By Jim Scheiner

With their fringing reefs and deep-water channels, seen from the air, the islands of the BVI bring to mind a single living creature. The dark green of the islands, plunging into the depths from the shoreline, is the strong rigid skeleton giving it all shape and form: a foundation to hold on to. The shimmering surface of the sea is a translucent membrane, partially obscuring, but also protecting, the fragile web of life below. It is all interconnected, part of an intricate ecosystem that sustains and nourishes a natural order that we are only beginning to fully understand, appreciate and, hopefully, protect.

In spite of their beauty and reputation as ship-sinkers, coral reefs are especially vulnerable. Coral bleaching due to increased seawater temperatures has devastated coral reefs in some parts of the world. Acidification of the ocean, caused by increased atmospheric CO2 levels, will, in time, hinder corals and other marine creatures in their ability to build their limestone shells and skeletons. These are complicated processes –– fascinating in their detail and enlightening in the way they hint at the intricate and delicate balance between the living and nonliving components of our planet.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of these problems. And it is important to be proactive in the search for their solutions — but sometimes the best thing to do is to celebrate the beauty of what we’re trying to protect. And so I go diving.

Nothing elevates my spirit and makes me feel more optimistic about the future than to immerse myself in the underwater world. Whether I go out on a day boat from a local dive shop, hitch a ride with some like-minded friends or dive from a sailboat, it’s all the same — I come back revitalized and enthused.

Though I’ve been there a thousand times before, I love to explore the wreck of the RMS Rhone off Salt Island. Sunk almost 150 years ago, this 310-feet-long iron-hulled steam sailor is a testimony to the restorative powers of the sea. Instead of a barren heap of scrap metal, the ship is a celebration of life. Both it and the more recently sunk Chikuzen (246 feet long) are covered with encrusting marine life. The upright arches of the Rhone are festooned with bright orange cup coral, lacy octocorals and technicolour sponges. The entire hull of the Chikuzen is now covered with hard and soft corals. It is amazing to see the extent and size of the brain corals now colonizing the wreck. It’s taken a while — 30 years since she sank — but there is still growth and fertility in the sea

Recently I was diving at Blonde Rock, a submerged seamount pinnacle situated between Peter and Salt Islands. My dive buddies excitedly called me over. There, out in the open, were two large Caribbean spiny lobsters. The larger of the two, presumably the male, was protective of his mate and kept one long antenna on her back whilst flicking the other in our direction as if to warn us off. Withdrawing to make them feel less threatened, we watched as they silently made their way along the reef top. Blonde Rock is part of the BVI National Parks Trust, and it was encouraging to see that the system was working so well that these lobsters felt secure enough to be out and about in our presence, instead of retreating into a coral crevice.

Every year the miracle of rebirth occurs in the Caribbean. Timed to the full moon in August, the hard and soft corals that make up our threatened reefs participate in a synchronized coral spawning. Somehow these simple creatures know when it’s time, and they simultaneously release thousands of tiny pink bundles of eggs and sperm, which float towards the surface and look like tiny planets adrift in outer space. You can take corals out of the ocean and put them in an aquarium 1,000 miles away, and they will still spawn on schedule.

To experience this firsthand — to enter the water seven days after the full moon and stare expectantly at a patch of coral in the dark of night when suddenly, without warning, corals all around you are “going off” — is to partake in a mystery as old as time. It only heightens the fact of how little we know about life on this planet… and under the sea.

HI-TECH EXPLORER

For those who like modern gadgets, Sir Richard Branson's Necker Island retreat for the well-to-do has introduced a unique new way to explore the underwater realm: a James Bond-like submarine. Not much larger than a sports car, the Necker Nymph carries two passengers and a pilot behind low windscreens and zooms around the reef tops at speeds up to six knots. I had the unique pleasure of trying to keep up with it whilst doing some of the first introductory photography and video of the sub in action. It's way cool and very 21st century.

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