A Cruel Sea
Ko Libong, Thailand
Perched on a cliff nearly 1,700 feet above Southern Thailand’s Rok Island, I sat glaring down at the eerily calm sea below in confusion and disbelief.
Incomplete and riddled news from nearby fishing boats of a possible underwater earthquake was slowly making its way up the hill where myself, alongside a group of 15 other tourists, huddled together on tree roots and fallen logs. My heart raced, nearly two hours ago a friend and I were doing our first open water scuba dive at 31 feet, but after loosing sight of another diver during our descent, we were forced to come up after 20 minutes. In an instant, the sea had stirred up so much sand and particles that our visibility was completely lost. It felt as though we were being shaken around in an enormous underwater snow globe. Soon afterwards, we joined a snorkeling group at a secluded beach on Rok Island, where we casually ate our lunch and floated around in the clouded shallow water, feeling the strong pull of the current swirling around us, bewildered as to what was the cause of such a moody sea. The anchored long tail boats rocked back and forth while the boatmen struggled to control them. The tide fitfully rose and fell every few minutes. Having no idea what was happening, we were told by our dive instructor and resort operator to evacuate to the island’s highest point and wait.
Stories of horror continued to trail up from below. 19 miles away an estimated 70 people were trapped inside Emerald Cave, where many drowned trying to swim through the cave’s entrance that had filled with water. Reports noted that Salidan, the main town on Lanta Island 20 miles away, had been hit by the wave, and at least 20 people were reported missing. I stared out into the sea and could just make out the long, thin island. A Swedish couple tried in vain to ask if our resort on Libong Island, some 21 miles away, had been destroyed: their 10-year old son, Jacob, had another epileptic fit and his rescue medication was still in the room.
After nearly four hours we were told it was safe to descend and that a police boat was on its way to get us. Everyone, many barefoot in their swimsuits, clutching nothing more than their sarongs, novels and sunscreen bottles, clambered back down, dodging the washed-up debris and displaced fish, hermit crabs, sea cucumbers, and coral reef pieces that the sea left behind after sweeping the bottom of the island.
Emergency evacuation was taking place all over the area, helicopters were en route to attempt to save the people trapped in the cave, but the police boat wasn’t able to come for us. We began loading into the long tail boats which would take us to a squid boat offshore. As one boat headed off, and I was hiking my leg over into the second, the first boat turned back, with the driver shouting and gesticulating to the people onshore. I was physically pulled back from the boat as others simply jumped over the edge. Word came that an aftershock tsunami was expected and the boatmen jerked their boats onto the shore, while the rest of us, frenzied and confused, ran inland.
Realizing we had to stay the night, our resort operator arranged with the National Park to open up some of the bungalows on the island. Families were piling in together, while the locals slept on the ground. Thankfully, some fishermen who had made it ashore gave us a plastic bucket full of squid, fish and crab that we barbequed on the beach.
The ease of the Thai smile is infamous, and this moment was no exception. The next morning, we awoke at dusk exhausted and silent. Fortunate news arrived that our resort on Libong Island had not been hit, but since aftershocks were still on the horizon, we weren’t able to take the wooden long tail boats and instead loaded into a 50-foot squid boat for our return. The fishermen greeted us with broad smiles, welcoming us into their home, arranging places to sit on anchor ropes, palm fronds and ice chests.
Anxiously in search of news, I climbed into their 3-foot high sleeping quarters at the top of the boat, where I flipped through television channels. It wasn’t until I landed on a local station with flashing images of a CNN broadcast that I realized the magnitude of what we narrowly escaped. Over 10,000 people had been confirmed dead the morning after the quake, with millions missing from Africa to India to Thailand and beyond. I looked down onto the families and couples nestled together, staring out into the calm ocean littered with debris. I thought of my family in America, watching the news, ill with worry. I felt so lucky to be alive, but dreaded returning: the horror of the event could only worsen, and feeling my racing heart was little consolation.
