Raja Ampat – Day 4: Mayhem & Medicine
RAJA AMPAT
Day 4: Mayhem & Medicine
May 10, 2023
PART I
I have to admit that being on a boat for a week wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned it. In my head, I’d be enjoying the pirate life as I’d soak up the sun with a cigarette on the deck in between meals and dives. That’s it.
Little did I imagine I’d practically have no time for myself. For starters, with all the diving and meals and other excursions, none of us had more than a few minutes a day to ourselves. And, those few minutes, I could hardly spend them on my own – which, by this point, was already driving me nuts. I’d go out on deck to enjoy some silence and solitude only to end up having to mingle with the rest. And so, there I was, stuck on a boat with nary a chance to just be. My cabin, once again, became my safe haven in between dives.
Mayhem Reef
To start off our day, we’d be going to Mayhem Reef. You’d wonder why it got that name, until you actually get there and find out for yourself, that is. The second we descended upon the seamount, its etymology became quite evident. Thousands of fish swarming the waters, with a giant trevally leaving half a sardine in front of me in its wake. This was natural selection at its very best. Predators versus prey. Everyone against each other. Pure and absolute mayhem.
As I stood there aghast, the wriggling remains of the sardine fluttering about helplessly midwater right in front of me, the others advanced further into the madness that lay ahead. Despite the show going on right in front of our faces, the main action seemed to be going on behind a rock where everyone hovered. There, in all their glory, lay two wobbegong sharks, chilling peacefully on the seafloor, oblivious to everything going on around them. After ogling the majestic yet derpy creatures for a while, we went ahead, enthralled throughout by the schools of fish chasing and running away from each other.
Whilst the dive’s main attraction was the chaos pervading the site, we still got to feast our eyes on some beautiful creatures I had never seen before, like leopard cod and the humpback barramundi grouper. Thrilling and exhilarating though everything was, I still found myself spending an appreciable amount of time hyper-focused on a family of false clownfish – with the adults busying themselves gathering salps in their anemones. Little word of advice though… Do not try to help them in this endeavour – they do bite! Who would’ve known they’d be so territorial and unwelcome to help, huh?
Mid-Ocean Career Crisis
The surface interval wasn’t quite the one I was expecting. Whilst usually this would be the perfect time for me to wolf something down and have a brief nap before the next dive, this time round I can’t quite say that’s what happened.
Here in the middle of nowhere, one can easily assume there is little to no internet connectivity. Well, at least I can say that – with the others being able to connect to the ship’s inefficient Wi-Fi without any trouble all the while. I, on the other hand, was completely off the grid and stranded from the world wide web. As perfectly content as I had been from the digital detox, I do have to admit that I did indulge in getting my internet fix the second my phone started buzzing uncontrollably.
And thank god for that. Turns out, amongst the hundreds of notifications that had been piling up all morning whilst I had been diving, was an email concerning my next training post as a doctor. Given that they usually take their sweet time in processing job applications, I found it a bit too sus that I’d be contacted about it so soon. “Did I miss something in my application? Was my application rejected? Will I get to be a doctor again? And most of all, why isn’t the email frigging loading?!”.
As I intimately approached the ship’s router in order to get the last ounce of connectivity possible, the email finally loaded. It was the secretary of the surgical department requesting proof of me knowing Maltese. Apparently, being a Maltese guy and having worked for the same hospital for two years wasn’t proof enough – but okay, that’d be simple. I’d have my mother scan me a copy of an exam I had taken over ten years previously and email it to them. No biggie. Only after this, I realised there was a second email concerning my application. One that said it was accepted. And that my interview would be held in less than a week’s time.
I froze. I was in pure and utter shock. Six days. The interview I had been waiting for all my adult life would be in six days. Six friggin’ days. Of course, it wouldn’t have been much of a problem if I weren’t in the middle of friggin’ nowhere on the other side of the friggin’ planet, but, as it turns out, I was. Not to mention, I’d be stuck on this cruise for three more days. Not to mention, I had another adventure planned for the following week. Not to mention, I probably wouldn’t even manage to go back just in time for the interview even if I tried my hardest.
“Crap, crap, crap!” I said to myself in more 18+ expletives, my mind running a hundred miles a second. I was genuinely deadened by the news. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak, and I couldn’t for the life of me try and make any sense of it. This was not how it should’ve happened. After the initial shock, I started going through the Kubler-Ross Model in a matter of minutes:
Denial: Hey, maybe I read the date wrong! Rereading the email some eighty thousand times and having Siti confirm the date changed nothing.
Anger: Interviews held by the surgical department at this particular hospital are always late. Hell, my friends were called in some two or three months after they submitted their application the previous year. Now they chose to be timely and efficient?! And why the hell did I sacrifice everything I’ve worked so hard for just cause I felt the yearning to travel around a bit?!
Bargaining: Okay, okay… So I have some options… I can try and request an interview at a later date (knowing fully well they’re as flexible as a carbon fibre rod). I could do the interview online elsewhere if they’d let me (assuming there’d be better connectivity). Or, I could cancel the rest of my itinerary and try to get back home in time.
Depression: Why can’t anything ever be simple and uncomplicated in my life? Why can’t I enjoy my last friggin’ adventure before starting the next training programme that will have me become a slave to the system once again?
Acceptance: If there’s one thing I’ve learned throughout this year, it’s that I can be happy doing whatever the hell I want. If I don’t manage to get in, I can apply to become an emergency physician – something I had been toying with for the past year. And, if all else fails, I can work as a medical officer elsewhere until the following year. Or, I could work as a divemaster. Or a freelance writer. Or anything else for that matter.
It was at this point that my friends pulled up their sleeves and helped me out of the spiral. Hell, Momma Bear practically wrote me the email I’d send to the department herself, another friend running it up by his father (a big-time employer) who modified it slightly in order to get me what I wanted – that is, the interview being pushed to a later date.
Citrus Ridge
As fate would have it, the second I sent the email, all traces of internet connectivity vanished. You’d think that going for the next dive would be the last thing on my mind, but, being trapped there on the ship feeling as helpless as ever, diving would be the best and only thing that’d help me get my mind off everything.
Our next dive site was Citrus Ridge – a coral slope boasting an incredible coral garden and the wide variety of sealife one never gets used to in Raja Ampat. Whilst the schools of red-toothed triggerfish and trevallies, the scorpionfish lying still on the coral, the giant moray eel and gianter hawksbill turtle were all sights to behold, the show was stolen by none other than a fever of mobula rays that passed nearby. Whilst I had seen a few of them back in Coiba National Park in Panama, seeing some fifteen of these glorious beings at one go was just something else.
To most, this was yet another dive in a series of incredible ones. To me, it was different. Down there, at the bottom of the sea, I found myself free of the stress and tension that had built up a few hours previously. There, suspended in the big blue, I was free of all thoughts and worries. All the problems and strife that afflict one at the surface had no place down there. It’s just as if the real world stops existing and dissipates into this state of limbo where time slows down and everything just stops making sense. It’s funny how after that first dive and so many more after it, that feeling has never really changed.
As great as the dive was, we did have some complaints afterwards. Ebe, having brushed against some hydroids, found herself covered in angry welts. And yes, I mean properly covered. She must have made love to them or something in order to get stung so bad! I myself had a couple of them on my forehead and on my left hand, having done the safety stop in an area infested with jellyfish and with no wetsuit. Whilst the vast majority were golden Papuan medusae – a type of stingless jellyfish – there were a couple of pesky moon jellyfish floating about. As annoying as their stings are, they truly did make for a magical sight, with hundreds of them bespeckling the blue around us. Man I love jellyfish…
PART II
The Scalpel and the Sea
Back at the surface and all dried up, I can’t quite say the anxieties regarding my future didn’t come back. There I was, in the middle of an Indonesian archipelago, with no clear future prospects – for the very first time in my life.
As fine as I was with my newfound liberty and freedom and the fact that I could do whatever the hell I wanted and be happy in life, I still found myself unable to come to terms with it – the fact that there was a chance I wouldn’t get into the surgical training programme. I had gone into medicine just for that. I had worked tirelessly just for that. I wanted to become a surgeon – to cut, to hone my technique, to save lives.
The heart of the matter was a simple one – commitment. Surgery had been my one and only monomaniacal passion for so long. Then I started working and I realised I could potentially see myself working in other specialties. Then I started this trip and I realised I could do whatever I wanted to – even working outside of medicine.
But here’s the thing… I figured that as happy as I could be doing whatever else, I think I’d always regret the fact that I wouldn’t have given surgery a chance. It’s not just about casting a decade-long quest aside. It’s not just about letting my colleagues down. It was about letting myself down. As much as I had changed, as much as I had grown, I still wanted to become a surgeon. I’d give it a shot and if I were to realise it’s just not for me, then fine, so be it – I’d switch specialties or jobs. But if I didn’t give myself the opportunity to try it out I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself.
Then again, was this fear talking? The old ‘happiness is for the mediocre’ card seemed flimsy at best given that throughout that year I’d been the happiest I’d ever been. Now that I had tasted happiness, it’d be really hard to give it up. Happiness, to me, was being close to the sea. Whether it’s lying on a hammock by the beach or standing on a boat on the way to dive. Happiness was being lost on the mountainside trying to figure out where the path to the main highlight is. Happiness is stumbling upon all kinds of views and vistas that I could never even imagine existed. But, before, medicine was that which made me happy. It still did, mind you. But it was not the only thing. Somehow, throughout thee previous year, I started to see medicine as more of a job than a passion. Would giving it all up to go back to a job be something I even wanted to do? Would it be me throwing away a year’s worth of growth?
And just like that, I was brought back to all the contemplative beach sessions I had experienced during my trip in Central America. I’d go with the flow and leave it up to destiny. I’d do my best to get the job I had been working for all my life and then go from there. If at any point in time I’d feel like that’s not where I belong or that I could be happier doing something else, I could always change that. But I owed it to myself to try.
And that’s what I did. Or tried to. As I frantically tried to connect to the Wi-Fi unsuccessfully, that is. No matter how resolute I had been, it wouldn’t comply. And the most frustrating thing of all was that the others were busying themselves on Instagram and TikTok! But there was nothing more I could do anyways. I had sent the email and the rest was up to destiny.
Gam Jetty
Our third dive was at Gam Jetty; a coral garden starting from the mangrove of Gam Island. We’d been told we could appreciate the mangrove from a distance given the possibility of being eaten alive by crocodiles – which, to be fair, I was completely okay with.
Having completely forgotten about the jellyfish bloom we had dealt with a few hours previously, I found myself horror-struck at having to jump down into yet another jellyfish-infested body of water without a wetsuit. I gotta admit that being with Alex – whose bravado would never allow him to wear one himself – was slightly reassuring. At least I wouldn’t die alone! And so, we took the plunge. Fortunately, the jellyfish were confined to the first couple of metres below the surface, and, having descended immediately, the crisis was averted.
The dive site was spectacular to say the least. We started at the bottom of the coral slope, all the while entertained by the classic sealife of Raja Ampat. We didn’t see anything quite out of the ordinary, with the majority of the time being spent admiring the variety of coral, with thousands of four-stripe damselfish and blue chromis swimming in and out of their crevices.
I can say that the best part was right at the end. As we got to the shallow surface, the crystal-clear water, with hundreds of golden jellyfish suspended in it, gave us an unobstructed view of one of the most beautiful coral gardens as it transitioned into the mangrove – the long roots of the trees complementing the coral in a way I never even imagined possible.
Night Dive at Gam Slope
As Johnny briefed us on the fourth and final dive of the day, I could only focus on the three words he uttered during the verbal diarrhoea that involved him recounting the sealife we’d be most likely to see at the dive site – the blue-ringed octopus. We’d have another shot at seeing it after all!
And so, the kid within me was once again brought to life, with me hyping Dom up to do his best to spot one and chanting the wondrous creature’s name over and over for good luck, trying to manifest as hard as it is humanly possible. I don’t think I’d ever been that excited about a dive – hell, I was the first on the Zodiac and I couldn’t wait another second to be underwater.
The second we got to the bottom of Gam Slope, we all got around to exploring every single nook and cranny using our torchlights. I for one came across many flukes – stumbling upon tails of sleeping fish making me think I had found something spectacular. For once, the reef crabs and shrimps were a bit of a disappointment, with my one true goal of finding the damned octopus getting slimmer as time went by. In fact, Alex’s furious banging had me drift towards him at lightspeed, thinking he had actually managed to find one. Whilst it wasn’t quite as cool as the blue-ringed octopus, the baby broadclub cuttlefish he found was quite the find!
On we went, scouring every crack and crevice. Then, at one point, I found something. Something that had me enrapt, fully captivated. In this one tiny recess was a black ribbon-like creature with an orange border, folding in on itself as it floated gracefully. It seemed like I had found a treasure of some sorts, something sacred and unperturbed. And the way it was encased in its rocky shelter made it seem all the more mystifying; kinda like Beauty and the Beast’s rose in the glass dome or the coral paperweight in 1984. Whilst initially I had thought it was a flatworm, I was later told it was a juvenile batfish; its shape and colours mimicking those of a toxic flatworm in order to deter predators. Truly fascinating beings!
Later on, we also managed to find a fuchsia flatworm, which, much like the juvenile batfish, made for quite a show as the free-swimming creature danced regally in the middle of the water. Kinda reminded me of a flamenco dancer! Its grace and elegance contrasted big time with the clumsy shuffling of a giant hermit crab we came across after a few minutes. It had a plate-like rock measuring around a foot in size, which it used to perfectly camouflage itself with its surroundings the second we approached. It took Ebe a full two minutes before she could actually spot it!
As I was busying myself trying to film the crab which by now was part and parcel with a nearby rock, I heard Dom banging on his tank. I sped to him, remembering our main goal. He pointed fastidiously at a tiny hole in a rock, which, at first glance, appeared hollow and empty – save for the green and orange larval creature that stood unmoving at its entrance. He made a sign showing me that whatever was in there had been long gone by the time I arrived, and then proceeded with the safety stop signal.
Turns out, he had managed to find the elusive creature of my dreams and I had missed it – AGAIN! Right there and then, I swore to myself I wouldn’t swim farther than a metre away from Dom ever again!