Light, be it particle or wave, has force: you rig a giant sail and go. The secret of seeing is to
sail on solar wind. Hone and spread your spirit till you yourself are a sail, whetted, translucent,
broadside to the merest puff.”

-Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.

I drop into the warm water alongside my dinghy and peer down to the bottom, ten feet below me.

The anchor is secure. I swim forward towards you. You have found a treasure that you want me to see. I grab hold of your hand as we move farther away from the shelter of the bay, around the lip of rock into deeper water. The swell is larger here. The water crashes against the rock wall.

We hold our breath and swim down. From underwater the crashing waves they look like the negative of a photograph, or seeing yourself in a mirror, everything is backwards.

You guide me towards two pillars. When we are on Serafina, our sloop, our floating home, these pillars mark the turn after which we will see our friends on their boats, tucked up into this little bight. Two dozen float quietly. We are herd animals seeking the refuge of the group.

But now I see the landmark from a different aspect. I take another breath and swim below the surface. I watch as the bottom drops away to deeper water. The swell lifts us, and soon we are shooting through a narrow gap between the pillars. I spread myself flat in the water, my arms and legs out, trying to slow myself, and peer along the edge of each side as I slide through.

Fish everywhere! They are on the ride with us, going the same direction through the gap as the water gains speed and then slows, depositing us in open wather on the other side.

Around again!

I am a child at the amusement park determined to get the most rides out of my ticket. I swim as fast as I can back to the start, around the pillar and back to the beginning.

Go!

Now time slows. Neon blue bands flash against a golden background. I see it for a moment before I move over it. I fight the current, strain to move my head around so that I can see the color, and then the color is gone.

Again!

There! In the same spot. The blue flash is distinct. A juvenile king angelfish. Holocanthus Passer. It is feeding on the rich algae that grows along this chute. Is this the treasure? There is no way to stop the rush of water. I’ll have to go around again.

Once more. There!

Sunlight reflects against the blue and makes it shine as if it were plugged into an electrical socket. The fish is the size of my palm. A lone juvenile amongst the adults with their reddish-purple bodies rimmed with the same brilliant blue. The only remnant of yellow from their youth is the tiny fan of their tail.

Is it the thrill of the ride that will make this so memorable? This is not a mere puff of solar wind, this is a gale pushing me along, heightening my senses to awareness of what is around me. I have only a moment to capture it all as I speed by. Only a moment to take a thousand pictures in my mind so that I can remember that I saw a juvenile king angel in the pass between the two pillars of rock that marks the entrance to the bay.

Eliza Drummond writes about her travels on her sailboat Serafina and about the world around her. When she is not sailing, she lives in Eugene, Oregon with her partner.

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