Ocean
Watch
Monday, November 1, 1999
Strange splash: Writer
wise or is she all wet?
I enjoy hearing a good ghost story as much as the next
person, but I must admit that during the telling, the logic circuits of my
brain start overheating. "Don't believe it," the scientific side
of me usually shouts. "There's a reasonable explanation for what
happened."
That's why my experience on my docked sailboat last
week bugs me so much. I just cannot figure it out.
I was below deck using my laptop when I heard a huge
splash near the boat. Certain that someone had fallen in the water, I
rushed up the companionway and jumped onto the finger pier.
There, I saw water dripping from everything: the side
of the boat, the pier and the surf skis stored beneath it.
I stared into the water, waiting anxiously for someone
to come bursting to the surface. All I saw was widening concentric
circles.
I paced the pier. The area was silent and empty. Since
the harbor is a big open space, no one could have heaved something into
the water and gotten away that fast. I scanned the boat for a fallen part
and checked the stored kayaks for slippage. Everything was in its place.
You might wonder why it didn't occur to me that a
marine animal had made the big splash. It did. But I have been hanging
around this boat for years, and I know well the sounds of mullet jumping,
turtles surfacing and schools of tilapia spooking. Also, I know the sound
of someone falling into the water from the pier. This was that big of a
splash.
My husband, Craig, arrived at the boat, and I told the
story. "Could a person sink to the bottom that fast?" I asked
him.
"Susan, there is no dead body down there."
"How do you know?"
After some cajoling, I talked him into diving to the
bottom beneath the boat. As a better-than-average free diver, and a
doctor, I figured Craig was a far better candidate than me for finding
something awful down there.
He popped up. Nothing.
I sent him back down. Finally, after several dives he
balked. "There is nothing down there," he said. "I promise.
The silt isn't even disturbed."
OK, so it must have been a marine animal. But what
kind? I'll never know. But I do understand better now how spooky tales can
get a foothold in the imagination, especially in the ocean where we can't
see what's going on.
Speaking of not being able to see marine animals, I
have had numerous calls and letters regarding the tame turtles I saw near
the surf break called Laniakea. Some readers can't find the location;
others didn't see any turtles once they got there.
First, here's how to get to the beach where I saw some
40 turtles at the shoreline: From Haleiwa, drive toward Waimea Bay about
1.5 miles. Look for a spot where the road cuts close to the ocean on the
left. (The next cross street is Pohaku Road.) On the right, there's a
gravel parking space. Park there, cross the highway and walk the beach.
That's where I saw the turtles, in both rocky and sandy areas.
I saw them, however, when there was absolutely no surf
-- the water that day was as flat as it gets on the North Shore. When the
surf is up, the turtles understandably move to calmer grazing grounds.
Since this phenomenon of turtles coming ashore to eat
from people's hands is a new one, no one knows its pattern yet.
Hopefully, next summer, when the water gets flat again,
the turtles will return with all their previous trust and friendliness.
I'll keep you posted.
In the meantime, watch out for the Phantom of the Ala
Wai. The truth is down there.
