For months I've been harboring thoughts and reflections and it's past time that I write them down. I'll write one page... each day... to get it all out. To build something. Like maybe a compendium. I don't get to see or talk with my friends too often either. This is a way that maybe I can talk to you. And it's my hope that these essays help inspire you or help us get a conversation started.
Today's page is about my first scuba diving experience.
In May I was in Koh Chang, Thailand, a large island near the border with Cambodia. I had done my research and found that scuba could be done there pretty cheaply. The area was known to host whale sharks at particular times, especially the time I would be going. Also intriguing that there weren't too many bloggers' write-ups about "how to do" the island. It was either going to be really good, or not worth it. Willing to take the risk!
I signed up with my dive center to do the pre-scuba theory training via computer so I'd have more time to dive during the trip. So in the 2 days of riding a bus to and from Bangkok, I watched all the necessary videos and read the articles about things like lung expansion, differential pressure -- you know, stopping at necessary depths so your face doesn't blow up when emerging (!!).
I took my test on day one: pool day. 96%. Apparently I had absorbed the technical know-how from those videos and articles! That's a good sign for grad school. After rigging up with my dive instructor, we get in the pool. So much nope. There was something about the size of the pool, the lack of real depth and space - I felt like I was drowning with all the equipment on. I was going to die in the pool. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't escape. So much for wanting to learn how to dive!
I watched my instructor's commands: "slow down," he motioned. I recognized them from the manual: *rotates flat hand* "Is something wrong?" *hand toward mouth* "Breathe." I did the thumbs up, rapidly. I'm surfacing up 2 ft. This is a weird limbo thing! Let's get out of here! On the surface my instructor started talking about my feelings. This suddenly had turned into a counseling session,
"Do you practice meditation for regular breathing?" No, no I don't.
"How about yoga?" Not consistently. I keep telling myself to sign up, and I like the idea of it, but, no I don't do yoga.
"You seem like the type that always wants to be perfect." Uh....
"Why don't you trust yourself?" Wait... what?!
Needless to say my time underwater was more about searching and staring inward to my soul.
My instructor bargained with me. I didn't want to give up. I had already convinced myself to get the scuba certificate. It was going to be proof to myself that I was adventurous. It felt like it was going to be like hiking, but only underwater. I love marine life. I want to see it up close. So that day I gave up on the pool. We decided that I would continue my introductory training in the ocean. Tomorrow I would do an accompanied dive so that I could get a feel for the open water.
You know how people say they feel like flying when they dive? I didn't feel that. Diving for me was the most intense experience of nature and physical force that I've ever had. I'm not a mountaineer, I've not done extended hiking/camping, I'm not a runner. I can walk, a lot, and I can photograph for long periods of time. I use my eyes a lot. I listen a lot. Under the water I could still use those senses, I had the experience of seeing lots of marine life and color and shapes, only on top of that was the sheer weight of all this water around me! I definitely was not flying. I felt compressed having to move through really thick and dense water. It felt more like how I imagine being in outerspace. I struggled to get my buoyancy right, trying to remember the notes from the instructional videos: add more air to your BCD, release air by pulling the tab at the back. I kept thinking my weight belt wasn't right. My instructor said that whenever I thought too much about it, my body went out of whack. When I focused on the fish and the coral, I looked like a natural.
There were times underwater where I got "too" comfortable and forgot about how I was strapped to an air tank and if I took my regulator out, my mouth could fill up with water. When I was "too" comfortable I would breathe out my nose and my mask would shake. Water creeped into my goggles and I didn't even notice. My instructor said they were nearly half full of water at one point. And that was it. If I got too comfortable, I felt more like a passive spectator - it was easy to forget about all the rules. What could go wrong?
But then I would remember that I had to stay focused - check my air gauge, breathe slowly and not rapidly. Oh yeah, what did my dive computer do? Keep an eye out for triggerfish, which might charge you and even bite your face. They're considered a "curious" fish that approach divers. My breathing would become more strained. I'd get that "I want to go home now" feeling. I was 30 feet below the surface. I panicked as my instructor led me closer and closer to the coral. Now I'm going to hit the coral and break it. This is why we shouldn't dive; these are sensitive ecosystems. Humans shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be here. I'm done now, thank you.
As much as I wanted to leave, I had to accept this fate. The coral was breathtakingly intricate, the sponges bright in color, and there was so much variety of fish: blue angelfish, piling on top of each other. We bobbed in front of a lurking, hiding giant pufferfish. Tiny damselfish floated on my instructor's shoulder like the friendly parrots of pirates. A large school of jack fish circled off the reef. I floated above coral shrimp, grouper, giant buoyant spiny urchins, a moray eel and even a scorpionfish camouflaged in the sand.
After finishing my basic training in the shallows, just off a tiny island (no more pool time!) there was one task that I still had not mastered: taking off my mask underwater. The mask is a physical barrier between all that is most precious to your body and the ocean. Taking it off would mean that I was literally stripping the last barrier between myself and this life below. It was about being the most vulnerable to nature. My instructor motioned for me to take off my mask. I shook my head. He nodded slowly, his movements looking delayed underwater. I collected my thoughts, reminded myself of the control I had in the situation. I would take off the mask and close my eyes as the seawater would rush across my face. Repositioning the mask, I'd look up to the surface and blow air through my nose to clear the mask. It would be back to normal with this constant dance between water and air.
To dive, you have to know what to do when things go wrong, so you have to push yourself into these situations of despair and pull yourself out of them, using the skills and techniques that you've been taught. And while there's an instructor to help get your PADI certificate, and you'll have a diving buddy and divemaster for trips following, YOU are still the first person responsible for YOUR safety. You must keep yourself calm, you must clear your dive mask, you must find your buddy and you must resurface slowly enough to protect your body. Diving forced me to find solace and strength in my body. It was just me, the water, and my own manipulation of air. I had to do it. I had to figure it out.
Species of triggerfish
On my last dive I was circling this large reef. Looking to the right I saw varying mountains of coral and rock towering towards the surface 30 feet upward. To the left, a landscape of stretching, undulating sand and vast, empty blue. And then a titan triggerfish in the distance. This large fish looks like a child's creation, with white encircled eyes, mirrored yellow dorsal and ventral fins that wave crazily in the water. (Another species of trigger is even called the "Picasso triggerfish.") I hovered near the reef, staring at the titan as it too stared right back, tilting its body to 45 degrees - just like the "something's wrong" hand signal. I later learned that that titan might have been thinking about an attack, had I not kept swimming onward. But that moment has lingered with me as a reminder of being a guest in another world from my own, not knowing the expectations, but staying prepared and confident as hell when put to it. Little did I know that my first scuba experiences would mean baring my soul to nature, and really, to myself.
Do I want to dive again? Yes, yes. Did it make me feel free? No. It did a great job of reminding me of my mortality and my duty to protect it.
