Scuba-diving encounters with wild dolphins are rare enough to be precious memories. But Fenella Jackson's Red Sea experience took her one step further into the dolphin psyche
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The thrill of being saved by a dolphin
THE RED SEA OFF SHARM EL SHEIKH was a brilliant crystalline powder blue, interspersed with shades of turquoise as the sunlight bounced off the reef beneath the surface of the tranquil waters.
I peered over the edge of our boat as we dropped anchor, and felt privileged that I would shortly be an accepted species, mingling quietly and peacefully in the overcrowded fishtank below.
The colour of life down there was breathtaking, the vivid crimson reef bustling with all manner of fish and anemones. Bright yellow butterflyfish teased each other playfully while red-spotted parrotfish looked on warily, as though tired by their activity.
Then the schools of mirrorfish interrupted the halcyon flow as they darted in every onceivable direction with no apparent purpose other than to enjoy themselves.
There was a true sense of excitement as we were informed by our dive-master Rebecca that dolphins were known to frequent this luscious site.
My buddy and I kitted up away from the hectic scramble of the other divers and waited our turn to enter the water.
I stood excitedly on the edge of the boat, my hand covering my mask and demand valve, and was about to jump when Rebecca pulled me back.
"Fen," she said quietly "the dolphins have arrived. Descend slowly to the sand at 13 metres, lie still on your tummy breathing gently and see what happens."
Now the adrenaline was pumping, and the anticipation unbearable. I was trembling with the unknown. I had always dreamt of swimming with wild dolphins, but had never dared imagine that this might become a reality.
How would I handle the disappointment if they didn't come near? Would their magisterial size frighten me? I had no idea what to expect.
We jumped into the warm water and edged our way through the schools of multi-coloured fish to the silken sand below. I took a deep breath and lay face-down in solitary stillness.
I waited and waited, but nothing was happening.
Then, suddenly, I felt a gentle tap on my left shoulder. I slowly moved my head around - and there it was, the snout of a dolphin.
I felt like a statue immersed in wet clay, completely unable to respond. Three more gentle taps to my shoulder followed, and I could sense the water around me becoming agitated. Still, I didn't move.
"See what happens, see what happens". Rebecca's words were ringing in my ears.
I felt a soothing pressure under my tummy, and was aware that I was rising gently towards the surface. I looked down, and the smiley snout of this caring, majestic mammal lifted towards me with immense ease, and with a quality of calm. I felt totally safe, almost swathed in a blanket of comfort.
Now I found myself face-down at the surface, looking down to try to discern the reaction of my fellow-divers and the fish. But all the divers apart from my buddy and I were back on the boat.
They were watching in awe as the magic unfolded. The fish continued their search for food, and their observance of aliens, unabashed by the whole scenario.
All of a sudden, I was looking once again at the azure, cloudless sky above me, perplexed as to how this had happened. It seems that the dolphin had ingeniously flipped me over, before nuzzling his slippery snout into the nape of my neck to keep my head above the water. I was being nurtured, protected and held in timeless suspension.
I felt so shielded from the elements,
I could have stayed forever. There followed a chattering in my ear, as the dolphin attempted to call for help.
It was a fairly high-pitched, though not discomforting, sound. In fact, I found it quite reassuring.
I could hear the engine of the rigid inflatable boat as it headed towards us. Rebecca looked down at me, her eyes alive with emotion. She took a firm grasp of my wrist, and my buddy and I were pulled aboard.
Once I was safely on the main boat, the dolphin that had "saved" me, along with three others, circled it in glee. Leaping, belly-flopping, back-flipping, it was a sight to behold.
They clearly shared my own elation, and demanded the credit for the service they had just performed.
We removed our kit, and returned to the water with snorkels to play with the dolphins. It felt like a circus scene as the dolphins adeptly threw the ball to each other and hung balanced in mid-air, before dropping like bricks onto the water and glancing us a cheeky grin!
Ten minutes later, they gathered together and swam away without a backward glance. They dived just below the surface of the ocean, barely making a splash, and disappeared into the impending sunset that was adding a tinge of pink to the earlier powder-blue water.
What a phenomenal day we had all shared. Particularly me. Tears still prick my eyes whenever I recount this true story, and some people say we were cruel. I'm sure that if that particular wild dolphin was asked, it would heartily disagree.
They are almost human, after all.
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