IN OVER YOUR HEAD – Aliens In the Water

Most of us will never get to outer space. But do you realize we can still experience an alien world, one of great mystery and wonder, where strange, legless life forms lurk; where one can float in weightless slow motion; where sound carries great distances through an atmosphere devoid of air?

Only by imagining that we're experiencing such things for the very first time can we reclaim the wonder they deserve.

Sounds pretty other-worldly, right? I guess, in a way, it's a trick question. In fact, it's just another of the many places right here on Earth that we've come to take so much for granted that we forget just how amazing they really are. Only by imagining that we're experiencing such things for the very first time can we reclaim the wonder they deserve.

The alien world I'm talking about is water. Not on top of it, where we've learned to be pretty much at home—boating, water-skiing, swimming and so on—but under the surface, immersed, beyond that lower limit of our familiar habitat.



EERIE VOICES
When I was a boy I spent my summers on the beautiful St. Croix River, which forms part of the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin. The river was our neighbor, our friend, our playground and, at times, our adversary. Every day my brother, our friends and I would spend most of our waking hours either on or in those clear-brown, tannin-stained waters.

Some of my sharpest memories of those waters are of my experiences under the surface. There I learned to escape the dunking and splash attacks of the big kids, and the jolting bites of huge black horseflies. I learned to open my eyes underwater and see, at least fuzzily, the legs of both attacker and victim. Once, while looking for clam shells on the bottom, I came face to face with the ghostly image of a huge pike, which did a piscine version of the double take before darting away.

 I came face to face with the ghostly image of a huge pike, which did a piscine version of the double take before darting away.

And the sounds. Those were perhaps the most mysterious and exotic of all the sensations in that liquid world. The muffled splashing and shouting of other swimmers penetrated from above. The high-pitched whine of an outboard motor pierced my ears, even from a boat half a mile away. Gravel ground and rattled, stirred by human feet or bottom-feeding fish.

But one sound I never did figure out was a sharp, isolated tick, like two small stones being tapped together. It was random, without any noticeable pattern, but frequent enough so I heard it every time I was underwater for more than a few seconds. What, I wonder, could possibly make that sound? Last summer, in fact, more than half a century later, it was still ticking.

I CAN FLY!

I still have never gone scuba diving, maybe because I know I'd get hooked right away. It looks so graceful, so serene. I guess the closest I've come to that experience is snorkeling in the clear waters of St. Lucia in the eastern Caribbean Windward Islands. Though I was a bit insecure about my swimming skills, I remember realizing, once I got a few feet under the surface, that this was about as close as I'd ever get to my frequent dream of being able to fly. What an incredible sensation, soaring over the colorful creatures that swayed and swam 20 or 30 feet below!

What are some of your most memorable experiences underwater? Do you recall certain sounds? Why not share them here?