hoped never to do so. Yet there it was, maybe a half-mile away.
