40 Miles (give or take) North of Cuba, heading toward Florida

6 December 2012

All my bags are packed; I’m ready to go.

Today was packing day for the ship. We all had to have all except carry-ons outside our cabins by 13:00 (1pm) today. Then the ship’s crew appeared and, within minutes, all suitcases, book boxes, satchels, and golf bags (at least one) disappeared. They’ll be somewhere in the Ft. Everglades passenger terminal tomorrow. Three years ago, that was the challenge: finding our luggage. Despite a color-coding system, bags and boxes end up in mis-colored piles, or, at least, that was the case in San Diego. From the time I stepped off the gangway, I spent an hour and a half searching, waiting for a porter’s help, clearing customs, and arranging shipment of books and supplies. I’m hoping—we’re all hoping—that won’t be the case tomorrow.

But back to the business at hand.

Dominica

Before this voyage, I had no idea where Dominica is. In fact, I’ve discovered, very few people do. And for good reason: it’s inaccessible.

Dominica is a 24-mile-long, volcanic island wedged between Martinique and Barbados in—what are they called?—the Lesser Antilles. Approaching the island from the sea, it looks like it’s been misplaced; it should be in the South Pacific, floating somewhere near Tahiti or Fiji. It’s a very lush place, overflowing with thick tropical greenery. And like those Pacific Islands, its terrain rises sharply out of the Caribbean up to pointed peaks over 4,000 feet above sea level.

Because those peaks do, indeed, rise sharply, very few spots exist on the island suitable for an airport. In fact, the only airport is at the opposite end from Roseau, the capital, an hour-and-a-half drive through the mountains. And that strip will support only commuter-size airplanes. So getting to Dominica requires at least 2 hops from mainland USA: one to Puerto Rico, the next via a commuter to the Dominica strip. The result is that, despite tremendous beauty, amazing floral diversity, a Caribbean climate, and superb snorkeling and diving, Dominica is a relatively quiet place except for the occasional cruise ships that arrive in the morning and leave at dinner time the same evening.

The MV Explorer is the only ship that comes and stays for more than a day.

Our stay in Dominica will forever be marked by the death of Casey Schulman. Many of the ship’s company would never consider returning to Dominica even if it were only 20 miles off the coast of Miami and served by an international airport. The memories are just too painful. But most would agree that it’s definitely a place worth adding to a list of the world’s beauty spots.

I had pre-arranged to spend our one night in Dominica at a place called Castle Comfort Dive Lodge, about 10 minutes south of Roseau, where the ship was docked. I chose Castle Comfort because it’s the home of Dive Dominica, which, according to Trip Advisor, is the #1 dive operation on the island. I hadn’t been scuba diving since 2007, my last trip to Hawaii, and I had brought along nothing for diving: no mask, no fins, and (most important) no certification card. But my friend Barry Reszel agreed to break into my house, rummage through my basement, find my card buried in a suitcase under the stairs, scan a copy, and e-mail it to me before our arrival in Dominica. That and rental equipment were all I needed.

I spent our arrival day, Saturday, sharing a tour of island sights with Rodney and Suzanne Huey and Linda Kobert, who managed the Writing Center on board. We visited Trafalgar Falls, a husband-and-wife pair of bridal-veil-like falls coming out of the mountains and splashing into large pools very suitable for swimming. We got as close to the falls as the terrain would allow, but the huge boulders forming a wall descending from the pools didn’t deter the many SAS students who had beaten us there. They were scrambling over the rocks—many in flip-flops!—to get to the base of the falls. The four of all commented that the spot, beautiful as it was, was an accident waiting to happen.

At about that same time, Casey was being pulled out of the water.

After the falls, our driver took us to a series of hot sulfur springs bubbling out of the ground. The island is volcanic, but it has experienced no eruptions at any time in recorded history because it is full of vents that release the underground pressure before it has a chance to explode. The vents appear as boiling hot—and I do mean “boiling”!—springs. Given time and inclination, we could have taken sulfur baths. We had neither.

The driver dropped me off at Castle Comfort before returning to the ship with the other three. I checked in, found my room, and went immediately to the waterside bar and dining area to enjoy the early evening looking out on the Caribbean.

Moored just off the dock of the hotel next door—another dive-and-lodging operation—was a catamaran with the word “Passion” painted on the side. It couldn’t have been more than about 30 feet long and looked to be large enough to carry 15 to 20 passengers comfortably on whale-watching and snorkeling excursions. I didn’t know it at the time (I found out later that evening when Shamim called) that “Passion” had been the craft that Casey and her friends had gone out on earlier that day. More than 50 kids had been on or around the catamaran when the accident happened.

I enjoyed a couple of rum punches and decent dinner on that patio while watching the sunset.

The next day, I joined 3 other divers and about 8 snorkelers on a half-day trip to close-in reefs. The dives were excellent, and the sites as pretty as any I’ve seen. The reefs surrounding Dominica are pristine, largely because they get much less traffic than the other Caribbean islands and because they’ve managed to control the lionfish.

Starting about 10 years ago—maybe a little longer—lionfish started invading Caribbean waters. Lionfish are very beautiful—in an ugly sort of way. They’re yellow-and-black striped with very large fins and tail. And their most notable characteristic is their large, colorful dorsal fin, which includes embedded spikes. These spikes are venomous. I don’t know that the venom from the puncture wound of a lionfish would be fatal to a human, but it would hurt like hell and leave the injured person feeling very bad for a day or two.

But what lionfish are doing to Caribbean reefs is much worse than what they might do to someone foolish enough to try to grab one. Lionfish are predators; they eat other reef fish. And they’re voracious. The result, according to Jake, a marine biologist who dove with us on Sunday, is that reef fish are disappearing at alarming rates. And because coral reefs are very delicate ecosystems where all life is interdependent, reefs are dying. Jake said that in some Caribbean spots “90% of the biodiversity has disappeared.”

The lionfish arrived by two methods: some were blown in from Africa with hurricanes. But most are being traced back to home aquarium owners tiring of their pet lionfish—perhaps because fish have the annoying habit of eating the other fish—and dumping them into rivers and oceans. The same thing is happening in the Everglades, which is losing wildlife to released pet anacondas.

But the Dominicans settled on a strategy to control lionfish. They spear them. Each dive master descends with a special spear designed to kill lionfish. It’s a small—maybe 18-inch-long—think pin, a little larger than a knitting needle. It’s mounted on a device with a rubber band, and the band provides the quickness and penetration to get through the lionfish’s strong skin. Result: we saw no lionfish on either of our two dives.

But we did see lots of colorful reef fish, a school of large jacks, several eels, an enormous turtle named “Sheila” that Jake had tagged a year ago, and beautifully colored corals and sponges. It was wonderful to get back underwater and inspired me to get back to Hawaii—or somewhere else warm and reefed—very soon.

Dominica is genuinely a diving Mecca. It’s probably a good thing that it’s so inaccessible.

Sunday night, back on the ship, we all gathered in the union for a memorial service honoring Casey. The service was beautifully put together, included very touching talks by several of Casey’s friends—most of whom had been on the catamaran when the accident happened—and a photo essay of her experiences over the past 3 months, a collection put together by our team of professional photographers. It was a very moving evening.

Ft. Lauderdale (not quite)

Tonight, we have our final pre-port briefing, preceded by two selections by the SAS choir, of which I am a member. I’ll say no more. Not a gig I’ll be adding to my professional vita any time soon.

Tomorrow, it’s over. I’ll probably have a few more words to say, but not until I’ve done a little decompressing. For now, I’m looking forward very much to putting a dent in my couch, exercising my channel-changing thumb, and sleeping in a bed that doesn’t move.