‘What,’ I wondered, ‘could possibly be the fascination?’

Growing up in Colorado, playing around on the beach meant going to Boulder Reservoir, which isn’t much more than an enormous swimming pool. Just not much remarkable about it. The only real beaches I had been to until now were in San Francisco and Japan, and the novelty wore off pretty quickly.

This last weekend, I decided that I ought to give it a try, and not being certified for diving I went snorkeling with my friends. We drove to a private beach (which was a treat in itself – men and women can mix, and music plays over the loudspeakers. These are things I’ve learned to not take for granted), rented gear and got in the water. On the dock, I was excited when I saw a small coral growing in the shallows. It couldn’t have been more than 10 centimeters in diameter but thinking about exploring the beach for more such treasures was enticing.

We waded out and put on our flippers, and then our masks. I dipped my head down, ready to explore, and instantly my head popped right back out of the water. “Guys! Guys!” I shouted to my friends. “There’s a freakin’ million fish here!” They chuckled knowingly, and I realized this is what they came for.

I just could not get in the water fast enough. There were so many fish I had never seen except for in aquariums, brightly colored, quick, and just stunning. Thousands of them from deep blues to iridescent purples, all swarming around beautifully-colored coral and anemones. All told, I spent about four hours tooling around the reef, examining fish at the cleaning station, clownfish in their anemones and predators lurking near the surface.

On leaving I instantly felt like a tree-hugging hippie, and felt a need to protect the ocean. Ok, sure, it was a bit short-lived and I feel like someone who’s hopped on a bandwagon, but it’s an incredible world down there. You see shadows off in the “distance” (though it’s usually only 30 feet away) shimmering and swimming around. Floating in the sea, weightless, above the sheer cliff faces of 20, 30 or 40 feet is a unique sensation. I tried to compare it to hiking and climbing mountains, but it occurred to me that unless I learn to base jump, I will never see that kind of geographical structure from the same relative perspective – hovering above it.

Between dives (well, my friends were diving while I was snorkeling) we’d pull out a book of Red Sea fish and try to find all the ones we’d seen. The camaraderie of stories of dives past and fish seen was nearly as satisfying as the experience of being in the water like that.

I’m exploring getting certified (either through PADI or BSAC – we have both available here) so that I can join my friends on deeper adventures, but in the mean time I’m going snorkeling as often as I can. Forgive the pun, but I think I’m hooked.