But I Wanted to Tickle Freddie Too… by James Henderson

It sounds like a dubious idea, a scandalous one even, coming from an adult, but there’s an innocent explanation, I promise. I was diving in the Mixing Bowl off Little Cayman, reputedly the finest wall diving in the Caribbean, even in the world, some say. And Freddie; Freddie is a grouper who lives in the area. Apparently he likes scuba divers and he doesn’t mind them tickling him under the chin.

The ‘wall‘ which makes Little Cayman so famous is the side of the column on which the island stands. It drops sheer all around the island - in the click of a depth-sounder you can go from 30 feet 600 - and at the Mixing Bowl it starts at 20 feet below the water’s surface, making it a superb dive-site.

The dive started with a scare. After a briefing we descended and collected on a sandy ledge, ten people in perfect frog freefall positions checking their buoyancy. Then we headed for a chute that cut through the coral to the outside of the wall. From my position all I could see was divers disappearing down into a tiny hole. I nearly balked, imagining a traffic jam in a tunnel three feet across, 60 feet below the surface, in total darkness. As I came closer, though, I saw that it was in fact a narrow gulley, still a little claustrophobic, but worth a punt. I tagged on the end and the ragged walls rose high above me, just four feet apart; gradually we snaked through the curves of the chute until it emerged into the open sea 90 feet down.

Below, the wall stretched down into a limitless deep blue; above, it towered like a Cathedral. The buttresses and pinnacles were studded with coral like coloured sculptures. We swam along it, past barrel sponges which sat squat and immobile, tendrils waving in the water and sea fans that cast out from the wall, sifting the currents. The dive leader pointed out a lobster lurking in a crevice waving its antennae, and each diver in turn paused momentarily to peer inside. Ten yards out, a turtle swam beneath us, flapping its fins sporadically and cruising for five metres at a time.

As we swam along the wall we ascended gradually and the corals and sponges began to change - at the greater depths they are flat in order to get the maximum sunlight and they are dark in colour because the yellows and whites have been absorbed. Gradually they became brightly coloured and more tightly bunched, jostling one another to get the best of the light near the surface.

Eventually we reached another chute cutting into the wall and so we followed it up, inching through its curves and passing into a couple of caverns. A queue formed and our air pooled in the roof of the cavern, shimmering silvery like mercury. When we emerged on top of the reef moments later the air had seeped through the rock and was releasing, rising in ten or 12 columns of bubbles. It was like swimming in an oversized glass of Champagne.

On top of the reef the fish were schooling among the standing sponges and sea fans: a crowd of small bar jacks rode the current, dipping and darting in unison; squirrelfish, their huge black eyes bleary on their bright orange bodies, loitered in the overhangs. An occasional solitary fish swam in the open: parrot fish, all pastel pinks and greens, and queen angel fish, a luxurious deep blue with yellow glints.

Suddenly Freddie was there. He cruised across to the dive leader up ahead, seemingly greeting him. The dive leader cupped him under the belly and tickled him on the chin. It was an odd sight: ‘man strokes fish’, but Freddie seemed quite happy about it. Groupers are pretty ugly of course, with an undershot jaw of Habsburgian proportions and thick rubbery lips that make them look permanently grumpy and dissatisfied.

Freddie was passed down the line, each diver detaining him to take their turn. They seemed to be taking an awful long time over it, I thought, as I got steadily more frantic and impatient at the back of the line. He might lose interest by the time I got to him, perhaps he would get bored and impatient. At one point he even started to change colour - groupers, normally dull brown, will send out warning signals if they are angry - suddenly Freddie was a rather alarming shade of red with large white spots. I didn’t fancy a run-in with his teeth. Suddenly he darted off at amazing speed. He was seeing off another grouper who had strayed too close. A moment later he was back, dull brown once again.

Finally I had my chance, with Freddie loitering around the corals below me, gurning for all he was worth. Trusting to my buoyancy I swam down and reached for him, sliding my hand beneath his chin and gently scratching his slick and scaly skin. Success at last.

There is a distressing and frankly scurrilous rumour abroad that in fact Freddie doesn’t really care for humans that much after all. Apparently the only reason that he hangs out with divers is that they chase the squirrel fish out of their crevices and puts them off their guard, giving Freddie a better chance of an easy lunch. Personally I don’t believe a word.