This time of year, from August to October, the waters near Bali hold
a special treat. That is when the annual gathering of the Mola-mola
—also known as the Ocean Sunfish—takes place off the coast of a group of
islands around Nusa Penida. Exactly why the animals congregate there is
not fully understood, but because it is regular and predictable, divers
make the pilgrimage just to get a glimpse (or some photos) of these
unusual fish. Now, Penida is well known for its challenging dives, and
only the experienced (or the foolhardy) should attempt visiting certain
sites. Since I am a reasonably experienced diver (and have no death
wish), last September I considered myself capable of taking on Penida in
order to see the molas.

For those of you who are not familiar with this fish, it’s a huge
animal related to the pufferfish, measuring about 2 meters/6 feet from
end to end and the same from top fin tip to bottom fin tip. Its body is
reminiscent of a pancake. Like its puffer cousins, it has a relatively
small, beak-like mouth, and small, round pectoral fins. It has
virtually no tail; it’s body ends in a sort of scalloped stub. It also
has very stiff long, curved dorsal and anal fins that it uses to propel
itself through the water by moving them both first to one side and then
to the other. The hand signal for mola-mola is something like the shaka
(or ‘hang ten’) sign divers in Hawaii use to say OK, only instead of
holding the hand vertically, you hold it horizontally so that the thumb
pointing upwards and little finger pointing downwards symbolize the
dorsal and anal fins of the mola.

Once on Nusa Lembongan, were I stayed, each time the captain and DMs
asked me where I wanted to dive, I just flashed the ‘shaka-mola’ hand
signal, and off we would go to a site called Blue Corner right on
Lembongan itself. The problem with diving around Penida is its tricky
currents. I was ready for some drift diving, and the animals are so big
anyway that you can see them long before you arrive close enough to get
a shot. The molas tended to settle in at a depth of about 25 m, meaning
that in order to have a reasonably long dive, we needed to encounter
them fairly early in the dive. The first few dives went great; the
current was quite manageable and the molas were present.

Then came the second dive of the second day. We dropped in, drifted
along the reef wall for about 20 minutes at between 20 and 25 meters.
No molas. People were beginning to run low on air, so the DM signaled
for a safety stop. And then there they were: a whole series of molas
lined up at about 5 meter intervals and at a 90° angle to the reef
wall, but at a depth of about 30 meters. I take a quick glance to
confirm my remaining air (80 bar/1200 psi) and remaining bottom time
(not much) and decide to nip on down just to get a couple of shots off.
I signal to the DM, who gives me the OK sign and lets me know he’s
going up for the stop with the others. I drop down and have just enough
time to squeeze off a couple of shots (which didn’t turn out) before my
comp started flashing an approaching NDL. Time to go up—well, actually
past time since it’s not a good idea to push the limits. Oh, well. I
hoped the molas would still be there later in the day.

I head back to the wall and begin to ascend, but I can’t make any
headway. The tide has changed and is now flowing out, off the reef flat
above me and over the wall like a huge Niagara Falls. I’m hanging on to
rocks with one hand while trying to protect my camera and strobe and
finning like there’s no tomorrow just to stay in one place. The down
current is threatening to push my mask off my face, and it’s pulling my
reg out of my mouth—in fact, it seems to be pushing water into my mouth
through the exhalation vents. And my bubbles are flowing towards my
feet. I’m in a bit of a jam, to put it mildly.

(To be continued.)