Chaos at the C-56 Wreck: Dolphins Crashed My Dive

I thought I was in for a normal day at the C-56 wreck—until the ocean decided to mess with me.

I love it when the ocean surprises me with unexpected experiences. I’ve spent a significant amount of time diving the Mexican Riviera over the last five years, ever since we bought our second home in Playa del Carmen. Easily, one of my top three dive sites in the area is the C-56 wreck in Puerto Morelos. It’s my go-to place to look for eagle rays and to soak in the lively fish activity during the summer months. The site rarely disappoints.

However, on this day in July, I got a completely unexpected encounter. I rarely penetrate the wreck nowadays since my hope is to catch sight of something big—usually eagle rays or large schools of jacks and barracudas. I typically hover above the top deck at around 50 feet to conserve air and bottom time, drifting between the bow and stern to get better vantage points for incoming rays.

Near the end of the dive, as most people were starting their ascent on the mooring line, everything suddenly erupted in chaos.

First, an obnoxiously persistent honking sound. One of my biggest pet peeves is dive guides who endlessly sound their noisemakers to get their divers’ attention. It’s usually for something completely mundane, and it becomes a spectacle they create more for themselves than anyone else. If the shaker noisemakers weren't bad enough, some guides carry horns or toys that mimic honking seals, ducks, or other sea creatures. So of course, I assumed this concussion of noise came from a guide who didn’t know when to quit. Why would it ever be anything else?

Second, total mayhem among the fish. It was as if an apex predator had stormed the scene. Huge schools zig-zagged in frantic patterns, mimicking the bait ball frenzies of Baja California. My first thought was that the barracuda or jacks had slipped into hunting mode and were tearing through the water. But visibility was atrocious, and I was simultaneously irritated by the racket from the presumed asshole guide somewhere behind me. “Shut! Up!”

Common dolphins materialize through the murky water during the chaotic moment when I first spotted them—proof that even bad visibility can hide something extraordinary.

Then, out of the corner of my eye, through the murky, silt-stirred water, I noticed four large shadows near the seafloor beside the wreck. They moved fast—too fast—and their size was wildly out of place compared to the wreck’s usual residents.

Some people’s instincts would be to stay back. But not this guy.

Like the proverbial moth to the flame, I dropped down toward them without a second thought, and I’m glad I did.

Low and behold—dolphins.

I have never encountered dolphins anywhere near the general area of the wreck, so why would I expect them now? But there they were: four common dolphins, loud, playful, and buzzing with energy. I’ve said before that I have a love–hate relationship with dolphins because they’re moody like humans, and certain species are downright assholes.

I approached cautiously, hoping they would tolerate me. After sizing me up for a moment, they welcomed me in. They let me into their circle as they spun and spiraled around each other, a spontaneous underwater performance. When they’d had enough, they began to peel away—except for one.

One dolphin lingered behind the group and approached through the haze, coming within arm’s reach before drifting off—a quiet goodbye in less-than-ideal visibility.

The trailing dolphin drifted toward me, slowly, deliberately, until it was within arm’s reach. It stared straight into my camera lens. It nodded—I waved back—and then it slipped away into the haze. A strange little moment of mutual recognition. Pure magic.

Unfortunately, the visibility that day was some of the worst of the year—the wreck has been plagued by poor visibility all season. The photos and video came out subpar, but even as a photographer, I can admit that sometimes the moment isn’t meant to be captured. It’s meant to be lived. Another reminder, delivered by the ocean exactly when I needed it. CaaS