Into the Drink

Meet Roxanne, my arm charm in San Ignacio. Photo by Travis Matteson.

I’ll be honest with you: pretty reefs are fine and dandy, and sure, I like wrecks like the next guy. But when I’m diving, give me big animals. Lots and lots of big animals. In fact, give me big animals when I’m not diving, too. Is this too much to ask? These days, in some locations, it seems to be. But Belize delivers mega-fauna on both fronts, whether it’s above water or below, in the lush, verdant jungles, or inhabiting what’s arguably the best zoo this side of San Diego. I’m still unpacking bags and memories from the recent, epic trip to Belize with LiquidAssets.tv to film another episode of “Into the Drink,” where we dived the 5,000 acres of awesomeness called Hol Chan Marine Reserve, just off San Pedro on Ambergris Caye. Here, it’s not a rarity to be swarmed by well-fed nurse sharks, corpulent groupers, and turtles who don’t even remotely give a damn who you are. Spotted eagle rays and southern stingrays are common, as are big schools of jacks, tarpon, grunts and parrotfish reminiscent of some Pacific dives I’ve done. After a fantastic few days of diving with Tranquility Bay on Ambergris Caye, we trekked inland to explore the Belize Zoo, founded in 1983 by Sharon Matola. Sharon is one of those people who clearly, unequivocally, and unmistakably loves animals. This amazing zoo currently possesses over 125 different species of animals, all native to Belize. You come nose to snout with a plethora of critters who are representative of the nation’s wildlife, including tapirs (who are, apparently, a good aim with their you-know-what), harpy eagles (the largest and most powerful raptor in the Americas – we’re talking rip your face off powerul), jaguars (jag-YEW-ahrs), ocelots, and much more. If for some strange reason you had only one day to spend in Belize (and shame on you if that were the case), a trip to this zoo would be de rigeur. We were rewarded with amazing animal life even during our brief stay at the San Ignacio Resort Hotel, where the establishment is waging a war against the depletion of the area’s green iguanas. Just behind the hotel, an interpretive exhibit headed up by a very caring and gregarious Eddie, educates visitors to the threats facing the reptiles. Here you can observe egg incubation, hatching, rearing and even the release of juveniles into the wild. Make no mistake: if you like animals, this is a country not to be missed. — Nick Lucey

Author’s note: LiquidAssets.tv and the entire crew of “Into the Drink” would like to extend a giant “thank you” to the Belize Tourism Board (and you, Melecia Banks!) for their extreme hospitality and incredible support of our recent visit to their beautiful country. If you’ve ever dreamed of visiting Belize … GO NOW!

Whales, dolphins, fur seals … they get all the good PR. But who’s looking out for the lowly mountain chicken? Strolling down a coastal road in Dominica one morning, I stumbled upon a sign that stopped me dead in my tracks. “Protect the Mountain Chicken.” Not only had I never heard of such alpine poultry, I knew nothing about its plight … or what wine to pair it with. Hunted to extinction on several Caribbean islands, the giant ditch frog, or Leptodactylus fallax, is now found only on Dominica, Montserrat, and at a zoo in the United Kingdom. It might not be in this precarious situation if it weren’t for the fact that locals find what they call “crapaud” to be quite tasty, and unfortunately, the species are plagued by a fatal and incurable fungal disease called Chytridiomycosis. So as scientists on the island scramble to find a cure, a moratorium on the consumption of the frogs has been instituted. Looks like somebody’s finally looking out for the mountain chicken after all. – Nick Lucey

A guy’s got enough to think about while filming an episode of the new dive travel television show “Into the Drink” than whether or not his dive gear’s going to work properly. That’s why the LiquidAssets.tv crew dives exclusively with Scubapro and Uwatec gear. Here, host Nick Lucey checks his Galileo Luna dive computer prior to making a dive at Scott’s Head in Dominica, at the convergence of the Atlantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea. The challenging conditions and unpredictable currents at the island’s southwesternmost point are no match for Scubapro’s exacting standards and superior quality. Visit www.scubapro.com or stop by your local authorized Scubapro dealer today.

Photo by Kim Randall

Dough-ma-NEE-kah … pronouncing the island’s name correctly is one of the first lessons you’re taught after you step off the plane (it’s typically followed by a firm reminder that the diminutive country has absolutely nothing to do whatsoever with the Dominican Republic). Pass the test, and you’re free to move on to learn all sorts of new and interesting things every day you spend here. We’re on-location filming the first episode of Into the Drink Season 2, and I’ve already discovered at least ten truths about Dominica:

1.) With the exception of hotels with WiFi and people chatting on cellphones, there is virtually no difference between Dominica now and the Dominica I remember from my last trip here more than a decade ago;

2.) You have to make a conscious effort to avoid bumping into turtles while diving the island’s vibrant reefs;

3.) With the exception of the insides of buildings, you can’t go anywhere where you’re not constantly reminded of the island’s fiery, volcanic origins (Dominica boasts the world’s second-largest boiling lake!) and lush, tropical beauty;

4.) These volcanoes have turbo-charged the nutrient-rich soil, producing a bounty that’s given the island the moniker “Breadbasket of the Caribbean” and some of the most delicious fruit I’ve ever eaten;

5.) Frogs – or “mountain chicken” in local parlance – are surprisingly, and much to the detriment of their very existence, quite tasty but are plagued by a bacteria that has rendered them inedible;

6.) Kennedy’s Peanut Punch – made with rum – is the most delicious thing I’ve never heard of;

7.) It’s the least touristy of the major Caribbean islands, and in fact receives half the tourists that Haiti does;

8.) You can practically walk to nearby Martinique or Guadeloupe on the heads of the vast number of cetaceans that inhabit the local waters … so be sure to do a whale watch cruise and bring the zoom lens as well as the wide-angle for when the gentle giants breach close to your boat;

9.) To cool off on a sweltering Dominica afternoon, there’s nothing like a coconut-flavored “ice pop” – essentially a frozen baggy of coconut milk – that costs about 20 cents apiece;

10.) And most importantly, it’s not for everybody. Nature-lovers, outdoor enthusiasts and adventurers will rejoice. But if you come here expecting a Mickey D’s, Hard Rock Cafe or Starbucks, you’re S.O.L.

Of course, we’re only halfway through our trip, and there’s still plenty more to learn.

- Nick Lucey

As I prepare logistically for the first episode of Into the Drink’s second season, I’m reminded of an oft-forgotten travel principle. A mandated 70-pound checked bag restriction from San Juan to my final destination – Dominica! – has me in a cold sweat on the eve of my sojourn, analyzing my payload with scientific impunity, and prompting me to use the bathroom scale to pass judgment on the heaping mound of schtuff in the middle of my floor.

Despite the fact that I travel for a living and should know better, packing always seems to take me the lion’s share of an afternoon, factoring in the inevitable distraction or two. Every piece of gear comes under increased scrutiny, with some even prompting me to Google an excuse to leave it at home (will I need the electrical adapter?). Charlotte, my 8-year-old chocolate lab, is a veteran at determining when this awkward, arduous process commences, tucking her tail between her legs and hanging her head as the “black bags of death” – the description I’m convinced she uses – emerge from my closet.

Of course, I will need certain necessities for this government-sanctioned dive trip: the tropical components of my Scubapro inventory, which include full-foot Twin Jets (why bring booties to the Caribbean if you’re not planning to shore dive?) and a shorty 2.5-mil wetsuit (the aquatic equivalent of a short-sleeve leisure suit); clothing, though little of it, as Dominica is particularly warm and lovely this time of year; and of course, travel essentials that I can’t live without, like my iPod, neck pillow and a good book (“Selling the Invisible” by Harry Beckwith, in case you’re curious).

I’ll also have to jettison other formerly-important objects to accommodate the Canon 5D Mark II – a remarkable DSLR that not only captures 21-megapixel still images, but eye-popping 1080p high-def video as well – plus a few lenses, underwater housing (thanks Backscatter!), two ports, batteries, CF cards, external mic and an overwhelming sense of fear and awe that can only come from the realization you’re hauling around the most expensive – and magnificent – camera rig you’ve ever gingerly placed in an overhead compartment.

It’s in the little choices that I’m forced to make (tiny yet tinny-sounding ear buds or bulky but booming noise canceling headphones?) that I’m reminded of the oft-forgotten tenet of international jet-setting– it’s about the journey, and not about the stuff you take with you. But I’m also discovering an unintentional, sublime byproduct: Streamlining your gear is every bit the cathartic, self-gratifying experience as it is an inevitable modern reality. Since most airlines now charge for any checked items, the process is as poetically cleansing as it is fundamentally frugal.

Airlines aside, this purge also rewards me with less hassles on the ground when I arrive, and that’s good news, because I’ve got enough to deal with. My rolling carry-on’s telescoping handle often refuses to telescope at the most inopportune moments, and receptionists seem to delight in selecting rooms that lie at the polar opposite of the hotel lobby, on the 4th floor, accessible only by a narrow set of stairs.

Of course, despite a logic that should prove otherwise, packing for the return home always feels a tad more challenging. After all, how am I going to get all these knick-knacks, t-shirts, and bottles of local liquor home?

- Nick Lucey

LiquidAssets.tv, producers of “Into the Drink,” invite you to conduct your own cleansing ritual by packing for one of the upcoming on-location trips, including Ambergris Caye, Belize, April 20-24, Kona, Hawaii aboard the Kona Aggressor II August 14-21, and the Visayas, Philippines, October 19-29. For more information on these special trips, please visit intothedrink.tv/travel.

As most of you who frequent the Into The Drink Facebook page know by now, our screening at the DEMA 2009 show was a success.  Exceedingly and abundantly.

DEMA, for those of you who don’t know, is the Diving Equipment & Marketing Association and their annual trade show is the holy week for the billion-dollar cottage industry that is scuba diving.  It’s the one time you’re likely to walk into a convention center for a dive trade show and hear about eight different languages being spoken as you’re going down the escalator.  On my way to the airport at the end of the week I shared a cab with a store owner from suburban Tokyo.  He’d been going to DEMA for 20 years.

I know I’m gonna catch hell for saying this publicly, but as a rule I’m generally not a big fan of trade shows.  I see them, more often than not, as a necessary evil.  There are outstanding qualities to all of them but for the most part, until the exhibit floor closes for the day and I get to go to Denny’s and then the hotel bar I’m pretty much crawling in my skin.  This is because lately I’ve been forced to stand in a sizable booth with big banners that have life-size pictures of me trying to look more badass than I actually am while a giant plasma TV loops episodes of a show that I host.  So it’s more than a little uncomfortable; smarmy.  It has a “Hey! Look at me!” feel to it.  It’s irritating beyond measure.  I stand there invariably feeling more obnoxious than I actually am.  And that’s pretty obnoxious.

DEMA, however, is different.  I’m not the sharpest business mind in the organization, but I knew enough to recognize that we needed a strong presence there.  If we believed in the show and we were confident in what we were sitting on, it should be a no-brainer.  Hit these people upside the head with something they are definitely not ready for.  Drop some jaws.  It became, for me, my debutante ball.  It was a coming-out party.  If all went well and we accomplished our goal, I’d be accepted by the neoprene confederates as a true southern lady.

It had already been decided that we would show a DEMA-specific cut of our Costa Rica adventure that was more or less a cross section of both episodes.  It was designed to give the Orlando audience a more well-rounded idea of the show and in the destinations where we do two-part episodes, typically the first half doesn’t cover all the bases.  We were co-hosting the screening with Bill Beard, who was giving away a trip to Costa Rica.  We’re all big fans of Bill so we were stoked to do it with him.  His massive email list certainly doesn’t hurt when you’re trying to spread the word, either.

In addition, we all thought it would be a good idea (given the brief 45 minutes we had) to also show a trailer for the show that included additional destinations.  Doug, our lead editor, had already created a very good piece for the occasion, one that was short and to the point.  A normal human being would have been satisfied and gone back to the job of enjoying a few days in central Florida.  A normal, well-adjusted, rational human being.

Yes, folks, here’s where our story takes a turn.
Somewhere around 9:00 the first night we arrived, Doug and I were sitting down for dinner when one of us came up with the idea to completely retool the trailer, and include footage from every destination we’d hit up to that point, including the previous week’s Cayman sojourn.  I’m going to assume it was my idea, because Doug would never have willingly subjected himself to the subsequent 72 hours of all-out chaos.

But once I get an idea in my head, I have to see it through.  Doug drew three short straws:  one, he’s the lead editor.  Two, he was sharing a hotel room with me.  Three, he’s the best creative wingman you could ask for.  So it was going down whether he liked it or not.  And so we set off to deliver the most eye-popping 4 minutes of video ever seen at a dive show.  Because, you know, the 3 minutes we already had simply weren’t good enough.

It was a team effort and, predictably, we each had our own ways of dealing with the stress of pulling this off by Friday at 4PM (I think we slept a total of 6 hours in 4 days).  Now whereas I simply stayed about 5 minutes away from a complete nervous breakdown at all times and eventually just started crying at regular intervals, Doug was much more entertaining.  As it turns out, when deprived of sleep for extended periods of time, Douglas Heckman begins to hallucinate.  Here’s an exchange that may or may have not taken place at 9AM one morning:

“Dude – you know that sweatshirt I had hanging on the closet door?”

“The dark gray one?”

“That’s it.”

“It’s a great sweatshirt.”

“Yeah, but after you left to go back to the convention center, I thought it was the housekeeping lady.”

“What?”

“I don’t know, dude.  It just started looking like her.  And I couldn’t figure out why she was in our room so I started talking to her in Spanish.  I kept telling her we didn’t need service and to please leave, but she wouldn’t.”

“That’s trippy.  I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

“I don’t.  That’s the really freaky part.”

“Awesome.”

It should be pointed out that the above Paoti Moment didn’t transpire on Friday just a few hours before the screening, at the end of a trying week; this was, like, the second morning in.  We still had miles to go.  But we were both determined to show the world that not only was Costa Rica not an isolated incident, we were sitting on a season’s worth of the most entertaining new travel show you could hope to have beamed to your receiver.   Neither of us were going to leave the Sunshine State without making the biggest, ballsiest impression we could.

It’s in times like these when I am very grateful that Doug and I are so alike and have been friends for so long.  We graduated high school together, from the same little town in central Pennsylvania.  We both went to film school.  We both went on to have considerable success as guitarists in various bands, taking it across the country and – in Doug’s case – even across Europe.  Most importantly, though, Doug and I are both graduates of the U2 School of Artistic Thought:  here, we learned to take our art seriously, never compromise our vision for that art (even if it means occasionally stealing from the thieves), and always create art that has no roof on it.  It should make as much sense in a stadium as it does on a television screen.

To put it simply, I knew we had one shot at making a very grand first impression.  I wasn’t going to go into that room with anything less than something that was going to leap off the screen and bitch-slap everyone watching.  Doug agreed.  So we didn’t sleep.  We scratched and kicked and clawed our way through it, day after day and night after night.  We saw people in the room that weren’t really there and we started sobbing in our paranoia.

No one had any clue that we were putting out fires and re-cutting audio tracks and rendering out the final versions of both projects literally minutes before showtime.  Again, this is where Doug’s ability to problem solve and think rationally in a moment of extreme terror comes in handy.  It’s also when you thank Jesus that you have a techno geek like Mark Santa Maria on your crew that can make any video file play through any A/V system.

In the end, the screening was a success beyond anyone’s expectations.  We had heard through the week that attendance at seminars ranged from respectable to embarrassing, so everyone kept their expectations reasonable.  But when 4:00 rolled around on Friday, not only was it standing-room-only for our premiere, we learned several days later that people had to be turned away at the door due to the fire marshall’s capacity limit for the room.  The buzz was off the charts in the days that followed and it’s still becoming evident long after DEMA 2009 finally convened just how loud Into The Drink resonated with the screening attendees.  Because we worked right up to showtime, the rest of the ITD crew hadn’t seen the trailer either, so the added bonus was watching their faces as they saw it for the first time.

The thing I’m most proud of is that not only was it something put together in the space of 72 hours, after we came up for air and committed it to tape Doug and I looked at what we’d done with pride.  We didn’t have the usual reaction to something banged out on no sleep and loads of caffeine, which is typically somewhere in the my-god-what-have-we-done range.  We were jubilant.  It made us excited to go into post-production on the rest of the episodes.

Earlier this week I was reminded of a presentation I did at Our World Underwater in Chicago in February of 2008.  I was feebly trying to convince the two people that showed up why they should get excited about the pilot we were shooting that fall in the Turks & Caicos.  In November of 2009, I was screening to a capacity room a year’s worth of accomplishments.  Just three months prior, those same two people – Carl & Cheryl Belles – were with us as we canvassed St. Croix.  It gave me some much-needed perspective.

I need to give a special nod to Tom Ingram, Donna Jannine Elliot and everyone at DEMA.  In an industry notorious for fearing change and resisting the new guard, these people are not only embracing new ideas but paving the way for them.  It’s big things like last-minute credentials to little things like Patricia in the media room always greeting us with a smile and a great attitude.  The Hershey’s Miniatures she kept on her desk were many times the only food Doug and I had for breakfast and lunch all week.

To any of you reading this who attended the screening, please know that your physical presence was, after 4 days of no sleep and being shackled to a laptop and hundreds of hours of footage, a source of elation that I’ll never be able to express adequately.  It meant more to me – and to all of us – than you realize.

It wouldn’t be something big and definitely not something special without detractors.  To the haters – some of whom I crossed paths with during the week – I am acutely aware that the time for you to make your feelings known on every message board and blog is coming very soon.  I prepare myself for it a little more every day.

I would also like to publicly thank Doug for being willing to take a risk, tax himself mentally and physically and follow me down a creative path.  I beat the shit out of him while we were in Orlando and he never once complained.  He is a great friend and an unbelievable editor.  That should be enough, but the fact that we have a shared artistic vision makes the process of creating a joy and his involvement crucial.

I still have no idea how the American masses will respond to Into The Drink once it goes to broadcast in January.  It’s something I can’t dwell on too long before the anxiety kicks in.  However, I have come to accept in recent weeks that I have become (or always was) what I used to preach against.  After laughing at all the pretentious douchebags I went to film school with I am, in the end, an artist. For the time being, television is my medium.

I have been given an incredible opportunity through this show to do exactly what I feel a burning desire to do:  connect with the world around me through art.   You have all given me the best job and a great life and I am incredibly grateful for every ounce of support and every word of encouragement.  I know I speak for the entire ITD crew.

Oh yeah, and to Titus, the waiter on the late-night shift at Denny’s who helped me set a personal record of two trips in one day to my favorite diner.  Since I didn’t eat anything most of the week, I figured it was cool to have the best chicken fingers on the planet twice in 24 hours.

All of you – it was as much your premiere as it was ours.

-A

*Insomuch as Doug and I are fervent supporters of the U2 School Of Artistic Thought, it should be noted that such a philosophy ended last year when they started putting out crap albums and doing overblown stadium tours.  We in no way endorse any U2 output after 2006.

The Cayman Islands will – for all time – have a very special place in my diving history.  It was a pivotal experience:  location of my first post-Open Water certification, where I lost my warm-water virginity, the first time I took any kind of underwater images and the first place I got bit by two different species of fish on one dive.  Just magical, I tell you.  And whether it’s a Mudslide, a stingray hickey, 83-degree water or hitchhiking a ride home from a New Year’s Eve party in the middle of January, you never, ever forget your first time.

Before I went there with a college buddy during my sophomore year, the only diving I’d done was in a quarry in Pennsylvania and the love-it-or-hate-it Massachusetts coastline.  So until 1994, all I had at my disposal was what I like to call “stack of dimes” diving.  (Think about the metaphor long enough and you’ll get it.)  My parents recognized the opportunity and even let me cash in savings bonds to go.  I even had to get a new passport for the occasion.  It was a big deal.

I must have read every possible article in every diving magazine about the Cayman Islands in the months leading up to my semester break.  That early in my career as a diver – and given my limited resume at that point – there was no possible way that it could be a disappointment.  And it wasn’t.  It was heaven.  Looking over the boat, you could see the bottom a hundred feet below.  The water was blue.  I only needed a shorty.  There were fish everywhere, the kind of fish I used to have to pay money to see in tanks at the National Aquarium in Baltimore or on television.  Whether it was through 8 inches of plexiglass or brought to me by Mutual Of Omaha, it always seemed so far away.  Now, they were right in front of me.  There was no barrier.  I was in the aquarium.

Twelve years later – almost to the day – I was back on Grand Cayman as part of an article/documentary for the highbrow ocean porno mag known as Fathoms (may it rest in peace).  To be selected for such an assignment meant that you had to be capable of delivering the calibre of content worthy of its glossy pages and you had to know the right people.  By 2007, I don’t mind saying that I had both covered.  I had crisscrossed the globe several times and logged a thousand more dives since my last immigration stamp there and gone pro years before. I’d seen what pristine looked like, been places that I didn’t even know existed and now had a much broader spectrum of colors from which I could form an opinion of wherever I was.  It’s enough to make a dude jaded.  And snobby.  After almost two decades of diving this beautiful blue planet, I’m not even close to jaded but I do wear the Asshole Shirt pretty well.  Just ask the ITD crew.

In large part, after my second trip to the crown colony with the Queen on their money, I left the island convinced that Cayman – or at least Grand – had lost most of its identity.  The Georgetown of 1994 was long gone and in 2007, it was so built up and bulging with high-rent condos and non-endemic businesses that I referred to it condescendingly as “Little South Beach.”  If I wanted to go to Miami, I reasoned, I’d go to Miami.  I wanted Grand Cayman of my college years back.  My punk rock roots kicked in and I wanted the dickwads in white polo shirts and Rolexes to go back to Lauderdale.  Leave your cougars, though.  I’ll keep them happy in your absence.

(I just realized as I was about to start typing the next paragraph that I spend an awful lot of time in this particular section of the website in a perpetual state of admitting I’m wrong.  Here we go again.)

The truth is I left Grand Cayman feeling as though in some way I’d never been there before.  I suppose that’s got a lot to do with never having sunk my teeth into the island, going out and truly exploring.  I’d forgotten how big it was, too.  There were whole sections I’d never been to, and all that does is remind you that your opinion is only as informed as the amount of time you’ve spent educating yourself.

The East End has a completely different feel altogether – everything moves slower, there’s way less real estate and consequential traffic, and I even noticed there was a whole different type of tourist out there from completely different areas of the world.  It’s not that Grand Cayman doesn’t have places that speak amplified to its island charm; it’s just that you have to look for it now.

And that’s not to say I didn’t find a ton of new things to love about Cayman while I was downtown.  Like anywhere else I’ve gone, it’s the things that I wasn’t expecting that I know will yield the most rewarding to watch on TV.  These things also tend to reveal themselves within hours of my arrival, or at the point I dismiss something as not interesting enough to spend a lot of time shooting.  So let’s count the ways I was wrong:

1)     I knew about 7 Fathoms Rum insomuch as I knew it was made in Cayman and they aged it in oak barrels at 42‘ off the reef wall.  What I didn’t know was how good it was, how strong it was, or how awesome the guys who started the company would be.  Co-owner Nelson was cool enough to not only come down and do a tasting for all of our guests, he sent everyone home with their own bottle.    The 7 Fathoms aging location is a highly-guarded secret for obvious reasons, and in an ironic twist we used the product as our tool to convince the guys they needed to take us out to where it was for the sake of good television.  A few drinks in and we were all set.  I’m not going to give too much away about this part of the process, but I can tell you these guys have their shit together and they guard that stuff with a very sophisticated system of surveillance and planning.  Don’t bother going down and trying to find it; because even if you do, there’s no way you’ll get back to your boat.  That’s not a challenge – that’s a fact.
2)    Keith Sahm from Sunset house has been a great friend and very early supporter of what we’re doing and from the very beginning was insistent that I play dominoes with the boys at My Bar.  They take it pretty seriously so I wasn’t sure how any of these guys would react to the snotty white kid jumping in on their fun, but Keith gave them a heads’ up and it was an open invitation.  Again, since Cayman’s proving to be one of the best all-around episodes of the first season I don’t want to give too much away but just try to imagine me – a guy who knew absolutely nothing about Caribbean dominoes – slamming my pieces and shit-talking to some of the most powerful men in the Cayman Islands – all this as the new guy.  It’s gonna be worth watching just for the sunset in the background, but if the crew got half the stuff on tape that I said or did it’s going to be amazing.
3)    Turtle Farm – even with my prior visits, I had never gone.  On this trip, I treated it only as a place to get some establishing shots and move on.  That was until we got there.  I’ve seen zoos in major American cities that weren’t as cool as this place.  At some point it occurred to me that a turtle farm is just that – a farm.  About 75% of the turtles that are raised there end up being sold to restaurants, where the meat is served up in a dozen different ways and the shells are hocked in gift shops.  Quite frankly I thought it was the best example of wildlife management I’ve seen yet in the Caribbean.  Flooding the market with farmed turtles has all but put the poachers out of business, and that means healthier numbers on the reefs.  And those turtles released in the wild aren’t just set free locally – Cayman’s leading the pack in replenishing stocks in a bunch of other regions of the Caribbean.
4)    Guy Harvey – although he is a world-renowned painter and known not only to scuba divers but millions of sportfishermen, there’s a certain other person that tends to get all the credit for their apparent talent.  Whereas that person’s almost too arrogant and overrated to breathe, Guy is humble yet confident of his work, has an astonishing attention to detail on the canvas, moves in and out of mediums with ease, continues to find inspiration and understands the intersection of art and commerce in a way that I completely admire and, actually, shoot for.  Guy’s charitable foundations are funding some of the most important marine research in the Caribbean and we were lucky enough to get him to give a lecture on the results of those studies, particularly with stingrays.  That he gave us another 2 hours of his time later in the week at his gallery was one of the highlights of my career.  Last week he was inducted into the Sportfishing Hall Of Fame.  I suspect it was long overdue.
5)    First night in the bar and someone on the crew discovers that one of the instructors at Sunset House – Jackie – is a member of the Cayman National Women’s Rugby Team.    And just like that, Aaron’s been drafted to play rugby with the girls.  A series of unfortunate rainstorms kept the pitch flooded for most of the week, so the original plan to shoot me practicing with the girls had to be scrapped and instead, they brought me down to play the last two minutes of one of their matches at the end of the weekend.  Aaron was not expecting several things:  a huge audience of people in the stands (most of them burly, macho ex-pats), the need to wear something supportive underneath my uniform, or, most importantly, how hard a woman half your size can hit you when you’ve got the ball.  I’m not going any further – you just have to see it.  Trust me.  Good TV.  (Better be.  I was dizzy and nauseous the rest of that day.)

I’m only scratching the surface – there was some amazing diving (I rediscovered Cayman’s reefs in a whole new way), Tortuga Rum Cakes, $5 Pizza Night at the Palms, a really awesome DJ at the Marriott on Saturday and probably the best night out I’ve had during this whole season at the Aqua Beach club.  The older I’ve gotten, the more I’ve noticed that unless I’m specifically going out into the blue and searching for something truly wild, I kinda like a little civilization down the street.  What seemed overdeveloped to me 2 years ago now seems like just the natural forward movement of time, and quite frankly I take comfort in the fact that after I’ve dove on some of the most awe-inspiring underwater architecture ever, I can run down the road to get a Chicken Bacon Ranch at Subway.  I don’t know – maybe it’s me.  Everyone likes something different in their travels.

I’d like to thank everyone who took us in and showed us amazing hospitality, first and foremost the awesome people at Sunset House.  Adrian was not only a great domino teacher/partner he was also a truly generous host and we’re all immensely grateful for that.  Keith Sahm, friend and supporter, and ultimately the reason that such an incredible episode could even happen here in the first place for us.  The dive staff of Sunset House – Andy, Rob, Mike, Jackie, all of them some of the best scuba professionals in the business.  They rolled with a lot of punches and changes in our schedule and never complained, only made it easier for us whenever possible.  Solid folks and exactly the kind of people I want to hang out with at the bar when the day is done.  I need to also point out that My Bar wins the award for Best-Looking Staff of Season One.  Thanks in particular to my favorite seamstress/ex-comedian/Canadian bartender.   And your blonde Kiwi co-worker.

Everyone at the Turtle Farm for treating a media crew with such respect.  Benny, awesome guide and great on camera.  I hope to be able to bring my son back next year.

Monique and everyone at the Tortuga Rum Cake factory.  You make a great product, you adhere to a great tradition.  Keep your secrets.  It’s better that way.

7 Fathoms Rum went out of their way to give us what we needed to hit a homerun and their generosity was definitely appreciated by both us and our guests.  I’ve never seen a more seamless meshing of the underwater world and a local spirit.

Cobalt Coast – the only people who know where the barrels are, and their patience with us as we tried to get “the shot” – whenever we needed it – left a very strong impression on me.

There’s a ton of other people I need to give props to but the only other group I can think of right now is the gang that knocked me down repeatedly and handed me my own ass.  So to all the fine ladies of Cayman Rugby – thanks for leading with your shoulder, rearranging my insides, and just letting me be one of the girls.  It was awesome.  You rock.  Never has being covered in mud, picking grass out of my teeth and feeling dizzy for hours felt so good.

I’m currently in the air (again) and about an hour outside Orlando, Florida.  We are premiering Into The Drink a couple months ahead of schedule at a very large, very important scuba industry trade show.  It’s basically the holy week for the dive business.  There’s always a feeling of “will they get it?” in a profession that is notorious for being stuck in its ways and not embracing change, but I will tell you with my hand on my heart that after the shoot in Grand Cayman, I really don’t care.  It was as if everything came together for me down there, and I still can’t believe how – after a week of straight rain – we still pulled off one of the best episodes of the first season.  It’s a testament to the Cayman Islands – a place I cannot wait to get back to.

I’m about to go up against the dinosaurs.  Prepared to enrage some and enthrall the rest.  And that’s why I think I have the greatest job ever.

So thanks, Cayman.  Thanks for teaching me to look a little deeper, venture out a little further and most importantly, lead with my shoulder.

Got it.

-A

I’m about 30,000 feet above Cuba right now.  It seems like the perfect place to puke out some prose and honor a commitment I made to those of you who read this.

I promised to post my thoughts about my run to the west coast and I thought that was going to force me to finish it and get it posted.  The problem was, every time I sat down to write about it, I couldn’t unpack it succinctly.  Or at least to a point that was suitable for the time and space appropriate in a forum like this.  The good news is that if you do actually give a shit about my more unabridged thoughts, I have a feeling – sooner rather than much later – you’ll get the chance to read them to your heart’s content.  But that’s a topic for another day.

The truth of the matter is that the time I spent in California and the subsequent run out to San Benito and Guadalupe Island impacted me so deeply that they are both still sinking in.  The lessons I learned and the experiences I was blessed with have implications that stretch way past when I left the boat.  I’m still digesting everything – even after having been home for a month and just completed another trip.

Okay – short version:

California – everyone on the crew thought it would make good TV to stick me on a boat with a bunch of spearfishermen.  As we all know, Aaron does not eat fish.  Doesn’t actually eat anything from the water.  My experience with spearfishing enthusiasts from, shall we say, other states in our great country has been less than great.  Based on how they celebrate spearing a barely-legal hogfish like they just clubbed a saber-tooth tiger at the entrance to their cave kinda leaves a dude with the impression that all they care about is killing to kill with no regard to species management.  I’d say it’s a penis-envy thing but I’ve known a few Neanderthal spearfishing idiots that were women, too.

So yeah…in an effort to do some spearfishing of their own and also watch me squirm on the high seas, we went out over the Labor Day weekend with George and the crew of the Sand Dollar in San Pedro, CA.    And again – in the spirit of brevity – here’s what I learned:

1)    George is one of the funniest dudes I’ve ever met in my life and has some of the greatest captain stories floating the high seas.  Seriously – it’s worth it to go out on a charter with him just for the laughter.
2)    Sand Dollar is a really awesome boat.  Not only because of the vessel itself (super comfy forward bunks) but also the clientele it attracts.  While we were diving Farnsworth Bank, we crossed paths with another major charter operator…from what I can gather, in California, bigger and more boats in your fleet means bigger idiots and more douchebags.  Sense of humor seems to be inversely proportional, as well.
3)    The Channel Islands – infinitely better than my memory of diving here years ago, and even then I was impressed.  It’s like nothing else – swimming through a forest.  California’s sitting on not only some of the best diving in the United States, they’re the owners of some of the most awe-inspiring underwater habitat anywhere in the world.
4)    By and large, the community of spearfishermen in the Golden State are some of the finest human beings I have ever met.  On a boat that jam-packed with testosterone, there was only one dick among them and even he was pretty tolerable.  They have a deep and burning passion for their environment, and they practice a kind of wildlife management that I think might need to become the standard for human beings around the world:  you don’t get to grill it until you kill it.  Moreover, if you do kill it, you better eat it.  And not waste a single part of the animal.  They have a finite understanding of both fish biology and a greater sense of how the entire ecosystem they hunt in functions, and it was humbling to say the least.  I learned about “release and catch,” because I watched these men let fish after fish pass by their crosshairs. Because they know the outcome is terminal for the animal, they understand acutely the consequences of pulling the trigger.  Getting to know them as people, watching their tireless work ethic and relentless patience in the water, I couldn’t help but shift my opinion of them and their sport.   The freakiest thing was that the few times we intersected amongst the kelp I never, ever got the sense that they didn’t belong there.  They seemed far more natural and part of the fabric of the reef than any scuba diver.  Even though I’ll never personally take a spear into the water, by the middle of the trip I’ll freely and proudly admit I was rooting for them.
5)    If you meet me in person at some point and you enjoy potty humor, ask me to tell you the story about how my phobia of public restrooms made the 5 days at sea and subsequent trip to Orange County really interesting.
6)    I became a wine drinker.  South Coast Winery in Temecula.  Redefining what “wine country” is in California.  I appreciate anyone who’s blazing their own trail and succeeding ecstatically, no matter what their business.  Apparently I also like a nice glass of GVR or Syrac.
7)    I did yoga.  It was incredible.

As far as Guadalupe is concerened, to be honest I’m still processing the experience.  It has continued to ring like a chord in my mind that I had never heard before and will probably never hear again.

Before we even got to Guadalupe, there was a stopoff at San Benito Island that was just as rewarding.  Swimming with fur seals that weren’t used to divers, being allowed to swim right up to them, stare into their eyes and watch as two mammals take the most primal of steps to build a bond with one another…it was so amazing.  By the time we wrapped shooting and began to snorkel back to the boat, they had obviously made the decision to allow the pups to play with us.  Under the watchful eye of a female chaperone, they danced around us like children at playground.  That I had gained the level of trust I did through the adults of the colony is one of the proudest moments of my life.  I held onto the look in their eyes.  I still do.

For the rest of my days on earth, I will never be able to fully articulate what it’s like to be inches away from a great white shark, with no steel bars between you and the animal. It is an encounter so overwhelming that you have to be there to truly understand.

What I can tell you is that it was a deeply spiritual thing. When the first shark appeared out of the gloom and into my view, I was hit with a feeling I wasn’t prepared for. But looking back, I realized I could never, ever have prepared. I had – and have – no reference point emotionally. I’ve played in bands to audiences of 30,000, I’ve witnessed the birth of my son, moments that stay with you for lifetimes afterwards but this…this touched a place I didn’t know existed.  When I got back to the boat I was literally stunned into silence; I literally could not be around other people for hours. I just sat by myself. It was a frustrated euphoria; as I looked out at the ocean, I couldn’t even think words.  I was silent mentally, emotionally, and literally.   All I could do was weep uncontrollably, and did for about 20 minutes. I’m still not quite sure why I did, but I do know that it came from a pure and wonderful place.

Based on the time spent with marine biologists who have been studying Guadalupe’s white shark population for years, the experiences of the crew of the Nautilus Explorer and what I was able to witness with my own eyes, it is clear to me that these are animals that are far more intelligent and developed than previously thought. They have a highly complex and intricate social structure that is based as much on gender as it is sheer size. It was clear that as they circled the cages endlessly that they take in everything around them, studying the bubblemakers in the water as much as we were studying them. The transmission of data was never a one-way street. Many times the line between subject and student was blurred and I felt like I was the animal in the cage, not the sharks. I was, actually.  Or at least standing on top of it.  These are sentient beings with problem-solving skills and a pecking order amongst themselves.  I felt like I had been let into a social circle, a fully-functioning city ruled by the greatest marine predator on earth.

To put it simply, the honor was mine. Not theirs.

Like any of the other expeditions we’ve gone on this year, the Guadalupe trip on the Nautilus Explorer isn’t out of anyone’s reach.  There were a pair on 8 and 11-year old brother on board with their grandmother.  It’s not unthinkable.  But I do know that even though it’s an open invitation, I stand as one of the few people on this planet that will ever see these animals – whether at San Benito or Guadalupe or otherwise – face to face, in the flesh.  I consider it a privilege beyond all measure, and it’s my pleasure to share it with you via an episode of television.

Next to the soul-shaking tent revival of September, Cayman should have been nothing more than an afterthought.  It wasn’t.  After multiple visits to the islands, Grand Cayman still had secrets and adventures I didn’t think possible.  So when I get a chance – in the next couple of days, I promise – I’ll fill you in.

I hope you are all well.  Take care of yourselves.  And take care of each other.

-A

By now everyone knows we’ve come and gone to both California’s Channel Islands and also Guadalupe, Mexico. The reasons for the blog-slacking are both practical and artistic:

1) I haven’t had time to write.
2) The experiences are still sinking in and required forethought before I just started spewing words on screen.

Later on this evening I’ll be posting about California. It’s gonna be long. Like, Steinbeck long. So I just wanted to give everyone time to prepare. Might wanna hit the grocery store or something.