Djibouti
Size matters....

by Alison Wilcock & David Fenn

.......well it does to me - at 5'2" and with over 600 logged dives, I am becoming increasingly obsessed with fish that are bigger than me - I have yet to see one, having chosen to disqualify a borderline nurse shark because it was sleeping at the time. I had been pondering over whalesharks with my buddy Doreen for quite some time when we decided to speak to our friend Graham at DiveTours. (www.divetours.co.uk)

"Can't promise you anything but salty water" he said "there has been disappointment in Thailand this year and they weren't nearly as prolific in the Sea of Cortez .......ever heard of Djibouti? I've got a really good feeling about the place but I can't tell you much because it's still in my Destination Development file". Graham's gut feelings had landed us in a 'secret diver's heaven' on the island of Carriacou earlier that year so we were more than happy to go along with them. "...... I can put you in touch with a man who can answer all your questions" he added, "straight from the horses mouth". And so began my relationship with Bruno Pardigon from Dolphin Excursions in Djibouti who fended off a hundred and one dozy questions with good humour and sound advice. I asked them all, believe me.

Doreen and I decided that a weeks liveaboard diving and searching for whalesharks in the Devil's Cauldron at the very beginning of the Great African Rift Valley sounded like a good idea. Most of our stay-at-home friends disagreed "Are you mad?" they mused, "we are on the non-returnable brink of war with Iraq and Al-Qaeeda pirates populate the waters off the Yemen" to which we replied "Codswallop"

Every BSAC Club should have a Doreen - her enthusiasm is infectious and soon we were 8. With over a century and a half of diving years between us, we were all passionate for a whaleshark to become the jewel in our diving crowns - David threw in a manta because he needed a pair.

We met up at Luton on a cold afternoon in late November and took an Easyjet flight to Paris to connect with our 8 hour Daallo Airlines flight to Djibouti (you can now fly direct and cheaper from Gatwick). In a Paris Airport hotel we killed time whilst gorging ourselves from the exquisite salad bar in preparation for the drought to come. We contemplated the propeller configuration and airworthiness of this unknown airline.

Having sniffed out the dive bags and joined forces with our French and Belgian shipmates, we were pleasantly surprised to be ushered onto a brand new airbus, chartered from and crewed by MY Travel. Even better, the flight was half empty and we each had a row of seats on which to gain a night's sleep - we had the same luxury on our return flight.

Military presence was visible but not heavy at Djibouti airport. It's not easy to hand over your passport but Bruno had prepared us for this and had also assured us that they would be in his possession upon our return, resplendent with visas - this indeed was the case. A ten minute transfer had us standing on the dockside beside Savruga and her sister ship Deli. Turkish gulets both, what they lack in terms of luxury they more than make up for with charm. Not an easy boat to dive from - lots of tank lugging, but hey, you've been warned!

Having been introduced to the crew, we set sail for Musha and Maskali Island, the plan being to dive our way towards the Gulf of Tadjourah on our way into the Devil's Cauldron. Our manic dive guide Juliet explained her condition when she revealed how excited she had been at the prospect of Brits on the boat - she had been genuinely looking forward to our trip for several weeks.

"Typical Red Sea diving" I was told and having no personal experience by which to judge this statement, it was accepted. It was gentle easy diving which had need of little supervision and was rarely to depths greater than 18m - the water temperature was 28°C. There were lots of colourful reef fish and superb corals with a generous helping of dolphins, turtles, white tipped reef sharks, big grouper, Napoleon wrasse, with a blue spotted ray under every other ledge - the list could go on. It was a photographers paradise, we dived what could quite easily have been virgin sites and didn't see another living soul bar the French Army helicopters which circled us with big friendly waves occasionally.

Three days later, we set sail at the crack of dawn with the intention to dive at the mouth of the Cauldron before breakfast. En route we received a tip off from Deli that whalesharks had been spotted off Arta. We boarded the tender in preparation to dive and Savruga went on ahead to anchor and put the kettle on. On reaching the site we decided that the current was beginning to look challenging so we would catch up with Savruga for breakfast and look out for whalesharks en route. Within ten minutes of our journey and within 10m of the rugged, barren, mountainous, unpopulated coastline, we saw our first fin. Having ditched our dive gear, we slid as gently as our excitement would allow, into the water - and so I met my first whaleshark - face to face. I swallowed hard in an effort to force my heart back down my throat and into my rib cage where it belongs. Time stood still as I floated motionlessly and this gentle giant kindly manoeuvred round me. By the time I looked up, the rest of the group were well dispersed - I recognised the snorkle tip that was David and made my way towards it not daring to think of what might lurk below. As I approached him, I dared to look down again and I'm sure my nails pierced his wet suit as I pointed towards the huge mouth that approached us from below. As it came closer into focus, it became a manta which, with obvious curiosity, glided past our fin tips.

This was the pattern of things to come - we ate, we slept on deck under the stars, we floated around for hours and lost count of whalesharks. We dived when we had the energy to spare and we fished for our suppers. We each had our own unique whaleshark experience - there were more than enough to go round. I could not help thinking to myself that they were not quite as big as I had anticipated - that was until I saw one with its mum and came to realize that I was in the middle of whaleshark kindergarten. The ultimate photo opportunity had to be the one with a dolphin at one side and a white tip on the other. The aft deck became a living photography workshop as digital images were critiqued and deleted and the days were relived long into the night in unparalleled clarity on the screen of a digital movie camera.

Our time eventually ran out and our non-diving day was spent in a haze, on a journey across land to Lac Assal, Djibouti's version of the Dead Sea. We looked down upon the elusive Devil's Cauldron and had lunch on its shores in front of Devil's Island. The landscape was barren and the settlements little more than shantytowns - not unlike those I have seen in 3rd World countries I have travelled through. But the unmistakable stench of poverty did not hang in the air and I did not see a child without a pair of shoes. The faces I saw were clean and proud, as was the clothing - little girls in pretty dresses had hats to match and the old car seats which swung from purpose built frames were at the centre of each community. It saddened me to think that most of these people were totally unaware of the treasures of their ocean and few would ever have first hand experience. Djibouti sits at the crossroads of Europe, Africa and Asia and its culture is a unique and fascinating blend of all these influences.