The Shark Whisperer (17 page)

Hugh closed his eyes and Rosina looked like she was about to barf. Tristan, Ryder, and Sam stared out their windows fascinated by the view below. Visitors in the Sea Park soon appeared the size of ants. The plane passed through a stack of puffy white clouds and started to level off. A few minutes later, Director Davis got up and made at least three bad jokes. He then pretended to be a flight attendant, asking if anyone needed coffee, tea, or seaweed.

“How about a parachute?” Rosina called out.

“Hey, not too loud. Last thing you want to do is insult your pilot midair,” the director replied. “Everyone take a look at the map I just handed out.”

Tristan unfolded his copy. One side showed a satellite
view of Florida and the Bahamas. The other side featured a small bowtie-shaped island labeled Lee Stocking and the surrounding area. Several nearby locations were also identified, including Rainbow Reef, Tongue of the Ocean, Stromatolite City, and The Quicksands.

“Right now we're headed southeast,” Director Davis told them. “Just passing over the Gulf Stream, a strong current between the east coast of Florida and the Bahamas.”

Tristan looked out the window again. There were now only a few wispy clouds in the sky and just a vast expanse of navy blue below.

“Director Davis, how can you tell it's the Gulf Stream?” Hugh asked, perking up now that they had leveled off and he had something to think about other than the engine dying, a wing falling off, or the plane running out of fuel. “Just looks like the ocean to me.”

“That's a good question, Mr. Haverford. Most days you cannot actually
see
the Gulf Stream, but through scientific measurements we know it's there, flowing north and meandering like a curving river. Inside the Gulf Stream, the water flows faster and is warmer than the surrounding water. Okay, now see where the Sea Park is on your maps? Head southeast. What is the first island we should fly over?”

“Andros Island,” they answered.

“That's right. Everyone keep an eye out. Most people don't know that one of the longest barrier reefs in the world is on the eastern side of Andros.”

“Like the Great Barrier Reef in Australia?” Hugh asked.

“Well, not quite that big, but it is considered the third longest coral reef in the world.”

“Will we get to go there?” Sam asked.

“Not this trip. Okay, everyone keep your eyes peeled. Let's see who can spot the island first.”

About fifteen minutes later, Ryder shouted, “Land ho!”

As they passed over Andros Island, Coach Fred came on the intercom and told them about a secret navy base there that specialized in capturing drug smugglers.

“Do they, like, shoot the drug smugglers?” Ryder asked. “Are there pirates here too?”

Coach answered calmly, “No, they do not
shoot
the drugs smugglers . . . well only if necessary. There have been a few cases of bandits. I guess you could call them pirates. They take over boats and steal the high-tech equipment aboard, like the radar, GPS, radios, and emergency beacon. But it rarely happens, not something you need to worry about. Besides, you've got me to protect you.”

Tristan whispered to Hugh, “Yeah, watch out for that sparkly pole he's got. It can do some damage all right.”

Without thinking, Tristan blurted out, “What about shark finning? Is that illegal here too?”

Director Davis, Ms. Sanchez, and Coach Fred all turned to Tristan, giving him a look like they were
sizing him up for a permanent muzzle. Even Sam and Hugh stared at him with surprise.

“Uh, I mean, if people killed sharks for their fins, would that be against the law, like drug smuggling?” Tristan asked awkwardly. He'd always had a habit of speaking first and thinking later. At least he didn't say it was actually happening or anything.

“As a matter of fact, the Bahamian government recently passed a law banning shark finning, thankfully,” Director Davis responded. “But it's difficult to enforce. They don't have a lot of manpower or boats, and there's a lot of area to cover. Okay, look on your maps again. We are about to head over a long, deep embayment of water between Andros Island and the shallow bank and islands further to the east. It reaches nearly 1,000 feet deep and takes its name from its shape. What's it called?”

They yelled out, “Tongue of the Ocean.”

Looking out the window, Tristan watched as the flat, green shores of Andros gave way to a narrow strip of aqua colored water and then the deep blue of the Tongue of the Ocean. From there it didn't look much like any tongue he'd ever seen. After another twenty minutes or so, they started to descend. The water below suddenly turned bright green with what looked like huge wavy white stripes running across it.

“Director Davis, what's that down there?” Tristan asked.

“Those are ooid shoals on the shallow bank.”

“Oooooo what?” Hugh asked.

“Ooids,” he repeated. “They're sand grains that resemble shiny white round beads. They only form in a few places in the world and are made of calcium carbonate—that's limestone, like chalk. It precipitates out of the water.”

“But why is it striped like that?” Tristan asked looking down.

“The ooids are swept into huge sand waves by tidal currents. It's similar to how wind blows sand into dunes. Only in this case it's ocean currents created by the changing tides that drag the sand grains back and forth and create white rolling undersea hills or waves of ooids.”

While listening to the director's explanation, Tristan and the others stared in amazement at the long wavy white lines below.

Soon they flew over a few small islands that were little more than green dots in the vast shallow waters of the bank. Descending further, they saw a pod of whales surface with spray gushing from their blowholes.

But Tristan hardly noticed the whales. His attention was drawn to a ship he could just make out in the distance. It was large and white, but too far away to see if there was anything written on it in red. He turned to tell Director Davis. The camp leader was already staring at the distant yacht, a concerned look on his face.

A larger island came into view and the airplane descended more sharply. They flew in low over a tree-covered hill. Tristan was sure that branches were about
to start whipping by the windows, having been weed-whacked by the plane's propellers.

“Okay, everyone, get ready for landing,” Coach Fred said over the intercom. “Seat backs up, belts tight. Jeez, that runway sure looks a lot shorter than I remember.”

The Seasquirts' eyes seemed about to pop out of their heads.

Director Davis chuckled. “He's just kidding. Always says that with a bunch of newbies in the plane. He's done this a hundred times at least.”

The airplane made a sudden drop and Tristan's stomach did a flip-flop. Seconds later they were on the ground and Coach hit the brakes. Tristan was thrown forward in his seat. They slowed to a full stop before turning to taxi back down the runway. As the airplane turned, Tristan glanced out the window. They had stopped within inches of the asphalt's end. Only sand and shrubs lay ahead. Tristan let out a huge sigh of relief.

12

THE OCEAN LIGHTS UP

A
VEHICLE SPED DOWN THE RUNWAY TOWARD THE
group getting off the plane. It may have been a pretty nice van at one time, but now the only recognizable part was the front end. The rest of it was covered with rust and holes, the roof had been cut off the back half, and the seats had been replaced with wooden benches. A red and white striped canvas top hung from four poles over the bed of the vehicle. Across the top someone had painted “Island Mama” in red lettering.

When the oddly remodeled van came to a stop, a dark-skinned Bahamian man got out. He was tall, muscular, and had deep-set wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. His khaki shorts and T-shirt with “It's Better in the Bahamas” on it were well worn. He shook the director's hand. “Director Davis, so nice to see you. Glad we could make this work on such short notice.”

“Campers, this is Mr. Marvin Walker, the lab manager. Though we like to call him the island dictator, since the only thing on this island is the marine lab.”

The man smiled. “Yes, forgot my sash and riding crop today. Nice to meet you all, everyone just calls me Mr. M. Jump in and I'll take you to the dorms.”

Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez shook hands with Mr. M and helped the campers climb into the back of the Island Mama. Director Davis sat up front with Mr. M, talking quietly.

“Like,
nice
ride,” Ryder said sarcastically.

“You should have seen it before,” Ms. Sanchez said. “This is a huge improvement. The salt air out here eats away at everything. Before they cut off the roof and replaced the seats, pieces of it were falling off every day.”

Just then they heard a loud scraping noise. Moments later the vehicle's bumper crashed to the ground behind them.

“See what I mean,” Ms. Sanchez said as they continued on.

“Are they just going to leave it there?” Tristan asked.

“Someone will come get it later. As the Bahamian's say—
mañana
—tomorrow.”

They drove off the runway onto a hard-packed sandy road, swerving around potholes and rocks. Each turn of the truck generated a rising cloud of dust.

“This thing needs seatbelts,” Hugh said, hanging on and trying not to breathe in the fine white particles that were now swirling around in the back of the truck.

“Just hold on, Haverford. You'll be fine,” Coach said, clearly enjoying the rough ride.

They drove over a small hill, the back end of the vehicle fishtailing on the way over.

“Yeehaw!” Coach Fred shouted.

“Now he's a
cowboy
?” Tristan whispered to Hugh.

They passed several small wooden buildings before coming to a stop at a dock where three small boats were tied up. Director Davis hopped out. “Coach Fred and Ms. Sanchez, if you could get the campers settled. I'll check in at the office and meet you shortly.”

The truck turned around in the small space between the dirt road and the dock. One tire came close to going over the edge of the dock's wooden planks.

Hugh put his hands over his eyes. “I can't watch.”

After successfully navigating the turnaround, they drove to a dusty intersection and made a left turn. Along the side of the road someone had planted a few flowers, some cactus, and several stubby palm trees. There were no lights or road signs anywhere to be seen.

“Where is everyone?” Tristan asked Ms. Sanchez.

“Oh, Mr. M gives most of the staff time off the island while we're here and no other visitors are allowed. That way we'll have some privacy.”

“Forget people, is this all there is here?” Rosina asked.

“Yeah, not much of a lab,” Ryder added.

“What were you expecting? Disney World?” Coach asked. “This is the real thing, no fufu hotels or fancy restaurants. Just us and the bare essentials.”

“Great . . . ,” Hugh said. “My mother would definitely
not
like this.”

Coach Fred pointed to a small building to their left on a hill overlooking the water. “That's the mess hall. We'll have our meals there. Next to it is a small classroom and lab area, and just down the road are our rooms.”