After a final adjustment of my mask and a dozen deep breaths, I descended. The contrast between the world beneath the waves and the one above was striking. Here, though a slight current was noticeable, everything was calm. This gave me a relaxing sense as my few strokes brought me near the bottom and to the cave opening.
I lingered at its entrance for a short time. The midday sun was favorable, and did well to illuminate its interior. It was clear that this cave extended to some depth; I could see inside about ten feet. I steadied myself by touching the sandy bottom and began to crawl within, a foot at a time.
A half minute seemed like an eternity as I progressed those first six feet. An unexpected bend revealed that the cave was far deeper than my original estimate. I contemplated going further yet, when a hint of motion consumed my full attention. I saw, at first, a regular fish, perhaps a snapper. But as the regular-fish shape continued to emerge and enlarge, I knew that it was merely the head of something I would have rather not seen.
From the side profile, I saw all I needed to see; the golf-ball-sized, yellow-ringed eye, the protruding lower jaw with fanged teeth, the sleek, torpedo shape. This was a barracuda, far larger than any I had seen. The mottled yellow and green patches of scales indicated that this was probably an old Mama, between 5 and 6 feet in length. And I was in her house.
Barracuda tend to look at you in an unsettling way. There's no fear shown. But you do get the sense, as I did, that you're being appraised for your food potential. Barracuda are not aggressive in open water, but they can be territorial. Though it is my favorite fish to observe, I decided that this was not the place to do so, and made my retreat.
I borrowed a technique I learned from the spiny lobster, and crawled backwards in smooth motions, keeping my eyes affixed to this marvelous fish. Once removed from the cave, I pushed off the bottom and surfaced for my first breaths in a good while. "Swim" was the warning I gave in so many words. Kim, well accustomed to my style, swam. "Picua," I said to Damian, and he swam. Jonathan found his way up the side of the cliff before he swam like the rest.
Our new group made it to shore in record speed, bodysurfed the exceptional waves for a time, recounted our story for any who would listen, and planned an errand into town to equip for our next adventure.
After a shopping Blackbeard's for masks and dive lights, we stopped at Roy's for a round of courage-enhancing margaritas. We sipped and talked, taking the opportunity to learn more about our new-found Argentinean compatriots.
Damian and Federico were on their last days of a month-long holiday across several Caribbean islands, visiting Culebra, Vieques and Puerto Rico before traveling to New York and then home. Damian was a business student while Federico was a graphic designer. We shared an affinity for the easy-going life, and a love of Futbol. Bridging the language gap was not a problem, as we knew an equal amount of the other's dialect.
We returned to Navio in all haste, enduring the bone-shaking ride in high spirits. The group swelled to five after recruiting Federico, and we set off towards our next destination.