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Published: August 6th 2007
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As Gene and I navigated the streets of Cairns, we were quick to realize the city’s dependency on tourism, with The Great Barrier Reef the focal point of its industry. Our hotel was situated near the marina, adjacent to a plethora of shops and restaurants and numerous tour booking centers promoting various day trips and activities.
If Gene and I were resolute on accomplishing anything during our stay in Cairns, we were determined to take a stab at diving at what many would consider the most spectacular reef in the world. However, with Gene’s fear of drowning and my own fear of deep-sea exploration and saltwater predators, we worried we were setting ourselves up for failure.
Careful not to put too much money where our mouth is, we signed up for an introductory dive, buy-one-get-one-free, which included a cruise out to the reef, a presentation on diving safety, a trial dive with an instructor in shallow waters at the rear of the boat, and two 20-minute dives out to the Great Barrier Reef.
After piling onto the boat with the rest of the introductory divers, Gene and I nestled ourselves into two musty-odored seats with our Release of
Liability forms, promising not to sue should we hyperventilate on the ocean bed or get devoured by a Great White. Signing our lives away, we John Hancock’d the releases and rented two full-bodied stinger suits to ward off the jellyfish. Just the guide’s “recommendation” that we wear them was enough to give me the hibby jibbies. I would have been happy to wear a full body condom were one available at the time.
Each diver was assigned a number which was used to track that person’s whereabouts, on and off of the ship. “Remember your number,” the captain instructed as we boarded. “It is for your own safety and the only way that we can keep track of you. You will be required to sign yourselves out before your dive and must remember to sign yourselves back in upon your return.”
“Name please?”
“Gina Sawyer,” I replied, waiting impatiently for my numerical life-or-death designation.
“Number 30…and don’t forget it.”
Pray God we aren’t assigned numbers based on how aged we look. “Gene Sawyer,” Gene offered up expectantly.
“You’re number 29. Wait one sec…. It looks like somebody else has been assigned to your
number. I’ll just handwrite your name down here at the bottom and we can sort it out later.” The crewmember flashed a quick smile and waved us on.
Gee, thanks…that’s reassuring. At least I’ll know if my husband turns up missing. What an ass! While another crewmember walked up and down the aisle collecting forms, we were instructed that we were part of Group A, the first group to go out. As I’m never quite the first to volunteer for precarious pursuits, I wasn’t exactly enthused about being delegated the task. As I struggled into my bodysuit, still wet from prior use, I could feel my heart rate begin to elevate with the notion of penetrating water.
Gene, with an air of excitement, asked me what was wrong. “I’m just getting a bit anxious, that’s all,” I answered, trying to remain poised. I was growing more apprehensive with each additional piece of equipment fastened to my body.
Seated at the back of the boat with our legs dangling in the water, the crewmembers affixed the oxygen tanks to our backs. I began to practice breathing through the regulator, taking slow, uneasy breaths. Gene chuckled at the
expression on my face as I sat there with my lips stretched around the mouthpiece of the regulator.
“Okay. You’re all set.” The deckhand tapped me on the shoulder, indicating that I was ready to take the plunge.
Obeying the signal from our dive instructor, we lowered ourselves alongside the boat. I was the first guinea pig. Facing the instructor on the opposite side of the underwater ladder, I was directed to let water ease into my scuba mask. In order to pass muster, I had to show that I was able to clear my mask underwater, which necessitated that I look up toward the surface, apply pressure to the top center of my mask, and blow out through my nose. While I properly completed the task, I grew unnerved by the rocky waters and air bubbles obscuring my view, leaving me feeling claustrophobic. Failing to maintain a regular breathing pattern, I panicked and quickly resurfaced for a breath of fresh air.
Noticing me hanging onto the back of the boat, a crewmember inquired as to what happened. Unable to articulate exactly what went wrong, I told him that I just freaked and forgot to breath. After reassuring me that it takes a bit of getting used to, he encouraged me to give it another go.
I once again eased myself back into the water, face-to-face with my instructor. This time I had to repeat the same task and mirror the instructor’s “okay” hand gesture before moving on to the second safety check. Still apprehensive, I mastered the task, gave my instructor the appropriate “okay,” and remained attentive as she signaled for me to remove the regulator from my mouth and demonstrate that I was able to put it back in place while underwater. Feeling suffocated after removing the regulator from my mouth, I hastily replaced it, gasping through the regulator for air and re-emerging from the water. All eyes were on me as the waves crashed me into the back of the ship. A few moments later, Gene’s head bobbed up to the surface.
“Are you okay,” he asked, seemingly concerned.
“Babe, I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do this. I keep panicking and, if I can’t get down the breathing and relax a few feet under the water, there is no way that I’m going to be able to do it out there,” I whimpered, starting to get choked up due to a feeling of failure.
The German diving assistant urged Gene back underwater, warning that the guides might preclude him from diving if they thought he, too, was distressed. I reassured Gene that I was all right and persuaded him to continue on with his underwater lesson. If I was learning anything, it was that the scuba Nazi on the back of the boat was less than compassionate.
Looking down on me with an eye of frustration, the ruthless asshole reprimanded me like a child. “Look, it’s not that hard. Now go back down and try it again. You are going to ruin this for yourself.” Before I could even catch my breath, he was letting the air out of my vest to send me back under.
More flustered than ever, I submerged myself back into the water to give it one last shot. Having completed the two tasks successfully, all I needed to do was give the instructor a thumbs up to indicate that I was ready to leave the security of the boat and head out to the reef. Staring intently into the eyes of the instructor, I began to lose my nerve once again. As I forced a thumbs up, an overwhelming fear instantaneously came over me and I once again fought my way to the surface. Gene followed right behind, insisting that he was not comfortable enough to dive without me. Convinced that I had spoiled Gene’s opportunity to dive at The Great Barrier Reef, I woefully pulled myself out of the water.
Sulking, we were approached by the other couple in Group A who returned to the table to brag about their first successful introductory dive. Admitting their own uneasiness during the first few minutes of the dive, they assured me that things got easier once they removed themselves from the vicinity of the boat. We discussed the requisite safety tests in detail and, by the end of our conversation, I had regained my composure and was determined to get it right the second time around. We had one more dive to go.
* * *
For the first time during our journey, I am at a loss for words. I find it impossible to express the awe I felt upon breaking all barriers between land and sea, being able to breathe along the ocean floor and observe marine life in its natural habitat. What a spectacular experience!
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Debbie
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Loved the video clips. The kids did too! Can't wait to see more. I wanna take that mean instructor down!