Ningaloo Reef Diving…and an unexpected delight!

Whale Sharks are incredible…but Manta Rays take marine life interaction to a whole new level! I can say, hand on heart, that today was my best ever ocean adventure - two superlative dives, interspersed with barrell-rolling Mantas (4 distinct individuals over a 4-hour period), beautiful blue skies, turquoise water and the usual wall-to-wall sunshine.

Having had a day doing nothing on Friday (not by choice, I might add!), I really needed this dive trip to be something special. The reason I'd had to wait was because there wasn't enough interest in going diving amongst all the people in the 2 packed-out caravan / camping resorts, three hotels and the Backpackers'…on the world-famous Ningaloo Reef…in Coral Bay…!?? This seemingly bizarre situation was due to the fact that it was the school winter holidays - so the place was packed out, but with money-conscious Aussies, many with children, who didn't want to be spending their dollars on expensive business like diving. Many of these people were regular visitors, with preferred sites / holiday homes, booked months, if not years, in advance. So of course, this meant little or no room for backpackers and travellers, who would be more likely to want to enjoy 'experience' activities. The long and short of it was that I had spent yesterday twiddling my thumbs.

To be fair, I'd got the usual crap out of the way: washing and drying clothes (the drying part took no time in the still, pretty stiff northwesterly breeze), charging batteries, blogging etc. Even my back-up activity for the day (as suggested by the poker lads) was stymied by the school holiday curse - I was going to hire a kayak and paddle out to the outer reef to do some snorkelling. I slapped on the sunblock, gathered up my snorkelling gear and ambled down to the beach in the baking afternoon sun, only to find that the kayak man - fed up with standing around all day and getting no business - had packed up and buggered off home for the afternoon. In the end, I allowed a Zen-like calm to descend on my frustrations and pulled up a sun-lounger beside the deserted pool at my resort and read for the first time on my trip - I was just getting into the world of Arthur Dent, when the usual gaggle of loud, happy kids turned up, obviously alerted to the fact that the pool was open by my presence beside it. The sound of the water trickling into the pool from the faked tropical waterfall was now a distant memory…and I had to drag my sun-lounger further and further away to avoid the exuberant splashes of my little friends…but I soldiered on regardless because a comfy seat with a backrest was something sadly lacking from my lightweight camping set-up. I thought wistfully of 'The Guv'nor', my aptly named, sturdy, folding camping chair, gathering dust in Don and Caroline's barn and my mind sidled off at a tangent, once again thinking about the possibilities of spending a year 4x4 trailer camping through the Aussie countryside…and all the wicked camping kit that this would require. Alternating between daydreaming and 'Hitch-hiker's Guide…' ate up the rest of the afternoon and it was soon time to head back to the bar to meet up with the lads and watch the cricket again.

From my ill-gotten gains of the previous evening, I decided to treat myself to pizza, cheesecake and ice-cream, enjoyed to the beautiful background music of Aussie wickets tumbling with a pleasing regularity. As the boys finished work or drifted in from elsewhere, Bruce and I were the only ones really enjoying the sporting action and the rest didn't really want to play poker (I wonder why…? ;-) ) so we agreed to go to the pub and have a few beers. School holiday curse struck us again though when we arrived at the pub to be told that last orders had just been called. We sculled a quick one there before heading up to the other end of town to drink at Lockie's digs - the Backpackers'. Much to our dismay, again due to being deathly quiet, they were shutting the bar for the evening as well! A thoroughly disappointing state of affairs all round! With no other forms of entertainment and nobody staying in their own place, just like that, it was the end of our evening. After a day like that, you can see why it was so vital that the diving trip was a good one.

The view from the boat ramp before boarding 'Bay Escape'

Today's vessel was the 'Bay Escape', skippered by Jess with two Divemasters, Jess and Amy, accompanied by two DM's-in-training, Jonnie and Jenny. This meant that we had a 1-to-1 staff-to-customer ratio, as the tour company (Ningaloo Reef Adventures, who were suffering far worse than I, due to the holiday downturn) had only managed to scrape together 5 of us. This ratio improved drastically, when you looked at the number of divers, as there was only me and an affable German chap, Michael, heading beneath the water, as opposed to floating around on the top of it. This made the trip feel very exclusive right from the start and I was already beginning to feel that the wait had been worthwhile before we'd even got wet. On our first dive, we were led by Jess, with Jonnie taking photos and Jenny spotting cool stuff for us to feast our eyes on. We made a shallow descent into Asho's Gap and went on a 45-minute magical mystery tour through stunning coral gardens of every description. The hard corals were a beautiful backdrop of every colour, populated by teeming marine-life, including many that I'd neither seen, nor heard of before. I spotted a Honeycomb Moray Eel, coiled sneakily around the 'leaves' of a Cabbage coral; droves of Beaked Leatherjackets rippled their way lazily between branches of Tree and Antler corals and Moorish Idols waggled their way around Bombies and Fans, playing up to the audience and practically posing for Jonnie's lens. Every shape and size of fish, swimming alone, in shoals, dancing in pairs, chasing, harrying, flitting, skulking and peering as the ungainly, bubble-monsters flailed gracelessly past them. Jonnie has promised to send me some pics and I very much look forward to sharing a few with you soon. Three-quarters of an hour disappeared in a blue-haze of wheezy inhalations and bubbly exhalations, the shallow depth (max 9 metres) meaning that air-conservation was not an issue. We reluctantly clambered onto the steps of the boat, gabbling excitedly about the submarine wonders that we'd been unable to express through regulators and brine.

Dive Buddy Michael

And so, to what I thought was the sideshow, the time-filler, a cheap crowd-pleaser to tempt non-divers, a freebie that had been tacked on to my 'diving' trip…and what turned out to be a mind-blowing main event.

The first inkling that things were going to get a bit spectacular was when Amy gave us our briefing - it was very similar to the briefing for the Whale Shark interaction: no touching, no flash-photography, stay two metres to the side or behind, don't swim over the top or 'duck' dive down below the Manta. I started taking notice when she said that we hoped to be swimming with Mantas with a wing span of 4 metres plus….4 metres! More than twice my height. In my mind, rays were beautiful, ethereal creatures, floating through the ocean like magic carpets…but relatively small. I'd been wowed by the Stingrays we'd seen on the Whale shark snorkel trip, which had been about 4 feet wide…but I didn't the Mantas would be more impressive than that. But 4 metres…I was keen to see some of that!

Jenny swam out from the boat (which had been directed to feeding Mantas by the spotter plane) and, when she gave the signal, we all slid in as quietly as we could and did our best to paddle over surreptitiously so as not to spook the Manta. Their only form of defence (they have no barbed sting like other rays) is flight - and at 60 km/h top speed, there's not much that can catch them - so the last thing we wanted to do was alarm them because we wouldn't see them for bubbles. Unfortunately, the first three Mantas we found got skittish at the sound of us all clambering into the water and took off before anyone apart from Jenny was able to lay eyes on them. It was a little frustrating but we didn't yet know what we were missing and this had all taken place within 20 minutes or so, so we were a long way from getting peeved.

On our next attempt, we arrived alongside Jenny in time to see a sheet of inky blackness wafting its way into the blue with gentle undulations of its wing-tips. The sheer size, the grace, the utterly-at-home composed, floating serenity was gob-smacking. I couldn't help but smile - saltwater streaming in around the edges of my snorkel and trickling into the corners of my, now deformed, mask, as I bobbed along with a huge grin plastered all over my happy little face. I felt like a small child all over again - filled with a sense of wonder by this magnificent creature. It is something everyone should see - and, given a choice between Whale Sharks and Mantas, I would choose Mantas every time (although, do both if you can). The Manta is just so much more entertaining and interactive - he doesn't just swish along, oblivious like the Whale Shark, seeming to be more aware of our presence and definitely taking an interest in us, checking us out as he glides by.

The next hour was amazing - the next two Mantas were barrel-rolling, which is basically a feeding technique where they gather up a large ball of food (they feed, like the Whale Shark, on plankton) and then perform open-mouthed somersaults, hoovering it all into their great mouth to strain out the food from the water. Have a look at the video here, taken by Michael's Aussie buddy Steve with his underwater camcorder (must get one of those!!). The Manta's careless underwater acrobatics had us all buzzing with excitement and we were reluctant to get back on board the boat to go to our second dive / snorkel site.

By now, the wind had dropped and the ocean's surface had become faintly-rippled, aquamarine-tinted glass. Our second dive, at the Blue Maze, was every bit as beautiful and impressive as the morning dive - and Jenny even found me an octopus (which I'd only ever seen snorkelling before) - but after the Mantas, it was just 'amazing', rather than 'unbeatable'.

The Crew (from left to right): Jenny, Jess, Jess, Amy and Jonnie (with Stu the bus driver behind)

Our return to shore was swift and, after downloading some vids from Steve, signing the visitors' book and getting my Diving Log stamped, I rushed back to my resort to steal a cheeky, post-checkout shower (no salty chafage for me this time!), before jumping in the car and burning up some tarmac to get to the Nanutarra Roadhouse before nightfall and the very real threat of kangaroo and cattle on the highway. In my little Nissan Micra, a collision with a piglet would no doubt have been fatal (for the car and me more than the little porky fella). I was loving the open road and the beautiful, slowly-shifting scenery of the outback - tunes thumping, window down, fist pumping in the warm evening air with the occasionally whoop of delight. I was having a blast and felt totally liberated, unwound and shriven of responsibilities and cares. This state of euphoria lasted for the first hour of my 2 hour journey, until I started to notice just how big and empty a place Australia can be; just how few vehicles I was passing; how few sign-posts for villages (there weren't any conurbations on the road itself); and, most importantly, I noticed a distinct lack of service stations. In my stupid 'Western tourist' head, I'd assumed that Route 1, the North West Coastal Highway, would have frequent and regular facilities…but I was wrong.

With growing apprehension, I watched the fuel indicator decrease faster than the remaining mileage on the Satnav - and I really started to worry when the car's projected range dropped to zero when I was still 75km from my goal. Shortly after this, there was a sign for a large free camping area by the side of the road. (The vast open spaces of Australia are littered with 100m loops off the main road, where camper vans and trailers can pull up for a break or an overnight stop. Less frequently, there are larger Free Rest Areas, with toilet facilities, where the careful trailer-tuggers will plan to overnight on a marathon cross-country journey. The one I was pulling into was one of these latter.) I wasn't quite sure what was in my mind but I knew that I would be a fool not to throw myself on the mercy of human kindness, given that night was coming and the road had been far from busy. If I was going to find help, this would be my last best chance.

Dusk approaches...

I pulled up near the toilet block and surreptitiously opened my fuel cap to check that my car was indeed petrol - I was not pleased to see that it was, because I knew that almost every single one of the huge 4x4 trailer-towers would be running on diesel…but I still had to try my luck anyway. I struck up a conversation with a couple, who turned out to be British expats, now living in Perth. I explained my predicament and asked if they thought anybody would have any petrol to spare and, as I'd already surmised, the chap suggested that most of his fellow campers were likely to be running diesel. On the off-chance, I asked him if he thought anybody would be running a petrol generator (I knew a lot of them had these for powering high-wattage items like microwaves  etc. when parked-up). To my disbelief (and great relief) this guy suddenly brightened and offered that he ran a petrol generator himself, which he'd completely forgotten about - and that he'd filled a 5-litre jerry can for it, only a few days before. He insisted on giving me the contents of his can for nothing - the age-old hospitality of the road demanding nothing less - and I tipped every last drop of about 3.5 litres into my echoey little tank. I thanked him and his wife profusely, promised to drive with care and steeled myself for the last part of the journey in the gathering gloom.

I set off at a steady pace with a very ginger right foot (yes, Brother, I do possess this ability!), although it didn't help that the Micra was an automatic, so coasting was not really an option. To make matters worse, I was driving into a headwind and it was now almost totally dark (several hours before moonrise too), with the lingering threat of large mammals launching themselves through my windscreen out of the night. In my rearview, I could say a heavily-laden ute, chugging patiently behind me and I indicated to the left to encourage her to pass. As soon as she did, I kicked up the revs a little until I was neatly tucked in behind her and her load of household furniture - she was either moving house or going to the tip - either way, I was grateful to the truck's ungainly bulk for two reasons. Firstly, she was breaking up the headwind and allowing me to slipstream in her 'clean' air. Secondly, she was driving blockade with her bull-bars and minimising the chances of a Roo-strike on my windscreen. I suddenly felt a lot more confident about reaching my destination.

My unwitting benefactor

Forty-five minutes later, on a mixture of goodwill and fumes, I rolled into the petrol forecourt at Nanutarra Roadhouse, where I immediately brimmed the tank (at an eye-watering 1.94 per litre!) with 40.2 litres of fuel. On studying the owner's manual, found in the glovebox, I discovered that the Micra had a 41 litre tank…so I had made it by the skin of my teeth with the help of complete strangers!

My slipstream/blockade buddy had also stopped to fuel up and we had a quick chat, where I found to my amazement that she had been on the road for 20 hours, in order to take the last load of her things to her new home in Broome (still another 10 hours up the road!), where her young family were waiting for her. She didn't bat an eyelid when delivering this information with the usual, laid-back Aussie drawl - such marathon road-trips are apparently just another fact of life when you live in the wide open spaces of Western Australia. I for one, though, was more than happy to be bedding down for the night and I wished her luck as she set out on the rest of her journey. The sheer scale of the country had really caught me out this time and I knew I'd been lucky to get away with it.

Ra has departed for today...

But who needs the sun anyway?