The Three Prongs of Neptune's Trident

People say bad luck comes in threes, Team Banana agrees with this. Recently we have suffered some hiccups in our innocuous activities. Heading out for our usual dose of weekend fun we have found ourselves struck down by the might of Neptune on three separate occasions.

Not ones to shy away in the face of adversity this is how we survived through breakdowns, navy operations and stranding. 

Prong One – The Long Haul

Team Banana begin another trip to Khasab, our Mecca of free-diving, in usual high potassium spirits. Singing, dancing and nattering away in the Jeep Grand Cherokee 4.7 liter V8 we feel like two grade 5 prime bananas. After three hours of good time making we arrive in Ras Al Khaimah (RAK) to refuel the engine and our stomachs. We jump in the Jeep and continue our journey, except not at the speed we had previously been cruising at. The automatic car would not change gear. Following the manuals instructions we tried everything, but to no avail. The Jeep was now not so grand. We tootle along at 40 kph until we find a petrol station. There is hope for Team Banana. A kind hearted mechanic is happy to have a look at our dilemma free of charge. The problem is immediately apparent. The tube transporting the transmission oil to the transmission (which enables an automatic to change gear) is cracked, resulting in the Jeep leaving an oily trail between Abu Dhabi and RAK. He mends the problem and fills the thirsty car with 8 liters of the much-needed fluid. Team Banana is back in good spirits and ready for the second leg of the journey. Nothing changes, literally. The fresh oil does not seem to have enabled the gears to shift; we are still stuck in second gear. Wondering if it is just a matter of time for the fluid to makes it way to the necessary areas we stop and discuss a Plan B.

Plan B Option One – Drive to Khasab at a top speed of 60 kph and hope we don’t ruin the engine and break down in the middle of nowhere.

Plan B Option Two – Stay in Ras Al Khaimah and hope the car can be fixed at a garage the next day.

Plan B Option Three – Hire a rental car, continue to Khasab and pick up the Jeep the next day. This will let us dive and we won’t become abandoned on route.

The Team Banana spirit is a tough one and we do not like to give up, we take Plan B Option One. It is slow and steady but with good music and the likelihood of breaking down in the middle of nowhere, with nobody around for 50km rapidly fading in our minds, we are excited again. After a100km journey we finally arrive at our destination to enjoy a well deserved dive. With all of the events and mixed emotions we had completely forgotten about the drive back. A nine hour drive at 60 kph on one of the most dangerous roads in the world, where everyone around you is driving between 140 kph and 200 kph. Team Banana are flashed, beeped shouted at and gestured at. The onslaught of abuse climaxed as we passed through the backside of Dubai, the most congested leg of the journey. Lorries were so close we could only see their number plate, but there is nothing we can do. So we do what we do best, recline, relax, sing to music and laugh at the angry people driving past. Our spirits were never knocked and Team Banana experienced another adventure. Prong 1 passed.

Prong Two – In The Navy

Team Banana set out on their first Abu Dhabi boat trip with Malcolm the skipper and his cabin boy Ahmed. The destination is a shipwreck, half an hours journey away. Gazing across the calm morning ocean an unnatural profile breaks the horizon and catches our attention.  We divert course for a closer look at the alien sculpture. As the industrial steel rig looms into view, we are nervous that it may be oil related, however the rust and foot deep icing of cormorant turd lead us to believe that its present function is nil but a perch for bottom heavy sea-birds. Feeling like we were onto something good the location is plugged into the GPS as ‘Bird Shit’. Knowing that submerged structures attract aquatic life like Team Banana to bananas, we imagine that such aquatic bloom would be more than enticing to large pelagic predators. This was too good an opportunity to pass up. With trepidation of the unknown, we take the plunge. Schools of yellow trevally, barracuda, queen-fish, and the prized giant trevally are all visible patrolling the fringes of this colossal structure. The ominous steel legs of the rig stretch down in to the blue. They are ornately decorated with parasitic barnacles and tasseled amoebas. The richest variety of fish shelter amongst the network of twisted metal amounting to a picture perfect spear-divers double rainbow. We decide to stay, tie the boat to this lovely pier and take the dive with our weapons.

A clear jelly-fish, that looks like a dim-sum dumpling, bobs between Team Banana. White carefully pushes it on its way, and unintentionally into the path of Yellow. The tiny tentacles give Yellow a toxic tickle, leaving his back rashy and sore. It's a known remedy that the alkaline in human piss will neutralize the acid of a sting, so White and Yellow return to the boat to get relief, both of them. As you know Team Banana loves all water sports, this however was by far the weirdest.

Absorbed by the natural aquarium White suddenly hears the engine of a boat. Surfacing to make sure it is not venturing too close he observes a horrible site. A large grey boat is a mere 50 meters away and heading straight for us. “Shit guys, the coastguards are here. Quick hide the guns and act normal.” We swim over, wave and say hello as nonchalantly as possible. Surely they can’t suspect these innocent greetings. How wrong. Fortunately we have Ahmed to speak Arabic with them to cut the awkward tension of non-communication. They ask for the boat license, no problem, they ask for the fishing license, no problem. They ask us to get on the boat and bring up the buoys bobbing conspicuously unattached to anything, problem. The buoys are tethered to two guns and the fish we had shot. Surprisingly the guns do not seem to bother them; however, the dusty artifact we were moored to was in fact an old oil tap connected to a submerged pipeline. Oops. They ask us to follow them back to the navy base; we comply under the suspicious gaze of two hawk-eyed officers. Already nervous about what is going on we become what is known as ‘shit scared’ when we remember the booze we have on board. Do we chuck it over? Do we hide it? We deliberate our story about the diving, our knowledge or lack there-of regarding oil rigs, the booze. A few tall tales are conjured and deviant plans to rid the alcoholic evidence crop up, however we unanimously agree that the best we could do is just be honestly apologetic and hope our captors don’t look in the cool box.

We pull into the navy marina and see a fleet of impressive vessels. De-badged matt black jet skis, 35ft boats with mounted machine guns, 50ft boats with electronic tracking machine guns. Cool place, crap scenario. We moor and are escorted to a holding cell by a burley officer whose expressionless face does nothing to ease our anxiety. Ahmed continues to discuss our situation with the officers in Arabic while the three of us wait like naughty school children waiting to be caned.

Ahmed leaves the room with a younger official for about 15 minutes. When he reappears we are told to come with him. As we are lead back to Malcolm’s boat Ahmed tells us what was up. He had taken a risk and told the coastguard that we had alcohol on the boat. After revealing the location of our beers, the Samaritan begins tossing the cans out of the boat and into the water, a delightful surprise. Unfortunately they bob in happy demonstration of their ability to swim. The cans are fished out, cracked, crushed and dispatched again into the drink. “how many have you got” … “24”. This suspicious criminal act was going to take too long. Using his initiative White starts rounding the remaining cans up into a clean sack. Donating his 5 kilogram weight belt to the cause, our little problem was bundled up, and tossed once again into the marina. 5 minds simultaneously will the lumpy black beer-bale to sink, and after a few nervy seconds, our little secret succumbs and slowly drifts down into the watery shroud. This officer had empathetically determined that we were already in enough trouble and decided to spare us from the full wrath of the CID were on their way for the mandatory inspection. This was a stroke of amazing fortune.

Walking away, Malcolm mutters, “I hope there are no plastic eating fish down there”.

An hour later, having met with an important man in dish-dash and understanding nothing of what was discussed us lads receive a short scolding and a slap on the wrist before being turned loose. The walk out of navy-prison to civilization was long and hot, but after our brush with the law we were grateful for the freedom we had been most worried of losing. Humour floods back in torrents, the bloke-ish wrath laid heavy on our little saviour. “Ahmed, what did you do for that guy to make him want to help us? Cheers for taking one for the team”…  Prong 2 passed. 

Prong 3 - Stranded

A week has passed since our torturous encounter with the coastguards. Team Banana invite Malcolm for an hour of high octane fun on some rented jet-ski's. We turn up at Mina Port around midday and remember that during Ramadan it is difficult to do most things. The port is on lockdown for prayers. Disappointed, we turn to leave just as a car of two rotund locals pulls up. These guys carry the self-titled nickname of the ‘dub-dub’ (double double) brothers and rightly so, they are an identical 5 ft 5 and 185 kilograms apiece. "You looking for jet-skis?" "Yes" "Yallah, come". The two Arabs are charismatic, flash their ID's revealing they are special policemen, brag about their party island which opens during the upcoming Eid holidays and joke about how their favorite beverage is anything containing Smirnoff. We decide to take them up on their offer and so the three of us cram into 2 cars along with the double doubles and their entourage of 5 little Indian men. They charge us 350 dirhams for 'super super' jet-ski's and send us on our way. These jet-ski's are quick, accelerating to 100kmph in a matter of seconds, we tear off out to sea, three happy chappies.

Five minutes into our excursion, White’s ski cuts out coming up with an alert that the engine has overheated. No surprise as it is 46 degrees. Yellow and Malcolm charge off on a water sortie thinking Whites jet-ski will right itself given a short rest. Ten minutes later they return to see White floundering in the open water on the back of a dead duck. Slightly irritated about getting a bung machine, we decide to tow the crippled ski back with a rope we find in one of the storage holds. Malcolm jumps into the drink to tie the two skis together. In a matter of milliseconds Yellows idling water rocket sucks the rope up its intake, throwing the two machines together in a dangerous collision. Luckily Malcom is unscathed; however, our situation has turned dire. 3 idiots, 2 broken jet-skis, no phone, no water, stranded in the hot Arabian sun, a couple of kilometers away from the safety of land. A quick brainstorm reveals that we have no other option but to wait for rescue. Coastguards patrol these waters all the time right? Recreational boaters always take their vessels out in the weekend right? Other jet-skiers are always terrorizing these calm waters right? Not today. So we wait, helplessly hot and thirsty in the sun, for over 3 hours.

A small motorboat comes into view, anxiety levels drain, and relief washes over us. First things first, "Have you got any water?", "We don't have any to spare." By now we are foaming at the mouth due to dehydration.... "Can we use your phone?", "What! You guys don't have water, and you don't have a phone?!".... You get the gist of how helpful these elderly Brits are. According to Malcolm, they are not abiding by the code of the sea, a very important doctrine to all boaties, which includes items such as, "The captain goes down with the ship", "If you piss off the boss, you walk the plank", "If you upset captain hook, you go in the boo box" and most importantly "If you ever encounter anybody in distress, you should help them because one day it may happen to you". In the end, the couple call the Dub Dub brothers, however are unable to give them directions to our location. The useless rescuers also tell the gigantic duo that they think one of us is dead (as later recited, truth or not truth, by the Dubs). Not prepared to risk the chance that Dubs may or may not come get/find us, we convince the couple to take White onto their boat and back to shore to get help. They drop him off at a moored coastguard boat. After first refusing to take him onboard because they were changing shifts, White is forced into their hands by the woman who states, "You must take him, he is not our friend". The coastguards get out of their cabin. To Whites utter disbelief it is the same man who had detained them the previous weekend at the oil-rig. He smiles and shakes his head, clearly thinking we are nothing but a bunch of stupid bananas. They drop White back to Yellow, Malcolm and the 2 dead Jetski's and inform us that they have radioed the next patrol who will come fetch us in 5 minutes.... 45 more minutes. A coast guard arrives to tow us back to shore.... "Do you have any water?".... damn, that's right, its Ramadan.

On the slow tow back to the marina, the Dubs race up on jet-ski's like two very fast walrus’. Even the sight of the spandex they are wearing, which reveals the full capacity of their morbid obesity, is not enough to cheer up 3 frustrated lads. Luckily they toss us a small bottle of water, under the disapproving eye of the coastguards. When we get back to the marina, the rope sucked up into Yellows machine is easily removed and no damage has been found. White’s machine however, has apparently been broken due to some debris being sucked up into the intake cracking the cooling fan.... ambiguous, considering we had only traveled on open water for 5 minutes. The double doubles, insist we pay 3,500 dirhams for the repair.

It is now 6pm, our 1 hour of fun, has turned into a day long ordeal. After 4 hours stranded the three of us are very weak from dehydration and sunstroke and are frustrated to the point where we just want to go, have a refreshing swim, and a beer. Not wanting to jeopardize these glorious things, we fork out the cash. Just when we feel like things have hit rock bottom, the banana's realize... bad luck comes in 3's. This event signaled the last of ours. We think of Neptune and smile, he has laid wrath upon us, put us in the face of adversity, we have handled our plights and emerged out the other side, proud noble bananas, ready to reap the benefits of eons of good fortune, and prosperity. Thank you Neptune.

Y&W

A.S.S - Abu's Secret Service

Learning from their previous trip to Khasab Team Banana has come prepared. Mozzie repellent packed, beers chilled and sun cream already soaked into our skins. We strike up a conversation with some Emiratis; they are here to charter a local fishing boat. White and Yellow discuss the possibility of seeing a whale shark, with their new philosophy (and thinking this could be the opportunity they have been waiting for) Yellow takes the initiative and asks if there is space on the boat for two small bananas? They are incredibly welcoming and more than happy to accommodate us. We clamber aboard and enjoy the ride to wherever it is they are going.

As we chat excitedly with our new friends Yellow and White are informed of their jobs and are taken aback. Bear in mind there is no clear understanding on the laws of spear-fishing in this region and we are on a boat where we have brought on board two guns and seen none. They take in turns announcing their line of work. We are in the company of 3 policemen, 1 navy officer, 1 army officer, 1 airport controller and a local fisherman (the captain of the boat), all of them related (except the captain). An unusual crowd, 2 banana’s amongst a gaggle of light hearted government officials sharing a boat ride in an incredible setting. We immediately feel at ease as these important people jest about the benefits in having friends in high places.

Yellow and White chat with the airport controller, he has never swam before. One of the policemen is learning to scuba dive on this trip. None of them have been spear-fishing before. We arrive at the destination, Yellow and White dive in with a few nerves.  The novice spear-fishermen are scrambling around us holding lethal weapons, trigger fingers primed and itching to kill their first fish. Aware of these hazards Team Banana keep a wide birth. One of the policemen is attempting to dive down whilst wearing a life jacket. White is half way through a dive when he sees this. He bursts out laughing, causing him to choke on a mouthful of milty sea-water. Returning to the surface, now all he can see is a semi-submerged guy performing a futile duck dive, two hairy legs failing in the sky. White’s hysterical laughter is justified by hearty bellows from the policeman’s relative’s spectating from the boat.

Our short boat ride has transported us several kilometres away from the last signs of civilisation. Nestled into a cliff face the banana’s are delighted to be diving in unspoilt crystal clear water. Beneath the surface, a kaleidoscope of colour appears. New species of fish pop out of the cavernous maze the coral provides. Yellow spots a clam, the chance of unearthing a pearl is too much to resist and they go down to open the mollusk. As we attempt to discover a gem White sharts himself. A moray eel appears from a crevasse a mere two feet away. Brandishing rows of razor sharp teeth the evil looking green serpent moves closer to inspect the commotion that has disturbed it. Having recently heard a horror story of a diver losing a finger to one of these serpents we are fully aware of what a moray is capable of. The eel slides out of its den to devour the clam. White calls one of the novice divers to show him this extraordinary creature. As he dives down to point out the eel the over-enthusiastic beginner is lining up his spear with the moray’s head. Although inexperienced there is a possibility he might make a successful shot, White frantically waves his arms and screams underwater. Fortunately the naval officer is unable to hold his breath for long and returns to the surface. Neptune would not have been happy.

Returning back to land, the camp and the goats, Team Banana is delighted with the day. An unexpected adventure occurred because of our opportunism. Banter is still being brandished relentlessly as we moor. Never have we seen locals laugh so hard, even though we don’t understand a word of Arabic it is still nice to be included in the joyous atmosphere. They ask for no money and say we do not need to pay but we give a contribution to petrol nonetheless.

Although gruelling voyages, these trips to Oman are well worth it. The Team Banana philosophy is paying off, “If you don’t ask, you don’t know.” Neptune and his trusty trident have blessed us. Yet again.­­

W&Y

The Endless Wave - Commentary by the Banana Nosed Custard Chucker

Last weekend, White went to Bali in search of waves, little did he know that you can find a perfectly good wave here in the Dhabi behind Stolzy's boat...



Special Guest - The Banana Nosed Custard Cucker

Good day, friends.  My name is the Banana Nosed Custard Chucker, and I have been invited by Team banana to guest write my commentary of the above clip, which I will do with pleasure, because I am a good analyser.

With his bulging biceps and sinewy torso, one would be forgiven for thinking that this is Arnold Schwartzenegger surfing behind the boat (admittedly as Arnie would appear as viewed through the wrong end of a pair of binoculars) but it's not.  It is in fact former South African policeman, and long-time friend of Vegas, David "I rule with an iron claw" Stolzenberg who is lovingly grasping the rope, whilst showing the kind of grace and agility usually associated with White on the dance floor in Heroes nightclub.  Observe the clear blue sea, the rippling wake, the fine physique of Stolzenberg, as the wind rushes through his tight curly locks - it's an idyllic scene isn't it? All it needs is a bowl of bananas and custard grasped in Stolzy's left hand, or carefully balanced on his head and I think we have achieved paradise. I bloody love custard I do - eating it, chucking it, wiping it all over the walls - it's just brilliant. You know that feeling you get when you smear custard all over your face and legs and then roll around on the floor? No...? Well neither do I... However it is that kind of carefree ecstasy that I imagine Stolzenberg is feeling as he surfs the wake, like a small south african dolphin. The sheer concentration on David's face is mesmerising - to me, it's as if he has just been presented with a huge bowl of bananas and custard, and is deciding which banana chunk he is going to eat first. It's never an easy decision, and often takes me well over 30 minutes to decide…  Is it me, or are our Stolzy’s feet bigger than the wake board itself?  They are also completely rectangular, and look like they have been drawn on 'cartoon style' by a small child.  In addition, I am particularly transfixed on the wake produced by the boat, since it is not unlike a long stream of Devon's finest Ambrosia custard; mind you I would say that; you see I utterly love custard.

Warmest, potassium-filled regards

The Banana Nosed Custard Chucker





Banana Split - 11 July 2011, The San Firmin Festival Running of the Bulls, Pampalona

(at 2.50seconds, look in the top right corner, white clothes with red sash, 
I'm the one that runs into the fat guy road block)

A dozen badass bulls that weigh about six hundred kilograms, an eight hundred and fifty meter luge of sangria soaked cobbles, three thousand human skittles, the phrase "im sh*tting myself" expressed in at least ten different languages, One Banana.

Y

A sad happy fishing story

Team banana is back in Khasab. We arrive to find our quaint little bay is a buzz with activity. Three boats wallow in the shallows engorged to the brim with the mornings Plunder. Flying fish land in bins, or in the backs of utes. An accurate underarm lob a rudimentary but essential skill in this sorting frenzy. Its action stations. Even the kids are involved clambering over the slimy piles, picking out the unwanted specimens. We stroll over for a closer look. Queen fish, Giant trevally and Barracuda make up the bulk of the catch. We have an educated guess at the total haul and decide its about two tonne. White, who has been known to suffer beard envy, surprisingly sparks up a conversation with a fishermen sporting a badass beard. The boats landed their catch by coordinating two hundred meters of net laid out across the bay. The bearded man was keen to go out again, either later in the arvo or early the next morning, depending on energy levels and suggested we come. We shared the excitement of these fishermen and were genuinely thrilled at their harvest. Fingers crossed they hadn't already caught all the fish.

That evening the Banana's were back at camp after a day out boating. There were five vessels out in the bay. We had missed a chance to head out with them, probably for the best, these guys had been out for hours. We could hear a celebration wafting across the water. The chanting and singing lead us to believe the fishermen had landed the mother haul. Feeling a little green (with envy) banana, we started our own chant, "B-A-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N-N ... A-N-A", and decided that although their party sounded more fun, musically, our chant was superior. We retire and as per usual Yellow is snoring within a few minutes. Unable to get a wink of sleep White goes for a stroll and bumps into the Fisher Pimp who owns all the boats. Speaking of how his employees were doing the Fisher Pimp describes the catch as "too much big". He promises to let us know when the boats get in. At one o'clock the Banana's are awoken by a blaring horn, flashing lights and an invitation for a chauffeured ride in an air-conditioned Land cruiser. We immediately notice an eight tonne truck. It has been maneuvered down the winding gravel track to collect the harvest, so we predict the fishermen had done well. They had. Five boats with a skin full of fish, a massacre. To put it in perspective, it took three and a half hours for the men to empty their boats into the truck.

The next morning we set off for a dive. The first thing that hit us was the stench. As we clambered a kilometer to the dive spot, we became aware that the smell was not localized to the beach where the boats were unloaded. As we slipped into the water, there was an obvious film of fish scum on the surface. Yellow bumps into some miscellaneous flotsam, looks into a glazed eyeball and gets a horror shock. Its a fish corpse bloated and rotting in the sun. This was the first of numerous encounters with discarded fish deemed not worthy for market. There were heaps, either floating, or laying lonely in sand. When even the other fish are ignoring what would appear to be a cheap meal, the fact is hammered home that this was a real waste. It wasn't just dead fish; plastic plates, discarded drink cans and other human trash sullied the subterranean landscape. All these things are less obvious from a boat. Our previous dive had revealed a vibrant aquatic picture, but today the sea seemed to be in mourning. The water was murky with particles all churned up from the roaring boat motors. The Banana's hit rock bottom when we discovered a manta ray, its form and gaping mouth unmistakable. With only a two meters wingspan, the ray was clearly still a juvenile. Its white belly had been picked open in several places by ocean scavengers. We figured it had drowned in the fishing net. Having always wanted to encounter one of these majestic creatures, what a shame it had to be under these circumstances.

Having witnessed the aftermath of what would seem like a joyous event in that small bay in Khasab, it is undeniable that this harvest had had an effect on a delicate environment. Maybe we were twisted from the shit dive, but we call it as we see it, and the scene was pretty grim. In the UAE, we are blessed that the ocean is plentiful. It encompasses a rich diversity in terrain and species within which we are lucky to be able to harvest and play. Its not a condemnation of the fishing practices or techniques involved. They are in no way as damaging as commercial operations however its the general attitude towards conservation and the aptitude for waste that is worrying. Whether its a lack of education, or consideration or just laziness, it is an attitude that could seriously damage the fish stocks and the quality of the ecosystems in these waters.

Our first bone to pick is with the littering. Especially coming from the people who's lively hood depends on the ocean. We have witnessed far to much garbage being tossed into the water or out cars. It doesn't disappear. The beaches are strewn with rubbish. Everyone that dives would agree that the sunken coke nestled in amongst coral just isn't a good look, but an all too common sight. The second gripe is with the indiscriminate plundering of all fish species. If there are regulations as per catch limits, or minimum size restrictions per species, they certainly aren't being observed. Just as an example, you can visit the fish market and find hamour, a local favorite which is also endangered, being sold in size ranges as small as 15-20cm. This is a species belonging to the grouper family, and can grow to considerable sizes. This is also a species that reaches breeding maturity at 3 years, when the asexual juveniles turn into females. The females only evolve into males after reaching approximately 10 kilograms, a maturation process that could take 10 years. These larger fish are of course required to fertilize the eggs. It's no excuse to say that this species are stocked, with hamour fry being raised and released to the sea. The chances of these minnows breeding is far less likely than that of a mature adult specimen.

On a positive, there are conservation projects that exist. For example, the regeneration of mangroves, an important part of the ecosystem and a haven where many fish species spawn and hatch their offspring. The mangroves around the UAE have suffered from the extensive dredging of waterways but now you may see grid fields of saplings being planted on high tide lines. Some can be observed from the motorway out towards Yas Island. Sir Baniyas Island is an example of a protected marine reserve, and so benefits from attracting many beautiful creatures such as rare turtles and manatees. It would be good to see more of these reserves where fishing is prohibited.

Perhaps we are on the verge of taking a step in the right direction. Lets hope we see more motions towards the conservation of the environment in the UAE. However, we must also realize that it doesn't necessarily have to be legislation that creates change. It's just a matter of awareness and shared love for the sea.

Y&W

Team Banana in High Def

White bought a GoPro Hero HD, here's our first attempts at filming something interesting

W&Y

Team Banana in Musandam - Part 4

It’s 4.30 in the morning, the sky is changing from a murky black through the spectrums of soft violet. Feeling good after a solid 5 hours sleep, Yellow enjoys this transition with a real not milk coffee flavored coffee drink can. Although White isn’t exactly asleep, Yellow chooses not to disturb him. He tidy’s up the campsite to the sounds of 90’s R’n’B. Some girls from the ex-pat camp stroll by en-route to the water tank. “Thanks for the music” one of them said with a smile, unfortunately the gratitude could not be reciprocated after last night’s offensive playlist. Yellow checks the time, 6 o’clock, time to wake White up from a total of 1 and a half minutes sleep.

Team Banana has spent a considerable time amongst goats, so we are not alarmed when a jamboree of soft hoofed quadrupeds gather around us. Goat Jesus has arrived in the form of a furry man with a face that resembles an alpaca. He quenchethed the thirst of his thirsty goat brethren, and the word spreads through the Omani mountains like wild fire.

“Goats come near, they peer, they have no fear.

Their Messiah has arrived, it’s good to eat all that he provide.

Soiled wipes, apple bites, crackers lip to lip,

Aluminum wraps, bog roll snacks, smoking fags lit at the tip.

Goats flock in a horde, to praise their new lord, the greediest of all earthly beasts.

So the noble banana, blessed this armada, with a feast to end all feasts.”

It is still early as we set off on our coastal clamber. The sun has not yet cleared the cliffs, the air is warm, the day is perfect. We stop several times to appreciate the views. After yesterdays initiation we feel comfortable in our new marina, so we plan to dive with confidence and discover as much as possible.

Trying not to dawdle, we submarined to the rocky point which was the extent of yesterday’s exploration. The low trajectory of the morning sun probes illuminating fingers into the water. The water is wonderfully clear. We dive beyond the rocky drop offs to the cold  currents of the sandy sea floor. These dives exhaust the diagonal capacity of the 20m cord which tether’s us back to the buoy.

We continue along the coast losing sight of our camp. We cross a span of sand scattered with boulders. A large monolith balancing on a corner rises out of the water with overhangs on all faces. The underside is a tapestry of epiphytic life. We swim on. The terrain changes again, it has now become shallow and rubbly. Diving down the terrain reveals itself as a graveyard of bone bleached coral. Intermittent splashes of color are supplied by solitary living stations, each of which is accompanied with an entourage of small tropical fish. A shimmer appears in the water, there is a drop in temperature and saltiness. Fresh water springs are injecting themselves, creating a refreshing tepid brackish. We wonder what caused the devastation of the coral, maybe it was the change in ecology due to the presence of fresh water, perhaps the coral had been chomped by parrot fish, we hoped it hadn’t been the effects of man.

Beyond the graveyard the floor drops away from us, like an underwater bowl. The banana’s kick anxiously through the deep expanse, fantasizing of a whale shark gliding out of the blue curtain, or a mermaid. A structure of rocks begins to appear revealing similar terrain to that of the first location. White shoot’s Team Banana’s first Hamour. A bulls-eye shaft lodged deep between the eyes of a 4 kilogram specimen. “Do you think it’s dead?” The rotund fish is doing the 3rd perfect plank of the trip, except belly up.

What sounds like a stuck pig and looks like a spastic chicken? White when he gets cramp.

There is much comic value had in this (for Yellow), but the reality is a painful and potentially dangerous paralysis for White. We are both feeling the effects of fatigue and dehydration, so decide to make this spot our last point of call. We stop for a rest and a play. Guns dropped, weight belts removed, Team Banana are free from the binds of their more cumbersome equipment.

White, stalking his victim, moves silently behind a boulder. With timing akin to a great white he propels himself forward in a silent ambush. White scares the shit out of Yellow. Embarrassed by the visible extent of his shock, Yellow retaliates by giving White a lengthy dunking during his fit of laughter. This brings the onset of yet another cramp. With this dramatic climax, the bananas call it a day.

We covered a considerable distance by the time we stepped out of the water. Utterly exhausted and abhorring the fact of carrying our heavy gear back to the jeep we windmill our towels in a desperate S.O.S to attract a good samaritan. Praise Neptune. Our efforts catch the eye of an obliging fisherman right across the other side of the bay, some 500m away. Observing the boat make a decisive right angle turn we cheer and perform one of the most animated Team Banana high fives to date. We are quickly learning the benefit to be had in getting to know friendly locals.

It was time to say goodbye to Khasab. We hadn’t achieved the ultimate goal of seeing a whale shark but we had seen some notable aquatic fare, such as the beautiful but deadly lion-fish. We had witnessed a symphony of fish, and only shot 3, all of which were for food. We had roughed it in the desert, navigated some rugged terrain, survived the searing heats, but none of which was as challenging as the drive home. With both White and Yellow blinking out and exhaling audibly through floppy horsey lips, we devised a sleep/drive roster, in 20 minute cycles. Once we reached Ras al Khaimer, both banana batteries were recharged and Team Banana cruised safely home to Abu Dhabi. 

W&Y