Note: Since I completed this story, the Mexican government has closed the Revillagigedo Islands to all fishing. At first blush this would seem a good thing for conservation of wildlife there. But the closure not only includes commercial fishing (already illegal within five miles of the Islands), but sportfishing as well. Sportfishing has no significant impact on any species at the Islands except wahoo (which are certainly in decline). Tragically, however, without sportfishermen visiting the Islands and reporting on illegal drift nets and long-lines, commercial fishermen can now ramp up their illegal plunder without fear of being reported and their boats being impounded

The Socorro Log

Michele Hall

   I'd been looking forward to this trip for more than 25 years, ever since I first heard Howard and others talk about the Revillagigedo Islands. San Benedicto, the northern-most island of the archipelago, is located 240 miles south of Cabo San Lucas at the tip of the Baja Peninsula. The result of volcanic activity, the archipelago consists of Isla Socorro, Isla San Benedicto, Roca Partido, and Isla Clarión.

   I'd heard wondrous stories of diving up-close-and-personal within schools of hammerhead sharks, yellowfin tuna and other game fish. But most seductive were the stories I'd heard about swimming with the giant Pacific manta rays. As the trip began, I wondered if I would be so lucky.

   This trip hadn't been planned just for the diving experiences. A more significant task lay before us. Mike McGettigen, founder of Sea Watch, a non-profit organization dedicated to the health of the Sea of Cortez, and his partner Sherry Shaffer, organized this expedition to promote conservation at the Islands. Joining us aboard their boat, the Ambar III, were world renowned free-diver Terry Maas, humpback whale expert Jeff Jacobsen, local news reporter Armando Figaredo, Barbara Gomez Morin of Sea Watch and Barbara's husband Manuel Yturbe. We were met at the Islands by Miguel Sanchez Navarro of Mexico Desconocido, a publishing company from Mexico City. Aboard Miguel's boat, the Sogno, were a few influential colleagues from Mexico and Acapulco. A representative of the Mexican government (the man in charge of the Islands) Santiago Creel Miranda, C. Secretario de Gobernacion, joined us for a couple of days. During our explorations we were able to identify major changes in marine life populations compared to Mike's and Howard's trips of years past. These changes are obvious impacts caused by commercial long-line and drift net fisheries. Mike planned to propose guidelines to Santiago for fishing at the Islands, which could help forestall further declines in marine life populations.

   For the same 25 years that I'd been hearing about the magical diving at the Revillagigedo's, I'd also heard about the rough seas getting to and from the Islands. As we departed the harbor to head for the Islands, I feared the worst. Fortunately, my fears were unwarranted. We had flat seas during the 33 hour crossing.

   Our first stop was Benedicto Island. Upon approaching a site called The Boiler it was immediately apparent how it got its name. The sea all around San Benedicto Island was flat calm, save for a small area about a quarter mile offshore where the ocean seamed to 'boil' at the surface. The turbulence was caused by current as it passed over the top of a small seamount, just 25 feet below the surface. San Benedicto itself is a barren island covered in ash from a 1952 volcanic eruption. Mantas frequent the seamount to be cleaned by beautifully colorful Clarion Angelfish. Sharing the water with these marvelous creatures is an experience one doesn't soon forget. Not only are they undisturbed by scuba and free divers, but they approach the divers repeatedly. Their graceful maneuvers are beyond enticing.

   One manta who has been seen over and over again for at least 10 years has been named "Lady Face." I saw her on each dive. While Howard filmed us with his high definition video camera, she would swim toward me, stall above me, and just hang there. It's incredible and almost overwhelming to be in the presence of such an immense yet non-threatening animal. I could get close enough to look into her eye, located on the side of the cephalic lobe. The cephalic lobe, which resembles a 'horn,' is what prompted seamen to call mantas devilfish in years past. When beneath her, my exhaled bubbles would float up to her belly, and I could see her quiver as they touched her underside. This scenario repeated itself until Howard was out of video tape and we had breathed our scuba tanks dry. As I swam back to the Ambar and glanced over my shoulder to get a last look at the seamount, there was Lady Face. Was she following us, attempting to entice me into more play? Or was she escorting me to ensure my safe return? If only I had a way to find out.

   Santiago Creel Miranda's arrival was an added bonus to our first day's activities. A military transport flew him to the military airstrip on Socorro in early morning. The Sogno undertook the 60 mile round-trip journey to pick him up and bring him back to San Benedicto. Santiago is a high-ranking official in the Mexican Government, appointed by President Vicente Fox. Within moments of his arrival he was in the water, snorkeling with manta rays for the first time. It was a special treat to share this magical experience with someone of his stature, especially with the mantas of San Benedicto. When we joined him on the Sogno that evening he was still smiling and talking about the thrilling encounter. He was clearly moved.

   That evening Barbara and Mike presented their report on the effects of commercial fishing at the Islands, and their request that new regulations be enacted to curtail further damage by commercial fishing fleet. Santiago's positive experience earlier in the day and his impression of the island were clearly catalysts in his pledge of support.

   It was fortuitous that Santiago was at the Islands that particular day. As we were heading to The Boiler early the next morning, just off-shore we spotted a long-line fishing boat from Ensenada that was pulling in 70 miles of long-line that had been set illegally overnight. As we sat along side it and communicated by radio with a Mexican military ship (which was on site in surveillance of the area due to Santiago's presence), we watched the long-liner pull in at least 3 thresher sharks and a hammerhead. We documented the activities with still photos and video. Armando, the reported with us, later interviewed Santiago and compiled a report which he sent back to the mainland to be aired later in the week on Televisa News. This is exactly the type of activity that Mike and Miguel want to curtail with their proposed guidelines. As I watched the dead sharks being pulled from the sea, I was convinced that this illegal fishing activity was contributing to the lack of wildlife seen during our dives.

   Eventually we left the scene and were invited aboard the military vessel along with Santiago and others from the Songo. Howard was invited to board the military helicopter with our high definition camera, and he gladly accepted the unprecedented opportunity to capture rare aerial footage of San Benedicto. Soon it was my turn and I was elated at seeing humpback whales, calves and manta rays from the air.

   Once back aboard the Ambar, Howard and I made a dive at The Boiler. First one, then two, and soon four mantas joined us. There's no doubt in my mind that they somehow knew we'd entered the water (could they hear our bubbles?) and came over to have a look and to play. To our disappointment, there wasn't as much cleaning activity as there had been the day before. Visibility diminished during the dive, and the rays unfurled their cephalic fins, as if preparing to feed. But they also remained quite attentive to us. A few times they approached each other in close face-to-face / belly-to-belly encounters, performing graceful ballet-like movements. And then time and again one approached me head on and, rather than stalling above me as they often do (seemingly asking to have their belly scratched), it veered off belly-to-belly with me! I don't have the words to adequately describe what it feels like to swim with these animals. But it certainly brings to mind the encounters I had with Granddad in August, 1980 at the Marisula Seamount in the Sea of Cortez. I never thought I'd have such an opportunity a second time in this life-time. Unbelievable!!!

   Howard and I later made a dive in the bay inside Cabo Pierce at Socorro Island. There weren't any hammerhead sharks off the deep end of the point, so we spent the dive in shallow water with a manta. About 15 Clarion angelfish were attending the ray, and we filmed them cleaning parasites from its skin. The bright orange color of the Clarion angelfish against the rays' black backs and white underbellies was magnificent. I was absorbed in the mechanics of my photography - "what f-stop was my light meter telling me to use? Do I have my lens set for the right f-stop and correct distance? Oh, I have 10 shots left. What power should I set on my strobe? Better bracket! Oh, I have two shots left. Better frame this right - you don't want to waste a shot, Michele."

   And then I was out of film. I always a get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when the action continues after I'm out of film; this time was no exception. I made myself settle down to just watch. What a spectacular site… what a privilege it is to behold a few moments of these magnificent animals' existence. I must liberate myself from the perception that the end-all is capturing the perfectly exposed, perfectly framed image. I want to absorb the image into my brain where I can hold it close to me where ever I go. It's true that this vision in my mind's eye can't be published in a book or journal, can't be licensed for a fee to pay the bills. But over the years I've come to realize the importance of getting more out of the experience than bringing home exposed film. There's more to life than the dollars earned from licensing a photo. And I believe I'm richer in many ways for this acceptance.

   We photographed until we ran out of air. The ray followed us back to the boat, even swimming below me at times, as if in escort. Yet on other dives the rays never appeared. Even these dives weren't without some special experience: we could hear male humpback whales singing off in the distance. What a beautiful sound.

   It goes without saying that over the years I've met numerous people who make their livelihood in the sea. Invariably the conversation turns to what influenced us in the direction of a life revolving around the aquatic world. I find myself repeatedly listening to stories recounting childhood events associated with the marine world. Some had parents who took them swimming in the ocean as children; some were taught to snorkel in between lessons in readin', 'ritin' and 'rithmetic, later taking up spear guns in order to bring home the occasional fresh fish dinner. Some became fascinated at an early age with cetaceans or sharks. Others acknowledge that as long as they can remember they felt the desire to pursue careers in marine biology in order to feed their need for an expanded knowledge of the environment that fills more than 2/3 of our planet's surface. The details vary, but most often there's a common thread of an early exposure to the sea.

   I sometimes think about this while waiting hour after hour for the mantas, hoping to photograph one being cleaned. I think about my parents and my upbringing, and how I've ended up here with this as my life's work. My background is so unlike the tales I so often hear. I grew up with little exposure to wildlife and wanted nothing more than to be a registered nurse. I set my sites and achieved my goal in 1972 when I graduated from nursing school and went to work in an operating room. By 1991 I'd expanded my medical specialties to include pediatric intensive care nursing, clinical research, care of children with metabolic and endocrine conditions, and coordinating a newborn genetic screening program.

   But in the meantime I'd taken up the sport of scuba diving. The man who taught me to dive (Howard Hall) later became my husband. His career expanded beyond teaching and he has become a world-renowned underwater still photographer, cinematographer, documentary film director and producer. Through his influence, my interests expanded in other directions. After dedicating more than two decades to medicine, I opted to pursue a new career, one which would allow me to learn more about nature and the sea, and one that would permit me the opportunity to more intimately share my life's goals with my husband. Before long my underwater photographs were being published and I eventually learned enough about film production to relieve Howard of his producer's responsibilities, so that he could concentrate on directing and shooting. A classic case of the Peter Principal gone mad!

   I often think I'm at a disadvantage, having not been brought up with the sea in my blood, so to speak. I don't seem to have the sixth sense of life in the marine world that Howard and others have. Free-diver Carlos Eyles talks of feeling "at one with the sea," and "letting the mind take a rest … letting the other intelligence -- your intuition -- take over. … Letting go of the linear world." I don't trust my intuition enough to run by instinct alone. Yet I've adapted apparently well enough, and I've learned my lessons well enough to survive, as long as I think hard about what I'm doing. I've become a safe, competent diver. I take decent photographs - sometimes they're even of publishable quality! I manage to earn a living from my life associated with the sea. And, most importantly, I enjoy the life.

   Yet I continue to think of my parents. This is a world they don't understand - a world they have difficultly relating to. I don't know how to describe it to them. How does one explain, to someone who hasn't experienced the quiet of the wild and the serenity of the sea, what it's like to hang in the water, neutrally buoyant as seconds become minutes, and then more than an hour has passed -- waiting, hoping for a manta or a shark to swim by, tolerating the cold, toes water-logged and fingers cold/numb. It's more than just a desire to see such creatures; it's the need to observe them before they're gone.

   On our last day at the Islands we decided it was time to see what Roca Partida had to offer. Though a swell remained, we took advantage of a break in the weather and diminished wind and ventured forth. After an 8-hour westerly crossing, tiny guano-covered Roca Partido loomed ahead. It's an amazingly small place. Eighty miles from nearest land and yet you can easily swim around the rock twice on a single dive.

   Mike quickly dispersed instructions about his plan for the live-boat dive, and within moments we were adrift in blue water amidst 120-foot of visibility, swimming towards the rock. I'd heard that we might see large schools of fish and sharks milling about. Just before jumping in the water Sherry called out to suggest that we take 'shark-poking' devices. I was counting on my Ikelite 150 strobe on its long arm in case I needed a defense. However, no such device proved necessary. As we circumnavigated the rock, we passed a small school of bigeye jacks and another of cotton-mouth jacks. I saw a couple of large green moray eels slithering in a crevasse, and a few white-tip reef sharks sleeping on a ledge, keeping company with some lobsters. We descended to 100 feet where a group of 12 or so sharks were cruising by. Most were nondescript -- although I was able to recognize a silver-tip amongst the group. Another was big and broad enough to bring to mind the bull sharks we saw in Fiji. Howard rolled some hi def tape, but I didn't get close enough to bother triggering my camera's shutter.

   There's no anchorage at Roca Partida, so after completing our dives we departed and began our voyage back to Cabo. In no time at all the ocean's swells became bigger and the white-caps more prominent. When we finally made it into the dock 35 hours later, Mike said that this was the worst crossing from the Islands that he'd experienced in 10 years!

   As I sat in the airplane on our flight home gazing down upon the hills of Baja and the sea that surrounds it on the east and west, I thought about all that I'd experienced during the past 2 weeks. On a basic level, I would say that we've had a successful trip. Certainly the company was wonderful, and weather was fairly good, despite some wind and the rough seas on the return trip. We added a couple of hours of footage to our stock footage library, including manta rays, humpback whales and aerials.

   However I'm disturbed by the lack of wildlife. Is this a result of a normal fluctuation, or of over-fishing? Having talked with others who saw lots of sharks when they visited the Islands a few months ago, my best guess is that it's a combination of both. But even taking normal fluctuations into account, there's no doubt that commercial fishing is having an affect. Hopefully the meetings with, and recommendations made to, Santiago Creel will result in increased vigilance and monitoring of the regulations. The sport fishing boats and free divers who visit the area can play a large role in assisting the efforts. Maybe the time will come again that we can attempt to make a film about the Revillagigedo Islands with the confidence of revealing compelling underwater scenes to the world.