Curaçao Blue.
Curaçao log: My traveling muse Day 3 – October 13, 2015
Tuesday. The sun has set hours ago, casting the sky into a featureless obsidian. But unlike the hapless humans, creatures of the ocean seek solace and comfort in the stars and spotlight, inching their way towards the steel hull of the Chapman. A condition most favorable to pen down my thoughts, for today was nothing short of exciting. As I surround myself in the rhythmic sloshing of the waves, I pour my memories into this entry. Fluid consciousness seeks nothing more than a paper on which to paint, and like a silent metronome, my day began at the crack of dawn. With Bruce and Dutch waiting, and the curasub humming, today would prove to be an intense tango in the twilight, a moment filled with piscine enthrallment. We wasted no time in setting off. I fondly recall a smidgen of toothpaste still present at the corner of my lip. Hair a mess, clothes crumpled, I went from supine in my bunk bed to prone position in the curasub faster than you can say Prognathodes. The air is still and fraught with science. Serious science. Today, fancy alcoholic beverages were not to be had. It was all about the fish, and all about the fish it shall be. Something that I am more than perfectly okay with.
Bryan Horne preparing the curasub for its launch.
We’re no longer on the mainland, but instead, are 42.6km away in Klein Curaçao. A little island inhabited by none. The Chapman was docked about a hundred feet from shore. Bryan made preparations for the curasub launch as usual, and we climbed in. Vanessa stayed on board for the next run after lunch. She was thinking of swimming to shore to check out the sights on Klein Curaçao. I might do that tomorrow instead. There’s an eerie lighthouse that permeated the land with a tangible presence. That looked interesting. Anyway, the launch zone was only a couple feet away from the Chapman. The stark contrast between aquamarine and cobalt signaled the presence of a steep drop off. Above, a cloud of Creole Wrasses paraded, like gatekeepers of the imminent deep. Following a towline, we descended down the drop off. A curious pair of Pomacanthus paru, colloquially known as the French Angelfish, followed our bright orange submersible until it was orange no more.… More:
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