We repeat the dive we did in the morning because Vanessa and Miguel said the visibility was some of the best they’d ever seen. The water is still crystal clear, with almost no current, barely any sand swirls up from the sea floor. Diving somewhere familiar is refreshing. I feel less disoriented and more like I know what I’m doing. With the absence of the current, the ocean is quieter, fewer shoals of fish rush by. I recognise a few landmarks – the sharp rise in the ocean floor as we get closer to the reef, the slow curve to the right of the first large coral structure.

I stop to hover over a staghorn coral cluster, and Hugh hovers right next to me. To my surprise, he pulls out an underwater camera too and gives me a thumbs-up. Together we snap pictures. He slowly makes his way towards another, smaller group of bright blue staghorn corals and continues to take photos.

If this is what it feels like to be on a research expedition with a team of scientists dedicated to a common goal, I want to go on one. I feel invigorated by the common sense of purpose Hugh and I are sharing, even if our end goals are somewhat different. It feels so nice to not be in this all alone.

We’re interrupted by Miguel shepherding us along to the second tangle of reef. As we make our way there, we see a giant manta ray pass underneath us, gently cruising across the sandy bottom. It’s sleek and grey, flapping its wings like an ocean butterfly. Our group turns and follows it for about twenty-five feet until Miguel gives us the signal to turn around. We’re all spellbound.

I thought the shock of diving would wear off, that with each dive things would seem less spectacular, but somehow it doesn’t. With every dive there is more to see, another crevice captivates me, a colour I’ve never seen before saturates my view, a new fish piques my curiosity.

No butterfly wrasse are spotted, but we do catch sight of another lobster. Hugh and I poke at a couple of clownfish protecting their anemone. Vanessa finds another coral whose petals disappear as we swim by it, and we take turns watching the purple tendrils appear and retract. Andrew thinks he sees something, and calls us all over, but it turns out he just saw a clump of algae in the crevice of a rock.

On our way back we swim right past a school of angelfish, their fins glinting in the sunlight as they swish past.

I feel a low trembling of anxiety that I will never be content in a cubicle in Columbus again.

Chapter 21

Two dives to go