Towards shore, I could see an orange float and two dark shapes surfacing and dipping below the water. A snorkel and fins hinted at something interesting. Chuuk is known as a Mecca for World War 2 relics. Hours later, the swimmers had moved but they were still in the water. Curious, Karen and I swam over to the action.

My dive mask offers a window into an alien landscape. I always see something different. Pillars of hard coral look like fantasy castles. The water is alive with a popping noise of sand. My snorkel squeaks between my teeth, sounding every bit like a dolphin. In Papua New Guinea, dolphins barked so loudly that I could hear them from inside our boat. When I swim any distance, I am always watching for large creatures.

Here in Micronesia, fish dart and weave below layers of coral skeletons. I find it interesting that certain species of fish exist in wildly different locations yet exhibit the same behaviour. For example, spiny squirrel fish retreat into dark places whether they are in the Caribbean or in Micronesia. Damsel fish are bold and territorial. Squid swim in lines. When they are approached they form schools and disappear with wary eyes. Eels are exciting to see because they always look like they might bite as they emerge from their hiding spots with their mouths gaping.

We had almost caught up with the other swimmers. Karen stopped to poke at sea squirts. These strange creatures look like puffballs and gaping carnivorous plants. Some scientists believe that sea squirts may contain cancer curing properties. But, it could still “take 15 years between discovery and having a product to market.” Scientists at Harvard were researching this possibility as early as 2002.

About 20 feet away, I realized that the swimmers we had seen were actually local spearfishermen. I called out to them. “Hello, hi!” but my shouts fell on deaf ears. The fishermen were under the water. With limited visibility, I had to wait for them to surface. I was very motivated to get their attention.

In the shallow water, I did my best to swim without letting my flippers touch the coral. I twisted and turned to stay aloft. “They are using a net,” Karen said.

“What? Where?” I said, expecting to see a fishing net like ours with a handle. Then the net came into view, suspended with small floats just below the water, draping all the way to the seafloor. This type of net is called a gillnet.

A fisherman reluctantly surfaced from his mission. The conversation between us was friendly though largely driven by me, talking in lively singsong. They lived close by. They were hunting reef fish.

Karen and I swam alongside the net, watching as one of the men cleared chunks of coral to allow the net to hang freely. In short order, we saw two fish the size of our hands struggling in the net with dumb expressions. It was tempting to free them. “It looks like you have a Triggerfish,” I said to one fishermen as I continued to swim.

The net was about 6 ft high and stretched for 30 feet. Recently, someone used a net like this near Nusa Island, Papua New Guinea, which caused at least one local fisherman, named Nelson, much upset. His neighbours were catching bait fish. Nelson fished from his dugout canoe, and often followed the dolphins because they led him to the bait fish. He thought that the gillnet set out by his neighbours was the reason we had not seen dolphins for days. Their food had been taken.

Still, anyway you slice it, I tried to reason that a 30 ft net is hardly the mass killing we saw near the Galapagos where we saw dozens of Chinese fishing boats stretched over 50 miles.

The net fishermen swam and casually speared a couple of damsel fish. The fish flailed like a grotesque, living shish kebab.

When I returned to the boat, I shared my disappointment with Rick.

Rick was pragmatic. “They have to eat.”

The next day, the fishermen were back. I put a battery in the camera. Karen, Henry and I made a quick beeline to their orange floats. To my surprise, the men were not there at all. Instead, the shallow water was populated by six children hunting with short spears. “Have you caught anything?” I called out.

“There are no fish,” a young boy replied.

I swam further, two girls were collecting sea cucumbers and putting them in a large bowl that floated on the water. The bowl was tethered to one of the girls.

Soon, a woman swam up, eyeing my camera. She asked me about our boat, and my family.

I asked her about how she cooked sea cucumbers, and estimated that their haul would make my family about 7 meals. She said, she had a large number of people to feed.

“There are big sea cucumbers further out to sea,” I said, trying to appear helpful.

“Yellow ones?” she asked.

“Yes, and black ones too,” I said.

She picked up a yellow sea cucumber and it squirted seawater in several thin streams.

Soon, Karen and Henry were collecting sea cucumbers. This was not going as planned.

Then, the woman produced an octopus. It was small and writhing on her short spear.  I told her that I had only ever seen three octopus in eight years. She said she finds one each time she fishes. They hide under the coral behind rocks. “They think we can’t see them, but I find them,” she said with a grin.

“They are such clever creatures,” I said. “Don’t they have something like eight brains?” (It turns out they have nine brains. One brain controls basic functions, and each tentacle contains an independent brain. The tentacles wrapped around my fingers. I was surprised at the strength of the suction.

Karen inspected the octopus’ eyes and the woman showed us its beak. “Look at its stretchy skin,” Karen said. The skin could be stretched so thin that it became transparent.

The woman was interested in learning about the cancer-curing properties of the sea squirts. She joked that perhaps she should eat more of them.

While the children hunted around her, she told me that her son was on a boat for National Geographic. He left in November, and later would fly from Guam. Her son studied marine biology.

She said she would be researching sea squirts. Perhaps over supper.