ALMOST ISLAND 



forget is that of a dead horse which we tied to the 

 western buoy, and at sunset Almost Island was 

 alive with sharks. There were dozens of the four- 

 foot puppy sharks which are so common about Non- 

 such, and now and then I caught a glimpse of the 

 white belly of one much larger, as it twisted up from 

 below to share the feast. The next morning the horse 

 had disappeared, not a shark was in sight, and over 

 the spot five angelfish swam lazily, their golden 

 filaments streaming out behind — the usual peace 

 of early morning had returned to Almost Island. 



The supreme achievement in helmet diving is 

 Dangling, and I do not think this word has been 

 used so appropriately before. The sea must be calm 

 and without much swell and there must be a slight 

 offshore breeze. On the last day of this combination 

 I went out in the launch, beyond Gurnets, perhaps 

 a quarter of a mile. Usually I try to see bottom but 

 if the water is slightly murky or cloud shadows are 

 frequent this is impossible. When I thought we were 

 over a suitable place the engines were shut off, and 

 I let out the entire forty-five feet of ladder, and 

 started down. 



In September the water is warm and fish life is 

 at its greatest abundance. Peering down I could see 

 nothing but a foggy blueness — it looked as if I 

 were dropping off the rim of the world into starless 

 naked space. I had no feeling of bottom at all; it 

 was a real connecting link between my Almost Is- 

 land meanderings and the miracle of view from the 

 Bathysphere, two hundred fathoms down. I stopped 



51 



