The Dugong of Abu Dabab

I’ve been in the water for hours, and I’m starting to get cold. Yet another turtle wheezes its way to the surface ahead of me, but I barely notice. Flicking my fins, I glide towards a cloud of disturbed sediment. A shape, barely a shadow, is snuffling along the sea bed towards me. As the scene slides in to focus I see that it’s huge. It seems to be looking at me, and it’s smiling.

I have escaped the shock and awe of Cairo and fled to the Marsa Alam section of the Egyptian Red Sea Coast. Situated four bone-rattling bus hours south of Hurghada, Marsa Alam has so far avoided much of the development that is ruining Egypt’s coastline. The water is clean, the coral still pristine, and there’s a wide variety of marine life.

I’m staying 14 km south of Marsa Alam town, at the Awlad Baraka eco-camp. Snuggled up amongst rocky hillocks, the thatched beach huts sprout from coarse brown sand like a cluster of desert mushrooms. A dry moat, complete with Indiana Jones-style wood bridge, surrounds the camp, preventing the desert from swallowing it whole. The air is sharp, and tastes like it’s been distilled. An arid bouquet, with undertones of salinity.

As well as sand, sea and solitude, Awlad Baraka boasts its own beautiful reef: an otherworldly forest of coral and colourful fish. It’s an easy boat trip from here to famous dive sites such as Elphinstone and Ras Samadai. I opt for snorkelling at Abu Dabab, to seek out the local dugong.

“He’s usually somewhere over there, feeding.” Ahmed, my dive master and new best friend, gestures vaguely towards the vast expanse of sea. Apparently, there is an area thickly carpeted with juicy sea grass, and the dugong often comes here to graze. “Just jump in and swim about, and insha’Allah you shall meet him”.

Three hours later I’m cursing all the gods, glad that my mouthpiece stops me blaspheming out loud. I’ve seen rays and numerous turtles, some with twin remora hitch-hikers, but no dugong. I’m not even sure what dugongs look like, but I’m picturing a sort of mammalian submarine.

It’s not until I’ve lost all hope that the gods finally decide to forgive me, and reveal the dugong from the murky depths. He’s larger than I’m expecting, about three metres long, and looks like an oversized torpedo with fins and a grin. He’s clearly aware of me, yet exudes a sense of dignity and calm.

I am lucky enough to spend half an hour with this underwater Buddha. Diving down for a closer look, I watch as he continues to hoover up the sea grass like some voracious, yet eerily silent, vacuum cleaner. Comfortable with my presence, he lets me accompany him on his frequent trips to the surface for a nose of air.

Eventually the spell breaks, and he drifts towards deeper waters. I start the lonely swim back to shore, my attention directed inwards.

Note: This article was written about a year ago. Since then, things have changed somewhat. Apparently the dugong no longer comes in to the bay. No-one is sure why, but the likelihood is that he’s either been scared off by the increasing crowds, or has died. Wherever he is, I’m sure he’s snuffling along contentedly, imparting a sense of peace to anyone fortunate enough to bump into him.

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