FEATURE:

Adventures of a
middle-aged editor

Hitting Rock Bottom in Waikiki

I sank about as low as I could go recently. It was great. In fact, I enjoyed it so much I might just drag you down with me.

Thanks to the generosity of Atlantis Adventures, who operate submarine tours out of Waikiki, Maui and the Big Island, I went all the way down to the sandy bottom off Diamond Head. About 35 dazzled tourists and their kids went with me, oohing and aahing all the way.

I mean, it was real cool. From the pier at the Hilton Hawaiian Village you get to ride out about a mile from shore in a non-super ferry. And then suddenly the sub emerges from the waves. It’s like all those war movies except there’s no deck gun and no Henry Fonda barking orders. Instead the courteous and obviously well-trained boat personnel help you from one vessel to the other, and you descend into the sub’s tube-like hyperbaric chamber.

Inside the dim interior twin rows of back-to-back seats face large circular portholes, left and right, or port and starboard as we sea-going chaps say. From Moment One you’re in a fishy world because the sub is already two or three feet down. People chatter in taut whispers and a stewardess—what else should I call her?—makes certain everyone is safe and relaxed. She reminds us about the short movie on the ferry describing the breathing equipment in case of an emergency. She wears a dark-blue uniform and a head phone, and busies herself chatting through her mike to the pilot-cum-captain. When it’s time, she secures the hatches and, consulting an instrument panel with lots of impressively blinking lights, expertly flips an array of switches. Hatches close, ladders swing up and out of the way. It’s all very exciting and makes you feel safe.

And then—‘Dive! Dive! Dive!’ the captain (or a recorded voice) calls out. It’s kinda thrilling especially because right afterwards a real klaxon sounds: Arooya! Arooya! The craft gives a little lurch and we’re off! On the wall—bulkhead?—a depth-gauge measures that sinking feeling…20ft., 30 ft., 50 ft. In the end you go all way down to 120 feet below sea level and it’s turquoise and mysterious and you can faintly hear the Japanese commentary coming from the earphones courteously hanging from a hook beside each porthole. In the background the captain keeps up a rapid-fire description of everything that’s happening.

The sub moves as it sinks, so we slide down a gentle plane. It’s just like in the movies. You half expect James Mason as Captain Nemo to tap you on the shoulder, or hear the thud-thud-thud of the Destroyer engines overhead. You imagine what it would be like to be depth-charged and whether you could hold your breath long enough to make it to the surface.

But then you relax. It’s an underwater bus-ride. The ocean’s denizens are curious and come right up to the Plexiglas to check you out. Who’s in the aquarium now? The sub cruises slowly along and the kids go nuts. ‘Look! A turtle!’ ‘Hey, there’s a shark!’ ‘Where?’ ‘There!’ ‘Oh, yeah, wow, I hope he eats something!’

And from a Japanese family at the other end: ‘Tanoshii, desu ne?’ (‘This is fun, isn’t it?’)

For long stretches the cool blue-grey depths are surprisingly empty. Global warming? you wonder. And then suddenly ten million fish swim by. Fat ones, thin ones, skinny ones and greedy ones, some that wriggle and squirm. There are humuhumunukunukus, and Angel fish and Devil fish, all with flying fins and big eyes and mouths that open and close at you like, well, fish.

The captain says some of the rocks are really octopuses faking it. They do it really well because I can’t tell. A big turtle ambles by and you have to remind yourself it’s holding its breath.

None of the sea critters are in the least fazed by the sub. Oh, it’s you again, their body language sniffs as they take off again with a careless whip of their tails. The sub cruises slowly through the filtered sunlight. After a while a couple of human-made reefs come into view, barnacled fish motels. Then an airplane, which makes you think about World War II and Pearl Harbor. Then a couple of real shipwrecks, rusted and encrusted.

‘That’s the Titanic,’ I whisper a little wickedly to the small boy sitting beside me. His eyes grow big. ‘Where are the bodies?’ he whispers back. ‘Sharks ate ’em,’ I answer in my best pirate’s voice, figuring he’ll have a big story to pass on to his friends when he gets back to Oregon or Connecticut.
‘Wow,’ he says, turning unexpectedly to his Dad on the other side. I try to look innocent. Dad glares at me but he’s obviously not sure if I’m a liar or an idiot. I smile back, desperately communicating idiocy.

It’s a very fair trip. On the voyage out all the visual action seems to be taking place on the other side of the sub. Judging by the craned necks, they seem to think we’re having all the fun. But after a while the captain turns us around to head back, so in the end everybody sees everything.

At the 80-foot mark, the sub glides by a series of concrete, pyramid-like structures. Designed by UH’s Sea Grant Program, with assistance from Atlantis, they were installed in 1989 as artificial reefs to help revitalize Waikiki’s marine environment. Judging by the swarming schools of fish they’re a tremendous success.

‘Ancient Hawaiian pyramids,’ I start to tell the small boy, then think better of it as I catch Dad’s baleful eye. I’m careful not to say anything more.

As we float up again we’re engulfed in a curtain of sparkling diamonds. I think of Don Ho: tiny bubbles. And then can’t get the tune out of my head.

When we finally surface it’s everything in reverse, from the sub to the ferry to the landing on the beach. Everyone’s chatting and excited. They’re all heading to Sergio’s Restaurant, because part of the deal is dinner at the Hilton Hawaiian’s swankest eatery. And deal is the word: if you buy the full package (cruise plus dinner) it saves you over 30 bucks (and the food is great!).

As I make my way back to the parking lot I see the small boy arguing with an older girl, probably his sister. ‘It was too the Titanic!’ I hear him say. I figure I’ve done my bit for Hawaiian tourism. I drive back to the office still humming Tiny Bubbles.

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