It was a beautiful morning at Las Canteras when I went for a swim last week. Low tide was at 11:11, I was in the water at 10:45 at it was looking like a nice day. I waded into the water to about waist deep and then took a few breaths in preparation for the plunge to begin the workout. Standing in the sand, I caught a glimpse of a flash in the water; I looked closer and a 10cm fish was there, along with two of his friends, circling around me. They were white, almost transparent, flashing in the sun.

I put my face in the water to look at him, he turned and looked at me as well. He swam towards me, but then retreated when I put my hand in the water. The other two hovered nearby, keeping their distance but interested in this intruder into their space. I lifted my head above the water – tourists were splashing around not far from us, but these fish were not scared and continued to hold their ground. After a brief staring contest, I moved forward to commence my swim and they did not follow.

I often wonder what we seem like from their point of view. We are these big, plodding things on the surface of the water, moving so slowly and laboriously, while they flit about naturally, always out of reach and never too worried of us getting close to them. Are we a known factor to them, or a new thing that they encounter each time we invade their territory? If cats and dogs can remember us, why not fish? Even the wild ones should have some sense of memory – the aquatic world cannot be full of simple Dora-like non-thinkers.

During my swim I pass the usual suspects: the bigger bottom feeders, the darting little multicolored ones checking out the coral for tasty morsels, and then the same pack of four or five black/white stripe ones sitting on the bottom without moving, their heads pointing in the direction of the coming tide. I usually see them once or twice during my swims in what seems to be the same place. When I see them I know that I’ve got about another 100-150 meters before it is time to turn around and head back along the beach. Why that same spot all the time? And how is it that I always seem to pass over them, at that spot and that distance from the beach? Very strange indeed.

Several days later, I went for another beach swim and once again, my little friends were there to greet me as I entered their domain. They darted around my legs, just out of reach, again not far from the shore with many other bipeds in the general area. But below the surface it was quiet. And again, they decided not to follow as I pushed out into deeper water.

The same groups and types of fish passed below my as I made my way down the beach. This time, though, something new – a small ray was there amongst the coral, flapping away at the sand, with a bunch of fish surrounding him, pointed down, waiting for him to unearth a tasty morsel on this fine morning. Were they working together or was it simply winner-takes-all? Good question, I thought to myself, as I glided over and then past the breakfast scene.

Again, at about 550 meters it is time to turn around and begin the second leg of this lap, this time fighting the brief current about 200 meters off shore. During low tide it is not very deep even at this distance, easy to stand in the brief spots of sand amongst the rocks. I am closer to the reef than the shore, and there are a few swimmers who, instead of going up/down the beach, have gone perpendicular and are lounging in the shallow water next to the reef or are walking on it and exploring the craggy surface.

What an incredible place this is – my salt water swimming pool with abundant wildlife (at low tide). Everything else is a step down, especially when it is a sunny morning and the wind isn’t blowing. I stop and remove my goggles for a moment and the color of the water jumps out at me, crystal clear and turquoise and blue and magical, different than the subdued view from my goggled universe. The hint of salt in my mouth, the feel of clean beach air in my lungs, my head is clear and my pulse calm. I am in my element, not worried about my next lap or my blood sugar or anything else. I float for a moment, holding on to my orange swim buoy that doubles as a bag to hold my valuables, getting ready to head back. And here we go!