Today I was scheduled to get my first mammogram.

Backstory: my mom had breast cancer in her early (possibly mid?) forties, and has been pestering me to get a mammogram for years, just to have a baseline. And also just in case I have cancer, even though we all know that’s impossible if you’re under 30, at least according to insurance companies. Ahem.

For years my doctor has pooh-poohed this idea. This year, while she was conducting my breast exam, I brought it up again. She was feeling away at one particular spot for much longer than usual, and then said “Ok, we’ll schedule a mammogram.” Er, oooh-kay.

So I show up at the mammogram place today, and they ask why I’m there. I say something non-committal about just coming in for a baseline screening thingy, Mom had cancer, etc, etc. They still seem confused that I would bother if there’s not actually a noticable lump already.

Once I’m in the exam room, the tech looks over my records and says “So, your doctor found a lump in your left breast!” Really? My doctor didn’t mention that to me.

Anyway, it turns out they don’t jump straight to mammograms, at least not if you’re under 30. They do an ultrasound first, and a mammogram only if they feel it’s necessary. This is why I feel cheated: I was all prepared to go have my boobs pancaked, and have something funny to bitch about in my blog. Instead I just got smeared with warm KY jelly and got a glimpse of my insides on an ultrasound screen.

The “lump” is just a ridge of tissue that’s been there as long as I can remember, possibly scar tissue from the lift I got in the real boob to make it match the fake one. (Hey, anyone reading this not know I have one breast implant? Now you know! Not that I’ve ever kept quiet about it…) Either my doctor was just making up an excuse to get me in for a mammogram since that’s what I wanted, or she was genuinely perturbed by it – in which case she could have just said something, and I would have told her it’s normal.

So, two hours sitting around in a “Breast Center” (which, by the way, had the CRAPPIEST magazine selection ever – the best of the bunch was Good Housekeeping; I saw more than one fishing magazing, in a chick-centric waiting room, for crying out loud). One good slathering with goo. One nervous young doctor who kept asking if he was pushing too hard or if his hands were too cold, as if he was used to patients complaining. Zero cysts or lumps.

Doc: “Keep self-checking. Come back when you’re 35 for a mammogram.”

Tech: “Her mom had cancer in her 40s.”

Doc: “Be extra aggressive, then.”

Um, that’s what I was trying to do here, people. Smoosh my boobs already!

Bonus story: the front desk had a big bowl of what appeared to be plastic-wrapped tampons.  It was only on closer inspection I realized they were mints, just elongated and packaged in pink plastic.  Too bad; for a moment there I thought someone had a fun sense of humor.

Financial responsibility?

Screw that, I say; meet my new Precious, a Sony HC3 hi-def handycam in a Light & Motion Bluefin housing with external monitor:

Some of you may recall that after Australia, Jeff and I put a moratorium on spending so we could pay off credit cards for a while. So why throw thousands more dollars into camera gear?

Well, partly because I’m a consumer whore who sucks at delayed gratification, obviously.

Also, for the sake of our marriage. I’ll explain:

We dropped a lot of money last year on gear for Jeff. The new Canon 5D, a housing, and a surprisingly expensive computer monitor. These were all things I agreed to at the time, but it started to really bug me that Jeff got to have his turn – and then when it was theoretically my turn to spend, we had to be responsible.

Don’t get me wrong, we’ve spent money at my instigation as well. But mostly on things that we both get to enjoy; dive trips and the like.

Lately, every time Jeff’s even mentioned a desire to make a purchase of any sort, my hackles have instantly gone up. After all, it’s =my= turn next, and anyway, we’re being responsible. Every money-related fight we had came back to something along the lines of: “well, YOU just spent all that money last year, so you have no say.” Not fair, but hard to help.

We decided to hell with it; we’ll run the cards back up if it’ll even the scales and get rid of one more thing to fight about, and soothe the resentment that I seemed unable to quell or even hide. So far it’s worked like a charm; I feel like a huge weight is off my shoulders, and Jeff’s been totally supportive.

Of course, now we really DO have to be financially responsible for a while. But I think we can handle it, since there’s nothing left to buy. (Except a high definition television, new dive computers, more dive trips…. time to work on that delayed gratification!)

And it was so worth it – you should see the footage from this baby (I’ll try to post some soon). Soooo pretty. My Precious… :)

Last Tuesday, I gave blood in the morning (actually just red blood cells, which takes longer). I felt kind of wobbly and crappy afterwards, didn’t get much done at work, and finally decided to just cash in a sick day and head home early. But on the way home, I was greeted by the sight of an ENORMOUS plume of smoke rising from Griffith Park. This was the view from our apartment:

I decide to ditch my napping plans, and instead grabbed the 5D and headed out in search of a better view. The fire was burning just on the west side of I-5, in the easternmost bit of the park. So the western edge of Glendale was just across the freeway and the LA River from the burn area, and afforded some excellent sights.

Residential neighborhood next to the freeway:

I found a neat little park that bordered the LA River, and which soon became crowded with onlookers, many of whom had extremely fancy cameras with them.

We were only a few hundred yards from the flames, and it was really impressive to watch. A fire like this creates its own little climate zone, with insane winds lashing around in every direction. The smoke plume would lift away from the fire for a few seconds, giving us an unobstructed view – then the wind would push the smoke downhill again and right at us, bringing thick smoke and big chunks of ash. Every time a helicopter did a water drop, we’d get splattered with a mist of sticky stuff (water plus retardant?):

When I got tired of inhaling smoke, I drove into the hills north of Glendale to get a shot with some altitude. Here you can see how the plume headed straight over Glendale:

I took a break from fire-watching to go have dinner in Santa Monica with a friend, but brought my camera with me just in case. On the way home, you could see the fire lighting up the hills north of Hollywood. I took the 5 back to Glendale, which got me up close and personal with the flames dripping down the Griffith Park hill.

I’d stupidly left the tripod at home, and was too lazy and sleepy to go get it and come back, but I decided to return to the park next to the LA River to try and get some nighttime shots by steadying the camera on the car.

I thought I could get even closer to the flames, so I headed further south into a more residential district. It didn’t take long to find a cul-de-sac with a good view; I just followed the other cars full of photographers. One woman was nice enough to loan me her tripod for a few shots, and help me with camera settings (she also had a 5D – I’m not used to ours yet).

All in all, an exciting day. My clothes reeked of woodsmoke, and I felt like I’d polished off a pack of cigarettes, but it was a cool experience.

I’ve got a Pomona alumni event to go to this afternoon, so I came to work this morning in a skirt.  I’m even wearing some jewelry.  In the hour I’ve been at my desk, I’ve had no fewer than FOUR people comment on how I’m all dressed up, like they don’t even recognize me.

I even brought makeup, which I may or may not apply before I head to Claremont.  The first (and last) time I wore any makeup to work, it was just a little eyeliner.  In a meeting with my boss, he stared at me with some concern, and eventually asked: “Is there something wrong with your eyes?”

Sigh.

Jeff beat me to it.

Perhaps I’ll blog a more detailed version.  Perhaps not.  I’ve been quite the blog-slacker lately.

One of the great perks of my job is the occasional trip to Hawaii. Although I usually spend far more time in a meeting room than on the beach, I sometimes manage to tack on a day or two of vacation – which is what I did last weekend. Armed with Lars’s hi-def camera rig again, I flew out to Kona on Saturday morning for a weekend of Hawaiian leisure before starting our meeting on Monday.

I didn’t have any firm plans for Saturday; my plane landed at noon, leaving me with quite a lot of time to kill, and I was a little worried that it would be a lonely and boring afternoon without the company of Jeff. I should have known better: Hawaiians are far too friendly a bunch to leave a traveler feeling alone. I nabbed lunch at Lulu’s, where my server struck up a conversation. Then I spent a while wandering around downtown chatting up random homeless guys and tourists.

As I wandered back towards my hotel, it struck me that I still had several hours left until sunset – why not hop in the car and drive down to Place of Refuge? I’d read that turtles tend to hang out there nibbling on algae in the late afternoon, and that sounded like a pretty good video opportunity.

When I reached Place of Refuge, there were just a handful of tourists left snorkeling off the rocks. The tide was high, giving turtles lots of room for their snacking in the tidepools. Their antics attracted a small crowd, oohing and aahing appreciatively when a turtle got knocked over by an especially high wave, or managed to hold his ground as the water flowed back out to the sea.

As the last tourists packed up to go home, the locals started setting up for the evening. Across the harbor, a large group of hula dancers in Hawaiian dress practiced on the beach. Next to the boat ramp, a guy started playing ukulele and signing in Hawaiian, to an appreciative audience of his friends (and me). Behind where my car was parked, a group of older guys hung out by their pickup truck, and I insinuated myself into their group by virtue of being a fellow smoker. Some were white guys who’d moved to the island years ago and stayed, integrating themselves into local culture; others were Hawaiian born and bred. All wanted to talk about how there was too much development going on, and too many rich people moving in and creating a society separate from the locals. They all welcomed newcomers, but wished it didn’t feel so much like this new community was the one deciding the future of the island. I couldn’t help but sympathize; my flight in afforded an excellent view of the huge tracts of land currently being turned into condominiums all along the coast. According to these folks, it was just as bad down south.

Of course, part of me is dying to be one of those rich people who move to Hawaii. But I’d like to think I’d be the sort to join the local community – they’re certainly friendly enough.

When I got tired of turning down beers (or marriage offers from tipsy Hawaiians), I headed back up to Kona for sunset-watching, complete with more chatting up of random Hawaiians. After dinner and a mai tai, I was ready for bed by 8pm. A small cockroach materialized out from under the fridge in my room, and I vigorously stomped him. I can’t plan to live in Hawaii one day and continue being a weenie about roaches…

Sunday morning I was wide awake by 6am, and didn’t need to be at the harbor until 9. I took my time packing up and strolling around the hotel grounds, chasing lizards with my hi-def camera. Next to the Royal Kona is a beach bar, which turns into a coffee shop in the mornings, so I headed there for breakfast. My previous visits had familiarized me with the overly-aggressive birds, who will sweep down onto your table the instant you walk away from your muffin. But I was surprised by just how fearless they’d gotten; as I toasted my bagel up on the bar, a dove wandered across the bagel cutting boards (mm, healthy) and right up to my hands. Sheesh.

It was a gorgeous day for diving: sunny, no wind, and flat seas. I was thrilled to discover Captain Roger was driving the boat today, and I knew one of the divemasters from previous trips as well. I quickly made friends with the other divers in my group, including a couple from Alaska who mostly dive the cold water up there, and a photographer from the east coast who was on a vacation with his (non-diving) wife. There were about 12 divers on the boat total, including a brand new 10-year-old scuba diver and her dad, who’d just gotten certified together.

We had an auspicious start, coming across a playful pod of spinner dolphins on our way out of the harbor. We didn’t go far; just hung a right and zipped over to Lone Tree Arch, a little bit north of the harbor. On the first dive, our group of six divers followed the divemaster down to about a hundred feet, looking for interesting fish in the rubble that covered the bottom. Heading shallower, we swam through some mostly-open lava tubes. On our way into the first one, we got a close look at a pregnant white-tipped reef shark lying on the sand. After getting sucked out the other side of the tube, we took our time moseying back over to the moored boat. I spotted lots of juvenile coris wrasses, as well as their adult counterparts, a mating pair of surgeonfish, and – briefly – a turtle in the distance.

During lunch, we scarfed down sandwiches while Roger took us out to look for “Easter pilot whales.” No luck there, but it’s still about as pleasant a way to spend an hour as I can imagine – bouncing across the nearly-flat Pacific in the Hawaiian sun, geeking out with other divers.

Our second dive wasn’t too far from the first, at Golden Arches. This site has several nice archways you can swim through (or just hang out in, insinuating yourself into the schools of fish that are doing likewise). In between are large rubbly areas where I always see lots of rock-moving action by coris and rockmover wrasses, and today was no exception. I found one large yellowtail coris in particular who turned out to be a great video subject; after his initial wariness, he let me put the camera practically right next to him while he turned over enormous rocks and blew away sand in search of food.

We also spotted quite a few moray eels on this dive, though none were feeling very perky. There was even a large zebra moray, although we only saw his midsection – the head and tail were buried in a coral head.

During a long safety stop near the boat, I was thrilled to discover two rockmover wrasses who appeared to be mating. They’d sort of poof up their dorsal fins (until this, I’d never realized their dorsal fins were poofable) and twirl around each other before spinning away. Like the coris wrasse, they let me get surprisingly close, but it wasn’t long before they worked their way into shallower, surgier water than I felt like dealing with.

It was a short ride back to the harbor after our two dives, and alas, that was it for my mini-vacation. I met up with my Bruce (my boss) and David (project scientist), and we headed up to Waimea to check into our hotel.

We stayed at the Jacaranda Inn, a lovely, romantic bed and breakfast. Felt a little weird for a work trip. My room was enormous, with a four-poster bed all carved and painted with tropical birds. The shower was impressive. The boys each had a bedroom in a separate cottage, which came with a hot tub.

Interestingly, the rooms did not have televisions. Or telephones. Or wireless, though it claimed to; nor did this self-proclaimed “bed and breakfast” serve breakfast anymore. My room didn’t have an alarm clock, either, so I relied on wake-up calls from David or Bruce (who did have them). It did, however, have mosquitoes – in spades. I sat down to read for five minutes, and got as many bites, so I high-tailed it over to the cottage (which for some reason was mosquito-free) until it was time for dinner. When we got back, I high-tailed it under the covers and didn’t give them any chance to bite!

The second night there was even more exciting bug-wise. First I got to practice my cockroach-crunching some more in the bathroom (this one actually went CRACK when I stepped on it – ugh). I headed towards the bed, carefully NOT examining any dark corners for roaches, but made the mistake of glancing up… and spotted an enormous daddy long-legs dangling from the top railing of the four poster bed. Then I repeated the mistake by looking to the left, and spotted another one up towards the headboard. I briefly considered attempting to squash them, but decided that they’d most likely escape, and then I’d be even more freaked out about where they might be. Plus, if I looked any closer, I might find MORE of them. So I just went to bed and pretended there weren’t spiders two feet from my head.

I won’t bother blogging about work, since it’s pretty boring. That’s why it’s work. Still, cockroach-intensive though my trip was this time around, I was extremely sorry to leave. I like the big island a little more every time I go.

We seemed to pass through the worst of the swells during dinner Wednesday night; by the time we collapsed in our bunk, the boat was merely rolling pleasantly, rather than leaping out of the water. The customary door-banging wake-up call rousted us from our bunks around 6:30am, and everyone began hustling to finish packing their junk and haul it to the back deck.

Goodbyes were necessarily a hurried affair, with the crew eager to get on with their day of cleanup before welcoming the next batch of guests that night. Of course, there was the obligatory group photo before we all disembarked:

After ditching the bulk of our wet and dripping gear at the Holiday Inn bell desk, we were picked up by Sugarland Car Rentals and taken to their office. I was feeling slightly overwhelmed by all the tourist possibilities between Cairns and Cape Tribulation (our destination for the evening), so I was thrilled to discover that Sugarland caters to tourists with lovely little maps showing all the cool places to stop.

Our first challenge, of course, was learning to drive on the left side of the road. Jeff had gamely volunteered to be the driver; I took the position of navigator, calling out helpful instructions like “Now you’ll turn left into the roundabout, and LOOK RIGHT, LOOK RIGHT.”

We’d heard that it’s surprisingly easy to get the hang of driving on the left side, and Jeff did seem to pick up the basics pretty quickly. But it’s the little things that kept tripping him up. For instance, in Australian cars, the blinkers are on the right-hand side of the steering wheel; on the left are the windshield wipers. Think for a minute about how ingrained the “blinker-on” motion is when you’re driving, and you’ll understand why I spent a lot of time saying “Now turn off the windshield wipers and signal.” Also, coming around a bend in the highway and seeing traffic flying towards you on your RIGHT side? Very startling. This led to a lot of (half-joking) yelling “We’re going to diiiiie!”

Our first stop, other than a few “scenic viewpoints,” was at Hartley’s Crocodile Farm. We might not have bothered with such an attraction, except for the fact that they advertised posed photos with crocodiles. Sign us up!

It was overcast and starting to drizzle when we parked at the Croc Farm, and there was no one around as we approached the photo booth, except for the croc handler and Mr. Wiggles, the freshwater crocodile. With no one waiting in line, we were able to chat up the handler for a little while, and get a look at the “spare” saltwater croc kept in a tub behind the counter (to be brought out when Mr. Wiggles started to get grumpy.)

We stuck around for a boat trip through the crocodile-infested lake, where the boat driver lured a big croc up to the boat with a chicken carcass. It was worth sitting through the humidity just to hear the famed “crack!” of crocodile jaws closing on their meal!

After lunch in Port Douglas, we headed on up the coast. The skies cleared up, and the sun lit up the fields of cane on either side, and rainforest-covered hills inland. Towns got smaller and looked more run-down, until we finally reached the ferry across the Daintree River.

There’s an interesting passage in our guidebook describing the Daintree River crossing. The writer mentioned a “strange sense of inertia” as the ferry starts to move, as well as a feeling that you’re crossing into something really different. I’d say he pretty much nailed it on both counts. The ferry creaked across the river on a cable, pulled by enormous wheels. It took a moment to realize we were moving, and that it wasn’t just the normal flow of water I was seeing. The far side is a wall of trees, broken by the landing and a few “Warning” signs about high voltage wires and crocodiles.

The sense of remoteness doubled as we started out along the “highway,” a narrow, windy road with the occasional stream of water flowing across it. Although not very far on the map, Cape Tribulation takes a while to get to when you’re dealing with all those twists and turns, trying to remain on the left side of the road, and watching out for cassowaries.

At length, we reached our destination: Cape Tribulation Beachhouse, on the far north side of “town.” I was a bit dismayed to discover that the “hotel” was basically a bunch of cabins. Like, the kind that you camp in. We hiked downhill to our room, which was quite nice on the inside, but still a cabin. See?

(You can also see how lovely I look, all sweaty and rumpled after a day of wandering around in the sun while slathered in bug spray and sunscreen.)

After making sure there were no insects in our room, we wandered down to the beach for a look at the famed meeting of ocean and rainforest. It was low tide, so we were able to stroll around a bit on the sand, watching little crabs roll sand boulders out of their homes.

We scarfed down an early dinner at the hotel restaurant (outdoor dining – thank goodness for bug spray), then walked back up to reception to meet our tour group for the night: a night walk in the rainforest. No, really. I agreed to go squelching through the rainforest, in the dark, and look for interesting insects. And by “interesting,” I mean “large.” Also, did I mention I still had a cold?

I’d held out some hope of seeing cute mammals, but it was not to be. There were about 7 of us tourists, led along a moderately tricky jungle track by a local nature guide. In daylight it probably would have been an easy walk – and I’m not saying it was HARD, exactly; just occasionally unnerving. Like when the “wait-a-while” vines would grab hold of someone with their little stickers. Or you’d “discover” a root in the track by tripping over it. Or the occasional stream to slog across.

Still, I have to admit the hike was pretty cool. (It would have been cooler if I wasn’t sick. And if there weren’t as many large bugs.) We saw an Eastern Water Dragon (cute lizard), some other kind of monitor lizard, toads, and… lots of bugs. Enormous grasshoppers; wolf and huntsman spiders; stick insects. Most of the critters stood still for inspection and photographs, but my trigger-happy husband did manage to provoke a grasshopper into leaping off into the distance. I was just glad the bug was facing the other direction when he went flying.

After two hours of tromping through the rainforest, I was dripping with sweat and thoroughly creeped out. It was a very happy Anna who crawled back into the air conditioned van. We made a brief stop close to the creek, to look for crocodiles, but there were none to be found.

At checkout the next morning, I mentioned to the clerk how pleased I’d been to not see a single bug in our room. It seemed impossible to me that the cabins could be insect-free given their location; whatever they did the keep the bugs out was clearly working. She seemed a little nonplussed, and protested that they didn’t spray or anything – just made sure to rotate all the rooms out so they never sat empty for long.

Walking back to the car, Jeff started cracking up. Apparently he’d spotted, killed and hidden no fewer than eight bugs in our room, of varying sizes (some large enough to more than freak me out). Gah.

We opted for a leisurely trip back down the coast, stopping at various points along the way for a walk. Up first were some of the boardwalks around Cape Tribulation, where we got a glimpse at the rainforest in daylight:

There was also the mildly-disappointing “Bat House,” where I expected to see, you know, bats. I figured the “Bat” in the name was generic; but in fact it really meant there was A Bat. In the house. There was a small room full of displays about bats, and a young intern sitting behind a desk, keeping an eye on a solitary bat dangling from a clothes-drying rack. I was bummed to learn you can’t hold or touch bats in Queensland; there’s too much threat of rabies in the area.

Continuing our creepy-critter tour, we checked out the Insect Museum on our way out of town. It’s a small, one-room museum, but houses dozens of cases packed with exotic (and not-so-exotic) insect specimens. I was most taken with the live Macleay’s Spectres hanging out on a eucalyptus branch near the entrance. These little guys are chunky enough to seem more like small reptiles than big bugs to me, so I had (almost) no problem letting them crawl around my arm.

After our visit to the insects, we said goodbye to Cape Tribulation and headed back towards civilization. We nabbed a late lunch in Port Douglas, and took a quick walk to the river at Mossman Gorge, but nothing was as interesting as the rainforest had been. (Well, one thing was interesting: after Port Douglas, I got to take a turn at the wheel. We’re gonna die!!!) We squeaked back into Cairns with just enough time left to check in and return our car.

I woke up Tuesday morning hacking up a lung, but determined to dive (with Nitrox, no less). The skies were overcast, and the surface a little bit choppy, but hey – we’re tough California divers. There was no stopping us.

My mood improved immediately once we were underwater. The visibility at our first dive site – The Great Wall – was better than any we’d seen the day before. We enjoyed the extra time the Nitrox gave us at depth, and not constantly worrying about whether it was time to ascend. Once we found something worth photographing, we could just stay put and relax (well, except for worrying about our air consumption – but that’s rarely the limiting factor for us at this depth).

After finding a couple of nudibranchs, we spotted Shea waving us over to a coral head. In the dive briefing, he’d mentioned that another divemaster had reported a black frogfish at this dive site – common in Papua New Guinea, but rare in this neck of the woods. Amazingly enough, he’d managed to find it!

We surfaced to an unpleasant sound: silence. The compressors were off, and so was the air conditioning. Apparently, we’d lost one of our engines for good this time, and would be limited to nighttime AC and slow compressor use.

Bummer.

This meant there was no way to squeeze in more than 3 dives a day – but that kind of worked for me, since I was continuing to feel sick.

The next (and last) two dives were both at Lighthouse Bommie. It’s kind of a funny dive site; there’s a skinny pinnacle from about 70fsw to 20fsw, with a bit of a mound off to one side at depth. Only half the divers went in at any given time, to keep from overcrowding the bommie. After the boat moored, we were greeted by a turtle and a sea snake popping up at the surface to check us out. Well, probably just to breathe. But it was still a fun welcome.

They weren’t shy underwater, either. On both dives, we spotted multiple sea snakes at depth, even friendlier than the one at Snake Pit. There were also a handful of turtles, including one who was clearly very used to divers.

The visibility took a nosedive for the worst before our second dive at Lighthouse, as did both the current and the surface chop. Just hauling myself back the surface line to the boat took all my effort, and I was happy to sit out the night dive and drink some tea.

By Wednesday morning, I was done getting sick; I was sick. My cough had been joined by a stuffy nose and a sinus headache – really not a good combination for diving. (If you’re one of my instructors, stop reading now.) I could still clear my ears, and I didn’t want to miss out on our last day of diving, so I decided to start popping Sudafed. Since I’d just finished reading the Nitrox book, which had a big bold section about NOT TAKING SUDAFED especially if you’re on Nitrox, I had to ‘fess up to the divemasters that I was feeling ill so they’d switch me back to normal air. Although they’re supposed to care if you try to dive sick, they mostly seemed amused that I was worried – I guess when you’re a divemaster on a liveaboard, you spend most of your year diving sick, thanks to all the germs people bring in!

The first dive was in no way worth all that effort. We headed down the anchor line into a screaming current, lousy vis, and another dive site that might have been pretty in better conditions. I can usually find a redeeming feature of any dive, but this one just sucked.

Luckily, conditions improved at the next dive site, Gorgonia Wall. It still would have been nicer with sunshine, but hey – that’s what video lights are for. We saw tons of interesting little gobies and juvenile fish hiding in gorgonians or in soft coral, and spotted a handful of whip coral gobies.

I was looking at something tiny on a sea fan when I noticed a few bits of something drifting down, and Jeff grabbed my arm and pointed up. A huge school of humphead parrotfish was above us – and had just been pooing on Jeff’s head. (Thankfully, parrotfish poo is basically sand.)

The only downside of the dive was that the tender boats had dropped us off a little too far from the boat. (They consistently overestimated the distance that underwater photographers are able to cover in an hour-long dive!) We ran low on air and surfaced to find ourselves only halfway back to the boat… and heading in a straight line to the SpoilSport put us right over reef, in about 3 feet of water – too shallow to call over a tender boat. We made it eventually, though Jeff completely drained his tank, and my lungs were about done for.

Our last dive was at Flare Point, a nice shallow coral garden. I was delighted by a school of juvenile blue tangs in a small coral head, bopping in and out. Of course, as soon as I waved Jeff over to photograph them, they all disappeared down into their hidey hole!

My ears were still able to clear, but as I went up from my initial depth of 50′ or so, I started to have problems clearing my sinuses. Any time I headed back down – even just a foot or two – my head felt like it might explode. Since every time I went up a bit, I couldn’t go back down, it wasn’t long before I found myself in 20 feet of water, trapped. (Well, I could have gone up. But dammit if I wasn’t going to finish this dive!) Jeff continued to amuse himself beneath me, occasionally attempting to get me to come down and look at something. But if it was deeper than 20fsw, it just wasn’t worth the pain.

Despite being stuck in the shallows, I really liked this dive. I didn’t get much video or see anything too spectacular, but it was a pretty way to spend an hour. As we finished our safety stop, we could hear a hissing noise; we looked up to see that it was caused by a steady drizzle of rain on the surface.

We surfaced in rain and chop, and the tender boats quickly came to whisk us back to the boat. There had originally been talk of a fourth dive, but that idea went out the window thanks to the deteriorating weather and the slow return of divers. My sinuses couldn’t have handled it anyway!

The original plan was to have another barbecue while the boat was moored. But with the seas kicking up and only one engine to get us the 100km back to Cairns, the captain needed to get moving. Dinner was quite an adventure in the rising seas, and quite a few of us had to pop seasickness pills once it got dark and the horizon was no longer visible. (Seasickness pills weren’t the only ones being shared around the boat – two or three other divers were struck with the same cough and cold as me.)

It was too bad our last day of diving wasn’t a better send-off, but I think most of us felt like the weekend at Osprey Reef had been worth the price of admission by itself. Well, almost. And despite the murky water and strong currents of the last few days, we saw sea snakes! And… sea snakes!

Monday morning, I woke up a few minutes before the daily door-pounding wakeup call. We were moored off Lizard Island, and looking forward to a morning exploring the place, hopefully with the same sunny conditions we’d had over the weekend at Osprey Reef.

Sadly, it was not to be – at least, not how we imagined it. A drizzle of rain was splattering against the cabin window, and the skies were gray with no hint that it would let up anytime soon. And I was feeling sicker.

Since our only alternative to hiking around the island was sitting in the lounge while the crew busied themselves cleaning up, swapping linens, and getting ready for the next batch of guests, we decided we’d still give it a shot. Hey, what’s a little rain? We’d been wet most of the trip anyway, right? About a dozen of us made the trip over to the island, most with various amounts of rain gear.

And then… we walked around. It would have been gorgeous on a sunny day; in the drizzle, it was just – uncomfortable. It didn’t help that my lungs weren’t up to even the slightest of uphill walks. Or that the mosquitoes were out. Or that Jeff and I nearly got ourselves lost trying to find the meet point after we split off from the rest of the group.

We did get to see a big lizard, though – some type of monitor or goana. And there were bats. And big burrowing crabs. There would have been lovely lookouts, if the sun was shining.

Back on board, the mood was a little down. Apparently one of the engines had died during the night, and the crew was waiting for a replacement part that would come along with the new guests. In the meantime, the divers were getting grumpy from sitting around (or from walking around in the rain), and were ready to get back to diving.

Jeff and I passed the time by signing up for a Nitrox classe, and zipped through most of the reading before lunch. It probably would have made more sense to take the class at the beginning of the trip, so we could dive Nitrox all week… but we figured better late than never.

At last, the new divers were aboard and briefed, and the engine was repaired – temporarily, as it turned out, but I’m getting ahead of myself. We ate lunch and headed out to a dive site called Snake Pit for the first of three Monday dives.

I’d assumed the name of the dive site was whimsical, or perhaps relating to some sort of feature in the rocks and coral. But no – it turns out the main attraction of this site is the friendly population of olive sea snakes. Yes, the highly venomous ones. No, they’re not aggressive.

We followed the anchor line down to the dive site, where there was a whopping current and crummy visibility. It would have been fairly crummy even by Southern California standards; I’d say 15′ or so. The water was a murky brown, and I was instantly NOT impressed with the dive site.

Until a snake swam over.

It turns out that sea snakes are extremely curious, cruising up to divers’ masks and cameras or between their legs. This one was immediately mobbed by photographers, so we continued on in search of our own snake.

Much like Lizard Island, it would have been a pretty dive if there was sun and clear water. Instead, it was just a frustrating fight against current, with the occasional pretty fish. Which was hard to photograph in the current.

We worked our way back over to where we’d first dropped down, and the camera-friendly snake was still puttering around. This time there were only two other photographers in the area, and the snake seemed quite happy to share his time between us. It moved so slowly and non-threateningly that I never felt at all scared; I was simply fascinated by the sinuous way in which it moved. And by how it looked just like a big snake on land; sort of cobra-like, but with a paddle-tail.

Our snake eventually tired of toying with photographers and retreated into a hole. I caught myself just short of waggling my fingers in front of him to try to draw him back out – that’s how quickly I’d forgotten they were venmous.

Our next dive was back at Cod Hole – or actually, around the corner at Cod Wall. The tender boats dropped us off up-current to ride back towards the main part of the dive site and rendezvous with the boat. At first, there wasn’t any current at all, and Jeff and I took our time looking at little fish along the wall. The visibility was much better than at Snake Pit, and we saw plenty of bannerfish hiding under ledges, pufferfish munching on algae, and the usual anthias, anemonefish, and juveniles of various species.

As we got closer to the corner of Cod Hole, the current picked up… and picked up… and picked up. Within 100 feet we went from a leisurely dive to an E-ticket ride. When Jeff decided to stop and photograph a puffer, I could barely hold myself in place by kicking, even if I ‘cheated’ with a hand on the rock – and since I was a little under the weather, I couldn’t keep it up for long. We finally gave up the effort and just let the current take us.

As we zipped around the bend into Cod Hole, the current dropped back to nothing. We were able to relax and enjoy the schools of anthias clustering out in the current, and I spotted a little lizardfish who posed for the camera. I thought we’d have a nice lazy safety stop before making our way over to the boat.

Nope. 50′ beyond the corner the current started dragging us along again. I no longer had the energy or desire to fight it, so we kept an eye on one of the divemasters and let him (and the current) lead us to the boat’s mooring line.

I marshaled the energy for a night dive; we rounded up one of the DMs to guide us, since we hadn’t had much luck on our own at night. I was still sort of unimpressed – aside from schools of jacks trying to hunt by our lights, there wasn’t anything video-friendly. Jeff, with his macro lens, had a slightly better time, as Shea pointed out all sorts of microscopic little crabs and shrimp, and even some pipefish.

Despite only doing three dives (again), I was WIPED. My cough had gone from being an itchy-throat sort of cough, to a phlegmy-lungs sort of cough. Diving Nitrox makes some people less tired than diving air; we’d be trying it out for the first time on Tuesday, and I wondered if maybe it would make me less sick!

The shark attraction is one of the highlights of the Mike Ball trips. They’ve been doing it every week for years without incident, but since these are (obviously) wild and potentially dangerous animals, you have to sign away all liability before you suit up:

The dive happened at North Horn, where there’s a sort of natural ‘amphitheater’ formation. A big coral bommie comes up to about 40′; this is the ‘stage’ where the sharks are fed. The bommie is surrounded by coral-covered walls which go up to the surface, and this is the ‘seats’ where the divers are placed to watch the action.

Shea, the divemaster in charge of the event, headed down first. As each buddy team came down the mooring line, he directed them to their spot on the wall, trying to arrange divers so no one’s bubbles would be in the way of a person behind them. To me, the strangest part of the dive was being told to go ahead and sit on the coral, usually an enormous no-no. Considering how many dives have been held here, with divers wedging themselves in between coral heads to stay put during the shark feed, the coral is in surprisingly good shape.

As we settled into our spots, the sharks were already gathering.

When everyone was in place, a tender boat on the surface dropped the feeding apparatus into the water: an old metal trash bin with holes cut into it, which contained a length of chain with tuna heads attached. Shea ran one end of a rope attached to the trash can through some sort of pulley on the bommie (whether man-made and installed, or just a nook in the rock, I can’t say), and slowly hauled the trash can down to the ‘stage.’

Once he had it secured in place, he backed away from the feeding area and yanked on a quick-release cord to pop the top off the trash can. The tuna heads floated up into the water column on their chain, and the sharks went nuts!

And yes, those are potato cod getting in on the action – those guys were fearless, and got a pretty good share of the spoils!

Most of the sharks in the water were white-tipped reef sharks (4-5 feet long) and the more “sharky-looking” gray reef sharks (more in the 10 foot range). A few silvertips – even bigger – appeared in the distance, but didn’t come in for a snack.

Gray Reef Shark with Ramoras:

I tried to keep the camera rolling the whole time, but I was using one hand to keep myself in place on my “seat,” and my camera-hand required occasional breaks from supporting the camera’s weight. Still, I think I managed to capture plenty of action. Below are links to a few clips:

QuickTime (hi res download – 7.5MB)

or

YouTube (low res streaming)

Eventually the tuna heads were gone, and the action died down. Shea declared the shark-feed portion of the dive officially over, and we were able to leave our “seats” and go scour the bommie for shark teeth. (No luck.)

After a late lunch, we had time for one more dive at North Horn. The tender boats dropped us off in the other direction from the day before, so we could check out the wall on the other side of the amphitheater. With no current, it was a bit of a long swim, but a great way to end our time at Osprey. We saw the occasional leftover shark cruising the reef, and lots of interesting fish, including these little longnose filefish:

As we finally approached the amphitheater, I noticed pairs of parrotfish spawning in the water column up above. They’d twirl around each other and head towards the surface, then release clouds of spawn. Hm. Maybe that explains the chunky visibility.

We had the option to try and squeeze one more dive in, but it would have meant an awfully short surface interval, so we opted out. I had a little twinge in my throat that was making me cough a lot, and worried that I might be coming down with something, so I was perfectly content with a 3-dive day.

Instead of a night dive, Sunday was one of two barbecue nights. The 7-night SpoilSport itinerary is actually two shorter trips; you can do one or bothin a row. About 8 divers would be leaving Monday morning at Lizard Island, where they’d hop on a little plane back to Cairns, and be replaced on board by divers brought up that morning. After dinner we stayed awake just barely long enough to watch the official trip video and photos, and participate in the trip photo contest. With such a huge group of photographers on board, we hoped the contest would be quite an event – alas, very few people chose to join in. Jeff nabbed two of the four winning shots.

My cough started to morph into a sore throat, so I happily crashed in our bunk as soon as the video showing ended. The schedule for Monday would include a morning on Lizard Island, which I was looking forward to despite starting to feel crummy.