It's an early winter morning on the glassy Indian Ocean, the sun low on the horizon illuminating the plunging cliffs a mile to the west. The clear sky belies the previous day's blustery weather. Everywhere Cape Gannets and the odd albatross glide by, patiently, almost languidly with no fixed direction as if waiting for something. In the distance a Humpback Whale puffs an audible whispy, white spout into the air as it continues it's epic migration northwards. To the south, barely visible, the mirrored surface breaks into a series of dark ripples. A form breaks the surface, then another and another - Common Dolphins. A pod of a thousand-strong moving purposefully toward our boat.

The Divemaster directs us to don snorkeling gear and we slip into the ocean taking care not to splash. At this level, eyes in masks above the water, all one can see are the arched backs of the dolphins but dropping the mask underwater the blue realm reveals a breathtaking scene as the collective gasp from half a dozen snorkels testifies. As far down and as far across, the actual size of the pod is apparent. The dolphins have congregated in colossal numbers, all moving togther in a specific direction, transfixed on an invisible highway toward their goal. Hardly a dolphin affords us the slightest glance as they continue by constantly clicking and swizzeling. Here and there almost interspered with the pod are the dark unmistakable shapes of sharks. They too show an inperceptibly vague interest in us, more intent in holding their course with the dolphins. The sharks seem neither part nor apart from the pod, a separate species tolerated but not accepted. The sharks, it appears, are here for a free ride and continue on in the wake the pod, leaving us snorkelers alone in the big blue. Back on the boat, the atmosphere has changed.

The gannets now are whirling in excited circles, screetching and jostling a few hundred metres ahead. The dolphins have split into platoons and have spread out. Something is about to give and our boat moves cautiously closer. Suddenly as if responding to a silent starter-gun the gannets tuck in their wings and begin to plummet from the sky plunging into the water like rockets. The water boils with activity. Our scuba gear is on hastily and over we go.

Underwater the blue backdrop has been replaced with zillions of tiny silver sardines swirling and zigzaging like a giant tornado. The shoal is so big and so tightly knit that we can actually hear the sound of their scales scrapping against each other. It sounds and feels like the water is fizzing. All around, controlling and coralling the sardines in an ever tightening ball, are the dolphins working to a prepared and structured plan pushing the sardines right up to the surface where they are pelted by a hail of birds from the air. The sharks too, satisfied with leg work done by the dolphins, join in the melee. It's a free for all. Dolphin, shark, gannet, sardine become on confused mass and we humans need be vigilant. My mind races to the Divemaster's briefing - "keep arms folded, stick together, remain below the bait ball, you don't what a hand or a foot to go the way of the hapless sardines". A shark whizzes past me, sardines oozing out its jaws, the gannets sound like gunshots as they hit the water. One comes whistling down to six metres! And what is that? A seal! Our eyes barely have time to take in the frantic pace, everywhere there is action. The sardines are taken from every direction over and over again until there is nothing left but a blue void decorated by a scatter of silvery glitter. It's the only thing left of the sardines - their scales.

There is absolutely no doubt that the annual Sardine Run is the greatest wildlife spectacle in the world. Don't miss next year's run, early booking essential!