The Andamans are 480 miles west-northwest of Phuket, and of the 274 islands that make up the group, only 26 are inhabited. Lucky for us, the live-aboard Ocean Rover, run by owner Jeroen Deknatel, his cruise director Hans and their Thai crew, is sailing with 15 divers to just that destination. We don't hesitate to get our names on the manifest. A mixed group from the United States, Germany, England, Switzerland and Vietnam, we are couples, singles, photographers and adventurers. Yet we have three things in common: We are repeat passengers on the Ocean Rover; it is our first time in the Andamans; and most importantly, almost everyone has heard of the myth. "I saw it on a National Geographic show," says one diver. "I think I read it in a magazine," says another. "… somewhere on the Internet," answers another. "It" is an Andaman phenomenon — the swimming elephants. Everyone has a different source, but no one appears to know the truth behind the story. I hope this trip will give us answers.

Fish Magnet We head south and begin with a dive in a protective cove at Passage Island. Giant morays watch us from their protective shelters as we mingle with vast schools of blue-stripe snappers and batfish. A squadron of 50, perhaps 60, mobila rays pushes past us, stacked into a tight, moving wall. There are lionfish, Maori wrasses and schools of barracudas. We are exultant. For the second dive we try a spot the map calls Fish Rock, a tiny circular seamount that acts like a magnet for anything that can swim. The site is more exposed. The surge tumbles us about in a boiling soup of fusiliers, snappers, surgeonfish and jacks. Pushing deeper, we escape the surge zone. Huge boulders are heavily encrusted with crimson sponges and lavender dwarf soft corals. We stumble upon a hawksbill turtle the size of a Mini Cooper, encounter the biggest black trevalies I have ever seen, granddaddy-sized spiny lobsters, eagle rays, a manta, many different species of sweetlips, mammoth yellow-masked and emperor angelfish, a massive tiger cowrie, great barracudas, giant marbled groupers, fat octopi, and so much more I lose track. If bigger is better, this is it. Exhausted but thrilled, we shuttle back to the mothership. From there, we move past lush rainforests blanketing the mountainous islands rimmed with powder-white beaches. "Perfect Hilton real estate," someone whispers. "Let's pray they never find it," counter the rest of us. We explore new, never-dived sites as well as already-named reefs. One favorite is South Button. We spot beaked filefish, cowfish, juvenile butterflyfish and angelfish, leopard blennies, squat crabs, and many juveniles darting in and out of the protective staghorn branches. There are even a couple of baby hawksbill turtles resting, unafraid of our approach. A little deeper, the rough slope is crawling with mantis shrimp, all kinds of shrimp gobies with their blind shrimp partners, wire coral gobies, gorgonian cowries and candy-colored nudibranchs. And anemone fish are not missing either: clown and Clark's, as well as a rare yellow-striped color variation of the Spinecheek Anemonefish. It is a macro photographer's heaven. "Absolutely gorgeous," Bob spits out the words with his regulator the moment we hit the surface. "Just pristine, perfect," he adds, looking back down to the hard coral reef that makes up the entire shallows of this spot. Until now, we have been diving around the main islands scattered across the Bay of Bengal, islands shaped like the footprints of a giant. As I reflect on our dives, a haunting feeling comes over me. There sure hasn't been any sign of an elephant. I've scanned the shorelines, secretly hoping that a herd would come stomping out of the thickets into the water, only to swim to our dive site. "That's absolutely ridiculous," I tell myself. Yet I keep staring at the shore. Our journey continues on to the legendary outer islands, Narcondam Island (an extinct volcano) and Barren Island (an active volcano). This area is considered the crown jewel of Andaman diving. Hours of ocean will separate us from the larger main islands. Some local dive shops even organize camping trips to these sites. As we steam over the smooth seas, I admit that the chances of seeing elephants out here are probably getting as slim as stumbling across a dolphin walking in the forest.

Chasing Shadows Still not giving up my precious hope, I carefully bring the elephant subject up at the dinner table. "Ach," Jeroen laughs, "they set all that up for National Geographic." We eat in silence. "What I heard," adds Hans, probably sensing my disappointment, "is that it all started with a particularly amorous bull, who when separated from his favorite lady elephant, jumped ship and swam back to her. National Geographic was there and they started filming." Perhaps, but I don't buy it. There has to be more to it. My thoughts continue to spin around the subject until the fantastic seascapes at Barren Island and Narcondam Island manage to capture my complete attention, at least for the next few days. We visit sites filled with dramatic sponge-encrusted boulders, innumerable swim-throughs and canyons, immense barrel sponges, and vast fields of soft coral. I observe a dozen bumphead parrotfish — and see a resemblance to an elephant in their profile — while golden trevallies swarm eight-foot black sea bass. From Bob's sea snake run-in to encounters with sharks, mantas and eagle rays, we have become spoiled by the magnitude of fish life. But while everyone else on this trip appears more than satisfied, I'm still haunted. As we all go our own ways at the dock in Port Blair, I receive a few pity-filled hugs and a "Good luck with your elephants," from my fellow divers. But I have one more card up my sleeve. Back home I saw a lead on the Internet pointing to an elephant on the island of Havelock, in the center of the Andaman Islands. There, nature photographer Steve Bloom had photographed a swimming elephant for his new book Elephant! It is my last chance. A few hours later, Bob and I board the ferry for the crossing from Port Blair to Havelock Island.

Footprints Radhanagar Beach on Havelock Island is lined with magnificent 150-foot trees — sea mohwa, jungle jamun and jungle badam — a striking backdrop to one and a half miles of snow-white sand. We stroll into the setting sun with hopes of elephants in our hearts. The sand feels wonderful under our bare feet. A gentle break rolls onto the shore; the wavelets swish about a few pink angel-wing shells, tumble the few hermit crabs, and to my delight bathe the giant footprints of an elephant. "Rajan — along with many other elephants — was brought from India to work in the logging industry," says Susheel Dixit. A native Andaman islander, he agrees to enlighten us about his adopted elephant. But first he unfolds his quarter-century-long affair with Radhanagar Beach, claiming it was "love at first sight." Since his first steps on the beach during a school outing in 1982, he envisioned a small resort that would completely blend with the environment. In 1995 he built it — a few scattered bungalows among the tropical foliage. Today the Barefoot Jungle Resort has become a lifestyle rather than just a place to vacation. He then tells us about the elephants. "Logging camps were springing up everywhere. Elephants needed to be transported between camps to different islands, and it was simply easier and more time- and cost-efficient to swim the elephants from island to island rather than to use ships for transportation. Guided by their mahout (elephant handler), they would sometimes swim for hours. National Geographic or not, that was just the way to get them moved around." "What about Rajan?" I ask. "Beginning at age 23, he worked for 30 years in the timber industry. It was very hard labor, for both the elephants and their mahouts. When logging was banned throughout the Andamans in 2001, the elephants became obsolete, and most of them were taken back to India." "That explains why we didn't see any elephants swimming between islands," I think aloud. "The era of the swimming work elephant has come and gone." Susheel nods. "Rajan remained in the Andamans," he continues, "because his former owner, a good friend of mine, was very fond of him due to his particularly kind nature. So when Rajan ended up on Havelock through a variety of coincidental circumstances, I decided to adopt him along with his mahout, Nasru." "Rajan and Nasru are officially retired now," Susheel goes on, "but Rajan still loves to swim, and from time to time the two of them allow divers to join them. Would you like to?" And almost before Susheel finishes, I blurt out, "Certainly!" The next day I'm introduced to Rajan and find myself immediately intimidated by his dimensions. Standing beside this enormous bull, I feel tiny and insignificant. He is at least 12 feet tall, weighs perhaps four tons and possesses a pair of keep-your-distance-inspiring tusks. For the first time, I harbor second thoughts about diving with this giant. Have I dreamed too big? My dreams had not included swaying in the surge in close proximity to these tusks. I flash back to our moody Texas longhorn cattle back home and how, on a bad day, they like to hook whatever crosses their paths. I fervently hope Rajan is having a very good day. Together we walk to the beach, then slowly into the water. Rajan charges through the shallows with his big feet, stirring up great clouds of the powdery sand. Finally buoyancy takes over and his cumbersome bulk becomes seemingly weightless as he begins to swim. I am mesmerized. My apprehensions subside. Rajan is having a good day. As if agreeing, he joyfully whips his trunk to the surface to get a big breath of air, only to blow it back out under water in an exploding plume of bubbles. He swims with surprising speed in a random zigzag pattern, kicking joyfully, bucking and sometimes diving down into the sand in what appears to be his playful attempt at "lose the mahout." Venturing closer to him, I see the tiny eyes of the elephant I fell in love with so long ago. They say elephants have a good memory. I hope Rajan will remember me when I go. I know he is someone I will never forget.

Special thanks to Jeroen Deknatel and the crew of the Ocean Rover (oceanrover.com), Susheel Dixit, his dive instructors Umeed and Ilja, Nasru, Rajan and the crew at the Barefoot Jungle Resort (barefootindia.com).