When Fear Fails: A Dive into The Great Barrier Reef

by Celina Fazio (Canada)

A leap into the unknown Australia

Fear is a powerful emotion. It is at the core of all of our actions, every decision we make. Fight or flight? It’s an innate, animalistic response to a perceived threat to our survival-—the threat of our demise; but, fear can also illicit another, less common response: paralysis. Floating face down in the water above The Great Barrier Reef (the world’s largest coral reef) off the coast of Cairns, Australia, I realized just how much there is to fear. Nature teaches us that the flashier and more colourful something is, the more likely it is to poison you. The reef is a rainbow of danger. Earlier that day we climbed aboard the catamaran, and almost immediately after settling in, we were told that we should take a tablet for seasickness. It didn’t take long to understand why. As the boat sped away from the shore and into choppy waters, the deck rocked violently. I prevailed; my travel companion wasn’t as lucky, and spent the afternoon clutching a paper bag. Before passengers are allowed to embark into the water, members of the crew taught marine biology and what to expect when going into the reef. Sharks, we were told, are actually quite shy, so we probably wouldn’t be lucky enough to see one. What we did have to be weary of, I learned, were jellyfish. Stinger suits—full body protective wetsuits made from nylon or spandex—were mandatory for everyone entering the water. At the mention of jellyfish, I was reminded of the rainforest tour I had gone on a few days prior, where a knowledgeable guide pointed out all of the tropical plants that contained deadly neurotoxins. This guide was an encyclopedia of all the things that can kill you, and at one point he spoke a word that I had no idea how to spell, but I quickly learned to fear: Irukandji. A member of the box jellyfish family, Irukandji jellyfish (Carukia Barnesi) are the smallest and among the deadliest jellyfish on the planet. Their bodies are generally one-to-two centimeters in diameter, and their tentacles can be up to one metre long. Approximately the size of a fingernail and completely translucent, the Irukandji jellyfish is regarded as one of the deadliest inhabitants of the coral reef, as their sting can result in cardiac arrest and death. While the dive instructor continued to explain snorkel and SCUBA safety, I began to feel uneasy about the decision to do the deep dive. I was paralyzed with fear, but nonetheless allowed myself to be guided up to the deck to put on my suit and gear. Donning the heavy SCUBA gear, the group plopped off of the ledge of the boat into the water. I was trembling, and not just from the cold water, but also from adrenaline. The guide gave us one last brief, reminding us of hand signals, best breathing practices, and what to do in case of an emergency. He joined hands with the group to form a chain of divers, and we submerged ourselves. Underwater, distorted sounds of bubbles and flowing water reached my ears. The hollow sound of my unsteady breathing echoed in my head. Looking around, I took in the colours and shapes of the reef. Large columns of coral were composed of countless textures: spongey, jagged, fuzzy, stringy. Fish in every hue, from as small as my palm to almost as big as my body, swam by us with no regard. At one point, our guide mimed a funny face with his hands while pointing to my shoulder, where a fluorescent clownfish lazily floated. Occasionally, something small and clear would enter my peripheral vision, but when I turned my head, I would lose sight of it. As I became more entranced by the reef, the paralyzing fear began to subside. When our tour was over and we had resurfaced, I glanced at the muddled shapes below me on the ocean floor, grateful that I let fear fall by the wayside for this experience.