I
t’s night, and I’m 65 feet beneath the surface,
hanging tight to a taunt line attached to a skiff
that’s being sucked toward open sea by a stiff cur-
rent flowing out of Ambon’s harbor. I’m exactly
where I want to be: on the hunt for oceanic voyag-
ers that rise from the depths to feed after sunset — most
are seldom-seen bits of gossamer that look like nothing
else on Earth. And I’m having the time of my life.
My guide, Semuel, grips the rope to my right. He
and his light are home base in a game of open-ocean
night tag. The game is going well. In the 20 minutes
we’ve been down, I’ve already encountered at least a
dozen eye-popping animals. Although small, delicate
and ornate, these otherworldly creatures are far from
passive drifters — most can swim like the dickens. My
mission is to chase them down and photograph them.
It’s easy to get caught up in the effort, but no matter
how spectacular the animal, at some point — for
safety and sanity’s sake — I have to break away and
reestablish contact with Semuel.
Survivors
T e x t a n d P h o t o s b y N e d a n d A n n a D e L o a c h
ENCOUNTERS
30
|
SPRING 2014
