I grew up in the Midwest, which means I spent my idle hours on water - skating in winter, and sailing, canoeing, and water-skiing in summer. The bottoms of our lakes were muddy or sandy - not much to look at. But we had Jacques-Yves Cousteau on TV, so we knew, in theory, that tropical oceans contained coral reefs, octopi, morays, blowfish, and sharks. And, of course, wiry Frenchmen breathing through SCUBA -- Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus.
From my adolescent perspective, diving looked like great fun: a sort of weightless freedom, akin to flying, but with the added attraction of a strange and colorful playground to explore. It was one of those things I planned to do someday, when I had plenty of time.
The time came many years later, when my girlfriend proposed a trip. To Fiji. To dive on the reefs. I was 54.
Carole had been diving for years and had recently helped her teenage daughter to learn. I needed to catch up. And I knew I needed formal training to dive safely - no one will take you diving, or even sell you compressed air, unless you can show a certification card, proof that you've passed a training course.
I signed up for lessons with a local dive shop near my home in Boulder, Colorado. This is about as far from salt water as you can get in North America, but it turns out that many cold and dry locations across the country have SCUBA schools. They get you hooked on the sport and then try to sell you a dive vacation to a warm-water place far, far away.
Private lessons in a pool
My instructor, Steve Weaver, scheduled a two-day private course at a cost of $500. We met at his shop, where he handed me a 272-page textbook and logbook package from the Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI), the largest certifying organization. Then he loaned me the appropriate gear and drove us over to the local recreational center. At poolside we wriggled into our wetsuits. Oppressed by the heavy tank and weight belt, and barely able to see my flippers through the mask (I normally use strong prescription lenses), I waddled awkwardly, like a penguin. But when we jumped into the pool, where all the weight was supported by the water, I felt freed.
Learning to use the gear is easy and natural if you feel comfortable in water. Being able to breathe more or less normally while sitting on the bottom of the pool was magical - especially when I looked up at the silvery mirror of the water surface. Steve showed me how to clear my mask, neutralize my weight with the buoyancy vest, and control my rate of ascent or descent by breathing more or less deeply. He demonstrated the hand signals that divers use to communicate with others below the surface. We got through it all on less than a tank of air (usually good for 40 to 60 minutes of submersion). Then I had to tread water for 20 minutes and swim ten laps, and we were done with the pool work. Steve said we wouldn't need a second day -- although many of his students do.
Book work is required, too
We did need some classroom work. To get certified, you need to study the book and answer a couple of dozen questions about physiology, physics, equipment, and safety issues. When you're underwater, you fly - but it's more like the stately flight of a blimp than the swooping of an airplane. You need to be aware of what pressure changes do to your lungs and your blood as you ascend and descend, and be able to calculate the amount of nitrogen that builds up in your blood at specific depths, for specific lengths of time. I studied the charts and graphs. Then came a written exam, which I passed. Steve signed and stamped my logbook, approving me for an open water test.
Diving into Fiji
To ensure a good view of those underwater creatures I expected to encounter, I bought a mask with prescription lenses, along with my own fins and a snorkel. I packed my bags and met Carole in California for the long flight to Nadi, Fiji. A couple of days later, we embarked with instructor Lino Nailagovesi to make two dives off a catamaran on Mystery Reef, in about 40 feet of bathwater-warm, crystal-clear seawater. The profusion of fish and coral life, and the brilliance of the white sandy bottom dazzled me. Lino charged me with some navigation and safety tasks - then signed me off as a certified open water diver. The following day he showed us flying fish, morays, octopus, blue-spotted lagoon rays and sting rays, and I learned to handle tidal currents on Malamala Reef.
On the third day Carole and I drove around to Pacific Harbour on the south shore, where Russi Balenagasau took us down to 100 feet in the Beqa Passage. We perched on the side of a reef to watch bull sharks, nurse sharks, silvertips, snappers, and massive groupers eat from his hand. Closer to the surface, we swam through a long tunnel in the coral.
Over the course of the next week, I came to feel very comfortable with my SCUBA equipment. I was able to deal rationally with minor malfunctions (a leaky buoyancy vest, a cracked mask) and use the surging current to help navigate around rough coral. Diving turned out to require no special athletic ability. All you have to do is plan carefully, fall off the boat, and keep your wits about you - although I confess it was a bit tricky to climb back onto the boat in a swell. Had I not been in pretty good shape, I would have needed more help from my diving companions.
Fun and friendship
Since then, Carole and I have dived off Taveuni in Fiji, and off Maui and Molokini in Hawaii. And I can't wait to dive in the Caribbean and Aegean.
In retrospect, it probably would have been a lot more fun -- and cheaper -- to take dive classes with a friend or two. But there has been plenty of opportunity to make friends with people who are passionate about diving on our expeditions. We have encountered many attractive, adventurous folks wearing bathing suits who were eager to share stories about their underwater adventures and drinks with us after dinner.
Links
Professional Association of Diving Instructors (PADI)
National Association of Underwater Instructors (NAUI)
