Here in the Andaman Islands the coral has died. There are many rumours about it but the simple fact is that where, a year ago, there was a reasonable amount of colourful, living coral, now there is a barren underwater moonscape, devoid of colour. Amazingly, the reef fish are still in abundance. It is as if they have lost their home though. Snorkelling over this scene, I feel as if I am seeing half a picture, leaving me with the haunted feeling of missing something crucial.
Not only has the coral died but the sponges and anemones appear to be missing. The lack of anemones has made life difficult for the clownfish. These brightly coloured, whimsical little fish live amongst the tentacles of sea anemones, being magically immune to the sting. They emerge out of curiosity and playfulness, only to dart back into the midst of their anemone when their courage fails.
This year, for many days, I did not see a single clownfish. And then, finally, I saw a pair. My heart sank. They were trying to hide underneath some dead coral, not an anemone in sight. They had lost their joie de vivre. They seemed nervous, anxious, unsure of themselves. The most terrible part of it, though, was that they had lost their colour. Where before they would have proclaimed their existence boldly, probably with a bright orange body and crazily improbably white stripes, now they had become as drab as the dead coral: a lustreless brown with the merest hint of their former striations.
It is a sad day indeed, when the clownfish have lost their vitality.
