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forgotten to look for the pygmy seahorse, the reason we

are diving the cove under such testy conditions. Our

exit isn’t graceful. Before we even catch our breath and

sort through the strewn gear, Kotaro is on his phone

scheduling a boat for the afternoon.

Although choppy, the seas in the lee of the island

are manageable aboard the traditional Japanese

fishing vessel Kotaro arranged. The captain drops us

on an underwater arch loaded with fish — including

dragon morays, we’ve been told. I’ve always wanted to

see one. Who wouldn’t? They’re one of the flashiest

eels in the sea; each wears a personalized coat of

cartoon colors.

Dragon morays prefer chilly water, and I don’t. That’s

why I have yet to see one. My gauge reads 68°F, but I’m

not complaining. I’m handling the temperature fine in

a 5mm wetsuit and vest. And besides, who has time

to be cold? In the distance I see a male fairy wrasse

showing off for his harem, and I’m after him. I slow

down a short distance away to consider my options. In

a minute I’m onto the Romeo’s routine, and I position

myself near a group of his egg-laden females. Sure

enough, he sails close in a blaze of color, circles twice

and streaks away. My eye is still following him off

in the distance when Anna comes flying up, waving

wildly. I follow her yellow frog-kicking fins to my first

dragon moray. It’s a beauty.

During the night the typhoon takes a promising turn

to the west. The wind is still gusty, but the sky breaks

blue, giving us the confidence to sneak back around

the island to look for the seahorse. This time we’re

diving from the boat. I choose a secluded section of

the wall and begin what I intend to be a disciplined

search. I would not make a good soldier: Within

minutes an unfamiliar brown speck of fish peeking

out from a crack catches my attention. Squinting, I

lean closer and spook the fish back into the shadows.

It takes some time to get a clear view of a green-eyed

goby accessorized with oversized fins. By the time I

remember my mission I’m 50 minutes into the dive. I

cast a guilty glance over my shoulder. Not far away the

others remain on task, methodically scouring the wall

for the fabled seahorse.

During the night the storm spirals back in our

direction, prompting an early morning powwow.

Weighing options, we decide to cut our Hachijo-jima

stay short and set off for the airport to reschedule

flights. With clerical matters settled, we make a late-

morning dive in the harbor and then venture offshore

in the afternoon for a final dive on a deepwater slope

that connects to a shallow-topped seamount.

We make our drop beneath a blanket of black clouds.

Eighty feet below it is as dark as night. Instinctively,

everyone moves up the incline in search of light until

we find ourselves hunkered down inside a gully on a

30-foot-deep tabletop. “A disappointing last dive on

Hachijo-jima,” I’m thinking at the very instant I see

Kotaro lurch back from the wall with both arms flung to

the side. Suddenly there is no typhoon brewing, no early

departure, no swells and no dreary sky. In their place is

a finely cut, wafer-thin seahorse no bigger than a button

bathed in the beam of Kotaro’s hand light.

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