I spent a month in 2024 doing an introductory course to underwater photography in South Africa. Even though I have been an avid diver for many years, I was never able to get into underwater photography until this point. Having only a few weeks to utilize the course's camera equipment and learn this completely new genre of photography, I wasn't expecting to get any noteworthy shots, nor did I make any solid plans for shots I wanted. I was there to practice more than anything else.
On one of my first dives on Aliwal Shoal, however, I came across an adorable little fangblenny poking it's head out of its orange sponge home. Though I was able to capture a few images then and there, I had a wide angle lens on the camera, and the images never quite pleased me; I knew I could get a better photo. After that, I became obsessed.
Conditions were (unfortunately) not the best that month, so when we were able to go back to that location, visibility prevented us from finding the correct spot. We often also had to go to certain locations for training that was going on, or other guests were interested in going to a different spot, so we simply did not have many days lent to us to be able to search for this fangblenny again. Finally, on my final dive with the camera, it was time. We were going to the right location, visibility was good enough that we would be able to search around. It was looking like it would finally happen. The only issue: I knew the location of the fangblenny based on a geographic feature - an arch - that occurred AFTER it's home. But I had a plan; as soon as I saw the arch, I would double back a bit and start searching. The minutes ticked by, we swam on, and on... and on. The topography got flatter with fewer large rocks, and I started to lose hope. Not remembering or recognizing anything around me, I figured the divemaster had decided to take us in a different direction. Having pretty much given up on finding the fangblenny, I set sights on other subjects and decided to simply enjoy the rest of the dive.
I spotted a stingray under a ledge, so I stopped and watched it, falling to the back of the group as I did so. I started moving again, beginning to catch up with the others, and there it was, THE ARCH! I quickly did a double take. My eyes caught the ray I had been watching, and then I saw it, a mere few feet to the left, the orange, sponge-covered rock. The fangblenny, though tiny as it was, stood out starkly with its neon blue stripes. I quickly turned back knowing my opportunity was diminishing by the second. The fangblenny retreated into it's hole; I positioned myself for the shot. I waited, turning back to watch the receding group. I waited a bit more. Come onnnnn. The group was nearly out of sight. Come out little fish! And FINALLY! It pokes its head out for a split second, I manage a single photo, and I swim off to join the others. Without getting another opportunity, I hoped beyond hope that the photo I just took was it, that it was the photo I had been trying and hoping to be able to get for the last 3 weeks. It was an anxious boat ride back, my hands shook as I plugged in my SD card. A sigh of relief came once I saw the fangblenny, in all it's blue-striped glory, smiling back at me from its home. On my very last dive with the camera, just a few days before I had to fly back home to Canada, I was able to get the shot.
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