Manuel Antonio – Day 3: Jacó Diving
MANUEL ANTONIO
Day 3: Jacó Diving
January 27, 2023
Ready for a full day of diving, Amelia and I woke up at an unruly hour, spent a couple of hours on a bus, and headed to Jacó. The moment we arrived at the dive shop, the staff gave us a warm welcome and sized our gear.
We were led by Pedro, an instructor from Spain who’d been living there for two years. We rode a jeep down to the beach, where a boat and two American guys were already waiting for us. They reeked of alcohol and weed and, given their nationality, it all seemed to spell disaster. But honestly, we didn’t give it a second thought. We just wanted to get into the water as soon as possible!
After two months of diving in Utila and that one dive in Lago de Apoyo a few weeks earlier, we were finally back in the Pacific. Amelia and I were thrilled to be diving together again, barely able to contain our excitement.
No Viz
That very same excitement was curbed the second we arrived at the first dive site – The Signal. First of all, there was no proper briefing. Second, the moment we hit the water, Pedro simply signalled us to descend, five-point descent be damned. Third, the visibility was… well, abysmal. I swear it couldn’t have been more than two feet. Amelia and I stuck as close together as humanly possible, signalling to each other that we couldn’t see crap.
Before we could do anything about it, Pedro was already swimming off, leading the dive. The only thing visible was the faint yellow blur of his fins. The Americans followed behind him, their buoyancy, much like the visibility, completely non-existent. “Come on, at least we’re diving,” I kept telling myself, desperately trying to trick my brain into enjoying it while squinting at vague, shifting shadows. When a porcupinefish finally materialised out of the murk, I kinda lost my mind – by that point I’d convinced myself the only thing we’d see was a whole lotta nothing. I signalled Amelia to come closer, which was apparently all it took for the rest of the group to go on and leave us behind.
We followed protocol – searched for one minute – and when it became clear we were completely on our own, we aborted the dive and surfaced. After a short while, Pedro’s buoy popped up nearby, followed by him and American 1 surfacing seconds later. Pedro had very little to say about the incident, blaming the visibility and conveniently ignoring the fact that he hadn’t once checked where anyone was. He also didn’t seem particularly concerned that we couldn’t locate American 2, who, according to American 1, had gotten lost around the same time we did.
We climbed back onto the boat, leaving Pedro searching for American 2’s bubbles. Ten minutes later, we were all reunited on deck. “He always gets lost,” American 1 shrugged, apparently well-acquainted with this routine after thirty-five years of diving together, “and smoking weed before a dive isn’t really a good idea.” Amelia and I exchanged murderous glances and hissed at each other.
At that point, I suggested continuing the dive somewhere else, seeing as we all still had plenty of air and might actually see something. We resumed the first dive at a different site called Rabbit’s Shallow. From the surface alone, it was obvious the visibility here was far better. I actually rejoiced when I could see the seafloor from about three metres away. I was glad I’d spoken up – otherwise we’d have wasted the entire dive at The Signal.
Here, we saw large schools of yellowtail snappers and bluetail runners, a few giant damselfish and king angelfish, a moray eel, and a group of five spiny lobsters happily tucked beneath a rocky crevice. You know what we didn’t see? American 2 after the first five minutes. He got lost again. And this time, visibility wasn’t the problem.
Friggin' Americans
Our second dive site was The Cavern, named after a cave known to harbour whitetip reef sharks, with one allegedly reaching up to four metres in length. I’d already seen these majestic creatures back in Isla Tortuga, but I was more than happy to admire them again.
While the visibility here still wasn’t great, we did spot some interesting sea life. It was my first time seeing a round stingray, its brown dorsum patterned with paler spots as it flapped away from us; a diamond stingray, a large species that prefers sandy patches with cooler currents; and a blue-spotted cornetfish, reminiscent of a trumpetfish but with a longer, more streamlined snout. The MVP though? It was this metre-long snake eel that had a cream-coloured body covered in black oval spots and a long dorsal fin running from head to tail. I was just mesmerised by the creature!
When we reached the cave, the visibility was too poor and the current too strong to even attempt entry. American 1 redirected his frustration toward a poor lobster, accidentally dismembering its leg with an errant fin kick. American 2 coped with his disappointment by getting lost again. When we finally resurfaced and regrouped, Pedro decided to call the dive then and there, blaming the current and visibility – a decision Amelia and I didn’t agree with at all, considering we still had roughly two-thirds of our air left. We couldn’t help but feel cheated. We could’ve easily relocated to another site, just like we had earlier, but Pedro wouldn’t hear of it.
By the end of the day, Amelia was back to feeling just as disappointed as she’d been the day before. I, on the other hand, had at least seen a handful of new species, so I was relatively appeased. Was it worth the money and the four-hour bus ride each way, though? Debatable.