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Trident Is Not Just A Gum
October in Seattle can be lovely, but most of the time it is cold and rainy. People here often try to escape the lake size puddles and the fifty-knot windstorms for a few days to a warmer climate. We often talk about vacationing on a "live-aboard" dive boat but fear we would be the laughing stocks of the boat, the perpetual scuba losers. Like skiing, I like to dive if the conditions are perfect. This is not asking a lot in a sunny clime where the diving is right outside your front door, however, some days the BIG SURF is also right outside your front door.
I began getting nervous the night before the dive when the monster waves woke me up from a peaceful slumber. I said a quick prayer to, Poseidon, the mythological God of the Sea and hoped things would be calm in the morning. Yesterday we had no trouble swimming to the boat, as it was so calm that the boat came right to the shore. Apparently, Poseidon has his knickers in a knot this morning as the seas are stormy and there is rain on the horizon. The waves are tall, they are loud and they are crashing against the shore. I express my anxiety to the dive personnel and they suggest I wear a life jacket. This is humiliating, and the life jacket is most cumbersome. I am not worried about drowning; I am worried Poseidon, the sea God will toss me about like an old piece of seaweed. Craig puts on the life jacket and suggests I do the same; I do so as I realize my floating body will be easier to find.
I have just finished buckling all of the many straps when I see that Craig is literally running to the beach and out into the water. He shouts at me to make haste as the waves are breaking in three's, this means I have a few seconds between each set of waves to complete a record two-hundred meter race to the boat. In my great anxiety, I dash into the water and fall down twice on some nasty coral. I look up to see a giant wave coming, which beats down on my head, I am wishing for a helmet. I roll around in the surf and come up sputtering like a badly fixed faucet. This surf tossing most definitely clears up sinuses in a matter of seconds. Once again, Craig yells in my direction, "dive into the next wave". I thought only surfer dudes did this but I do as he says only to avoid more head banging. It does not work. The other divers on the boat are all looking worried and shouting encouraging words to me. I feel like the kid who is doing poorly in a swim race. This darn life jacket is hampering my natural swimming ability; I really can swim...when the waves are not pummeling me beyond recognition. My hair is hanging in my eyes and I am coughing and wheezing. Craig shouts some words of encouragement, something like, "hurry up and climb up the ladder before I am swept out to sea, you moron." I am not sure he said this but I would not be surprised. I haul myself up the ladder and collapse on the floor of the boat. I imagine I resemble a just landed giant sea sturgeon; the kelp is still hanging on my life jacket. Craig follows me within seconds; he is also blowing like a bellows.
Commiserating divers surround me; I believe they recognized my stress when I cursed Poseidon and his brothers, Zeus and Hades. My knee is bleeding from my run-in with the coral. Sympathy comes in the form of "Fabio" the Italian God of dive instructors. He is at my side in a minute with antiseptic and bandages for my scraped knees. He says he will swim me back to shore on his back when we are finished with the dive. I begin to feel better immediately. Craig rolls his eyes heavenward.
On both dives, I have a rather difficult time concentrating as I am thinking about the very real possibility that I have to swim back to shore in the giant waves. Fabio has been very gallant, but after all, he is half my size. An approaching grey shark brings me right back to reality when it swims two feet underneath me. Fabio remains in the one shark infested area much longer than I am comfortable. I swim into all three of the other divers while trying to avoid the shark. I begin to wonder if I look like a tasty seal, I am wearing a long one-piece black wetsuit and my fins look like flippers. Yes, I am definatly shark bait. Craig has a blue surf shirt on and is therefore immune to the shark attack. Now I wonder if sharks are color blind, I hope not, Craig would make a much tastier meal than me although I am sure he would put up quite a fight. Finally, we swim away from the shark only to encounter a barracuda that is swimming/patrolling the boat at about fifteen feet. Fifteen feet is the designated marker for a 3-minute safety stop in the diving world. This prevents nasty things like nitrogen buildup in your body, ie. "the bends". I turn all my rings towards my palm and put my hands under my armpits, a difficult maneuver when wearing a seal suit, I mean wetsuit. Mr. Barracuda swims back and forth but is not too menacing except when he opens his mouth. About every minute or so...
After the dive, we race the oncoming storm back to the shore, the waves have not changed in their turbulence, and if anything, the waves look even more death defying. I cower in my seat and look over at Fabio. No, he definitely cannot swim me to shore. Craig leaves the decision to me, "Do we swim or drive around to the dock?" I opt for the dock, after all, I have not seen the other side of the island and the boat is going there anyway. Craig politely concurs and opens a beer; I breathe a sigh of relief and begin to peel off my seal suit. I hope that Poseidon will be more cooperative during our diving adventure or perhaps I will bring my own trident to give me the power to command the waves.
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