Part Three. (Part One is
here, Part Two is
here.)
Into the Deep Blue
|
Gearing up for adventure. |
Turns out I worried for naught. There was an issue with his
passport and he couldn’t join us for the trip to Pula, Croatia, for the open
water dives that would lead to our certification. I spent the weekend paired
with either Ed or Popeye, meaning I had only myself to worry about and not a
buddy bolting for the surface whenever a bit of saltwater leaked through his
regulator.
We stayed in cabins at Camp Stoja along the edge of the
Adriatic Sea. There were dire-looking weather systems rolling in during the
first half of the weekend, so as soon as we arrived we dropped our bags off at
the cabins and drug our dive gear to the water to start the first of the four
required certification dives. The plan was to get at least two dives in that
afternoon, then hopefully squeeze two more in on Saturday so that Sunday was
free for a boat dive after we had been certified and could enjoy ourselves.
Next to the dive site was a natural rocky outcrop that the
German vacationers were using for sunbathing and swimming. We used the shallow
ramp shaped side to wade into the water and to exit, or the steep side for Giant-Stride
(walk right off the edge) and Croatian Twist (jump and twist mid-air to fall in
tank first) entries.
|
Buddy checks before another dive. |
The dive site was hardly a stone’s throw from the shore, and
with the hard blade fins I’d bought for myself, a few kick strokes was all it
took. Ed swam to the site and tied our dive buoy and flag to a rock at the
bottom before each dive. Here we practiced buddy surface tows, descending and
ascending, mask replace and clearing, regulator recovery, shared air, and other
basic skills required for our certification. Everything we’d already done in
the pool we were now doing 7 meters under the water.
It doesn’t sound like much, but floating inches above the
bottom staring up at the surface, it sure looks like a long ways to go. The
pressure was a surprise, too. My first descent seemed to take ages. I had to
stop every few feet to slowly work my jaw, ears, and finally try to dry swallow
to clear my Eustachian tubes. Each dive was incrementally easier, but it was
sobering to think how much a single extra atmosphere of pressure could affect
the human body.
|
I swam amongst them all day, time to see how they taste. |
We completed the first two dives that afternoon, then headed
to downtown Pula for food, weary but excited at having our first open water
experience behind us.
The next day we found a break in the weather and knocked out
the last two required dives.
The last dive of the day started uneventful. The water was
so calm that we waded out using the rocky ramp along the shore but were
surprised when we started to descend that the chop was already picking up. At
the bottom of the buoy line the current was tossing us back and forth like a
plastic bag in an eddy of wind. The visibility was less than 5 meters in any
direction and our compass navigation test was even more challenging when the
navigation markers laid by Ed earlier were drug away by the current. We
struggled to take a single group photo before calling it quits.
At the surface the conditions were much worse. There were
five-foot swells and our exit ramp was a nightmare of crashing and foaming
destruction. To the left was a small cove, slightly sheltered from the
onslaught and full of German vacation goers jumping into the maelstrom. Crazy
Germans. Popeye swam into the cove and enlisted the help of some of the
onlookers to help him out. He returned with a rope and we each took turns
swimming with the swells into the cove where we removed our equipment to be
hauled out and then followed on the rope.
Charla and I were the last two to go. We swam in together
just as the swells increased in energy and height. We looked straight up to the
towering crest and then slid down the backside into the trough.
Inside the cove
we struggled to slide out of our equipment and tanks. The waves crashed into
the cove, slamming us against the rough razor-edged rocks.
In that moment I remembered a story from a coworker about
married couples panicking in the water during SCUBA classes, placing each other
in danger when their self-preservation instincts took control. I also
remembered watching the Guardian, my go to inspirational flick for anything
swimming related, and the scene where the husband tries to push his wife out of
the rescue basket. I was determined not to be “that guy” but also knew that I
was not in a situation to act the hero.
For one, Charla didn’t need one. She’s always been stronger
and more confident in the water than I can even hope to aspire. Second, I was
wearing a 12lb aluminum tank on my back, strapped to it by a nylon vest, in a
water logged wetsuit with fins while greater than five foot swells smashed us against
the rocks. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do that wouldn’t make it all worse.
So, I grabbed the rope in one hand and wrapped my arms
around Charla and became a human punching bag for the rocks and waves. At one
point I’m pretty sure we were upside down, lost in a white frothy world of
turbulent water, but with regulators still in our mouths there wasn’t much
cause to panic. We still had the rope, we had each other, and we had plenty of
air.
Eventually, our classmates helped us doff the gear and hauled
us out of the foaming mess, just as the swells died off and calm returned to
the bay.
Tired, bruised, and elated, we were certified SCUBA divers.
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Mandatory class graduation photo taken the next morning. Note the lack of 5-foot swells and crashing waves. |
Underwater Sunshine
We scheduled two boat dives with the local dive shop for our
last full day in Croatia. We rode the rubber Zodiac-style speedboat out of the
bay and into the blue waters surrounding Croatia. It was all very exciting and
yet very relaxing. We weathered truly terrible weather during our certifying
dives and this day was nothing but warm blue clear skies and smooth waters. We
dropped off the side of the boat and descended almost 10 meters to the bottom.
And that’s when we lost Ed.
The tagalong diver that had certified earlier in the summer
had some sort of equipment malfunction once on the bottom. It might have been a
bad regulator, and I don’t know if she tried her octopus back-up, but at some
point she headed for the surface with Ed in tow. They went up too fast and his
dive computer shut down, a built-in safety feature to let him know not to dive
anymore for at least 24 hours. What I’d failed to do to Ed in multiple attempts
to demonstrate surface tows and diver rescue, she accomplished with one break
for the surface.
The rest of us continued on, following the local dive
master, Micky, in a scene right out of Life Aquatic. I even had the whimsical
synthesizer beat playing in my head while we followed him along the sea floor.
He guided us down to a max depth of 17 meters and then through stone arches,
along coral, and then into a dark cave where we surfaced to watch bats flitter
along the ceiling. It was a unique and unparalleled experience, and no one
considered that we were floating in bat guano until much later.
|
Photobombed! I have nitrogen narcossis, what's your excuse? |
I had been breathing heavy all weekend and both Popeye and
Ed were keeping a keen eye on my tank pressure during each dive. When we exited
the cave, Popeye even offered me his octopus to try prolonging my dive time
long enough to avoid the surface swim back to the boat. I tried it, got mostly
salt water and handed it back. He stuck it in his own mouth, and immediately
pulled it out. We each shrugged and he signaled for the surface. Safety is
safety, and not something to be toyed around with just for the sake of a few
extra minutes underwater.
|
Might have forgot the sunscreen again. |
Our second boat dive and last dive of the weekend was with a
much smaller group. We’d lost Ed and the tagalong, and two other divers were
not feeling recovered from the last dive. We dropped down alongside a coral
reef and easily cruised along spotting jellyfish, scorpion fish, a giant
starfish and sea cucumbers swaying in the gentle current. Once again I was
sucking down enough air for two people but we finished the entire dive without
having to surface early and rode back into the bay having just finished the
first six SCUBA dives of our lives.
Popeye took us to the Safari Bar, a local family friendly
restaurant and recreation area, to celebrate.
Some of the class jumped off the
cliff into the crystal blue waters, rode the giant wooden swings, climbed up a
wooden tower to watch the sunset on the Adriatic, and sampled the local Sangria
made with cheap red wine and canned fruit. It was easily the worst Sangria I’ve
ever had, but tasted like the finest champagne after the exploits of the last
three days.
As the sun finished setting behind the ocean waves, and the
stars and moon took over the sky, our adventure in Croatia came to a close but
our SCUBA adventures had only just begun.
Before, I trembled at the thought of what might be lurking
under the waves, but now I know what’s down there.
It’s Charla and me, and we can breathe underwater.