Close encounters of the wet kind

The vibe was expectedly laid-back, yet, surprisingly serene. There were no other guests, only the occasional chatter from resort staff and workers. We had the place to ourselves—a first—so the only sounds worth listening to were all-natural: chirping birds, croaking tuko, ocean waves, and random dog barks. It was a peaceful silence we were only too happy to break after a curated dinner with some spirited karaoke singing. 

The buffet-style meals were better than your typical island fare and came with bottomless Batangas Barako coffee strong enough to raise the dead. Not that it kept us awake: After a day of driving, diving, eating, and singing, we collapsed like beached sea cucumbers in our air-conditioned rooms. No TVs, but who needs one when there’s a live nature channel right outside your doorstep? And don’t panic, kids. Their Wi-Fi signal’s strong. 

Our dive instructors and guides—Che Nolaco, Allan Peralta, Bobby Garcia, and Benjie Onda—were all professionals with the relaxed confidence of people who’ve done this a thousand times and haven’t lost anyone yet. After a short orientation and a brief scare caused by one too many “Yes” answers on the parents’ health checklist, Che raised an eyebrow and reminded us not to worry—we were in good hands. Duly noted. 

Though we’ve done it before, a crash course in scuba diving was helpful: Breathe normally through the mouth and if you swallow seawater, don’t panic—just clear it without ascending (your regulator’s there for a reason). Equalize the pressure in your ears by pinching your nose or moving your jaw because, obviously, you can’t yawn under water like you do on a plane. Keep your mask clear. Even with glass defogger, water can seep in, so you’ll need to expel it by—guess what?—filling the mask halfway with more seawater, then blowing your nose while gently pressing the top of the mask. It actually works. 

We also relearned decompression. Ascend too fast and you risk getting “the bends,” where nitrogen bubbles form in your blood like soda fizz— causing joint pain, paralysis, or worse. Apparently, even driving to Tagaytay post-dive can be risky. It’s more than 2,000 feet above sea level. 

The short tutorial reminded us that divers either sink or float (I’m a sinker). Weighing around six kilos, waist weights keep you from bobbing around in the water like flotsam and jetsam. For professional divers, going up or down is as easy as using the inflator and deflator buttons of the buoyancy control device, or BCD.

Then there’s the dive and the promise of seeing diverse marine life in their watery habitat. Reefs aren’t called “rainforests of the sea” for nothing. 

As soon as we entered the water, we were transported to an alien world—or more accurately, a world where we were the aliens. The reef was teeming with fishes good enough to eat or display in aquariums, giant clams too old and obese to shut completely, live coral best admired from a distance unless you want to itch for weeks, and anemones hosting overprotective clownfish. Marlin and Coral were so defensive of their nest that they fearlessly glared at me whenever I got too close to Nemo. 

There’s a lobster here and there, hiding in the rocks and crevices with sea urchins, octopi, and pufferfish. A marine turtle (pawikan) put on a show, but stayed just a few strokes away to avoid our alien hands. We recalled fish vendor warnings that rainbow fish are better seen than eaten, while thousands—maybe millions—of anchovies made me grateful for my scuba gear, which kept them out of my orifices. (For crossword puzzle solvers, “scuba” stands for self-contained underwater breathing apparatus.) 

And just when we thought it couldn’t get better—bam! A school of jackfish surrounded us, glinting silver fish in the sun-dappled water, swirling like a vortex. Some bumped into us, likes folks preoccupied with their cellphones, as they swam toward the surface, forming an instant, living cloud. Swimming with the jacks (talakitok or maliputo) was hypnotic, magical, and mildly terrifying. I felt like a ravenous shark in a buffet restaurant, although I couldn’t catch a single one if I tried. And I tried. Even our dive buddies were giddy, as if they haven’t seen these schools countless times. 

Eating too much before diving? That’s a bad idea, according to Che. Some divers actually puke underwater and attract fish the same way bread does. They even have a term for it: fish feeding. 

Would we go back? In a heartbeat, but it’s a hard pass on the trekking, which we’ll leave to people whose definition of fun involves any form of hiking. So go ahead—breathe, float, sink, swim. Just avoid the pointy end of anything that resembles a porcupine. 

And whether you’re a newbie testing the waters or chasing your PADI Instructor dreams, I think Dive & Trek has you covered. The equipment is solid, the service excellent, the staff efficient, and the price won’t cost an arm and a leg.

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Dive & Trek Marine Sanctuary is located at Balayan Bay, Bauan, Batangas. For information or bookings, call or text 0908 872 9421 (look for Arlyn Enriquez).