Picture this. Your body is floating, submerging, sinking. Immersed in a boundless, crystal-clear body of water, you breathe slowly, carefully, surely. And as you sink, colors begin to whirl around you, taking the shape of an angelfish, a green sea turtle, a white tip reef shark, or perhaps a mass of pristine coral. You find yourself in a surreal, magical world, one that is alien and unfamiliar to the chaos of our world on land. A magnificent garden, full of life, yet calm and composed…
Ah, life in Tubbataha Reef.
Located in the Sulu Sea, 181 kilometers from Puerto Princesa City in Palawan, Tubbataha Reef is a marine sanctuary home to over 300 species of coral and 1,000 species of animals, many of which are endangered. It has also become one of the country’s most popular dive spots, and is considered by many to be the best place to dive in the world.
I recently found myself lucky enough to spend a week scuba diving at the Tubbataha Reef with a great group of people on an expedition headed by scuba guru Geggy Choi. On board the beautiful Oceana Maria, our itinerary set us out to dive four times a day, with one optional night dive. This being my first dive trip outside of the Anilao reefs in Batangas, I found myself feeling a bit nervous — particularly about the tiger sharks and hammerheads that were rumored to have inhabited certain parts of the reef.
My first few dives in Tubbataha were everything I expected, and much, much more. The experience at once reminded me of my childhood love for dinosaurs, specifically, of a dinosaur-related computer game that I had both loved and feared as a kid.
When I was about seven years old, I had a fierce obsession with dinosaurs. I loved them: their otherworldly appearances, the way they assertively ruled the earth, and particularly, the occasional disagreements T-Rex would have with its prey. In response to this fascination, my father bought me a computer game aptly called Dinosaur Safari.
In the game, one assumed the role of a photographer whisked back in time, back to the Triassic, Jurassic and Cretaceous periods of the Mesozoic era. The goal of the photographer was to explore each period, capturing pictures of crucial dinosaurs along the way. I remember feeling thrilled, and sometimes even nervous, whenever a new dinosaur revealed itself.
While dinosaurs were nowhere to be found at Tubbataha, the experience was strikingly reminiscent of that provided by Dinosaur Safari. Armed with an underwater camera, I eagerly snapped shots of hawksbill turtles and gray reef sharks as they swam by me. On our second day at the reef, we were fortunate enough to encounter a 14-foot-wide manta ray, which we subsequently followed for about 10 minutes before watching it disappear into the dark blue depths of the ocean. On one occasion, our dive group patiently watched a grayish-black moray eel slowly stick its head out of a coral, seemingly teasing us, before quickly retreating back in its hole.
The names of the dive sites don’t lie: “Shark Airport” was a resting zone for tired sharks that desired cleaning (provided by small cleaner fish); “Wall Street” was a massive wall of coral; and “Malayan Wreck” was, well, a shipwreck that attracted all kinds of underwater species.
Aside from the plethora of unique underwater creatures, Tubbataha’s reefs were also absolutely captivating. Walls of pristine coral paved the way for us as we glided through the water. Below us were a diverse range of colors; red, blue and green coral, fishes of all shades and sizes, and small entities which you were never quite sure about whether they were alive or not. At every turn, there always seemed to be something new to marvel at.
Our stay at Tubbataha was made perfect on the last night. We docked the Oceana Maria at an islet, and for dinner, we roasted beef kebabs and ate chicken teriyaki on white sand, with our favorite beach anthems playing in the background. And every star in the sky came out for the party.
Tubbataha is really something else: an alternate world, an escape from the trials of life, a cathartic and meditative experience, and a solemn reminder of what the world once was, long before man and machine took over.
In this seemingly perfect landscape, the deadliest creature, you discover, is yourself. Everything else is merely a fantasy.