Aqui, Capitano Fernando says quietly, gesturing with massive, brown fisherman hands toward the north, across the Sea of Cortez’s rippling iridescent surface.
“Remember, guys, no splashing with your fins, and no sudden movements,” reminds Natalia, as six of us—masked, snorkeled, and flippered—slip into the warm greenish-blue, quietly making our way toward a spot ten meters off the boat’s bow.
The sea’s silence below blends with a small drone’s whirring just a few meters above the shimmering surface, as the operator, Gaucho, directs us across the water. Below, rotating beams of light shoot down into the depths, the sun and sea casting dancing and spinning patterns, like a marine discotheque.
Masked eyes moving between surface and sea, I feel myself become amphibious, softening into snorkeled inhales and exhales, slowing down my heart, which (once again) I realize is racing, with the anticipation of…what?
And then, below us and off to our starboard side, it comes—silently sliding toward us in
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