First Time Diving With Bull Sharks

The day is finally here.

It was moved originally — bad weather across the Yucatan forced the dive to be moved to my final day in Mexico. But it’s finally the day of the dive and I am giddy with anticipation. I arrive at the dive shop early, my enthusiasm getting the better of me and my desire to get out there as soon as possible clearly noticeable. My gear is ready, I’m in my wetsuit and I’m pacing the Playa del Carmen shore line while we wait for the other divers to show up.

The site is no more than a quick three minute boat ride from a beach in Playa — one has to wonder if the sunbathers even know that there are sharks maybe a couple hundred feet from them. But the fact they are there and we don’t hear about attacks shows how docile sharks can be. Even Bull Sharks.

Diving with Bulls has become more and more popular, so much so that it seems that diving has become somewhat regulated. Each dive shop in the area has a designated time to “drop.” If you miss your window. You’re SOL.

We jump in right at 9 A.M. Descending down the line we can see their silhouettes against the white sand. But, at least to me, there’s a lack of thrill. The adrenaline isn’t pumping like I thought it would be.

It’s more of a waiting game. We saw the bulls almost immediately but then they disappeared from our line of sight for 10 minutes — granted, the poor visibility did not help things. Even when they made close passes it was hard to see them. During the 37 minute dive, they only make a few passes, keeping to our periphery.

I’m not disappointed, per se, but I was expecting something . . . more? Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the dives and I enjoyed seeing bull sharks for the first time but it felt few and far between. I would love to dive this again, maybe under better weather circumstances.

Searching for Panchito

Just before coming down to Mexico, I learned that at certain cenotes it’s possible to swim with Mexican crocodiles. Years ago, this wouldn’t be something I would’ve ever considered doing, but now, I’m intrigued by the idea.

Knowing that I have days of cenote diving ahead, I ask my dive guide if it’s possible to switch the location of one of them, hoping to get the chance to dive with Panchito — a Mexican crocodile frequently sighted at popular cenote. The guide agrees and knows that it’s because I really want to see the crocodile.

The cenote itself, Casa Cenote, is beautiful and popular. Both for divers and snorkelers. The cenote isn’t deep, and there are very few overhangs, meaning snorkelers can move around freely and divers who might be nervous about an overhead environment still have the chance to experience cenote diving. The colors, too, are truly incredible. Hit the place at the right time of day and the sunbeams dance in the water creating a magical effect.

About halfway through the dive, we surface to check and see if Panchito is hanging out. Turns out, she is! The moment I see her, my breath catches. Not from fear, but from awe. She is beautiful to witness in person.
As I slowly approach her I sense no agitation. No aggression. She’s peaceful. Of course, I approach slowly and cautiously. I don’t want to spoke her or make her feel threatened and illicit a bad reaction. She allows me to get pretty close, not so close that I’m right in her “bubble” but close enough. It’s amazing floating in the mangroves and watching this beauty.

But the peace doesn’t last long, at least not as long as I would’ve liked. Some snorkelers screaming and yelling make their way around a bend. They haven’t seen the crocodile yet, but are just being obnoxious and disturbing the calm. Suddenly one gets a little to close and screams. Flailing and splashing to get back to her group while screaming “there’s a mother Fu**king crocodile over there.” Of course this pronouncement causes other members of the group to panic a little. Now I should mention here that at the entrance to the cenote there is a sign that says there is a crocodile. Also, a few staff members let it be known when renting out snorkel gear.

All the noise has irked Panchito — not enough to get in the water and get aggressive, but she’s on her rock mouthing at us, letting her displeasure be known.

It takes some time calm down the snorkelers — when asked whether or not they saw the sign, they respond with “yeah but we thought everyone was joking about a crocodile.” Once the commotion stops, Panchito settles down herself. Returning to her peaceful laziness and sunning herself on a rock. The snorkelers, too, move on and return the way they came. We too need to continue on with our dive, which makes me a little sad. I’m so in awe of Panchito I’m not ready to say goodbye to her yet. I want to spend more time with her, but sadly it can’t be.

While I can’t say that I would actively dive with all species of crocodiles, or even most species, Panchito has definitely changed my perspective on them. I hope some day soon to return and spend more time with her.

Cenote Diving: Angelita and The Pit

It’s sheer happenstance that I’m diving cenotes Angelita and The Pit in back-to-back days. Angelita was planned, a dive I wanted to make long before coming down to the Yucatán mainland. It’s ethereal appearance drawing me in and making me want to experience it for myself. The Pit, on the other hand, was a happy accident. When making my dive plans, I was more focused on the fact that I would be able to get three cenote dives in for the day and wasn’t really paying attention to which cenotes they would be. The fact that it was The Pit was luck. Or universal intervention.

Angelita is just off the highway — further down the Yucatán coast, a little was past Tulum — and if you don’t know where the entrance is, it’s entirely possible to miss. Only a small sign marks the entrance. We pull up and set up shop at one of the designated areas for divers. There are a few other groups around, but it’s not nearly as popular as some of the other cenotes and the groups are spaced out a good amount. The jungle shades us from the Caribbean sun and a sudden deluge of rain makes for laughter. All reports indicate that the weather in both Cozumel and Playa Del Carmen is not great and that ocean diving has been canceled — in fact two of my three dive days in Cozumel were canceled due to weather. But that’s the beauty of cenote diving, even if the weather is bad you can still dive.

There’s a calmness to the atmosphere that’s hard to describe. With the jungle canopy and chirping of birds it’s easy to forget that mass amounts of civilization are just a hundred or so yards away. The entrance to the cenote sits underneath a thick awning of trees, adding to the illusion of remoteness. By the time we get into the water, we are the only group. One has already done their dive, the other is in the midst of theirs and will likely be surfacing soon so there’s every possibility that we will have the cenote to ourselves.

The blue hue at the surface is deceiving. The water is more green during our descent and grows darker the further we descent — any light that was able to penetrate through the trees lost in the first 20-30 feet of water. We finally hit the thick sulfur halocline around 90+ feet — it almost looks like fog — with ancient trees poking through. It’s beautiful and a little eerie. The cenote is almost feels like a religious experience, as though I’m diving in an underwater Gothic Cathedral — expect the the architecture is stalagmites and stalactites crafted over thousands of years.

We dip below the sulfur cloud, planning to stay under for only a moment, and once we slip below all light except that coming from our flashlights, is lost. It is an almost spiritual experience. After a few minutes we head back up through the sulfur cloud — an act that must be done slowly (any diver knows not to ascend too fast). During the ascent, I loose sight of my fellow divers lights, I know they are above me but my 360 degree view is of white cloud. Within a single heartbeat a several thoughts race through my head — but the one that I keep at the forefront is to remain calm. It’s an act of faith, ascending through the sulfur cloud to find my fellow divers on the other side.

Back at the surface, my fellow divers chuckle at the massive grin on my face. They know what I am thinking. That dive was amazing and felt like a religious experience. One that while looking at the beauty of the natural world also made me look inward. I want to dive it again, I’m not ready for it to be over.

Ironically I’ll get to have a similar but opposite dive the following day. We are set to dive The Pit. The first of three cenote dives scheduled for the day. Much like Angelita, The Pit is a deep sinkhole, though much more popular and well known. At the surface, the prep area is much larger and almost every single spot — far more than at Angelita — is taken by divers readying their gear. It’s apparent we are not going to be the only ones below the surface.

A steep wooden stairwell leads down to the entrance and I’m not up for navigating the uneven steps in my gear, opting instead to have it lowered directly into the depths where I can put it on in the water. It’s something of a novelty watching my gear be lowered by rope and pully. The entrance is small. Even so, it’s packed with divers. There are even more beneath us under the water. It’s misleading, however, with the cavern opening to a mindboggling size just 15 feet below the surface. Unless underwater, you would never know this giant cavern exists.

The true depths of The Pit are deeper than divers can go —- hundreds of feet down but we are going no further than 119 feet (the deepest depth that has been explored is 390 feet). After we get deep enough, I take a look around the cavern and am immediately in awe.

Because there are so many other divers — all shining their flashlights in various directions — we are able to see the true scale of the cavern. It is immense. For the first time in my life the sheer scale of a place has me feeling so small and insignificant. As though I can see myself in the grander scheme of the universe. It’s a humbling feeling, realizing your inconsequential. But it’s not a negative feeling, rather one of wonderment and serenity.

Much like Angelita, the dive is over too soon and I’m not ready for it to be done.

The feelings Angelita and The Pit are both similar and opposite. Angelita making me looking inward while The Pit making me look at the world as a whole. Both bring up feelings of existentialism and awe at just how beautiful the planet can be.

Searching for Hammerheads at Gordo Banks

The day is much nicer than the last time I made this trip. Four years ago, it was overcast, windy and giant swells continuously sent me flying into the air before landing on the hard bench again. We were the only boat in the area when we finally arrived at the undersea mount. The dives were . . . disappointing, only because we saw nothing but endless blue — no hammerheads were found.

This time, the skies are a clear blue and though my skin is constantly wet from the sea spray, the sun quickly warms me up. There’s still good size swells and I’m still sent flying into the air, but this time not nearly as high or as often. There are several other boats — both diving and fishing — in the area and we have to wait some time for the other divers to descend before we get into the water. The second the first diver hits the water, it’s clear that we’re going to have a strong current on the surface to fight against.

I’m hoping beyond hope that this time I’ll see Hammerheads. Talks with other operators from the previous day give me hope — according to them, most trips out to Gordo banks has resulted in Hammerhead sightings. They can’t really guarantee it, but suggest there’s a high probability that we will.

As we descended into the blue I am . . . once again disappointed. While the water is crystal blue and underwater visibility is incredible we see nothing. No sharks, no turtles, we barely make it to the top of the sea mount. We don’t even see any fish. We’re sure the sharks are around, but currently hiding from us divers. I’m disappointed, naturally. But it’s not like the sharks will show up on demand.

As it stands, Gordo Banks: 2; Me: 0

Maybe next time.

A Day With A Blue

A rare time of day when there are no other boats in front of the famous Los Arcos of Cabo San Lucas

It’s a nearly perfect day as we leave the Cabo San Lucas marina and head for open ocean. The six of us that make up this “tour” are hoping to see big pelagic sharks. I can’t contain my excitement, I don’t know what to expect and I’m hoping to see Blue sharks. They’re beautiful and a little hard to come by. Of course, I’ll be happy seeing any shark. While, I’ve spent time in the water with lots of reef sharks, this will be a totally new and different experience. No cage — which doesn’t concern me — but these sharks are curios. We are repeatedly told that we might be the first humans these sharks have ever encountered.

Six to seven miles off shore, the boat stops and the crew starts to throw chum in the water. Finding open ocean wanders is like trying to find a needle in haystack — there’s a lot of open ocean and those sharks could be anywhere. But the wind is good and the currant strong, the chum will travel a good distance and hopefully, attract some sharks.

After sometime, we get our first visitor. A small and somewhat shy Smooth Hammerhead shark. The shark is skittish and bolts before we have the chance to get in the water. So the chumming continues. He returns, but again, only one of us manages to jump in before he fleas. It’s a shame because I’ve been hoping to see Hammerheads for a long time. We all get in the water anyways, hoping that maybe he’ll return for a third time. But after a solid 15 mins of hanging on the surface line, being dragged like rag dolls in the surge and currant, we know the Hammerhead is not coming back.

After another long interval sitting on the boat and swapping stories, a beautiful Blue shark appears. He’s maybe six or seven feet long and very chill — no signs of aggression. We were told before leaving the marina that Blue’s are inquisitive and will come in real close. It’s apparent as the fist of us get in the water that is the case. He makes incredibly close passes and at times it’s necessary to use my fins as a buffer so he doesn’t get too close.

While in the water, it’s necessary to track him because Blue’s can be opportunistic. There are birds here hoping scavenge any scraps they can from the sharks. I’m paying such close attention to the Blue shark that I don’t notice a bird that’s floating right next to my head hoping for fish bits. Suddenly, the shark turns on a dime and comes towards me with his jaws open — he’s taking a snap at the bird I haven’t noticed. I scramble out of the way as he makes a very close pass near my head — but the interaction is exhilarating and only makes me appreciate the Blue shark more.

All too soon it’s time for us to leave him. We fling the remaining scrapes over the side of the boat and start to move back towards shore. The entire experience has me craving more time in the water with these magnificent animals.

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Please, For the Love of All Things Good, Listen To the Dive Brief!

In nearly fifteen years of diving, not including the two years lost to the recent pandemic, I’ve never had a divemaster cancel a dive mid-dive. I suppose there’s a first for everything, and I’d much rather have a dive called and everyone safe then let a dive continue and deal with consequences afterwards. But this was shocking and very frustrating.

On our way to the dive site after the boat briefing.

Our first dive was supposed to be easy. Six total divers — myself included — and all of us have previously dived in Cozumel. All of us had experience, knew our gear and knew what to expect. Cozumel is known for drift diving and it’s abundance of life means that no matter which site your at — a shallow reef or deeper wall dive, you’re almost guaranteed to see something good. We decided on a shallow reef dive, it had been a few months since they other five, a group from Canada, had been in the water and the divemaster wanted to make sure everyone’s skills were still sharp. They said they would be ‘ok.’ They’re familiar with the diving and knew the procedures. We were briefed by the divemaster none the less. Expectation of no more than 65 feet for 45 minutes to an hour. Slow decent and when it was time to come up, slow ascent. Pay attention to air and dive computers (for depth), stay together and follow the divemaster. Not hard. During the briefing though, I noticed the group were all talking amongst themselves.

Immediately upon entering the water, we had issues. One woman was having a panic attack at the surface, her significant other — who had more experience — kept swimming to her and interfering with the divemaster who was trying to calm her down. Another diver in the group was having problems descending. I was hanging out in midwater, about 20 to 25 feet, while the remaining divers were down on the bottom. Eventually the panicked diver called it and returned to the boat. The diver struggling to get down was still having issues and had to be pulled down by the DM.

Once we were all down, no one in the group of five paid attention to where the divemaster was. One diver flew past everyone, causing us to miss our intended dive site. Another went towards the wall and ended up hitting 85 feet. The divemaster continually was shaking his noisemaker to get their attention and get them to come back to him, and giving up once he realized no one was heeding him. After chasing the divers down, about 15 minutes into the dive the DM signaled to go up. It was clear that the dive becoming dangerous and the others were at risk.

At the surface, our divemaster was deeply disappointed in the group of five and called them out. They argued and had excuses — but the reality is if they had just listened on the boat all of this could’ve been avoided.

I’ve been diving for a long time, have logged many dives and have been in a lot of different conditions. Each time I head out on a boat, I always listen to the briefing. Why? Because I don’t know the conditions as well as the divemaster. I don’t know the reef as well. I don’t know the secret locations to find the best sea life or which section might have a ripping current. I don’t know if the wind is going to play a factor on the surface. You know who would know this? The divemaster. The one who does this every day, for a living.

The Magic of Surface Intervals

Sometimes, just sometimes, surface intervals are more wonderful than the diving itself. It only happens once in a blue moon and please don’t misunderstand me, surface intervals often provide amazing experiences, but rarely are they better than the diving. Recent diving off of Cabo San Lucas in the Sea of Cortez showcased just how amazing they can be.

Not the world’s greatest picture, but you can see some of the numerous rays underwater.

Day one of three days diving. The sun is hiding behind some clouds, but it’s warm. The boat is moving swiftly along to our first dive site and lulled by the gentle rocking of the boat on the smooth surface of the water, I doze on the bow. The boat idles and the sudden smack of a large body hitting the water jolts me upright. We’ve stumbled across Mobula Rays, launching themselves from the depths to the surface. Only a few leap at a time, but I’m enthralled. So enthralled in fact that my fellow divers tell me to look down just below the water’s surface. I immediately understand why. Just below the boat there are hundreds of rays gathering.Of course, I’ve seen this happen before on nature documentaries but to see it in person, well, sight is unbelievable to witness and it’s impossible to not be fascinated by these massive animals jumping feet into the air, as though they are attempting to fly.

Day two and it’s grey and cloudy. The weather is still warm but the sea is rocky. It’s two hours by boat to an underwater sea mount in the hopes of finding hammerheads. Sadly, no such luck. The waves have gotten worse during our few hours out in the open ocean, causing the boat to rock tumultuously and creating a similar effect to a roller coaster. It’s tricky getting back into the tiny boat from the water. A

As we start our two hour boat ride back from the remote sea mount, we are joined by whales. At first just one or two. Then after a few minutes, more appear. Suddenly, we’re accompanied by more than 5 whales. And they’re curious. They are very close to our small boat, and every few minutes one will spyhop —- stick is head/upper body out of the water to check us out.

Pretty soon, they’re breaching with a bit of frequency and we’re treated to our own private show. Time and again we watch in awe as the whales throw their whole bodies out of the water —- each breech for spectacular than the last. This goes on for sometime until finally, they head off into the blue.

All thoughts of the less than stellar dives have been pushed from our thoughts, replaced by the humpbacks that just left us.