A Lesson on Perspective

by Nicole Webster (United States of America)

I didn't expect to find Honduras

I can still remember that day in September. Passing my fellow dive buddies on the tiny island streets of Utila, grinning from ear to ear upon seeing one another because we had just shared an unbelievable experience. We shared the knowledge that even though we were all simply acquaintances, we would be connected perpetually because of the unexpected 25 minutes we shared together earlier that morning. I was living in a world where rolling out of bed at dawn, throwing on a damp swimsuit, and not fully waking up until I took my first giant leap into the Atlantic Ocean, had become routine. On one September morning, everything started out as it always did. Main street was still quiet, host only to divers hustling to get to their morning dive boat on time, local tuk-tuk drivers awaiting their first customers of the day, and squashed blue crabs that had been run over from the night before. It was only 6:30am and already the sun had warmed this tiny Honduran island to a humid 79° Fahrenheit. There was only one thing that was not routine, and the moment I realized it I was overwhelmed with a feeling of vexation. I had forgotten to charge my GoPro that I was adamant about taking on every dive with me. As I walked up the wooden stairs of the dive shop, worn-out from years of salt water, I was excited for my dive. I understood these mornings would not last forever. At the same time, I was disappointed in my failure to be prepared. I bundled my scuba gear, and proceeded to board the Old Tom, one of the shop’s brightly colored yellow and blue dive boats. I said good morning to Captain Chucksy, and found two unclaimed scuba tanks to set up my gear. “Yayyyyy diving!” the divemaster yelled, as we pulled away from the dock. The water was seemingly perfect. It was as if the ocean was steadily breathing. Pushing us closer and closer to our dive site with each exhale. Suddenly, Captain Chucksy spotted a pod of rough-toothed dolphins and instructed us to hurry up and get ready to dive. The dolphins were headed straight for our predetermined site. With any luck, we would get ahead of them and see the dolphin pod pass over the reef. Feelings of anxiety and excitement filled the boat. As divers, we all knew the chance of seeing large animals like dolphins and whales on a reef dive is very rare. This was an extraordinary opportunity. As I descended and approached the reef I could hear the dolphins, but since sound in water travels four times faster, this did not guarantee we would cross paths. I had almost reached the reef when, in an instant, four dolphins appeared in front of me. They swam right past our group, and disappeared into the blue abyss, just as quickly as they had appeared. Without any hand signals, we collectively turned direction and swam after them. Swimming until we could no longer see the reef, we found ourselves in 20 feet of water, surrounded only by blue. We were about to give up and head back to the reef, when 11 dolphins from the pod suddenly reappeared. Our dive group spent the next 25 minutes with the dolphins. For that minuscule moment in time, we experienced nothing short of magic. We got to know these dolphins and they got to know us. They spun around the water, circling playfully, and coming up to each of us individually making clicking sounds. Their echolocation bounced off our faces and bodies, thus allowing them to understand us, inside and out. Eventually, they had enough of the encounter and swam away. I, on the other hand, could have stayed in their presence forever. Upon surfacing, we were all in shock. Some of us were crying tears of joy and pure appreciation; others could not stop talking about what just happened. No one stopped smiling that day, and I had completely forgotten about my GoPro.