It is interesting being presented with a total gap in one’s diving knowledge. Zanzibar was a blank spot on my personal diving globe, greyed out on my mental nautical chart. I knew some of its history, its location and its reputation as a honeymoon destination; but for diving, nothing. Mafia and Pemba islands were familiar by reputation but the main island of Unguja (informally known just as Zanzibar) was an unknown.
Following diving across magazines, the internet and social media makes it unusual and exciting to come across a destination of which you have no preconceptions.
Zanzibar lies 20 miles off the coast of mainland Tanzania. Notorious in the 19th century for trade in spice and slaves, and the exploits of Victorian explorers and missionaries, the island has a fascinating centuries-long blend of Swahili and Arabic culture. Diving is done predominately along the north and east coasts, on the seaward side open to the Indian Ocean.
Baraza Resort
Baraza is a 5-star all-inclusive resort located on the south-east coast. Established dive-sites on the island are to the north around the atoll of Mnemba, with the south remaining largely unexplored and undived. The resort’s 30 private villas are tastefully designed in a contemporary Arabic style, their shroud of lush vegetation making them barely visible from the beach.
The Rising Sun Dive centre lies 100m down the beach at a sister resort, its diving done from either a traditional dhow or from a steel-hulled speed boat, the Tortellona. Our guide Kirstie was a true diving generalist. One part instructor one part boatwright, she had recently spent weeks repainting and refitting the Tortellona and now looked upon it with a warm, parental affection.
Diving in Zanzibar is beholden to the tides. A tidal range of 3m is not something I’ve ever associated with tropical diving locations, but this was more Plymouth than Palau and it governed where and when we dived.
Our first dive was at Shindano, a jutting outcrop to the main fringing reef that surrounds the whole island. As we descended onto the reef at around 30m, the water column hinted at the complex tidal movement around the island – the visibility starting a clear blue in the shallows, reducing into green and then regaining its clarity below 25m.
The reef was a healthy combination of soft and hard corals, peppered with bright orange sponges and anemones. As we moved along it a dark-blue trigger fish accelerated menacingly upwards before retreating to their nests.
A pair of potato cod were a tempting photographic target but they remained disappointedly shy – only comfortable with me outside the range of my fisheye lens. The dive ended with us circling a brain coral perhaps 3m across, a centuries-old underwater landmark.
Our next dive was at a site called Pale Pale which, translating to ‘over there’, formed part of a considerable list of matter-of-factly named dive sites. When I quizzed Kirstie on the name she replied, with a wry smile, ‘because it’s over there.’
Descending to 25m we landed directly onto a school of bluestripe snapper before heading along the reef – a combination of pastel soft corals interspersed with carpet anemones, proudly occupied by Blackfoot and Clark’s anenomefish. Busying themselves about the reef were anthias, squirrelfish and the occasional Moorish Idol.
It’s a sad fact that nowadays, diving in the tropics, I always keep an eye out for signs of coral bleaching. However, the reefs that I saw in Zanzibar appeared healthy with no signs of heat damage.
Making the Summit
After finishing the dive, the tide was on the ebb meaning we had to return to the alternate landing point a mile down the coast to be met by truck. Here a natural lagoon within the fringing reef had just enough water to get the boat close to the beach.
A concrete path just under the surface led to the beach and steep stone steps meandered up the hill behind. Affectionately known as Kilimanjiro steps, we had been forewarned but it didn’t prove too challenging as we only had to carry our personal items and cameras.I’d rushed to the top to try get a photograph of white sands and sea below. Looking back down I could see Kirstie making her way up the steps with two full weightbelts crossed over her chest as lead bandoleers, and an empty tank casually over one shoulder.
The next day we had three further dives at similar sites along the main fringing reef at Ukweli, Cupis and again Shindano, focusing on the shallow portion of the reef we had missed on our first dive.
Cupis is a known hangout for frogfish and the perfect opportunity to shift focus onto macro life, with more dispersed, low lying sections with plenty of orange and yellow sponges for them to camouflage themselves on. We weren’t lucky enough to find any frogfish but did see brown mantis shrimp, ribbon eels and a variety of nudibranch.
Towards the end of the dive I was waved over by my buddy pointing at the billowing edges of an anemone carpet. After taking a moment to focus I could see two porcelain crabs busying themselves in the polka dotted creases.
The dive ended with a confrontation with a titan triggerfish. I was well placed (out of harm’s way) to observe the action. Kirstie and my buddy Simon weren’t as lucky, with a bite to the leg and a clean chunk taken from a strobe arm respectively. No real damage was done and after some agricultural hand gestures had been aimed at the triggerfish we finished the dive.
The dive centre was excited to take us south down the coast to some of the less-dived locations around an hour away by boat. Blessed with flat-calm conditions and a high tide that meant we could stay within the fringing reef, we crossed a natural bay rather than navigating round it. Even at high tide there was perhaps only a foot of water below the keel and the crew had to carefully navigate through the safe water. Kirstie winced as her freshly painted hull weaved through the vague channel, expecting the sound of scraping metal at any moment.
Preparing kit for our first dive we could see that visibility had improved. The water was now a deep blue with no sign of the green tint and particulates of our first day’s diving – apparently the result of the recent full moon.
The first dive was at Mnaze Pekee, a steep cliff-like reef. On descent we settled at around 35m but with the improved visibility we could clearly see its continuation past 50m. We moved through schools of snapper and could make out the telltale silhouette of blue surgeonfish above. The reef wall was made up of lush leather coral with the occasional whip coral dangling like a lure out into the blue.
Our surface interval was spent chasing a small pod of bottlenose dolphins. Apparently regular visitors to the reef, unfortunately they weren’t in a playful mood – shooting past us just as we entered the water. Dolphins seem to be a species that just don’t like me; every time I’ve tried to get into the water with them they just flee.
The next dive, at a site called Shungi, shared similar underwater topography – a steeply slopping reef wall. We found a large shoal of glassfish topped with coral hiding under a slight overhang. Constantly undulating, they always prove to be a photographic challenge. We passed over four whitetip sharks, resting motionless on the sand below at around 45m, before the reef opened out to a flat coral garden.
DPV?
On the boat ride back we discussed what we could do for our final day’s diving. Would we prefer to return to a previous dive site to mop up any missed photos or try a new one?
Then Kirstie presented an intriguing possibility. The dive centre had recently purchased three new expedition-spec DPVs – would we like to try them?
A plan was soon in place. We would have a day’s scootering and potentially be able to take in several of the local dive sites at one go.
The DPVs proved beautifully balanced and easy to manoeuvre with one hand. The key was to let the harness take the strain and only lightly hold on to control the speed and direction. With simple controls – off, slow or torpedo fast – the strange thing about using a DPV is that it feels both more natural and yet artificial. You can move quickly, feeling more fish-like and less hampered by your equipment, but you also have the distraction of a whirring propeller strapped close to your crotch.
The distance you can cover is itself exciting; you might not be able to pick up the detail you would on a normal dive but the quantity of reef you can explore in a single sweep is staggering.
Two dive sites had already fizzed past me. A third looked to be approaching as the silver-white sand below ended and a slowly shallowing reef came into view. It’s a great way to finish a trip: rolling up every dive into a single highlight reel.
