There was a heavy wind blowing and the sea was choppy when the pod of dolphins surfaced, brief flashes of silver and speed. Thrilled, I jammed on my snorkel mask and dove overboard; they were 20-feet away when I submerged. A couple of them looked back, then disappeared with a flick of their tails. I hauled myself back into our small, flat-bottomed dinghy, grinning ear to ear, only to be told that I nearly capsized it when I so exuberantly jumped over the side. My friend, Zoltan, and I were at Shab Rumi, a reef 12 miles off the Northeast coast of Africa. We were half way through a 3-month sail trip cruising north up the Red Sea and had recently begun the most remote leg of our journey - navigating the gigantic barrier reefs of Sudan. Torn by the longest civil war in Africa, the coast of Sudan has been ignored by most travelers. There is little fresh water along the coast to support villages, so we didn't see many locals either, just occasional fishermen or nomadic Bedouins with their camels. We certainly saw no signs of the war. Free from the population pressures that crush most coastlines, the reefs of Sudan are thriving. We were sailing through one of the most pristine, intact underwater environments in the world. But even among reefs this spectacular, there are places that stand out from the rest. Shab Rumi was the spot we'd been looking forward to exploring since our trip began. This is where Jacques Cousteau first experimented with living underwater to study sharks. I couldn't wait to get in the water. We arrived at Shab Rumi late in the afternoon. As we approached, Zoltan climbed up the mast of our 25-foot sloop to scout the reef while I steered, following his frantic hand signals to avoid stray bombies. The reef had an open channel on its west side, allowing us to sail right into the sandy bottom center. When we finally dropped anchor, the reef surrounded us like a horseshoe. We impatiently pulled down the sails, secured the boat, and jumped in our dinghy, zooming off towards the southwest corner of the reef to find what was left of an abandoned underwater habitat that was once Cousteau's undersea home. The Red Sea is, of course, a colossal misnomer. The water is a vivid, transparent blue. Shab Rumi has 80-foot visibility so the habitat - part of the Conshelf Saturation Dive Program that Cousteau commandeered beginning in 1957 - was easy to spot. Built of steel and glass in 1963, the airtight, underwater hut was fed compressed air, water, and power via cables attached to a support ship anchored nearby. Once used by divers to live and work underwater for extended periods of time, only the skeleton of the structure remains. It's pear-shaped, 30-feet deep and 10-feet high, with two rows of pentagonal windows around the middle. Every inch of what's left is smothered with coral. As I swam towards it, I passed a wizened silver barracuda full of over-sized teeth. Two balloon-shaped puffer fish were behind him, propelling themselves with paper-thin wings. A large school of shimmery green fish the color of spring leaves were at my right elbow; so were some raindrops with fins. Tropical fish of all colors darted in and out of the habitat's window gaps. I dove down to look inside and found it crammed with still more coral and fish. Other than that, the habitat was empty. The reef had completely reclaimed it. I doubt human hands could have designed a more beautiful tribute to the pioneer who crusaded for the sanctity and bounty of the sea. I think Cousteau would be delighted to see his old home now. The day was fading fast so we grudgingly headed back to our boat an hour later. We had company. A dilapidated wooden boat with red stripes down the side was anchored off our starboard side. I could see four Sudanese fishermen walking on the exposed northeast side of the reef with spears, each wearing nothing but a white turban and a loincloth, rags wrapped around their feet. I was sad to imagine the coral crumbling beneath their weight, though I knew their catch would be an important source of protein for their village. The fishermen stayed out until sundown and spent the night, but were gone when we woke the next morning. I could have spent a week at Shab Rumi exploring the underwater coral canyons that sprawled like submerged rainbows in every direction. Sadly, Zoltan and I had to keep moving. The season for sailing the Red Sea was closing and we were falling behind. Soon the north wind would blow constantly from the direction we were going; already the breaks were few and far between. As we reluctantly pulled anchor, I tried to imagine what it was like to live here. How it felt to wake up in a small white cocoon submerged in a turquoise sea, utterly removed from all signs of humanity; sharks, rays, turtles, dolphins, and fish of every size and color swimming silently past the windows. I knew I'd glimpsed the remnants of paradise.