For reasons which must have held a compelling attraction for me at the time, most likely because it largely avoided my getting cold and wet, I used to view the underwater world on occasion by submerging only my face-mask and snorkel equipped head from the bow of a very small inflatable dinghy. The dinghy’s buoyancy tubes being of particularly small diameter enabling this procedure. (Said dinghy was, let’s say, inexpensive.) For the rest of my anatomy the dinghy provided a mostly dry, comfortable cushion on which to lounge prone. Hence the need to expend much effort as in swim was eliminated. I did this mostly in fish filled shallow and clear waters, where the ocean floor, reefs and their sea life, were typically readily visible.
I was happily thus engaged one long ago warm sunny afternoon in the Mediterranean’s cobalt waters off Cap Ferrat in the south of France, not far from Nice to the West and Monaco to the East. Cap Ferrat has long been known, along with the even more glitzy Monaco, for having one of the largest populations of the rich and famous in the world. I was there in my then capacity as an itinerant poor and unknown Brit. I was driving a first generation Mini Van (The van being the cheapest version of the then just launched Mini car) and camping in a diminutive arguably two person tent.
Starting to snorkel a short distance out from the beach, I allowed the dinghy to simply drift with a light onshore breeze and on a weak outgoing tidal cross current. I marveled at the quite teeming sea life which frequently came into view at both mid-water and close to the mostly rocky bottom. Sometime later, I noticed the boat was picking up speed in a building and by then offshore wind which was thus blowing me out to sea. Not wishing to visit Spain, Corsica, Italy or potentially North Africa, I rowed ashore to look for a large rock to use as an anchor.
Having found a suitably jagged and hefty rock, I rowed back out, this time a much greater distance from the beach. I tied the rock to the dingy’s painter (mooring line) and lowered it to the bottom in a depth of about twenty-five feet. Luckily it snagged quite quickly and I returned to my lazy man’s version of snorkeling now from a stationary position. Colourful and ever changing sea life continued to parade by while, notwithstanding my rather cool and very wet head, I otherwise stayed warm and dry.
At some point I decided that was it for the day and determined to go ashore to find other distractions. I took off my mask and snorkel, went to pull up the make do rock anchor and discovered it had snagged on the bottom rather too well. Try as I may I could not dislodge it. Not having a knife with me I could notcut the painter and it was spliced not tied onto a metal ring on the bow of the boat. I donned my face mask and snorkel again to try to see in which direction I should pull to have the best shot at breaking free.
I could see no reason why the rock would not yield. It did not appear to be hung up on anything. Keeping my eye on the rock I pulled as hard as I could and felt only a slight yielding. I tried again — more slight movement but nothing to suggest the rock was about to come free. I then tried rowing as hard as I could while doing a circumnavigation of where the rock was positioned. No luck. I realised at this point and to my consternation that the sun would fairly soon be setting. I also noted that the other inflatables and small boats that had been close by had all disappeared presumably back to the beach or marinas. I was alone, beyond hailing distance of the beach and seemingly permanently attached to the seabed. I was also I figured, well beyond my safe swimming distance to the beach. Adding insult to injury it was at this point I noticed the dinghy was losing air and no I had not thought to bring my pump. Alone and quite far from shore, my anchor snagged, my boat sinking, I began to wonder what might fate have in store for me?
Like the youthful (early twenties) idiot that I clearly then was, I had also not thought to bring a whistle, flares or a life jacket, nor had I told anyone where I was going, what I would be doing and what time I would be back. Cell phones, let alone smartphones incidentally, were eons into the future. Best case I mused, the slowly deflating inflatable and I would stay afloat and anchored overnight and I would get to flag down a passing boat early in the morning. I did toy with diving down to the rock, however 25 feet or so was too deep for my taste to risk diving to without scuba equipment and especially without a dive ‘buddy’. I tried gnawing through the nylon painter. My English teeth were not up to it. I had unwittingly set myself up with a life threatening situation. Another problem. The rock might just come free if a strong wind came up in the night. Typically coastal night winds most often blow offshore. Even if I was awake, inflatables being almost impossible to row into strong winds and waves, I might wind up if not in distant North Africa or some closer landing point, but quite possibly many miles out at sea. This if Mediterranean gales did not quickly finish me off in situ along with my (essentially toy) dinghy.
Darkness was slowly encroaching and still no sign of other boats. With almost the last of the daylight and after another futile attempt to break free by pulling the line every which way, with my heart by then pounding and my face-mask and snorkel back on, I took a good long look at the now barely visible over-performing rock anchor. A few more strong pulls from directly above the rock (Which is I subsequently learned, the recognized way of releasing and upping any anchor) and I felt only some minimal yielding. Likely just the stretch in the line. Then I saw the problem. And was it ever a problem.
I could not believe what I was looking at. I wondered if I was in a dream or, more properly, a nightmare. I tried to stay calm. Just visible were four large suction cup equipped long tentacles that had a vice grip on my rock anchor. A further four were gripping the rock and seaweed strewn ocean floor. I was in a tug of war with an octopus about the size of a fox terrier — not including its lengthy tentacles. What to do? How strong were terrier sized octopuses? Would he or she finish me off with a well aimed shot of ink? I pulled harder and harder but he or she hung on with matching zeal. We were tied. Octopus nil, Devonald nil. Almost dark. I could hardly see my worthy and then some opponent. I needed a last minute extra time ‘goal’ to end the contest or it would be quite literally lights out, a potentially stormy night adrift in the dinghy and conceivably it seemed in the moment, with a large invertebrate for company.
After what seemed close to forever, finally the octopus did let go. Of the sea bottom that is, not the rock! I very gingerly started to haul in and watched in amazement and awe as the beautiful red creature hung on while slowly growing to ‘monster of the deep’ proportions in my face-mask the optics of which magnifying my visitor, as through water they do, by about one-third. With four large tentacles leading the way and seemingly targeting my still submerged head, the leviathan approached me, the surface and the dinghy. Might I have to bring it into my tiny (all of 8 feet by about 4 feet) dinghy and duke it out there? It would be eight vs. two. I did not fancy my chances.
About two feet from the surface and I suspected, after taking a very good look at me, the very likely unimpressed octopus decided I wasn’t worth it, gave up the chase and let go the rock. Through the mask I watched as the maritime marvel sank slowly back to the sea bed and quickly disappeared from view. I did not know until years later that octopuses have many enemies and are thus shy and anxious to stay hidden as much as possible. The creature wanted my rock to seal itself into a crack in the sea bed for protection thus its need was far greater than mine. I hope he or she quickly found another rock! I made it back to the distant beach in very short order quickly building offshore wind be damned.
This incident pre-dates inexpensive waterproof video cameras by eons. Today I would for sure have this event recorded on stills and video. Instead, as though it was yesterday, I often get to view and relive it in my mind’s eye and share it now not on youtube but as a screen and hard copy read.
By the way, I later ‘crossed’ the North Atlantic with the same little dinghy and swam in mid-Atlantic in not insignificant waves. But that’s another story from my mind’s eye, not coming to an IMAX theatre near you any time soon.