Hands Off
1977
This story begins around 1965 at the Flamingo Beach Club when we were just getting into this diving thing. Although holding the title of manager, I was far more a diver than a resort manager. Perhaps this was a fortunate thing, as that positioned me to cater to our new diving fad that was just beginning to catch on.
Unknowingly, we were on the threshold of the future. Whatever doctrines we developed at that time would soon become history, though at the time I did not think of it that way. I was, however, fully aware that I was standing on the shores of a very magical place, where a watery field of gold lay before me. But to be quite honest, I didn’t entirely realize that what I did in those early days would set the standards of today.
I had been called a conservationist by some, but I felt I was not. However, I did see myself as a staunch environmentalist. I had come to know the word “conservationist" in the 1950's when it applied to tree huggers in California, always finding fault, but never a solution. I, on the other hand, believe that forests are meant to be cut, just as carrots are meant to be pulled and eaten. I am a builder and, like Frank Lloyd Wright, would prefer to build a house around a tree rather than cut it down. However, if I needed timber to build the house, then I would cut down the tree but would re-plant twice what I had taken.
I am a vegetarian because I deplore the taking of a life. I hate wars, and I hate people who make them, even though I served four years in the Pacific as a medic. I have a strong dislike for anybody who willfully destroys.
I knew that when I placed divers into our reefs there would be some damage and corals were going to be hurt. I was not doing this diving thing for fun, but for hard revenue, for myself and for the island.
In those days Bonaire was considered a deprived island with only goats, charcoal, and a little bit of salt to market. It was an island struggling to exist. International tourism was non-existent. However, I envisioned Bonaire’s magnificent bay as a field of gold, still an untapped resource.
The coral reefs became the tools of our trade, and we fought with a vengeance to maintain their health. Not only to protect nature, or because they were beautiful, but again because they were the tools of our trade. We were using our only resource, as West Virginia its coal, or California its gold, to promote revenue. However, we were fully aware that when humans enter any unspoiled environment, there would be a degree of impact.
Of course, our reefs were never used indiscriminately. When a damaged area was discovered, the site was closed for a “healing time.” Later, when I launched the mooring program, it was my intention to have the moorings as close together as piano keys. When C.U.R.O became a reality, it became their obligation to choose how to play the chords. Every quarter a new chord was to be struck, others rested, regardless of divers' laments. We were playing hardball.
I saw us using our reefs as a careful pimp uses his whores. They are his to sell, to watch over, and to care for. When they are sick, it is his duty to get them off the street and give them a rest, not to pine over, mollycoddle, or boohoo every temperature change. If you dislike the comparison here, give me a break! Those reefs were more alive than many humans I have known. Give me your money and go down to see and visit, but never disturb a polyp on the coral heads. Our industry cares about the reefs, and we busted our butts to maintain the ongoing health of the corals and to guarantee that our trespass had left no mark.
By the mid-1970's, the first of the bleeding heart conservationists began to descend on us. Most of them lived off fat grants, never understanding or wishing to understand the enormity of our industry or its needs. Several marine biologists suggested that we curtail further diving tourism. Some even suggested that we should immediately abolish 50% of our diving because they thought it was the only solution to save the reefs. Several Ph.D.'s actually implied it would be far better if the government were to outlaw diving altogether. Their reasoning, of course, was to save the reefs for their future study.
Do you know that I never have understood the phrase "Bleeding Heart Liberal"? Bleeding Heart, yes, a term I throw about like rice at a wedding. However, Liberal! That's another thing. It's a word I like because it is really "me." It baffles me how these perfectly sound and meaningful words ever got together. “Bleeding heart” means pity, remorse, soft heart and lament. “Liberal” to me means free birth, not restricted, not bound by orthodox tenets or established forms. Our fledgling dive industry for some strange reason was attracting these "bleeding hearts." It was a stanch liberal attitude that held them at bay.
Biologists say, and I agree, that our oceans are in peril. Every thinking person must know this. However, the reefs of Bonaire, as lovely as they are, are part of the grand total. Our reefs, like others around the world, are the canaries of the sea. When the reefs succumb, Mother Ocean is sick, perhaps dying. Struggling only to save the reefs is like treating the symptoms but not the cause.
In answer to the debate over what damage, if any, our industry was causing we needed a control. For this I chose to open on the south side of Klein Bonaire a new window that I named Hands Off, a new site that had never seen a diver, where we would not allow new, unskilled divers or those with a camera to enter. I was out to prove a point, and it wasn't long before that point was clearly made. The truth of it all: Yes, some divers are like bulls in a china shop. Some photographers would lie on the coral just to get a desired shot. Nine good divers, and one clumsy beast. To the polyps, it was all the same. Ayo!
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The Marine Park, in its formation, had set aside two Forbidden Zones. However, these totally closed areas were of no use in observing the controlled divers whom we allowed to enter Hands Off.
Hands Off proved that our responsibility was more than just running a good dive shop, and our industry shifted gears. We dedicated ourselves to providing more training and really teaching people how to dive. The bicycle kick and flailing arms had to go. Buoyancy control became paramount. Actually, almost every diver was run through the hoops, so to speak, then turned loose. We knew our people. If they got unruly, mean with the reefs or with us when we enforced the rules necessary to protect the reefs, we pulled their tanks and suggested they find another island. Their flagrant violations meant blacklisting everywhere on Bonaire, and no shop would rent tanks to them.
More dive shops came to Bonaire, and Diving Freedom was on the horizon. While popular with divers and a hallmark of Bonaire, perhaps this was one of my greatest blunders. As more and more divers rent tanks and throw them into pickup trucks to dive wherever and whenever they please, the damage to the coral worsens. There are no longer dive guides dedicated to preserving the reefs with each group to ensure that our trespass shall leave no mark. Now, the care of Bonaire’s reefs is up to each diver who enters her dive windows. The study conducted at Hands Off showed us that coral damage is lessened when only experienced, non-camera carrying divers are permitted to explore her reefs. Thus, divers who do not have good buoyancy control or who put the picture ahead of preserving the reefs damage Bonaire’s “fields of gold” for us all. I have told you about Bonaire’s past; her future is up to you.
don/ -79-
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By Captain Don (Experienced BonaireTalker - Post #350) on Saturday, August 9, 2008 - 7:41 pm: 
