He doesn’t upend his torso like a dabbling wood
duck, hyperventilate wildly by sucking the life out of the sky, or clumsily beg
purchase from the ocean’s liquid skin to gain momentum like so many fluorescent
pink-finned snorkeling tourists. Rather
curiously, he appears to take a breath, under his breath. Inaudibly, ballet-like, as though he were aflying cat; he slips his padded paws beneath the waves, pulling deeper with his
arms and upper body strength alone, until he finally concedes his legs and fins
to contribute to the task with one caveat, they are never to break the surface,
the sound barrier. He seems to float
suspended by the blue for a moment, drifting slowly downward; contemplating,
calculating, and anticipating his quarries next move. Without warning he is equalized and soaring,
one arm outstretched like superman, a blue camaflouge wetsuit replacing the
familiar red cape; fins efficiently, almost mechanically, slicing through the
last seconds of his prey’s peace. A silent
stealth bomber speeding unmercifully towards its target. Briefly disappearing in the depths, he
suddenly emerges out of the darkness with light—the white underbelly and
flippers of a turtle which flap with urgency.
The beast panics, squirms, and attempts (unsuccessfully) to rid itself
of this unwelcome hitchhiker, not unlike a giant remora attached to its
back. As the free-diver gently guides
the trophy up, they spin together, a slow waltz ensues through the light-beams
refracted from the intense tropical sun above.
Gracefully they dance, helping each other swim closer to the surface and
their next life-giving breath.
Jessy Hapdei was originally taught his art form
by village elders in Ulithi, Yap, Micronesia.
I have been honored and humbled to witness his craft as I often swim
behind him near drowning as my snorkel drops from my mouth in sheer awe. As a sea turtle biologist, I’d rather not
think about why or how he used his talents in the past. I am only thankful that he is working for our
team now; assisting in sea turtle conservation and research on the island of
Saipan, in the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands. Our in-water tagging program would not be
possible without his specialized hand-capture skills, as the use of nets or
rodeo are not feasible in this part of the Western Pacific.
duck, hyperventilate wildly by sucking the life out of the sky, or clumsily beg
purchase from the ocean’s liquid skin to gain momentum like so many fluorescent
pink-finned snorkeling tourists. Rather
curiously, he appears to take a breath, under his breath. Inaudibly, ballet-like, as though he were aflying cat; he slips his padded paws beneath the waves, pulling deeper with his
arms and upper body strength alone, until he finally concedes his legs and fins
to contribute to the task with one caveat, they are never to break the surface,
the sound barrier. He seems to float
suspended by the blue for a moment, drifting slowly downward; contemplating,
calculating, and anticipating his quarries next move. Without warning he is equalized and soaring,
one arm outstretched like superman, a blue camaflouge wetsuit replacing the
familiar red cape; fins efficiently, almost mechanically, slicing through the
last seconds of his prey’s peace. A silent
stealth bomber speeding unmercifully towards its target. Briefly disappearing in the depths, he
suddenly emerges out of the darkness with light—the white underbelly and
flippers of a turtle which flap with urgency.
The beast panics, squirms, and attempts (unsuccessfully) to rid itself
of this unwelcome hitchhiker, not unlike a giant remora attached to its
back. As the free-diver gently guides
the trophy up, they spin together, a slow waltz ensues through the light-beams
refracted from the intense tropical sun above.
Gracefully they dance, helping each other swim closer to the surface and
their next life-giving breath.
Jessy Hapdei was originally taught his art form
by village elders in Ulithi, Yap, Micronesia.
I have been honored and humbled to witness his craft as I often swim
behind him near drowning as my snorkel drops from my mouth in sheer awe. As a sea turtle biologist, I’d rather not
think about why or how he used his talents in the past. I am only thankful that he is working for our
team now; assisting in sea turtle conservation and research on the island of
Saipan, in the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands. Our in-water tagging program would not be
possible without his specialized hand-capture skills, as the use of nets or
rodeo are not feasible in this part of the Western Pacific.
By Tammy Mae Summers, Published in the State of the Worlds Turtles (SWOT) Magazine 2009
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