Underwater Life: The last thing a glass fish sees

Shards of living glass

Dive any reef or wreck in Colombo and you will see them.


Small shoals of shining glass fish, shining that is when the light hits them. They blink in and out of existence as the light hits them for a kaleidoscopic experience that is sometimes unreal, especially when they congregate in a huge shoal that engulfs you and surrounds you in small shards of sunlight.

Glass fish on a reef

Glass fish and cardinal fish on the Cargo wreck

Usually the glass fish aren’t so spectacular, they hang around in a group of about a dozen close to any sort of crevasse on the reef or ‘caves’ formed on wrecks by the structure of the sunken ship. Presumably they do this for shelter with a place to retreat to if a predator attacks.

What they don’t seem to realize is that their shelter is most often where the attack is launched from. You don’t have to look too closely at the crevacess and cracks to see them. The groupers lie there innocuously, seemingly somnambulant. Blue line groupers are the most commonly seen though flower groupers and a few others are also relatively common, lounging about warily eyeing you as you pass over their heads. Occasionally one will lose its nerve when you come too close and flash into the depths of the reef, showing remarkable acceleration for what seemed like a sleepy fish.

Nonchalant blue line grouper

It is this acceleration that is the glass fishes’ undoing.

The grouper’s tried and tested fishing method is to lie motionless apparently completely ignorant of the flashing glass fish above its head until the small fish, lulled into a sense of complacency drop their guard.

A millisecond later and the shoal is one less.

Still nonchalant...sort of

If you are lucky and patient, you would have seen the grouper metamorphoses from a motionless fish to a blurry missile, mouth gaping as the ambush is sprung. A flurry of activity ensues as the glass fish swirl in confusion and the grouper returns to its post.

Eyeing a target

Peace returns to the reef as the as the glass fish, not blessed with a long memory, forget the ever present danger in the dark.

The last thing a glass fish sees

10 Minutes

Is generally all you have at 36 meters before your bottom time runs out. At 36 meters you are under 3.5 atmospheres of pressure. This means that your ears will pop like crazy as you descend and more importantly you will use your air correspondingly quicker. Your bloodstram also will absorb nitrogen faster at greater depths, and you become saturated with nitrogen (for a super analogy check here. Coming up too quickly in such a situation will cause the nitrogen to bubble out of your blood stream like a coke bottle with its top removed. This is mildly unpleasant to say the least, leading to the dreaded ‘bends.’

Bubbles in the brain, not a good thing

The combination of faster air consumption and nitrogen saturation means going into decompression on deep dives is especially dangerous as you run the risk of breathing your tank dry during an extended decompression stop. For the uninitiated this is the period of time you spend hanging at around 3-4 meters of water while the absorbed nitrogen leaves your system. Not a fun thing to do when you have many minutes of hanging around while worrying about running out of air and trying not to pop to the surface inadvertently (the effect on one's sinuses also leaves a lot to be desired). 

Unwise amount of ‘Deco’

At 36 meters however and about 30 minutes by boat lies an underwater garden, huge Gorgonian sea fans dotted on a sandy plain swept by strong currents. The presence of the fans means that dropping an anchor is a no-no. You basically have to throw yourself off the boat some meters up from the GPS point, grab your camera from the waiting boatman and swim down as quickly as possible, trying to keep yourself oriented in the right direction, keeping an eye on your buddy(ies) and equalizing frantically to prevent your sinuses from imploding. Of course all this time you have to keep an eye on your gear to make sure everything is working properly. Needless to say this is complex and this site is only for the experienced diver.

DJ behind a fan, should give you some idea of the size of the Gorgonians

Once you hit the bottom you have to find your photographic subject. For those with wide-angle lenses and dual strobes (i.e. DJ from Divesrilanka.com and Nishan from Seas of Serendipity) the subject matter is often the fans themselves. These with the camera metered for the blue background and the strobes providing fill flash, make beautiful subjects.

 A wide angle shot courtesy of DJ (Divesrilanka.com)

For a macro head like me (mostly due to the limitations of the DX-2G rig I carry), the subject are the coral gobies on the fans. Usually you find these gobies on whip coral on the shallower reefs but singly. At the Gorgonian Gardens however some of the fans have a few skittish gobies to keep me busy. I have made a few attempts at wide angle and possibly will do some more soon.

The first goby I photographed at Gorgonian Gardens. He seems a bit surprised.

 Recent wide angle effort (no colour so no good)

The challenge of taking photographs in these conditions however does sometimes make land photography pale in comparison. You have to maintain your breathing to make sure you are neutrally buoyant and not go crashing into the fans, you have to ensure your fins are out of the way for the same reason, you have to keep an eye on your bottom time, an eye on your buddy(ies) and fight the surge to stay in one place.


This is of course before you actually find your subject, then spend some more time finding one that stays in one place long enough to take a picture, meter the image, figure out your exposure, strobe position, etc to make sure you’re getting a workable image.  Needless to say this is challenging. And it is frustrating after you find a willing fish to hear your computer start beeping after a few frames.  You can only ignore the beeping for a couple of minutes before having to accept common sense and leave the gardens for another time…on the bright side there will be another time.

 

Last Friday’s workable image.

Kung Fu Kite (Bundala 01/22/2010)

Did you do it!

Everybody who has spent time in the rural parts of Sri Lanka is accustomed to the Red-Wattled Lapwing’s accusatory call which you can hear at all times of the day and even night.



Of course the rather bewildered juvenile Brahminy Kite still looked a bit taken aback as the screaming Lapwing couple thundered in as he sat somnambulant on a branch by the tank we had parked at. We hadn’t seen any of the drama that had unfolded before. Perhaps the innocent look the Kite had on was a ruse and he had been busted trying to raid the Lapwing’s nest a few moments ago.



But the Lapwings certainly were giving it to the Kite, dive-bombing him fearlessly. The Kite responded with his best Kung Fu moves before eventually deciding discretion was the better part of valour and departing post haste.

Battling Buffalo (Bundala & Yala 01/22/2010)

It was obviously breeding season for the buffalo as all over Bundala and Yala there were grappling males and females with newly minted young, fresh and gleaming. The Sri Lankan water buffalo, though not as formidable as the African version is still quite a large and bulky beast. Having stood a few meters away from a pissed off looking wild buffalo many moons ago, I can still attest to the raw fear that one feels when looking one of these creatures eye to eye, a fear that hasn’t been dulled by time.



In the parks though the majority off the buff you see are the domestic creatures that have gone feral. Though by no means dainty, the truly massive and impressive specimens are the descendants of the true wild buffalo, Kulu-harak as these are euphemistically called in Sinhala. As to whether there are any genetically pure wild buff left in the wild is unlikely but you can see the flashes of the old, untamed beasts in some at Yala (for a rather fascinatin discussion on the wild vs. feral buffalo issue click here).

The first pair of wrestling beasts we saw in Bundala was relatively tame. They seemed to be more of the Greek wrestling tradition than anything rather more extravagant and spent most of their time seemingly rubbing heads with each other in a half-hearted manner. To be fair though it was pretty early in the morning so perhaps they hadn’t had their morning coffee just yet.



The next pair of dueling buff we saw in Yala were however quite impressive. Coming to an open plain we initially spotted two buffalo staring each other down. These were big guys as well, with a much larger curved span of horns than the ones we had seen in Bundala plus muscular, barrel like bodies.



There was a spurt of dust as one of the buffaloes started its run in. I was torn trying to decide what was more impressive; the buffalo running in, ludicrously nimble considering its bulk or the other one that just stood there, impassive as a rock while a couple of hundred weight of bovine fury galloped at it full tilt.



We could hear the impact from many meters away. A dull, meaty thud as the dust flared and horns locked. After a brief skirmish the pair separated and the buffalo who had run in went back to take his mark.



Once again the run and hit was repeated with a briefer skirmish. The buffalo that had stood his ground was obviously a notch above as when the pair separated for the second time, the runner decided enough was enough and he wandered off...possibly on the look out for an ice pack.

 

She’s a beauty (Yala 05/06/2010)

The jeep screeched to a halt as she materialized as if from nowhere. It had been a fruitless, dusty day in the park exacerbated by the fact that our only leopard sighting had been in the midst of a traffic jam that would have put Colombo to shame. As dusk descended over the dry wilderness we headed out of the park, jolting along as thoughts of a warm shower and the delicious bread at Tissa View occupied our thoughts.



I think Sumudhu was the most surprised out of all of us as she materialized as we passed Diganwalla. Possibly close to a year old (but then I’m no expert in aging leopards) she sat there looking mildly affronted at our hasty stop. She stared at us for awhile before getting up, stretching lithely and heading down to the water to drink.



At the water’s edge she put on what could only be described as a performance for us. Delicately, as though she didn’t want her pristine paws soiled by the mud she paced up and down and snarled at imagined threats in the water repeatedly until settling down to rapidly lap at the water.



What had seemed like a lost day suddenly turned into a perfect one, as the stunningly beautiful young leopard locked eyes with us. May she have many years of life as the supreme predator of Yala ahead of her.

King Gemunu (Yala 05/06/2010)

As announcing sightings goes, Suren’s was a bit of a mix of anticlimax and irony, as a he turned towards us with a thoughtful expression on his face and announced he could have sworn he had just seen a tusker approaching through the bush as we whizzed past. Sumudhu and the tracker seemed a bit nonplussed by this casual announcement but we nonetheless backed up quickly to investigate.



The heat hadn’t gotten to Suren’s head as he had indeed spotted a rather magnificent tusker coming towards the road. Silently one of the Kings of Yala emerged from the brush onto the road. Along with the leopard and bear, the tuskers of Yala are another iconic animal for the wildlife enthusiast. I was brought up on pictures, stories and very occasional sightings of the famous tuskers of the park such as the now dead (mostly from being killed for their ivory) behomeths such as Kublai Kahn and the Podi and Loku Pootuwas (cross-tuskers). This particular tusker was Gemunu, not a tusker with the most impressive tusks that I have seen, but an absolutely massive male with a breathtaking presence about him.



Silently and confidently he walked down the dusty, red road. The afternoon light glowed around him as we stared in awe. We appeared to far to lowly for him to take any interest in us and even when he came level and we started the engine to go forward he didn’t take much notice except to step off the road. We stared at him in awe as he walked around the road for another ten minutes before taking leave of us and stepping back into the bush.

Roadside Repairs (Yala 05/06/2010)

Craaack!

It was a disconcerting sound that echoed like a gunshot as the Defender 110 went over the pothole. The old jeep rattled to a stop, seemingly fatally wounded. Sumudhu turned to us and rather nonchalantly announced that the axle had broken. This seemed the worst possible news as our run of the park had just started and a broken axle seemed something that would require a tow out of the park.

Sumudhu repairing the jeep

Casually Sumudhu reached over for his phone and called Sugathe, his father, the wily old veteran jeep driver of Yala. Shortly afterwards, Sugathe came up in his Defender 110. And that’s when things became a bit surreal.

Axle for repair; Sugathe, our guardian angel in heavy disguise leaves

Casually, as if this was an everyday kind of repair, Sugathe passed Sumudhu a spare axle which was casually slotted in as if the jeep was made out of lego building blocks. The broken axle was placed in the back for repairs in Tissa, a quick wash of hands for Sumudhu and we were off!

Sumudhu cleaning up before we head off

On The Trail of the Leopard (Wilpattu, May 2010: Part 3)

Continued from here:

Of course while we were getting the full tour of the park we were also on the trail of the elusive leopard, the endless family yarns about fabulous sightings egging us on. We kept an eye out in the brush and white sand around the villus to no avail. My eyes burned as the green brush and twisted trunks flashed by the jeep and I stared out for that flash of black and gold. We frustratingly missed two leopard sightings on the jeep track by mere seconds, probably scared off into the bush by our engine, leaving only their pugmarks imprinted on the fine sand.

Pug marks in the sand

The adrenaline did rush one more time when we approached a group of grey langurs that had gotten spooked by something. Some of the animals were crashing around in the trees while others craned their necks, staring at something off the road that was obviously of great interest to them. We spent a breathless, hot hour parked watching the langurs as they simultaneously kept a watch on whatever it was in the brush that excited them and us. Finally the monkeys lost interest and moved on, indicating the leopard, if it was a leopard had also move on. The whole time we had been scanning the undergrowth with binoculars but it was simply too thick for anything to be seen.

Watchful Langur

On the outlook (Courtesy PP)

Exhausted as much by the anticipation as by the heat and grueling drive, we called it quits and regretfully left the park, driving through swirls of yellow butterflies that had congregated on the road. Wilpattu, on our first visit, kept her secrets well hidden. As the animals have still not been acclimatized, Wilpattu’s wilds and wildlife deserve many visits and you will have to work hard, very hard for your sightings. Assuming of course the park survives the unplanned depredations that are being visited upon it now.

Butterflies bidding us goodbye

Part 1

Part 2

The Full Tour (Wilpattu, May 2010: Part 2)

 Continued from here:

This being our first time in the park for all of us, we had opted for the complete tour and Chamara obliged very gladly. The Villus of course are a characteristic highlight of the park, Tala Villu, Kali Villu, Maila Villu, Walas Villu, the names rolled of Chamara’s tongue as we passed the golden grass and pure white sands of the small lakes.  Formed by water percolating through limestone rock to the surface, the villus are famed for their birdlife, though possibly due to the park being quite dry we didn’t see too many birds.


One of the many Villus,I cannot recall which one; Wilpattu birdlife

We didn’t see any of the legendary ‘villu elephants’ either, long touted as being the biggest elephants in Sri Lanka. In fact on our whole trip our sightings of animals were few and far between, a Monitor Lizard on its way up the evolutionary ladder, a Barking Deer standing transfixed in the road before dashing off into the undergrowth, two Sambhur watching us warily before spooking and Wild Boar trundling ahead of us. It was obvious that the animals still had a ways to go before getting used to vehicles and people.


Monitor Lizard at attention; Wary Sambhur; Wild Boar on the road

A gloom settled over our little group as we cut across the new ‘Mannar’ road that bisects the park. Chamara was subdued as well as the personnel at the Navy checkpoint were incredibly arrogant as we tried to cross over to the other side of the park. Being used to the good manners of the forces in most other places we were a bit perturbed by this treatment and Chamara seemed to withdraw into a shell as he told us in low tones about how the Navy had started acting like they owned the park. Crossing the new road we came across more brush cleared along the track as we moved towards Kudiramale. Then we hit it, the new coastal road that the Navy had cut along the westward edge of the park. The fresh red earth gleamed like newly drawn blood across an immense expanse that stretched on either side of us. I’m not even sure how to describe what I felt then, just nausea that after all this time, the crown jewel of our parks was finally open but being pillaged at the same time.


Cleared brush; The road cut by the Navy

Our mood was slightly lifted as we stopped at little bay from where we had to disembark and walk to Kudiramale Point, where Vijaya is supposed to have landed presumably in search of somewhere to party. The red soil of the area is linked with the name given to Lanka by Vijaya of Thambapanni. From the bay we walked into the shallow sea and hugged the shore to where we could ascend up the hill. The waters lapped warm and brown against our feet as fossilized coral showed just under the surface. The silence and the immobility of the small bay was a bit unnerving as we picked our way through the water and the twisted trees and we were somewhat relieved to leave the sea and start up the hill.


Walking in the bay; Strange driftwood

Of course by this time it was close to noon and soon our relief was overcome by exhaustion and a general unwillingness to go on. Of course Chamara egged us on up the cliff and we entered an eerie landscape of black heaps of stone that to me looked again like fossilized coral, though others didn’t agree. It was a fascinating experience though and I was as usual drawn to the sea. From the cliffs the waters looked at once quite shallow but a bit unnerving with Ghar fish swimming in throngs in the milky water and rocks appearing and disappearing in the murk.


The sea from the cliffs; Black rock formations

A flash of bright blue alerted us to a rather incongruously new board put up by the Navy explaining the historical significance of the area with laviscous details of Kuveni’s affair with Vijaya. Well I jest but the board was somewhat interesting and I glanced at it for a few seconds before I realized the jeep was nearby along with a much needed bottle of water. And thirst trumped interest in history.

History of the site

Part 1

Part 3