HOTTEST
dives out of Egypt
If you go diving in the Red Sea, there are famous sites you'll be shown and others you should insist on seeing. "Don't pin me down," protested Pete Harrison, when we asked him to write about the best, but here are his Top Ten anyway
Compiling Diving's answer to Top of the Pops - what a hideous concept! The Top Ten's purpose always seemed to be to take everyone's favourite tunes and play them to death, so that they would have to go back out and buy yet more, newer records, just to clear their heads of the last set of repetitious drivel.
And so it would seem with diving. Take a perfectly good dive site, put it in your top ten, and then sit back and watch it get dived to oblivion.
But no, on the contrary, there seem to be some sites that are invincible. Somehow they endure their own fame. Ras Mohammed is a prime example. Get there early in the morning, before the crowds turn up, and you could easily be in deepest Sudan, hundreds of miles from the nearest dive centre, let alone resort.
Of course, as with music, that obscure little number known only to you and a select few will always be the ultimate. But there would be no undertow without the mainstream. So here's the Red Sea's Top Ten. Relish diving them or relish avoiding them.
TEN
RAS MOHAMMED
Ras Mohammed is to fish what Mecca is to Muslims - except that Muslims are satisfied to visit Mecca only once in their lives, while the fish seem to make it there every year, in June/July. Oh, and Mecca isn't surrounded by packs of lean, sinewy sharks looking to make this pilgrimage your last.
In fact, forget Mecca, RasMo is to fish what Blackpool is to northerners... no, Ras Mohammed is beyond comparison.
Two coralline pillars shoulder their way up from the deep and barge thugh throngs of fish to emerge swathed in surf, snarling in the face of the currents that dominate this coast.
Their names are Shark Reef and Yolande. Backed up against the tip of the Sinai peninsula, they form a haven. In this shallow lagoon all the usual fish shelter, but in schools like you've never seen before. And there are species you'd be lucky to see elsewhere in the northern Red Sea: honeycomb whiprays, bow-nosed guitar-sharks, ocean sunfish, thread-fin trevallies and so on.
Midsummer, with a strong current, diehards can swim into the blue beyond the two reefs. Just as the wall fades away another reef looms, but this one is shimmering. It's a reef of barracuda - thousands of them!
On summer safari trips, the night before RasMo is the one night when alcohol is strictly off limits. It's the only way you beat the morning rush to be first on the scene. The reward for being there alone can be one of the greatest highs in diving. But it has also led to my greatest moment of despair.
I had arrived early with a South African party. It was the dive of a lifetime, and we even had air left to swim out with the barracuda. Guarding them were six or seven oceanic blacktip sharks, all bulging muscles and thick necks, making mock charges at us.
We knew this wasn't serious, but suddenly their mood changed. One of our group had reeled in a length of free-floating fishing line to find it attached to a thrashing barracuda. As the sharks closed in, the poor fish went berserk, rushing between us, tangling tanks and regulators in the spinning line, before ripping itself free and darting off.
Shocked but already laughing, we surfaced. That's when despair set in. Engrossed, we had drifted way offshore. The boat was a pinprick lashed to the reef. And with the sun behind us, we knew we were well out of sight - drifting south, with a pack of dark shapes circling our feet.
We got picked up, but it was a long half-hour.
NINE
JACKSON REEF
Jackson Reef in the Tiran Strait was named after the 20th century abstract painter Jackson Pollock. That's a complete lie, but quite plausible, considering the riot of colour on the reef's southern slopes. The only other riot going on there is the riot of boats that turns up at 10am each day. Still, it's the nicest riot I've ever seen. The only bottles flying are of suntan oil, and any cocktails are unlikely to be of the Molotov variety.
When it comes to diving, however, most of us are loners, which is why it's so important to get there early. Choose a dive centre of the punctual, Teutonic variety, not the boozy British variety or, better still, choose one north of Sharm. Early morning, the light on the south side is blue and diffuse, and you have all the time in the world to get lost among the stonefish, boxfish, turtles, coral trout and, of course, the multicoloured riot of soft corals.
Afternoons, the desert winds calm down, and the northern reef becomes accessible. When the current is raging, grey reef sharks come in from the blue, and hug the reef for protection - deep on the corner, beneath the lighthouse. Further round is the wreck of the Lara, and it is there, if anywhere in the north, that you will see hammer-head sharks. It's a rarity - my record was just eight occasions in one summer - but you need only the one sighting to spend the rest of the week boring the pants off anyone you manage to corner in the bar.
EIGHT
DAHAB CANYON
As a child I had a recurrent dream about being swallowed by a snake. When I reached the end of its gut, I peered out at all of my friends walking by. I couldn't get out because the snake's passage was too tight, so I had to return and exit through its mouth.
Those who have dived Dahab Canyon might feel a strange sense of deja vu, for this just about describes a typical dive in this subaquatic tunnel. The mouth of the tunnel lies at about 15m, in a small head of coral filled with glassfish that twist and turn in the sunlight like a headful of snake's dreams. From there the tunnel narrows like a throat, before descending into the very belly of the canyon at around 25m.
Here the roof opens briefly before narrowing again and almost closing over all the way down to 54m, where a tight hole opens onto the outer reef. Dive the snake at dawn or dusk with nobody else around and all the time in the world to let your imagination run riot.
SEVEN
STINGRAY STATION
Stingray Station is something of an anomaly - it lives up to its name. Shark's Bay is the last place you'd go looking for sharks, as is Shark Observatory, while Jackfish Alley has no particular preponderance of jacks. As for Shag Rock...
But Stingray Station is every inch a station of stingrays. It is the most northerly of the Alternatives, a chain of reefs heading north-west from Ras Mohammed. By day, when crystal water is a priority for mt visitors to the Red Sea, it can be disappointing.
But at night, when you look no further than the end of your torch beam, it really comes into its own: leopard whiprays, feathertail rays, the ubiquitous blue-spotted rays and electric rays, as well as cuttlefish, slipper lobsters, Spanish dancers... the list goes on for as long as you have air to dive.
SIX
THISTLEGORM
If you've never read about the Thistlegorm before, then either you don't like diving or you can't read - which begs the question: what are you doing with a diving magazine in your hand?
The first time I dived this World War II wreck in the Gulf of Suez, I was just happy to gawp at its immaculate beauty: row upon row of boxed rifles; two locomotives and their rolling stock; torpedoes, shells, motorcycles. The list goes on.
More than 50 dives later, I don't find it quite so immaculate. Carelessly tied moorings, selfish trophy-hunters and a storm or two have all taken their toll. But still, there is endless entertainment to be had. I have whiled away many an empty-headed minute in the holds, octopus in hand, inflating the welly boots so that they stick to the ceiling (oops, there I go again, breaking the rules. Look but don't touch is what I should have said. But seriously, use your commonsense).
The first divers to visit from Sharm came mob-handed, returning home with rifles, stethoscopes, syringes and morphine ampoules. Later, in jail in El Tur, they had time to contemplate how seriously the Egyptian police seemed to take their maritime heritage. Still, they had quite a party, as friends came up from Sharm bearing bottles of cola secretly laced with rum. That is, they were having quite a party until one of the guards got thirsty and asked for a swig...
FIVE
CARNATIC
Smashing your samship into a reef might sound like a fairly silly thing to do, but not half as daft as sleeping the following night on board, with the safety of the beach close by. Still, that was the choice of the captain of the Carnatic - a decision that cost many their lives, when a storm whipped up that night.
Today, as in 1869, the weather can still catch you out in this part of the Gulf of Suez. So it's best to head out there in only the calmest conditions. The story goes that 8000 of the 40,000-worth of gold and silver remains unaccounted for. So perhaps the captain, or someone else, wasn't so daft after all.
You would be daft, however, to miss the chance to dive it. The timbers have fallen away from the decks, leaving just the joists, which have become gaudily festooned in great swathes of soft coral. The hull, with its characteristic square portholes, is also clad in a jungle of sponges - all round, more growth than the inside of a student's fridge.
Dive it in the morning, when you have the chance to explore all the way down to the stern at 30m. The afternoon offers three other wrecks close by and in shallower water - proof that the captain of the Carnatic wasn't the only one playing Nintendo in his cabin when he should have been up on the bridge.
FOUR
CARLESS REEF
Like Ramsgate, Carless Reef is famous for its eels. The similarity stops there. The eels at Carless are decidedly unjellied. In fact, hard-boiled is a better description - they know no fear.
Situated close to Hurghada, you would expect Carless to be showing signs of wear and tear. But the site's exposure has prevented that, heavy swells from the north putting it out of bounds for much of the year.
Two short pillars at the centre of a vast plateau form the focus of a dive here. Schools of bannerfish group nearby, while a drop-off to the east provides a hunting ground for trevallies and tuna.
THREE
ABU KAFAN
This long, thin splinter of reef translates from Arabic as "the deep one". To dive it is to understand why, gliding along its sheer walls, gazing down into the void. The eastern face is like a mountain crag. Scrubby bushes of black coral and huge gorgonians reach out towards the sky.
On the northern plateau, a gaggle of mean-looking barracuda ride the current alongside jacks and tuna. Scarlet shoals of glasseyes huddle together above the reef, and if a big predator happens by, rush to the wall for protection. Hammerheads occasionally turn up, meandering slowly through the open blue.
TWO
ELPHINSTONE
Like Chris Eubank, Elphinstone is simply the best. Except, unlike Eubank, it doesn't have a dodgy haircut and suspect taste in jodhpurs. Nevertheless, it does have a couple of seriously ugly bodyguards, in the form of oceanic whitetip sharks, and it should be treated with the utmost respect.
The oceanics have come and gone over the years, and at times have even become something of a nuisance. Something of a nuisance is perhaps an understatement. They do more than rub up and down on your leg while you're trying to eat your dinner. Having said that, they don't. They just swim about looking mean, and help to push your breathing rate up to several tanks per minute.
On one occasion, having swum to the reef to tie a mooring for the boat, I was marooned on the reef top, while my guests watched in amusement as I tried to pick the right moment to swim back. Their fun was shortlived - they had forgotten they were due to enter the water a few minutes later.
The north of the reef is equally scintillating. Big schools of hammerheads are my overwhelming memory, followed by a mellow drift back down the sheer reef wall.
The name always baffled me. It conjures up images of rock-dwelling pixies, which I've never yet seen, at least not above 50m.
On the subject of which, Elphinstone holds a secret, though this is neither the time nor the place to reveal it. Badger your guide about that one.
ONE
THE BROTHERS
The Brothers - the name conjures up this hideous image of a tribe of thick-necked idiots off the local council estate. In my town it was the Hitchcock brothers, but every town has their own. And like any notorious group of brothers, you don't mess with these two.
Still, every now and then these two offshore islands in southern Egypt stop pretending to be the Bermuda Triangle, and the sea calms down enough for some diving. And then you do mess - as much as possible and as often as possible.
The first time I dived the Brothers was with a large oceanic whitetip shark, having spent most of the morning feeding it that night's dinner. Admittedly it's a foolish thing to do and can only lead to trouble, but I was foolish back then...
It was my first trip as divemaster of the Poseidon's Quest, although at that point I was still a lowly deckhand. The sea was mirror-calm, but beneath the surface you could e the fish billowing in a howling current. That dive was my first south of Sharm, and it blew my mind. That night I lay awake thinking of the tropical bliss that was to become my life.
But I should have grabbed the sleep while I could. A few days on we entered a storm that would not subside until we emerged two weeks later in Djibouti. By then any ideas of tropical bliss had been put well into perspective, and I had learned to sleep with my forehead bouncing against the ceiling (that really is no exaggeration).
But exaggeration is something I'd dearly like to use with respect to the Brothers, although it simply isn't possible. Time and time again it surpasses your expectations, and not satisfied with that, goes on to challenge the limits of your imagination. Two adults and three baby thresher sharks, two hammerheads, five sailfish, umpteen turtles and at least a dozen grey reef sharks - that's my memory of one single dive, and that's what puts it in my Number One slot.
So there you go - the Red Sea's Top Ten. Some you will already love, and will know every subtle rhythm of the place, from the melodic comings and goings of their various inhabitants to the repetitive beat of the waves. Others you will have dived to death, but you still won't be able to stop yourself nodding along in recognition.
Then, I hope, there are a fair few that will make you wonder how you've survived so long in ignorance. Those are the sites that will soon have you turning on, breathing in and dropping out.
Appeared in DIVER - July 1999
