A bundle of trident-shaped spears rests innocently in the dinghy bobbing in the sun-warmed waters of Umm Al Quwain. The guide and helmsman Mohammad Badrul hurries towards the dock, leaps from the pier, and jumps in. Thud.
He casts a trained eye at the equipment before the eager group of 14 people clamber their way in.
I am in that group. The evening breeze is briny, blustery. Badrul looks into the blue horizon that will soon camouflage with the darkening sky. Worry lines crisscross his already lined face. He isn't happy about the ferocity of the wind which might roil the waters, forcing the crabs to scurry away from sight. He looks on.
The waves lap at the painted blue and white hull of the dinghy. Badrul sways with the motion. The careworn expression on his face twitches into a smile. The conditions should be OK to sail out, he gestures.
Nervously I climb in.
The last time I was out on a fishing adventure was several years ago. It wasn't my idea. My friend was excited about using his new fishing rod.
Me? I'd never caught a fish.
My friend had said, "C'mon along."
That year, my 13-year-old self learnt to bait and wait. I remember the tug. I communicated it through a jig of excitement and nervousness. I reeled the fish with quivering hands, and screamed.
"Remove the fish from the hook quickly," he gnarled.
"I'm too scared," I yelled, unable to conceal my alarm.
The fish flapped. I jigged some more. Exasperated and furious, he yanked the rod away from my hands.
"Why didn't you tell me you are scared of fish?" he asked.
In the dinghy, I spot an empty black box under the thwart, close to the outboard motor. Today's crustacean catch will be stored in its cavernous plastic interiors.
‘Am I scared of crabs?', I ask myself. Whir. The motor chugs to life when Badrul pulls the recoil rope. The smell of the exhaust mingles with the ocean air and the palpable excitement.
Will we spot any crabs?
The waters are a tad choppy as we roll towards the Sanaiya coast, away from the Flamingo Beach Resort that organises crab-hunting expeditions. Over a period of 20 minutes, the bow cuts through eddies of foam and tangles of algae. The latter, the primary food for crabs.
Without warning, Badrul shuts off the motor in the middle of the sea. This must be time for anchorage. Gulp. Also the time when I must enter the water.
He turns off the only lamp in the dinghy. Faces disappear and outlines of bodies remain. The dim crepuscular light becomes the only visual aid. Nature's silence rescues itself by hushing sounds of the engine, rippling waters and interminable human chatter.
The water below is mysterious and dark. To be able to spot crabs at night, we will have to use waterproof torches. Badrul, still in command, connects a skein of wires to the battery on board to switch on the torches. He drops them out of the dinghy - plop, plop, plop. Fourteen torches suffuse the waters with light.
Splash. One passenger jumps out. The water level barely swishes around his thighs. When I jump in, it will probably circle my hips. And it does.
I lurch from the known to the unknown. I feel the spongy sand through my water-grip shoes that have specialised perforated insoles. I hold the torch in my left hand and a spear in the other, and follow Badrul's lead.
The water isn't as calm as he expected. We wade. Some of the Russian passengers aim their spears and shout triumphant Slavic phrases. Oh - dismay. They have hit only sand.
We have yet to spot a single crab.
All I spot are burrows made by crabs. Knowing how they move - mostly sideways - I dread the emergence of a crustacean member from under its burrow because I am petrified of its claws.
"They don't bite," Badrul reassures me. "The wind. Must be the wind," he mutters after another 15 minutes. Several passengers are impatient, and fret at the lack of sighting.
"Get back into the boat," he hollers.
I am the first to hoist myself back in. Again he yanks the pull start, steers the tiller of the motor. Whir, it roars into the silence.
The next spot is closer to the coast - unlike the earlier one, where I could barely even see a silhouette of land mass.
Again, the same routine. The torches go plop, plop, plop, and I jump in knowing what to expect.
I could not have been more wrong. Along with the rest of the passengers, I manoeuvre my steps on the sea bed. The first jolt of fear comes from a swath of plankton that brushes against my thigh, initiating the same jig of my first fish catch. This time, there is zero excitement.
In a few minutes, I hear that familiar Slavic cry of triumph from a male passenger. Followed by "Crab! Crab!" in English by a few other passengers. A clear alpha male triumph I think and sigh.
Suddenly, my thoughts freeze, as does my wandering gaze.
I spot my first crab.
I grip my spear tighter, but something else tightens up inside me. Do I push it away? Do I use my spear? Do I retrace? Blink. It's gone. More burrows lie ahead.
Before I have enough time to process my first crustacean sighting, I jump again. Something grabs at my ankle and almost pulls me, forcing me to lose balance.
Turns out to be a stray wire from a waterproof torch. I am scared, anxious and drenched further. And I am determined to fulfil at least one successful spearing. It is brutal, I know. I don't even eat crab. Still, I am willing to do it once for someone else's dinner.
I spot my second crab. I aim. I hit. My spear lodges deep into the sand. I shut my eyes tighter and grip my spear harder, moribund with fear.
A few seconds pass before I am able to muster the strength to open my eyes. The water, now turgid, has low visibility. Slowly, jaw clenched, mouth dry, I lift my spear out of the water. There on the pointy ends I spot the sum of my fears - nothing.
So I missed. Big deal.
Soon I spot my third. The optical refraction at the water's surface makes it appear further away. I aim accordingly. I hit. I feel a quiver. Not in my arms, but at the end of my spear.
Crabs in the UAE
There are more than nine species of crab in the Arabian Gulf. Of these, four are commonly found in the UAE. These include:
- Mud crab that lives in or near mud; its last pair of legs are paddle-shaped.
- Mottled shore crab is a small species of crab with a square-ish carapace.
- Blue swimmer crab is blue in colour with white spots.
- Ghost or sand crab that has one claw usually larger than the other, but the main characteristic of this species is its sand colour that helps it stay camouflaged.
Crab hunting
Once you sign up for a crab hunting expedition at the Flamingo Beach Resort, the boat will ferry you to mangroves during low tide and after sundown. (You need to bring beachwear; shoes and safety jackets will be provided.)
The guide will ensure your safety. Once in the water, you will learn to spot crabs and use your spear. Once back, the catch is cooked and served at the dinner buffet. Spear fishing in general is restricted to shallow waters. The activity is best done when water is calm and clear.
