Cuba’s Jardines de la Reina

Our boat sets off, slipping onto a calm sea that mirrors the blue sky and angelic clouds. As it cuts across the glassy surface, a seam opens beneath us, revealing another world, a magical realm frozen in time before mankind and only now cautiously welcoming visitors. This world we enter lies along the southern belly of Cuba, an island sprawling like a long green crocodile basking in the sun. Columbus, the first European to see its mangroves and cays, names it Los Jardines de la Reina in honour of his queen. Yet he never glimpses the spectacular realm of Neptune beneath his ship. Unseen, it escapes conquest and the reef and its sharks are left to follow their own natural order. Left alone, they thrive. As we descend further into this domain, more Caribbean reef sharks emerge from the blue. They patrol in numbers and with a confidence rarely seen elsewhere today, where their populations have been devastated by exploitation and habitat loss and sharks have learned caution around humans. But here, in the queen's garden, protected and undisturbed, they remain naturally self-assured. Drawn by our presence, the sharks continue to drift in from the reef. Curious yet composed, they glide toward us, circling and weaving amongst us. Their actions do not suggest interest in play, only deliberate, purposeful movement to unmistakably announce their company. When they draw near, these intelligent creatures meet our gaze with quiet interest, as much as we are drawn to them, to their enigmatic behaviour and uncertain intent. As we explore the reef and encounter other creatures, our attention shifts. But the reef sharks linger nearby, remaining our constant escorts in their realm. There are other types of sharks on the reef. A shy nurse shark emerges, only to vanish again into a small cave. A group of silvery tarpon gives way to another nurse shark, approaching from far along the trench. We lie low to let it pass over us. It becomes startled, perhaps by the bubbles from our scuba gear, and whips its long caudal fin, turning sharply away. We follow a nassau grouper into a deep recess, where we find yet another nurse shark gliding into rest in the sheltering shadows. Uninterested in our company, it quickly swims off. The grouper, however, remains unbothered, lingering against the dim wall of the nook, perhaps waiting to ambush prey. We follow the nurse shark back out, and encounter a long stream of electric violet-blue creole wrasse flowing past us. And once again, our Caribbean reef shark escort appears, returning to accompany us along the reef. Lola, the reef's congenial goliath grouper, and the garden's beloved celebrity, soon appears. Although the number of divers in the Queen's Garden is deliberately limited to protect the integrity of the sanctuary, Lola, now a large and mature grouper, has over many years come to enjoy the company of visitors. With a calm, unhurried demeanor, she greets each of us with a close inspection, like a princess in the Queen's court graciously receiving her foreign guests. She circles amongst us repeatedly, as if ensuring we are all properly welcomed, and seems to delight both in basking in our undivided attention, and in serving as the patient subject of our cameras. When we spread our arms as if to embrace her, she seems to relish the warm-hearted interaction. We will remember her fondly. We should recognize, however, that she is neither a pet nor a trained animal, but a wild creature in her natural environment, an apex predator with an essential role in the ecosystem. Her two cousins nearby may be truer representatives of her species. They ignore us entirely, content in each other's company, and glide straight through a school of Atlantic tarpon that instinctively step aside to make way. These tarpon are large, majestic fish, known as silver kings for their size and gleaming appearance. Their sides are clad in an armor of large, thick scales that shine like polished chrome. These are ancient creatures, with fossil records stretching back more than 100 million years. They possess remarkable adaptations, including the ability to gulp air and carry oxygen in their modified swim bladders, much like scuba divers carrying tanks of air. In stagnant, low-oxygen habitats, such as brackish mangrove lagoons, this ability keeps them alive. While sharks sit at the very top of the food chain, their relationships with other fish are more complex than simple predator and prey. These rainbow runners, small predators in the jack family, surprisingly treat sharks as a kind of scratching post. It may be risky, but a shark's rough, sandpaper-like skin is ideal for rubbing off irritating parasites. A larger and more experienced horse-eye jack, leading a school of smaller ones, demonstrates how to do this both skillfully and safely. Following the lesson, the eager students trail the shark, waiting for their opportunity to practice. Two of the bolder youngsters surge ahead toward the shark, but lose their nerve at the last moment and turn away. Using a shark as a scratching post is safer when done in large numbers. This sizable school of small barjacks swarms the long-suffering shark, each darting in for a quick rub. How the mighty have fallen. While the water above the reef shimmers with movement and is patrolled by sharks, the encircling sandy plains harbour their own quiet kingdom of bottom dwellers and foragers, including this spotted eagle ray. Startled, it glides away in a graceful departure. These are large, majestic creatures, their broad, powerful wings carrying them through the water with the same effortless sweep as their airborne namesake. The soft seabed is also a place of rest, and in our eagerness to explore, we are sometimes thoughtless guests. An interrupted nurse shark, surrounded by a coterie of yellowtail snappers, whips around and vanishes. A southern stingray, tucked beneath a blanket of silky sand and sleeping soundly, slowly rises from its slumber and takes flight, leaving behind a drifting cloud of dreams. The garden's seabed hosts a thriving population of queen conch, the largest herbivorous marine snail in the Western Hemisphere. These snails slowly crawl across the sand, grazing on algae and plant matter, their broad shells carrying miniature mobile gardens of hitchhiking life. On one shell, a tiny Western Atlantic-lined sea hare circles gracefully around a delicate mermaid's wine glass. Other pinhead-sized sea slugs roam the sandy bottom as well. This carnivorous headshield slug hunts for small bristle worms, while another, its prettier swallowtail cousin, searches for flatworms, each tracking the faint mucus trails their prey leave behind. Our wonderfully diverse cast of bottom dwellers includes other inhabitants. A roughhead blenny in its cranny waits for drifting food. Nearby, a lettuce sea slug harvests sunlight like a plant. A spinyhead blenny keeps watch for passing morsels. A light-sensitive brown brittle star scuttles for cover. A yellow-line arrow crab stalks about on thin, long legs. Pedersen's cleaner shrimp, nestled amongst the arms of a corkscrew anemone, advertises its cleaning services. Another cleaner, the yellow-banded coral shrimp, holds its claws before it like a ready boxer. A clam with vibrant red mantle and frilled tentacles flickers. And a gold-spot goby rounds out this sample of a bustling community. Above the coral, a great barracuda, a nocturnal predator, rests in the daylight calm. Nearby, schoolmaster snappers, mid-sized predators, school tightly for protection, yet are prey for sharks. And the Caribbean reef shark, though primarily a nocturnal hunter, spends its daylight hours patrolling the reef, ever alert for an opportunistic meal. Below these hunters moves a vibrant community of fish, lower on the food chain. A roving school of sea chubs actively recycles nutrients by grazing on algae and excreting nitrogen and other metabolic wastes. Smaller surgeonfish, blue tangs and their darker doctorfish cousins, also graze on algae, helping keep it from smothering the coral. Camouflaged among them is a barjack, a small carnivore hoping to seize any prey flushed out by the surgeonfish. French grunts, which prey on worms and shrimp, yet are themselves prey for larger predators, form large schools for safety. Creole wrasse, by contrast, are zooplankton specialists. Drifting plankton is vacuumed up by their small mouths and filtered through fine sieves in their gills. The abundance of sharks in the Queen's Garden signals a healthy, well-balanced reef. Such a thriving reef must support a large reserve of prey to sustain its sharks and the sharks, in turn, safeguard the reef's biodiversity by curbing mid-size carnivores. By preventing these predators from depleting the herbivores that keep algae in check, sharks help maintain the delicate equilibrium on which a healthy reef depends. As our final dive draws to a close and we ascend toward the boat, we receive a regal send-off from at least eight of the Queen's Guards circling below. Throughout our week among the sharks, they caused us no harm. Indeed, we felt honoured to explore their home in the company of so many, so often. Yet they remain large, untamed animals, guided by instinct and an unpredictable natural curiosity. Our pulses quicken as we slip past these majestic creatures on our way to the ladder. Once aboard, exhilaration softens into a quiet sadness as we bid farewell to the Queen's Garden and to its sharks.