I’m afraid of fish. I realize this strikes most people as totally irrational, and I can’t fully explain it myself. I suppose I find something inherently unnerving about creatures that don’t blink their eyes. I can’t be a total nutcase because they do have a word for it. Ichtyophobia.
This phobia follows me all around the world. In the south of France, I once tried to order a green salad and, doubtless as a result of the language barrier, was served a plate full of a million little tiny icky fish, all with beady eyeballs that burned into my soul (yes, even dead fish are out to get me). I shouldn’t have daydreamed so much in high school French. On the Dingle Peninsula on the west coast of Ireland, I almost crashed head first into a wagon full of freshly caught fish that some inconsiderate merchant had left out on the sidewalk. Passer-bys laughed at me when I jumped ten feet in the air, but it would have been traumatic if I had accidentally made contact with those scaly, staring critters.
Shocking as it might seem, I recently went snorkeling on Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, where fish abound in all shapes and sizes, and probably have an even greater chance of harming me than the fish I met in France and Ireland because the fish on the reef are actually alive.
Why would someone who almost had heart failure just looking at a plate of little itsy bitsy fish actually willingly jump into waters of the Great Barrier Reef? Well, it’s the same reason I sometimes audition for plays even though I fear rejection. It’s the same reason I go out on dates even though I’m terrified of a broken heart. I didn’t want my own quirks and insecurities to stop me from experiencing something really unforgettable. The Barrier Reef truly is one of the wonders of the world, and what a shame it would have been if I’d let a (yes, I admit it) totally unreasonable hang-up about fish eyeballs stop me.
Oh, I wasn’t all gung-ho about it right from the start. I considered just viewing the reef from a nice, safe glass bottom boat or even merely visiting the Barrier Reef Wonderland aquarium in Townsville, where you can view a live reef ecosystem without having to leave dry land. I did visit that aquarium and concluded that it just wasn’t enough for me. I think that, as long as one is alive on the planet, one should take advantage of it. I’m not going to be content with merely learning, or even seeing. . .I have to do. I found out that a company called Pure Pleasure Divers offered day trips to the reef from Townsville.
As the boat commenced its journey, a very knowledgeable and articulate marine biologist presented an informative speech about the reef for everyone on board. For the most part, it was soothing. There was no need to worry about being a shark’s lunch out on the reef. There were none of those deadly box jellyfish that curse the northern Australian shores during the months of October to February. In short, there was nothing nasty enough on the reef to take your life, and, unless you did something silly like stick your hand through the mouth of a giant clam, nothing was even going to try to hurt you.
However, she did mention some of the fish, such as the parrot fish and the clown fish, were going to be swimming extremely close to us. "But please don’t be afraid of them," she said. The fact that she asked us not to be afraid of them made me all that much
more afraid of them. If she had to ask a ship full of normal people not to be afraid of the fish, what did that bode for me, who squirms when there is a goldfish bowl across the room from where I’m sitting?
When we arrived at the pontoon that was going to be the base of all the day’s activities, I still hadn’t fully convinced myself to ignore my anxieties and jump in the water. The tour included optional glass bottom boat rides, and I decided to prep myself for the main event on the first one that took off.
What I saw below the glass was dazzling. The colors were vibrant! The plants and animals were breathtaking! How could something so unspoiled exist on an Earth that has become so widely industrialized and polluted?
I wanted to get in there. I wanted to be a part of this wonder. To be so close to doing so and letting my paranoia stop me would have been ridiculous. I would have always regretted it and I never would have forgiven myself.
After the glass bottom boat came back to the pontoon, a buffet lunch was served on deck. I filled up on cheese and crackers, and, although I heard a nagging voice in the back of my head, "always wait an hour after you eat to go swimming," I couldn’t contain myself. I picked out a pair of flippers, a mask, and a snorkel. Taking a deep breath, and telling myself that I could always come right back out of the water if the fish proved unbearable, I made my descent down the ladder into the ocean.
A school of quite large, ugly gray fish were feeding around the boat, and I landed myself in a thick swarm of them. They were all around me, touching me with their fins and scales. My pulse rate quadrupled. I made haste to get away from the area where these fish were. When my head was above water again, I observed several people on deck were laughing at me, including one of the Aussie crew members. "It’s okay,” he said, “They won’t hurt you." I would have waved at him in appreciation of his comforting words, but I was still trying to make sure I hadn’t just had a stroke.
There was nothing else to do now but swim towards the coral. If I’d tried to go back to the boat I’d have deal with that impenetrable wall of fish.
However, when I got to the coral, I not only forgot about my fear of fish, I almost entirely forgot everything. Could all this natural beauty exist on the same planet that held atomic bombs, cigarettes, and Los Angeles? My capacity for visual perception was on overdrive. I was so overwhelmed that I could barely even move. The power of nature that was on all sides of me was enough to make me believe I was invisible, and despite the presence of other snorkelers and scuba divers, all that really existed for miles was this sprawling oceanic paradise.
I was so excited - not only by the coral itself - but by the sea cucumbers and bright blue starfish and, yes - even the freely swimming fish. There were literally hundreds of fascinating, brightly colored species all around me. Some of the fish were a royal purple, some were striped like zebras, and some looked as if they had rubbed their faces in an artist’s easel. Not even a kaleidoscope contains so many colors! Though I did shudder when any of them got just a bit too close to me, I knew in my deepest mind that it was far, far more a blessing than a terror to be exposed to these creatures.
I got out of the water to buy one of the underwater cameras that the ship’s bar crew was selling. I had to share this with my family and friends in some way, even though I knew they couldn’t possibly fathom this experience unless they came to the reef themselves. Immediately after I set up the camera for use, I dived back into the ocean, knowing there was far too little time remaining. The reef was so beautiful I thought I could stare at it for weeks, without needing or wanting to do anything else.
I stayed out in the water until I heard the horn beckoning everyone to board the vessel. All adventures have an end.
On the way back to Townsville, everyone on the boat had a wonderful surprise. Although the marine biologist had told us it was unlikely we would spot any humpback whales migrating from Antarctica at this time of year, someone with a quick eye spotted a mighty fluke rise above the ocean surface. When everyone on board was informed, we all rushed excitedly on to the deck, and each time the whale displayed its fluke or its dorsal fin, a wave of collective amazement rushed through everyone. I took it as added my reward for refusing to let my ichtyophobia conquer me.
Whales can’t be called the luckiest of creatures, because of all the times we’ve threatened to wipe them out for their blubber. Yet, despite the great danger of humankind, they still playfully frolic about the sea. I could be like that. For the first time in a long time, I felt like everything was right in the world, and I knew in my heart that life could never throw me a problem I couldn’t surmount.
Sometimes, when I’m scared about something - and I often am - such as starting a new job or going alone to a new place, I wear a pair of jade fish earrings for good luck. It’s not so much that I’m superstitious. It’s more that it reminds me that I have the confidence even to face things that frighten me, and though I don’t think I’ll ever feel completely comfortable in the presence of fish, I’ll still know I once proved to myself that I don’t have to let fear stop me from living life to the fullest. Maybe I’ll never be able to change my fear of fish, or any of my other idiosyncrasies, but I know that I’ll always be able to live with them.