#the red rocks stage must be a little smaller than other stages i’ve seen them on bc usually if i’m on nick’s side jamie is far away

[alexturner2005]

last night i probably had the best view of am that i’ve ever had 😳

[meetthetank]

Cruciamen Chapter 10: Order of the Devoted

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (NieR) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary

The first thing A2 notices is how soft the surface they’re sleeping on is. It reminds them of times as a hatchling when they would nuzzle into their mother’s downy feathers, safe and sound while they slept. Something is draped over their body too, just as gentle. For the first time in a long, long time, they are content and unafraid for their safety.

The next thing they realize is that this is not where they lost consciousness, and all of the warmth in their body rushes away, replaced by icy gripping fear.

Their eyes fly open and they sit upright, ready to fight their captors to the death and escape their prison. They expect to see a pit of rotting mud and meat, or a dank cellar of stone. Instead, they find themself in a small cozy room, complete with a mirror and dresser opposite of their bed. A quick scan around the place reveals nothing out of the aggressively ordinary beyond a plate of fruits and other, strange foods that A2 has never seen before.

They don’t lower their guard yet. If their time in the Bog has taught them anything it’s that horrible things can be waiting in every shadow. The soft bed and heavy blankets might be comfortable, the room itself might be bathed in warm sunlight, the foods beside them might smell inviting, and they might not feel like they’re on death’s door anymore… but it could be a trap or an illusion or a horrible dream. Any second their surroundings could shift back to the prison pit, or they could be hallucinating, on the brink of death while some Bog animals gnaw at their limbs.

… They stare around the room for a few minutes. Nothing happens.

Somehow, waking up in a safe and comfortable room is the most unbelievable thing that’s happened to them, in their mind.

A2’s stomach roars, and suddenly they remember that they haven’t eaten in… gods, they don’t know how long. They look over at the plate of… things, on the small table. There’s a bunch of small purple fruits hanging from little vines in a pile, a block of pale yellow stuff, something that looks in between the color of flesh and the writing paper humans use to record things, a cup of warm water, and a couple of bottles of odd colored liquids. The pale colored food has the shape of an oblong rock, but sags when they press their finger to it. Its outer shell crackles enticingly, but they turn their attention to the plants instead. At least they know that the purple orbs are fruits. They pluck one off the vines and roll it between their fingers for a moment. It’s somewhat firm with a thin skin around it, broken where it was connected with what reveals a soft flesh inside that drips with juice. They cautiously sink their teeth into a small portion of one end which explodes in their mouth.

A2 decides they like these purple fruits, and gulps down the rest of them in seconds, followed by the soft yellow block and crunchy but also soft paper colored food. All of it tastes strange, but pleasant. It isn’t as good as fresh kill, but it quells the hunger that gnaws at their gut. The darker portion of their mind chastises them for eating things that could very well be poisoned, but A2 doesn’t care. They’re fed for the first time since going into the Bog.

The sink back into the bed, full of strange new foods and ready to fall back asleep. However just as they begin to get comfortable, their body begins to itch. They groan and drag their nails against the focal points, mainly their thighs and shoulders, to find them wrapped in tight bandages. They hold their arm up to inspect, finding only clean white wrappings and the stink of some sort of chemical. It smells a bit like fermented berries but less sweet. Carefully they pick at the bandages on their elbow, unwinding them bit by bit once they find the end stuck between two layers. As the final layers start to unravel, their arm begins to sting and feel like their skin itself is peeling off. Sure enough, they pull back the last layer to find raw, red skin. Skin, not scales. Portions of their scales stick to the bandages, flake off when the bandage is removed, or cling to their skin by the smallest thread of mucus.

A2 puts the bandages back on as tight as they can.

Suddenly the wooden door to the outside world flies open and in steps a woman with black robes with a mess of curly black hair tied back. She’s much shorter than them, most likely coming up to where their chest would be, and either well fed or muscular under her robes. Probably both, if they had to guess. A2 freezes in place as they watch her cross the room with a ceramic pitcher in her hands. The woman’s green eyes widen when they meet A2’s

“Oh good!” she says, her voice warm and kind. A2 recognizes it as the same voice they heard just before passing out in the Bog. “I didn’t expect you to be awake already.”

They don’t respond. The woman keeps watching them as if waiting for them to say something. A moment later she clears her throat and approaches A2’s bed. They can feel their hair--now much lighter than before--bristle even though this woman doesn’t appear to be a threat.

“... My name is A4. I’m a nun in the Order of Devoted. I’ll be taking care of you while you recover.”

Still A2 remains silent, their eyes never leaving A4.

“You must have some questions. I know it can be scary waking up in an unfamiliar place, but I assure you this is the safest place you can be in this region.”

The only form of movement A2 gives in response is blinking when necessary.

“... You’ve been unconscious for about two and a half days,” the nun begins as she pours the water into a smaller cup. “You were in a very poor state when we found you, but our holy magic has been sufficient in helping you regain your strength.”

She sets the cup on their bedside table. “Unfortunately you seem to have contracted an illness from spending so long in The Great Bog, and it’s not one spells can fix. Bog Rot is something that requires the old medicines. Regular herbal baths, cleaning of infection sites, various salves, and-”

“I don’t need your help,” A2 snaps, brows knit tightly together. They try to look as intimidating as they can, despite how pathetic they feel wrapped up in blankets and bandages.

A4 smirks. “Ah, so you can speak. For a moment I thought you couldn’t or didn’t understand my language. But I’m sorry, you need treatment-”

“I’m not a charity case,” they growl.

The nun’s eyebrows shoot up in shock, but then she puts her hands on her hips and scowls, though her emerald eyes still hold kindness. “I don’t think you understand how serious this disease is. You-”

“I. Don’t. Need. Help.” A2 leans forward and snarls, baring their pointed teeth at A4.

For a split second there’s fear on the nun’s face, a brief flash of pallor across her face. “Yes, you do. This is only the beginning stages of the Rot. Your skin will start to become necrotic. You won’t be able to walk, stand, or even clean yourself. One by one your organs will rot away and shut down. Within a month you will be clinging to life while your body rots from the inside out.”

They scowl, but A4’s little sermon does strike a cord in them. They cross their arms over their chest and stare holes in the floor. Somehow wasting away in a sickbed is a worse fate than starving to death in a mud pit. Unlike in the desert with Emil and Kaine they’re in no condition to assist with anything, so repayment is out of the question for now.

Gods, they hate being stuck like this.

“Look,” A4 says, her stern expression falling into one of genuine concern. “I can tell you’re strong. Most people would have succumbed to the Rot and the pain. I’ve seen many warriors fall into torpor after a mere week, yet you remain conscious and alert. You’d be free to leave once you regain your strength, if you wish.”

A2 chews at their bottom lip as they think, still scowling at the floorboards.

“... Fine,” they huff. “But I’m not letting you wash me. And I can take the medicine myself.”

A4 lights up with a radiant smile that makes A2’s chest tighten. “Great! I’ll leave fresh bandages and salves for you on your table every day. You have to change them each morning or if they get too dirty. The salves will sting a bit but they will prevent further infections. Oh, and exercise is important to the recovery process as well. Helps combat muscle wasting. So I’ll be helping you walk around the Convent grounds every mornin-”

“Like hell you are,” they snap, “I’m not a dog-”

“The walks aren’t negotiable.” A4 doesn’t even look at them as she gathers up old sheets and clothes. “End of story.”

A2 sits back in their bed and scowls, once again, at nothing. Just before A4 leaves their room, they realize something of theirs is missing.

“Where did you take my sword?” It’s a question in technicality, but A2 says it like a command.

“Your sword?”

“Big, black iron blade. Has a…” A lump catches in their throat. “... A black feather on the grip.”

“Oh! Yes, we did recover that from the village.”

“Give it back to me.”

She sighs. “Weapons are not allowed in the medical wards, but…” A4 looks towards the door like a child sneaking treats from under their parents noses. “I can take you to it while we’re on a walk.”

A2 feels a growl rumble in their throat.

“It’s safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to it.”

There’s an air of sincerity around the nun that lends credence to her words. That, and A2 simply doesn’t have the energy to press the issue further.

“Mm…” Is all they respond with.

A4 nods, then shuts the door behind her, leaving A2 alone with their thoughts. They sigh and stare up at the ceiling, wondering why the world won’t let them die.

[calciseptinefic]

solo and pair

Yuuri!!! On Ice || Victor Nikiforov/Yuuri Katsuki || Hasetsu, Part X notes: also available on ao3. warnings: allusions to polyamory

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part ix

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A month after Victor's injury when the cherry blossoms bloom, Nishigori and Yuuko quietly marry in a small ceremony at Yuuri's family inn.

"God," Nishigori swears as he and Yuuri wait. They are on the elevated porch on the backside of Yutopia, where the building opens up to a small rock garden and a proud sakura tree that twists pink over the neutral gray stones. "I'm so fuckin' nervous."

Nishigori fiddles with his plain cufflinks. He is dressed in a nice black suit that emphasizes his wide shoulders and powerful thighs. Unlike Yuuri's, Nishigori's suit is new; Yuuri has worn the same jacket and straight-legged slacks to formal events since he was fourteen.

"Dumb, right?" Nishigori mumbles, as though trying to justify his nervousness. "I've performed in front of an audience for years. In front of strangers. I never got stage-fright. But now? When all I'm gonna do is exchange rings and say I do?" He snorts. "I'm terrified."

Yuuri hums, unable to respond. He is oddly nervous as well, though he cannot tell if it is because of his empathy for Nishigori or because any sort of formal event gives him anxiety.

"I mean, it's just my family. Her family. You." Nishigori's broad hands tremble as his fingers twist and twist and twist his cufflinks around. The fidgeting is so contrary to Nishigori's normally confident character that the need to comfort him wells up inside Yuuri. It is not something that Yuuri does often or does well, so when he puts his hand on the curve of Nishigori's bicep, he does so stiffly.

"She's your soulmate," Yuuri says, as it is the deepest comfort he can imagine. "You're meant to be."

Yuuri does not know how he expects Nishigori to react, but it definitely is not for Nishigori to bark out a laugh. The sudden, sharp noise startles Yuuri and his hand jerks away from Nishigori's arm.

"Sorry," Nishigori laughs when he sees the shock on Yuuri's face. "That's just so you, you know. To bring that up."

Yuuri's shock becomes confusion. The transition must show plainly because Nishigori laughs again, though this time less harshly.

"I know how you feel about soulmates," Nishigori elaborates. He deliberately taps his stomach, just to the side of his belly button where his mark rests. "And I'm not saying that it's not… fate or destiny or whatever, but it's… I don't love Yuuko because she's my soulmate. I love Yuuko because she's Yuuko."

Unsure of Nishigori's distinction, Yuuri haltingly says, "But she is your soulmate."

Nishigori is quiet for a moment as he regards Yuuri. Then, abruptly and seemingly non-sequitur, he admits, "I was jealous of you."

"What?" Yuuri asks.

"Before Yuuko and I matched," Nishigori clarifies. "Well, I was jealous after for awhile after that too. You were—you are—a much better skater than I am and Yuuko was—is—so proud of you. It felt like… it felt like all she ever did was talk about you and how good you were. Are. And after we matched—well, not all marks are romantic, and not all matches are good matches. Our dynamic didn't really change and Yuuko—you know she doesn't put a lot of stock into the whole mythos, especially considering that her parents aren't matched."

Yuuri blinks. He knew about Yuuko's parents—everyone did— but he had not known how Yuuko felt about soul marks. Now that he thinks about it, Yuuri cannot recall a time outside her match with Nishigori and her manifestation that she spoke about them.

"I used to have nightmares that you would manifest with the same mark." Nishigori chuckles in the easy, self-deprecating way people joke about old fears. "I would dream that we would go to a mark inspector and find out that mine was actually the wrong color or was smaller on one side, and that you and Yuuko were the right match. That's why I was such a dick to you when you manifested. I knew you had this big-ass thing on your chest, but a part of me felt like I needed to see it to be sure."

Unconsciously, Yuuri presses his palm to his sternum, where the center of his mark is concentrated.

"It's—" Yuuri tries to say. "It's not—"

"I know," says Nishigori gently. "For awhile I thought you might reject your mark and—well, Yuuko and I talked about what we would do if you wanted to…"

Nishigori stops to gesture meaningfully between him and Yuuri, and it takes a moment for Yuuri to realize the implication. When he does, he turns bright red and gasps an involuntary, "Oh."

Then, after another moment, Yuuri says, "Oh."

"Yeah," Nishigori affirms. "Yuuko and I haven't changed our minds, but we both know it's… hypothetical. You just—you've always treated your mark with such reverence that we knew you would never accept anyone but Vi—but your, uhh, your match. So. We never…"

Nishigori shrugs. In the wake of his confession, Yuuri has never been more painfully aware of how much taller and bigger the other man is. Even at seventeen, Yuuri still hasn't hit his finally growth spurt; he is short, thin, and bony, with narrow hips and stick-like limbs. His hard-earned muscle is sparse next to Nishigori's power and his angles look awkward when compared to Yuuko's curves.

"Oh," Yuuri says for a third time.

"I didn't meant to make you uncomfortable," Nishigori assures. Yuuri's face, neck, and ears are on fire. "I just wanted to…" Nishigori heaves a sigh. "I don't know what I wanted."

Nishigori's fingers are back on his cufflinks and—when Yuuri dares to glance at his expression—there's a blush on the flat planes of his face that matches the cherry blossoms and the color of his soul mark. It makes Yuuri think of when they were children, when Yuuri still struggled not to cry every time he fell, when Nishigori dragged him up from the ice and said a little nastily, "It's not a big deal."

There had been pink on Nishigori's cheeks then, too.

"Thank you, Takeshi," Yuuri murmurs as he presses the tips of his fingers to Nishigori's heavy knuckles. The touch is light, more of an impression than a sensation, but the bareness of it still pacifies Nishigori's agitated hands. "I'm glad you told me."

Their gazes meet. Nishigori's eyes are darker than Yuuri's—so brown they are almost black—but in the spring sunlight Yuuri can see the normally invisible edge where Nishigori's iris meets his pupil. Perhaps this is why it is not hard for Yuuri to hold Nishigori's stare. Yuuri can feel the heat lingering beneath his skin, but it is inconsequential to the warmth in his heart.

"Yeah," Nishigori says. "So am I."

.

Yuuri and Nishigori fall into silence after the confession. It is oddly comfortable, given the nature of what has been said. Yuuri never thought he would be on the receiving end of such affection, as his short stature, his long hours at the ice skating rink, and his anti-social nature aren't conducive towards popularity.

It should unsettle him.

It does not.

The quiet is interrupted an indeterminable amount of time later, when Nishigori's second oldest brother, Takeru, taps on the wooden frame of the shoji screen behind them. "Hey," he says. His voice is as deep as Nishigori's. "We're ready. Are you?"

Next to Yuuri, Nishigori inhales. Shakes the nervousness from his shoulders. Exhales. Says, "As I'll ever be," and grins when Takeru smirks at him.

The ceremony is held in a banquet room on the first floor, where the sliding doors are opened to the new green of spring and the cumulus-dotted blue sky above. Most of the family members have already been seated on metal fold-up chairs that Yuuri and Mari arranged that morning. Their murmured conversations come to a halt as Nishigori and Yuuko approach from opposite sides of the hallway, and meet.

"Hi," Nishigori whispers, low enough that Yuuri—who trails closely behind Nishigori—has a difficult time hearing it. "You look beautiful."

Yuuko is dressed in a traditional shiromuku, a white silk kimono embroidered with white cranes in flight. Her hair is up in an elaborate series of curls and accented with a golden wisteria hairpin that hangs down the side of her face and neck. She is as beautiful as Yuuri has ever seen her, but it is the glowing radiance of her smile that outshines everything else.

"I'm happy," Yuuko whispers back.

The ceremony itself does not last long, as it is neither religious nor traditional. The eldest Nishigori brother, Takeda, a lawyer who lives in Saga, is the celebrant. His speech is original and unfamiliar, removed from the common ordinations recited in movies and on television shows. The word 'soulmate' is only used once and given no significance, but that hardly matters when Nishigori and Yuuko cannot look away from one another.

Yuuri's throat tightens constricts when they recite their personalized vows. Nishigori's is about his vague hopes for the future that he hopes they'll build together while Yuuko's is an anecdote about the first time she realized she loved him. It surprises Yuuri when Yuuko talks about something he remembers. They were children then, before any of them manifested, and Yuuri had always thought Yuuko had been annoyed with Nishigori during the train ride to one of their competitions.

Love, Yuuri supposes, is odd like that.

.

When their vows are finished and they exchange rings, Nishigori and Yuuko end the ceremony with an unprompted kiss. It is short, tender, and difficult to watch. Yuuri almost looks away—but then Nishigori pulls away, bundles Yuuko into his burly arms, and lifts her off the ground. She shrieks at the unexpected motion and grips his shoulders.

"Takeshi!" she squeals.

Nishigori laughs and spins Yuuko around as effortlessly as though they were on the ice. The weighted edge of her shiromuku nearly clips one of their relatives in the face.

"Alright, alright," Takeda says over the minor chaos. "Takeshi—bring your wife over here. I need you to sign this certificate so I can register your marriage with municipal office."

After the ceremony, the two family migrate into the main area of the inn. Yuuko's family is much smaller than Nishigori's. Yuuko is an only child, as is her mother, and her father's twin brother is unmarried. Nishigori, on the other hand, is the youngest of four, and in addition to his mother and father, he has three sets of aunts and uncles, several cousins, his maternal grandparents and his paternal grandmother, a sister-in-law and two nephews. Yuuri is the only person in the group who is not related to the newlyweds by neither blood nor marriage. For a moment, Yuuri stands at the threshold and stares at the sea of faces, unsure of where he should sit.

He is saved from his indecision when a petite hand curls into his own.

"Come on, Yuuri," Yuuko encourages. "Sit with me and Takeshi."

Yuuko does not wait for Yuuri to respond. She simply tugs him into motion and guides him to the square, center table. The navy cushion she sits down on has been at Yutopia for as long as Yuuri can remember.

"I didn't say it earlier," Yuuri murmurs once he also sits down, arranging his limbs into the smallest and least awkward configuration he can manage. Then he bows his head and says, quite formally, "Congratulations on your marriage."

Yuuri's words are meet with silence and—after several painful seconds—Yuuri lifts his head to meet Yuuko's eyes. He cannot decipher the emotion he sees nor understand why Yuuko sounds a little sad when she says, "Oh, Yuuri. Always so polite."

It baffles Yuuri, yet before he can begin to parse out the meaning of her words, Nishigori jostles him.

"Don't overthink it," Nishigori warns as he plops down on Yuuko's right, directly across the table. His smile is wide and captivating and warm. "We're here to have a good time, and that's it."

"A good time," Yuuri repeats somewhat cautiously. He looks between Nishigori and Yuuko, then further out at their families, and they beyond that, to Mari leaning against the doorjamb in her maroon work clothes. Her gaze is faraway, but Yuuri thinks that, if she caught his stare, she would give a small, encouraging nod. So Yuuri breathes deep. Steadies himself and his nerves. Says, "I can do that."

"Thatta boy," Nishigori cheers.

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part xi

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[mrbobgove]

Darwin and Wolf Islands: Gems of the Galapagos

On a highlight reel of diving in the Galapagos Islands, Darwin and Wolf Islands would be the undisputed stars. Unreachable except via liveaboard, these two legendary dive spots surpass even their fabled reputation. After two days at each onboard the Galapagos Master and a total of 15 dives, I finally know what all the fuss is about.

After a morning spent touring North Seymour Island and an afternoon dive at Mosquera, we begin the long overnight journey to Darwin and Wolf. Sitting at the far northwest of the archipelago, Wolf Island is about 173 miles (278 km) from Santa Cruz, the most heavily populated island in the chain. Darwin Island, our first stop, is a little further at 197 miles (317 km) away. Both these tiny rocks are completely uninhabited, and completely unreachable except via liveaboard. And even better, all the liveaboards in the Galapagos (there are only eight or nine in total), take turns visiting, so you’ll always be the only boat at the sites.

Darwin Island

The smaller of the two islands, tiny Darwin measures just .46 square miles (1.2 square km). Striated sand-colored cliffs rise out of the water, home to swooping, wailing frigate birds and their nests. We’re not here for Darwin Island itself, though. There’s really only one dive site — but not to worry — we really only need one. The unmistakable Darwin’s Arch is like nature’s version of the Eiffel Tower; even if you’ve never been, you’ll surely recognize its iconic visage.

Sitting less than a mile off the shore of the island, we’ll dive the arch over and over on our visit. Each dive starts out the same. We ride the pangas in groups of six out to the front of the arch, near the surge but not too close, and all backroll into the choppy water as one. We must make a speedy negative entry to avoid being swept off the site by the ever-present currents. “If you decide to go neutrally buoyant the ocean is going to take you out and take you out big-time,” says our dive guide Ruly Menoscal before our first dive.

He tells us that we needn’t go deep, only to about 60 feet (18 m) and that we needn’t move around a lot either. “If the activity is high, you don’t need to do much,” he says. “The hammerheads will come to you. All you need to do is turn on your camera.”

After our descent to the rocky slope below, we each tuck in behind a boulder, holding onto the barnacle-covered to keep from being swept away. It’s like an underwater amphitheater, with each diver occupying his seat as we all stare out to the stage before us, waiting for the show to start.

On dive after dive, we needn’t wait long — the curtain goes up as soon as we settle in. The explosion of life before us is hard to believe. Dozens of hammerheads face into the current just a few feet away, slowly undulating to hold their place. Among them are silky sharks, larger Galapagos sharks, countless clouds of reef fish and more green turtles than I’ve ever seen before on one dive — perhaps in my life. Turtles cruise by at a rate of a few per minute, so many that at one point I must duck to avoid getting clipped by one passing above my head. After about 30 minutes of hanging onto the rocks, Ruly gives the signal to let go and rise up, where we drift in among the sharks.

Our second dive is much the same, except for one superstar visitor: about 15 minutes into the dive, a small-ish whale shark swims by, not 20 feet (6 m) away from the divers. We all stare, google-eyed and yelling ecstatically into our regulators. Once we let go and begin to drift in the blue, it happens again, only this one’s a lot bigger and we’re right next to it. Again, I’ve got to duck to avoid touching the gentle giant’s belly as it passes right overhead. We surface, overjoyed, and feeling incredibly lucky since whale-shark season doesn’t technically begin until June and we’re here in May. We dive five more times on Darwin’s Arch and the star of the show appears at least twice more. As we get underway, I think nothing could equal the last two days — until we arrive at Wolf Island.

Wolf Island

Of the two dive sites, Darwin’s Arch is assuredly the more photogenic, at least topside, and rightly famous for whale-shark action. But rather than being an understudy in this production, I find Wolf Island to equal — if not surpass —Darwin when it comes to sheer underwater amazement.

Uninhabited Wolf Island is just marginally larger than Darwin at .5 square miles (1.3 square kilometers), but here there are at least five dive sites to choose from. The underwater topography resembles Darwin’s Arch, as does the dive profile. We backroll off the panga and complete a quick negative entry to the rocks below. Again, we tuck in between them to hide from the current and surge, holding onto barnacles for purchase. Where Darwin’s Arch is famous for whale sharks, Wolf Island wins for the equally quintessential Galapagos encounter: the ‘wall’ of hammerhead sharks. Divers tuck into the rocks and watch the blue, just as at the arch, but here it’s possible to look out and see hundreds of hammerheads at once, all facing into the current and slowly, slowly making their way past.

We eagerly jump in for our first dive at Shark Bay — and unlike many other dive sites named for an animal that never seems to appear — there are plentiful sharks on hand. We spot around 20 hammerheads, as well as Galapagos and silky sharks. The gang’s all here, but not in the numbers we’d hoped for. Bumphead parrotfish and dozens of moray eels appear as well — visitors that anywhere else would leave us agog elicit decidedly less enthusiasm in the Galapagos. But it’s not until the next day that Wolf really shows us what it’s got.

Early in the morning we dip into what the dive guides are calling “Red-lipped batfish bay” to search for these odd-looking creatures with distinctive, pouty red lips. They’re quite small and, other than their flashy lips, quite drab, blending in with the sandy bottom. We cruise along in about 70 chilly feet (21 m) of water, watching for them to scoot along on their pectoral fins, which they use more like arms. We spot three before the dive is over and it’s time for another dive at Shark Bay.

Although yesterday’s dive here was no doubt fantastic, it absolutely pales to what’s in store for us on our second day. We descend quickly in a raging current, quickly making our way to the hidey holes in the rocks. The current is so strong that smaller fish hide along with us and dozens upon dozens of turtles struggle to make any headway. After about 20 minutes, we make our way to a small pinnacle in the middle of the oncoming rush. We each find a handhold and wave like flags as life of all kinds flies by — hammers, Galapagos sharks, silkies, a tornado of schooling bonito. When we let go and make our way back to the rocks, the dive ends at a shallow turtle-cleaning station, where three sleeping turtles rock in the surge atop the flat bommie, about 12 feet from the surface, as tiny fish pick off parasites. It’s a safety stop we never want to end.

The dive guides have our final Wolf Island dive planned for a cave, but the whole group lobbies hard for another visit to Shark Bay — and it’s even more spectacular than the last. The current rages so hard that the wall of sharks before us can hardly move, clearly working hard to maintain their position on the fishy highway. Turtles have given up, drifting by with the flow. Once we, too, decide to just let go, we rise and rocket out into the blue — and straight into the wall of hammerheads. No longer spectators watching the movie, we’re now a part of it. Hundreds of sharks swim all around us, above us, underneath us, to our left and to our right. They part like a curtain as the current carries us away. The divers ascend, euphoric after a dive that everyone immediately counts as one of the best in their life.

After four exceptional days at Darwin and Wolf Islands, it’s time to move on — the rest of the Galapagos awaits.

The post Darwin and Wolf Islands: Gems of the Galapagos appeared first on Scuba Diver Life.

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[wayneooverton]

Darwin and Wolf Islands: Gems of the Galapagos

On a highlight reel of diving in the Galapagos Islands, Darwin and Wolf Islands would be the undisputed stars. Unreachable except via liveaboard, these two legendary dive spots surpass even their fabled reputation. After two days at each onboard the Galapagos Master and a total of 15 dives, I finally know what all the fuss is about.

After a morning spent touring North Seymour Island and an afternoon dive at Mosquera, we begin the long overnight journey to Darwin and Wolf. Sitting at the far northwest of the archipelago, Wolf Island is about 173 miles (278 km) from Santa Cruz, the most heavily populated island in the chain. Darwin Island, our first stop, is a little further at 197 miles (317 km) away. Both these tiny rocks are completely uninhabited, and completely unreachable except via liveaboard. And even better, all the liveaboards in the Galapagos (there are only eight or nine in total), take turns visiting, so you’ll always be the only boat at the sites.

Darwin Island

The smaller of the two islands, tiny Darwin measures just .46 square miles (1.2 square km). Striated sand-colored cliffs rise out of the water, home to swooping, wailing frigate birds and their nests. We’re not here for Darwin Island itself, though. There’s really only one dive site — but not to worry — we really only need one. The unmistakable Darwin’s Arch is like nature’s version of the Eiffel Tower; even if you’ve never been, you’ll surely recognize its iconic visage.

Sitting less than a mile off the shore of the island, we’ll dive the arch over and over on our visit. Each dive starts out the same. We ride the pangas in groups of six out to the front of the arch, near the surge but not too close, and all backroll into the choppy water as one. We must make a speedy negative entry to avoid being swept off the site by the ever-present currents. “If you decide to go neutrally buoyant the ocean is going to take you out and take you out big-time,” says our dive guide Ruly Menoscal before our first dive.

He tells us that we needn’t go deep, only to about 60 feet (18 m) and that we needn’t move around a lot either. “If the activity is high, you don’t need to do much,” he says. “The hammerheads will come to you. All you need to do is turn on your camera.”

After our descent to the rocky slope below, we each tuck in behind a boulder, holding onto the barnacle-covered to keep from being swept away. It’s like an underwater amphitheater, with each diver occupying his seat as we all stare out to the stage before us, waiting for the show to start.

On dive after dive, we needn’t wait long — the curtain goes up as soon as we settle in. The explosion of life before us is hard to believe. Dozens of hammerheads face into the current just a few feet away, slowly undulating to hold their place. Among them are silky sharks, larger Galapagos sharks, countless clouds of reef fish and more green turtles than I’ve ever seen before on one dive — perhaps in my life. Turtles cruise by at a rate of a few per minute, so many that at one point I must duck to avoid getting clipped by one passing above my head. After about 30 minutes of hanging onto the rocks, Ruly gives the signal to let go and rise up, where we drift in among the sharks.

Our second dive is much the same, except for one superstar visitor: about 15 minutes into the dive, a small-ish whale shark swims by, not 20 feet (6 m) away from the divers. We all stare, google-eyed and yelling ecstatically into our regulators. Once we let go and begin to drift in the blue, it happens again, only this one’s a lot bigger and we’re right next to it. Again, I’ve got to duck to avoid touching the gentle giant’s belly as it passes right overhead. We surface, overjoyed, and feeling incredibly lucky since whale-shark season doesn’t technically begin until June and we’re here in May. We dive five more times on Darwin’s Arch and the star of the show appears at least twice more. As we get underway, I think nothing could equal the last two days — until we arrive at Wolf Island.

Wolf Island

Of the two dive sites, Darwin’s Arch is assuredly the more photogenic, at least topside, and rightly famous for whale-shark action. But rather than being an understudy in this production, I find Wolf Island to equal — if not surpass —Darwin when it comes to sheer underwater amazement.

Uninhabited Wolf Island is just marginally larger than Darwin at .5 square miles (1.3 square kilometers), but here there are at least five dive sites to choose from. The underwater topography resembles Darwin’s Arch, as does the dive profile. We backroll off the panga and complete a quick negative entry to the rocks below. Again, we tuck in between them to hide from the current and surge, holding onto barnacles for purchase. Where Darwin’s Arch is famous for whale sharks, Wolf Island wins for the equally quintessential Galapagos encounter: the ‘wall’ of hammerhead sharks. Divers tuck into the rocks and watch the blue, just as at the arch, but here it’s possible to look out and see hundreds of hammerheads at once, all facing into the current and slowly, slowly making their way past.

We eagerly jump in for our first dive at Shark Bay — and unlike many other dive sites named for an animal that never seems to appear — there are plentiful sharks on hand. We spot around 20 hammerheads, as well as Galapagos and silky sharks. The gang’s all here, but not in the numbers we’d hoped for. Bumphead parrotfish and dozens of moray eels appear as well — visitors that anywhere else would leave us agog elicit decidedly less enthusiasm in the Galapagos. But it’s not until the next day that Wolf really shows us what it’s got.

Early in the morning we dip into what the dive guides are calling “Red-lipped batfish bay” to search for these odd-looking creatures with distinctive, pouty red lips. They’re quite small and, other than their flashy lips, quite drab, blending in with the sandy bottom. We cruise along in about 70 chilly feet (21 m) of water, watching for them to scoot along on their pectoral fins, which they use more like arms. We spot three before the dive is over and it’s time for another dive at Shark Bay.

Although yesterday’s dive here was no doubt fantastic, it absolutely pales to what’s in store for us on our second day. We descend quickly in a raging current, quickly making our way to the hidey holes in the rocks. The current is so strong that smaller fish hide along with us and dozens upon dozens of turtles struggle to make any headway. After about 20 minutes, we make our way to a small pinnacle in the middle of the oncoming rush. We each find a handhold and wave like flags as life of all kinds flies by — hammers, Galapagos sharks, silkies, a tornado of schooling bonito. When we let go and make our way back to the rocks, the dive ends at a shallow turtle-cleaning station, where three sleeping turtles rock in the surge atop the flat bommie, about 12 feet from the surface, as tiny fish pick off parasites. It’s a safety stop we never want to end.

The dive guides have our final Wolf Island dive planned for a cave, but the whole group lobbies hard for another visit to Shark Bay — and it’s even more spectacular than the last. The current rages so hard that the wall of sharks before us can hardly move, clearly working hard to maintain their position on the fishy highway. Turtles have given up, drifting by with the flow. Once we, too, decide to just let go, we rise and rocket out into the blue — and straight into the wall of hammerheads. No longer spectators watching the movie, we’re now a part of it. Hundreds of sharks swim all around us, above us, underneath us, to our left and to our right. They part like a curtain as the current carries us away. The divers ascend, euphoric after a dive that everyone immediately counts as one of the best in their life.

After four exceptional days at Darwin and Wolf Islands, it’s time to move on — the rest of the Galapagos awaits.

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