Me and Gerry and Sonny – A Curious Encounter

by Mark Seavers

Diving season over, killed off early by the brutal weather. Now in the grip of these long, deep winter evenings, with the Barrier Reef a mere memory, the auld mind begins to wander back to the long weekends away to Mullaghmore, Belmullet and Burtonport. Ah Burtonport! Were you there? Did I tell you about the Sunfish we saw? No? Oh well…

It’s the August weekend, Sunnyish day, bit of a breeze and we’re heading for Aranmore on the ribs, two boatloads of us. The buddy pairs get called. It’s me and Gerry. Grand, been divin’ together since we were chisslers. Since Gerry acquired his incredibly large torch he has tended to lead our dives. It’s only natural. If you haven’t seen his torch, think wavin pipe with a car headlight dangling from the end. No need for a weight belt with this baby. Then there’s me with my little Ikelite PC jobbie? Not leadership material. But today it’s different I’ve got the latest in underwater communications technology in my dive bag. An injection-moulded, polycarbonate receiver tablet secured with a hawser laid composite nylon lanyard to a carbon-tipped data-entry device. This new equipment is dangling prominently from my BC. “I see ye got one of them slates and a pencil”, says Gerry. Cheeky git. We do the buddy check and agree that my new Communications Kit would be used in emergency situations only; or if either of us felt like a chat.

It was a bit too rough to get around Tournedy point so we were diving along the rocky Aranmore coast. Gerry and I agreed to use our standard dive plan: descend, fin around for a bit, see stuff, and ascend again. Down we went and out came the sun. Viz was 10 maybe 15 metres. But there was nothing to see. I mean NOTHING.

We fin around a bit more with me losing face by the second as we fail to locate diddly. Just my luck, my first lead in ages and nothing to see. I pull out the Emergency Diver Interaction Device and scribble “not much to see” on it. Gerry daubs a two-word response that clearly indicated his agreement. Then he draws and Xs and Os box and fills in an X. Brilliant! We can have a game while we dive. I swear to God that in the middle of the game Gerry switches sides from Xs to Os. I check my gauge we are only at 17m. “Narked?” I scrawl. He scribbles another two-word response indicating that he took offence at the suggestion.

We get another blast of sun and out of the corner of my eye I see a granite-coloured, circular rock reflecting the sun. “That rock looks just like a fish” says I to myself. I grab the Inter-Diver Communications Apparatus and scribble “WTF?” in the bottom corner and point at this thing to our left. We head towards it. Gerry is behind me, using me as protection in case this yoke is dangerous. Within’ three yards its obvious that its some class of fish suspended in the water. An enormous flat oblong fish with small fins on its sides keeping it steady and larger crescent-shaped ones at the end of its back. It didn’t look scaly like most fish, more muscley. It had a huge eye and it was just staring up at the surface. By now we are just three feet away from this creature. I spread my arms out at a 70-degree angle to guess the sheer size of this thing. Three foot in diameter, easily. We just sit there staring at this thing that looks pre-historic. No one, not even Andy Kelly, is going to believe us when we get back to the boat.

Just then, this thing bolts for it, flapping its outsized dorsal and anal fins. Gerry and I get some fright. Gerry is grabbing onto me, I’m trying to find my reg which I have spat out somewhere in the panic. The fish legs out of sight with the grace and poise of Basil Fawlty after a session in Fitzgeralds, big fins going like the clappers. With the monster safely out of sight me and Gerry dust ourselves down and give each other high-fives. “What the **** was that?” I scrawl. Gerry gives me a two-word reply indicating that he didn’t know either.

We regained our buoyancy and started to head off when what do you think happens? Back comes Sonny. (That’s what we call him, by the way. Sonny). He motors back towards us and stops suddenly a few feet away. He’s just hanging there looking up at the surface where the boat is. What the Jayzis is he thinking? “I see the Curragh are back. Don’t like the way that RIB is trimmed. Must be Bannon in charge”. Who knows? For the next five minutes it’s just the three of us; me and Gerry and Sonny. Perfectly still, thinking our own thoughts. A couple of quick flaps of the auld dorsal and he’s gone again. No! Sonny don’t go away! I look at Gerry, Gerry looks at me. Lets get back to the boat and start some serious gloating!

We haven’t even handed in our weight belts and we’re off: “…amazin yoke… the size of it ...prehistoric creature…big eye…just hangin’ there… three feet away…” Gerry’s got his arms out 85-degrees “ at least five foot across”.the DO surfaces. “ Oh that would be a Sunfish, you often see them around here”. (A bit too blasé for my liking). “Really”, says I “and have you actually dived with one?” “No but I’ve seen then from the boat just below the surface”. Bannon chips in “ah, you’d see plenty of then around here alright”. The cheek! Just then, Louise surfaces shouting “did you see it, did you see it, the …yoke”. Gerry and I were happy to share our sighting with one or two others. Proved we weren’t making it up.

So we’re back in the Anchor pub in Burtonport after the dive. We bump into a group from Tallaght Divers who were up for a spot of fishing (I’m not making this up). Big bloke seems to know his stuff. “So how big was it?” says he. I hold me arms out 110-degrees. “Must have been six feet across”. “ Ah yeah, says he “they’ve got one in the Maritime Museum that’s about 8 feet in diameter”. “Well at least our one was alive”, says I a bit defensively. By 11.30pm the jar is going down nicely. Me and Gerry still pestering anyone who will listen. We nabbed a group of American tourists who were fascinated, fair play to them. The couple from Germany were less impressed.

It turns out that Bannon and the DO had a point. The Sunfish (real name Mola mola) is becoming more commonplace on Irish coasts. They are ocean-going fish brought here on the gulf stream. They frequently bask near the surface hence the many sighting from boats. They are not fussy eaters by all accounts, gorging on molluscs and jellyfish. Sunfish can grow to 4m in length and two tonnes in weight. Your best chance of seeing one is between July and September.

Back at the pub it’s going-home time, if such a thing exists in Burtonport, I spy Gerry in the corner with a group of unsuspecting Scandinavians, arms outstretched 180-degrees.

For incredible photos of Sonny’s kin see:

http://www.earthwindow.com/mola.html
www.sea-angling-ireland.org/fish%20-%20sunfish.htm

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