‘Ahh, I just love the smell of wetsuit in the morning!’

It was one minute past eight, and staff were still in the process of switching the diveshop sign around to ‘open’ as we strolled in the door. We were the first customers of the day.

Random though that comment seemed, it did hold a grain of truth. Wetsuits do have a particular scent. And in a world where our five human senses get culled once underwater, smell being one of the main ones, you come to recognise fragrances on land with that bit more respect.

Sea water does have a particular smell, as does stagnant water, (though ‘stench’ may be a more apt synonym there) because different plants and fish probably do have their own aroma, just as flowers and land animals do. Why should underwater be any different? Apart from that our noses aren’t designed to inhale when surrounded by any other substance except air (I know. I’ve tried. My sinuses were clear for days… ).

And I’m sure you have all noticed the flood of aromas that hits us after a dive? Shampoo lingering in a removed hood. Boat engine fumes. Fish and chips from the café next to the wharf (yes please). And wetsuit wash. They are always there. But post-dive they seem that bit stronger. And it has to be because that olfactory function is halted for the duration of the dive.

In a world where humans are categorized by those five particulars, then underwater we must become something else. But it doesn’t matter, or bother us. Because by losing those things we gain others. Lack of gravity for instance, but that’s another story.

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I thought I would share this excerpt from the novel ‘Three Views Of Crystal Water’ by Katherine Govier.

 

‘Every time, it is as if I have never done this thing before; never left the safe air and gone feet first in to this cold, wallowing, two-faced, foreign element. I call it alien, although in the sweet sate it is what nourishes me and even fills my body: aren’t we ninety per cent water? But I fear this part of me. It is a world unto itself. I also adore it. Water is seductive, silky to the skin, welcome in its chill when the sun is burning. Endlessly lovely: sometimes a scroll, its lines of foam columns of script telling an ancient tale; sometimes a healer. It soothes, offering weightlessness and dream in exchange for consciousness. But try to enter it! Its surface is a pane of glass I shatter at my peril. It stings. Its weight exaggerates my insult. It bulges and caves into great troughs. It tosses me like an angry parent. It sucks me down.’ 

It’s about the Japanese women pearl divers in the 1920’s. The illustrious way it is written, and her descriptions of water especially, struck something in me that I’m sure you diveaddicts have also felt.

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Note : oceanlingo.com will be reviewing more dive fiction in more depth (excuse the pun) soon!

 

Picture the people in your life. Father, Mother, sibling, lover.

Then there’s the dive buddy. 

I think that non-divers (muggles) sometimes just don’t realise how much a dive buddy is trusted with your life. Essentially, it is someone that you defy humanity with! Through sign language and body language during training, it is someone you have got to know purely in an underwater sense. You know what frightens them, and vise versa. You know how fast they breathe air underwater, and their favourite marine creature. Underwater, you wouldn’t want anybody else.

 

Solo trips. Some might say interesting. And although you may get paired up with a kindred spirit, you usually get paired up with one of three buddies.

1. The rookie/cowboy.

2. The mamas boy.

Or 3. The knowall.

The rookie/cowboy swims here, swims there, doesn’t wait for you and doesn’t look at you once. I could be stuck in a giant clam for God’s sake! But instead, he’s racing after a stingray. He also has the post-dive potential to be wearing white bonds trunks under his wetsuit.

Wet white bonds trunks = not forgiving (even though he thinks it’s impressive).

The mama’s boy chows down his air at the sign of a yawning fish and clutches your ankle the entire time. You wanna go up? But we just got down!

And the knowall just doesn’t care. He just goes through the motions with you. Like a bad date. Like ‘mehh.’ You point at something; he nods. You sign you’re cold; he nods. You sign shark; he nods (He says swap buddies; I nod).

 

So in an industry where body language is essential. I find comfort in the fact that my dive buddy just ‘gets’ me. That we can dive together only once or twice a year and just jump straight back into that easy diving, with no awkward - handshake/who’s gonna lead/you, no you/I’m scared of fish – conversation. Because he already knows my ‘I’m cold’ face, and the buckle that I sometimes can’t quite reach gearing up! I know that he hates dive reels with a passion (it’s a looong and tangled story), what the code word ‘pizza’ means, and how important his mares hat is to him.

We only know our underwater selves.

(Pic – Buddies watch the sunset at Byron Bay, Aus)

 

Yes, I lived through an earthquake.

A minor one. Tiny, in fact. Though it didn’t feel very tiny while I was lying in my tiny trundle bed on a tiny island in the Solomons. And the one tiny thought that did pop into my head, was that, ‘What follows an earthquake is a…’ So in sweat-dampened pj’s my buddy and I run out into the night, to find Malachi, grinning white toothed, his encouragement not matching his smile. ‘Maybe tsunami, probably not. You go back sleep now ladies.’ Sure. Very reassuring.

But now I am being beckoned again, to other diving locations with new gifts of incident to give. Unpredictable experiences, the kind that make the trip, stories that I will tell with hands gestures and graphic impersonation. And perfect diving of course!

Maybe to Palau? I’ve heard that there is a lagoon full of jellyfish there, that evolution has bred the sting out of. That to dive through is like a different space and dimension. Like their soft, transparent bodies make up a new element. But no stingers? Really? A chancy statement considering!

But then there is Antarctica. So far from tropical dive stereotype. And maybe with more training I could brave a dive there underneath that quiet, frozen harshness, in an underwater glasshouse, where the water burns with cold and reflects its blue depths in bruises on tilting icebergs that look like the underside of angry clouds. I‘m actually not some kind of adrenalin junkie. Although I can see that scuba diving puts me immediately at the bottom of the foodchain. Especially in my sleek, black, seal-like apparel… so appealing to orcas.

But diving is a risk… a wonderful, wonderful risk! I can’t imagine never taking a good risk again. So when I dived in the water of Niue Island, and watched as hundreds of sea snakes coiled skywards around me to take a breath of that air that I myself was defying, their tiny jaws full of some of the strongest poison on Earth… yes I felt a little fear.

But it felt great.

(Pic – DM a bit too comfy with a sea snake, Niue Island) 

I learnt to dive in Australian Cool/Temperate waters.

These reached a glorious low of 14 degrees during Winter. I believe that experiencing diving in cold water, with so many other elements to consider and obstruct your learning process, makes for a diver who can enjoy both types of diving. I think I would have struggled with the cold more, if I had learnt say – in Fiji, and then been dipped into freezing, currenty, poor viz water and expected to know how to deal with that change.

So the ’6 Reasons Why Learning To Dive In Cold Water Will Make You A Better Diver’ Are –

1. Difficulty Levels. Tasks are more difficult to achieve in cold water and bad viz. Thick gloves, hoods and wetsuits hinder movement and make you a better diver in the long run. You learn to realise your body’s limits to temperature, and a different skill set in dealing with serious things like hypothermia; and annoying things like trying to do up a buckle underwater with numb fingers.

2. Quality Time. Meaning more time and attention from intstructors. People would generally take the ‘warm tropical dive followed by post-dive cocktails under a palm tree’ option. This means smaller classes/less students in cooler water climates.

3. Qualification. Dive charters in the tropics often only give patrons a ‘Try Dive.’ This (though fun) gives you no proper qualification, and is usually a one-off fast money spinner for the charter itself. You get your ‘Open Water Certificate’ if you endure a proper course.

4. Gear. Cool water diving involves a whole new set of gear to get used to. heat packs. Hoods and gloves. And dry-suits and semi-drys, which alter buoyancy and get you used to weight belt changes during preparation etc.

5. Warming Up! Huddling over a mug of hot chocolate post-freezing-dive, is like sensory overload! A hot choccy in the tropics just doesn’t have the same meaning. My other favourite reason is getting to wear humungous hoodies after!

6. Appreciation. Diving in the tropics for the first time, having trained for two years in cold water, was soooo eeeeesy!! I was able to appreciate where I was. And having learnt the skills in difficult conditions meant using them without being complacent to their value was awesome.

(Pic – buddies hooded up at Tasman Hauler site, Eden, Aus)

Thought I would kick this off with a story I wrote about my first dive in 2008. I can still remember that first ocean dive and thinking, ‘Yep, I’m hooked.’

~

‘Look down!’ That is the first instruction as soon as I hit the water, and I look down to see a dark shape gliding smoothly beneath us. A stingray, fairly large, amazing and gentle in its movements for something so big. I smile, but you can’t tell because the respirator is in my mouth. My buddy, much more comfortable in the water removes his and breathes a ‘wow’ in our general direction, then shoves his head back into the cold water to follow its movements again. It’s a special feeling, that we all saw something so beautiful, that we could talk about later. And even though that’s a common sight under the wharf, it will still continue to amaze me every time.

While I wait at the surface for my turn to descend with the divemaster, the others slowly disappear into the murky grey depths. The visibility is so grainy, that even when under, the others become blurry when they get even just a little ahead of me.

Touch down. We flurry the sand away from our landing place with our fins, and watch as baby stingrays vacate the area so we can kneel. They vary in size, some small like my hand, and all a patterned grey/brown. At their young age they haven’t developed barbed stings yet, but even if they had they are a docile creature not to fear.

We kneel in a circle, eyes glued to our instructor as he demonstrates skills for us to complete. We do each skill in turn. So many things to remember!

Then came the Blue Groper. I didn’t expect it to be so blue, or so large, or so sociable, but the he was all of those things and more. I first notice it when it is right next to us, slowly following, watching us sideways out of a glossy deep eye. Its body is bright, each large scale defined, and what looked like scars across one shiny side. Puppy-like and pushing at us. Perhaps wanting us to produce some snack for him!

Buoyancy was becoming easier, and we plane smoothly along together, watching as the ocean floor environment changed. Higher here, lower there, tiny corals, then sea grasses with leatherjackets hiding amongst the fronds. Then rocks, with sea urchins like well placed mines in the cracks, and fan worms retreating with a swish as we pass quietly overhead.

Suddenly barnacle encrusted pylons loom out of the edges of our vision, rising regally to the elusive surface. Sometime in our underwater venture we have turned back around to face the wharf, and at that moment I realise just how poor my navigation skills actually are.

Finally and with regret it is time to ascend. There is one final trial though…And I thought getting the wetsuit ON was hard work!

(Pic – Blue Groper)

(Logbook – Merimbula Wharf, Aus.)

Welcome to oceanlingo.com !

If you like diving and the ocean, then this is the place for you.

The ocean intrigues me, and the fact that we divers get to do the unthinkable, the unhuman, and ‘breathe underwater’ is something worth talking about.

So from one fellow diver to another, I look forward to many underwater adventures with you and expanding this community!

See you in the water,

Catherine

(Pic – Dive girl at Niue Island)