Dive! Dive!

Jacques Cousteau Lookout
(Sorry no pics for this section, camera was left on land as it is hydrophobic. There was supposed to be a digital dive camera, but it decided to go on strike during our trip.)

Making my way down to Queensland on the eastern coast of Australia, I found myself in pursuit of a long desired goal, learning how to scuba without my tuba. Within hours of setting foot into Cairns, I was in ProDive signing on for a five day scuba course involving two days of pool and theory and three days of open water diving on the Great Barrier Reef, one of the seven natural wonders of the world and the only living organism visible from space. While snorkeling had been satisfying thus far, I was ready to take it to the next level. What better place to do it than the Great Barrier Reef?

The next five days involved early mornings, hours of video watching, instruction, test taking, and finally underwater skills. With a fifteen foot deep pool, the class of seven started with baby steps, learning how to connect the tank, BCD (buoyancy control device), weight belt, regulator and back up regulator. Each minute we were bing flooded with new information, from emergency “out-of-air procedures” to two hundred meter practice swims against a faux current. Like sponges, we absorbed as much as we could, knowing that in just two days, we would be ninety kilometers out to sea where the safety of the pool would be replaced for the open waters of the Pacific Ocean.

After two days of using the “buddy system” and swapping regulators underwater, the group grew closer. By D-Day (stands for dive day), we left the marina at 6:30 a.m. for a three hour boat ride to the outer reef. While it wasn’t the three hour tour of Gilligan’s Island, the trip out to the dive spot seemed to take years as the choppy waters made for a stomach tossing ride. Thankfully, we were informed beforehand that twenty five knot winds would leave many of us ideal candidates for chumming so we stocked up on sea sickness pills.

Arriving at our first dive spot, the white caps on the open waters were persistent reminders that we were no longer in the shallow end. Within fifteen minutes, we suited up, going through our buddy checks, planning our dive activities, timing and direction. Our first dive would be close knit as a group, using one of the boat’s anchor lines to descend to the ocean floor. Two by two, we did a deep water entry into mildly cold reef waters, equalizing our way down to the underwater world.

Just a meter below the surface, all of your senses change, from your visibility to your hearing to your inability to breath through your nose. Sixteen meters below, the group assembled in a circle around the instructor for performing drills we had previously practiced in the fresh water pool. In salt water, things were different, especially tearing off your mask for an eye stinging minute and then placing it back on your face, emptying all of the water from it in the process. Drill by drill, the group worked through the exercises. Dan, the instructor was top notch, having been on more than 2,500 dives, we were in experienced hands.

Thirty minutes into our first dive, it was time to ascend back to the surface, leaving a minimum of fifty bar of air in our tanks in case of emergency. Back on the dive deck, the group congratulated each other on our first open water dive, complete with reef and fearless colorful fish. It was almost as good as getting your driver’s license for the first time, a sense of freedom, opening a door into another world. The Great Barrier Reef was no longer a barrier.

Three more dives, involving skill tests, and back on deck we were officially PADI certified open water divers. More celebration would follow before intense moments in the dark of night. There were five remaining voluntary dives over the remaining day and a half. All of us still electrified from completing our certification, we were eager to get in the water and explore at every opportunity. One such opportunity was a night dive, descending into the black waters with only a flashlight in hand.

On our night for diving, the moon was new, nowhere to be seen in the star filled sky. Looking down into the dark, normally turquoise waters, our mission seemed more mercenary than fun diving. Suited up, we again used the boat’s line to descend. Without the torch, you couldn’t see your hand in front of your mask. It was now an essential piece of equipment.

Fumbling around in the dark, yet another side of the underwater world was disrobed. Creatures of the dark, normally hiding during the day, were actively charging around the reef, feeding on nutrients in the water. Colors, already brilliant during the day, took on even more intensity as the torch light shone on them. It was a complete reversal of fish out of water.

No longer guided by Dan since we were now certified, the buddy pairs swam around the boat area, sticking close as the limitations of the torch kept us relatively inexperienced divers close to our floating home. Most of the group returned to the dive deck a few minutes early with extra air in our tanks. However, thirty-five minutes from our dive start, one team had not yet returned. By Dan’s calculations they had enough air for forty-five minutes to fifty-minutes. At forty minutes after the dive start, Dan began suiting up for entry and the crew began to shine spot lights across the water’s surface in the hope that they had surfaced nearby

Still no sign at forty-five minutes, Dan entered the water and the crew stopped every other boat activity, from dinner prep to bar tending, to focus on the search efforts. As Dan entered the water, another master diver began preparations for his entry. A calm undercurrent of panic, portrayed as concern came over the crew. Then, in a New York minute, voices were heard from somewhere on the surface. The boat fell silent as we tried to determine the direction from where the sound was originating. “It’s coming from the front of the boat!” one of the crew shouted.

Dan swam to the front, while the crew members with lights rushed to the front, our dive group closely behind. The two guys from Ireland were safe, but had gotten lost in a changing current, drifting in a different direction than anticipated. A huge sigh of relief came over the dive party and soon a different kind of party, led by none other than the Irishmen, was underfoot on board.

Breaking through the proverbial “glass” floor (ocean waters) unlocks grand doors of incredible flora and sea creatures. Fish I had never heard of swam circles around me, peering out of their eyes firmly planted on opposite sides of their head. New colors and sounds combined for a serene journey into an underwater ballet of sea creatures. My access to the world had grown exponentially in just five short days.

Where the Forest Meets the Sea


Before the US gained its Independence, before Shakespeare wrote Romeo & Juliet, before Columbus “discovered” America, before Jesus was born, before the origin of humankind, before dinosaurs roamed the planet, there was a forest already millions of years of old. Believed to be the oldest rainforest in the world, the Daintree National Park is estimated to be more than 130 million years old. Qualifying for World Heritage listing in all five categories, the park is nestled between the northeastern side of the Great Dividing Range and the Great Barrier Reef. The area has the rare distinction of hosting two adjacent World Heritage sights (Daintree Rainforest and Great Barrier Reef).

Back on land from the dive trip, I made my way up the coast, heading further north, closer to the famed Cape Tribulation. Named by Captain Cook after his ship ran onto the reef just off the Cape (from the phrase “trials and tribulations”), today only sheer beauty is forced upon the visitor. The ancient rain forest runs from the high mountains in the Great Dividing Range straight into the sea. Mangroves, of which there are only seventy in the world (thirty of which are in Australia), grow on the beach, roots exposed high above the sand and salt water for air supply.

Pictures do not do Cape Tribulation justice (especially mine). Walking through the primitive rainforest, trees that preceded much of human history stand firm, wrapped in thick vines awaiting Tarzan’s call. Each day the forest and the sea perform their roles dutifully. In twenty-four hour cycles, the ocean lends its water to the passing clouds, which in turn drop it into the nearby forest, which then returns the fresh water to the sea. It is a mini, but very real version of the earth’s air filter.

Sitting on the sand at the edge of the forest, everything seemed to make sense. Nature’s unwritten contract was on the big screen of life for all to see:

“You give us water,” says the clouds, “and we’ll remove the salt and carry it to the forest.”

“Drop your water here if you like,” offers the forest, “and we’ll clean it, make nutrients for insects and, thereby birds, crocodiles and fish.”

“What you don’t use, give it back to me with all of the new oxygen, I’ll share it with the sea creatures and then return it to you when you are ready for more,” signals the ocean.

Every character contributes its efforts to make one global play. Apart from the natural beauty of Cape Trib and the Daintree rainforest is the beautiful and quite miraculous eco-synergy immediately apparent to the beholder. One deep inhale and a slow exhale is the just the beginning for an urbanite’s detox.

The rainforest and Cape Trib do have camping and minimal lodging, but leave your hairdryer at home as there is no electricity north of the Daintree River. Permanent residents rise and set with the sun for the most part. Even though it has been “discovered”, the World Heritage area is unlikely to see any growth or development in the future. There are still some pristine parts of the planet where we have managed to do the right thing, preserving the sensitive habitat for generations to come.

The Dream Catcher (epilogue to “Lost in the Fields of Dreams”)

The morning after writing about my dream conversation with my grandmother, I searched the net to find accommodations for a few nights in Port Douglas, a quaint seaside town about sixty kilometers south of Cape Trib. I booked a room through a local Australian website (much like Expedia) and packed my bag once again. Catching a bus northward, I ran through my mental checklist of things to do and see for my remaining days in Queensland.

Even after arriving at the apartment I had rented and meeting the owner, John, it still did not dawn on me. It was only after entering the apartment and seeing it hanging next to my bed that the irony forced a smile across my face. “Are you kidding me?” I asked myself silently.

Without realizing it, or drawing any connection, I rented a room at the “Dream Catcher Apartments” complete with Aboriginal dream catcher hanging from the ceiling next to my bed. Opening the equivalent of a “Hotel Services” folder found in most hotel rooms, the folder for the Dream Catcher was much different. Rather than talk about the pool, gymnasium, internet, room service menu or childcare facilities, it contained a quote from the book Mutant Message Down Under. While I had heard of the book I had never read it, but was now intrigued to pick it up and at a minimum, thumb through the pages.

The following morning I went to the Sunday market to grab brecky and see local arts and crafts. Boomerangs, digeridoos, hand blown glass, copper sculptures and flower stalls lined the grassy marina front. On one particular stall, a tent extended from a VW bus. Under it, a woman in a chair was engrossed in a book in her lap. Not wanting to bother her, I scanned the small used book collection apparently organized by author. I didn’t see it as I walked around the fold out table.

In the interest of time, I interrupted her page turning, “Excuse me, do you have Mutant Message Down Under?”

“Look on the table in front of you,” she said curtly.

“Well, are they alphabetized by author or title?”

“Look on the table in front of you,” she said again.

Bam, there it was lying on the table directly in front of me. I thumbed through the pages as planned, eventually deciding that, given the synchronicity of events, I should part with the six dollars to give it a more careful review. And though I am not finished with the light reading, the following excerpt is from page 116. Reflecting upon dream feedback she was given by a “Spirit Woman” in the Aboriginal tribe with whom she lived, the author, Marlo Morgan, wrote the following:

“I came to the understanding that there would be some storms in my life, that people and things I had invested a lot of time and energy into were going to be laid aside, but now I knew what it felt like to be a centered, peaceful being, and I had that emotion to draw upon anytime I needed or wanted it. I learned that I could live more than one life in a lifetime and that I had already experienced the closing of a door. I learned that a time had come where I could no longer stay with the people, the location, the values and beliefs I held. For my own soul growth I had gently closed a door and entered a new place, a new life that was equal to a step up a spiritual rung on a ladder. And most important, I did not have to do anything with the information. If I simply lived the principles that appeared to be truth for me, I would touch the lives of those I was destined to touch. The doors would be opened. After all ‘it’ was not my message, I was merely the messenger.”

Passed down in smoke filled tents through generations, the Aboriginese vigilantly shared the wisdom and experience of living with their youth. It was essential to their survival. Where to hunt, fish, find water, sleep and seek guidance were all a part of their dreams, sometimes asleep, other times awake in a deep meditation.

Are we dreaming today? What are we dreaming about? Are our day dreams scrambled by external influences distracting us from what is really important? And if we are unable to get in touch with our real dreams, how do we grow, fulfill our destinies or climb the ladder? Maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe there is more than one route to the same destination, or then again, maybe there is no destination, it’s just the journey.

Dream big.