It had been a Red Sea trip to remember. But the last night held a few shocks and surprises in store for Simon Benjamin
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Beware things that go pop in the night
IT HAD BEEN A WONDERFUL TRIP. Sea Serpent was comfortable; the crew helpful. There's nothing like being handed a freshly mixed fruit cocktail almost as soon as you take your fins off - something Stoney Cove might look at!
We had a nice selection of maverick divers on the boat and, with the inimitable Ali Baba, the dive-planning and life on board were never dull. Our two guides, (Big) Ahmed and (Little) Ahmed, were also superb.
The sea was as flat as I had ever seen in the Red Sea. Put the pills and raw ginger away, relax and get stuck into the Elphinstone and then the Brothers. Stunning diving!
Next morning, we'd head back to the blistering heat of Marsa Alam, but first we were looking forward to a night dive. As Sue and I jumped off the platform for the final time, the sun was setting on a cloudless horizon.
Night dives focus the attention. Everything seems more intense. On reaching the seabed, we finned over in response to some frantic torch-waving to find a huge octopus slithering away.
I now leave excessively powerful torches on the boat, and try not to turn night dives into day dives. So we finned slowly off on our own to find some real darkness, and enjoy the atmospheric but occasionally spooky nightlife.
Taking photographs in total darkness is not easy. I'm talking 35mm - use up an entire film on a single fish, in the hope that one or two images might prove OK when the slides have been processed two weeks later. With my new wide-angle lens and uprated strobe, the results of this trip could only surpass my previous efforts.
My camera was safely clipped on, using one steel karabiner and a smaller plastic back-up. I was looking for a still or slow-moving subject on which to use up my film. And there, on the seabed below, was a small cuttlefish.
We gently descended to where it was resting peacefully. I lay as close to it as I could, and to my amazement, managed to take a couple of pictures before the little fellow took off.
Not wishing to damage him or his home, I pressed gently on my BC inflator and lifted slowly. As the air gushed in, I heard a small pop. Odd, I thought.
I released the air and gently sank back down to check all my releases, my weightbelt and even my torch-clips and computer straps. Off we went again.
My final frames were used on a sleepy blue-spotted ray. After 30 minutes of heavenly diving, we ascended to the calming influences of a vast dark sky, a bright moon and a million stars.
(Little) Ahmed arrived with the Zodiac. As Sue clambered out of the water,
I unclipped the steel karabiner of my camera. Seconds later, as I pointed my torch-beam downwards one final time, I saw with horror £1100 worth of camera gear already about 12m down. "Oh no!" (or something similar), I screamed.
Sue frantically suggested I go after it, but I was on nitrox and didn't fancy descending again (on my own) so soon, particularly as I had no clue where the current was taking my pride and joy.
Having listened to my pathetic groans, and realising that there was no way I was going back down, Ahmed grabbed Sue's gear, wrapped the weightbelt around his waist, clipped himself into her BC as if he'd been using it for years (remember, we had only the moonlight) and asked me for my torch. Luckily I had hardly used it on the dive.
Ahmed didn't say goodbye. The Zodiac, Sue and I seemed to be heading in on the breeze towards the moored Sea Serpent. For the next 20 minutes, I tried to persuade myself that life and living are far more important than cameras, lenses and strobes. You can get philosophical when you're floating in a tiny inflatable under a moonlit sky.
As we watched the surprisingly bright beam of my torch sweeping back and forth below us, we agreed that Ahmed was searching entirely the wrong part of the Red Sea. A gallant fellow, but unlikely to find anything but sand, especially as he had been gone too long.
At last we saw Ahmed ascending.
I tried to remain upbeat. But why had I bothered to take the camera in tonight?
Ahmed broke through the surface, looking forlorn. "Sorry, mate, I looked everywhere." Those words of solemn finality were like a dive knife to the heart. After a moment's silence, the depressing reality hit home. I felt sick!
Then Ahmed's hand came splashing up through the glistening sea, along with his own watery version of a trumpet fanfare. There it was, my camera, still attached to its wide-angle lens and the recently acquired, uprated strobe!
"Ahmed, you're a god!" I yelled.
I pulled him out of the water as if he had just saved my life. Plying him with glass after glass of alcohol that night was not an option. Huge hugs and frantic hand-shaking had to be the order of the day, the night, the next day and most of the rest of the trip.
Ahmed's efforts last July went way beyond the call of duty. I got my camera back, along with my shot of an Egyptian cuttlefish at night. It's not a great photo, but every picture tells a story.
And in case you ever hear a small pop as you inflate your BC, take it from me, it will be that little plastic clip that prevents your camera floating off when you least expect it.
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