This week we had five inches of rain in a short time on the South Coast. Flash-flooding coursed down the river and by the next day, a slowly creeping swathe of brown water was heading down the coast. Vis turned to zero. Strange debris floated past. It was a divers nightmare, though the big swells made the surfers smile.
(Photo by Tori Davies, Surfers, City Beach, Wollongong, Aus.)
Bananas are banned on boats. For new divers, this can be an embarrassing lesson to learn. Bananas are a healthy snack of choice, so it is all too easy to just chuck one in your pack for later.
But no, imagine the look of fear and horror on my fellow divers’ faces, and the captain – visibly shaking, when I produced my between-dive-snack and began to peel that mother. Then I saw the sign, a little yellow banana with a red line through it, much like a ‘no-smoking’ sign but obviously much more detrimental to your health…
There are many superstitions relating to bananas on boats, dating back centuries. The story told to me (amid frantic headcounts and with darting eyes) was that trade-ships that sunk were left with only the bananas floating in their place. Of these flotillas, the only ones to sink in the storm were the ones with bananas on board.
Further research revealed a more likely scenario, of venomous spiders hiding amongst the banana cargo, which inevitably made their way out of the hold and poisoned the crew by biting them. Yet bananas in any form can anger the Sea Gods. Banana bread, logos on sunscreen (maybe even wearing a yellow outfit with a black hat… who knows?), even saying the word is frowned upon.
These days, bananas can be deemed responsible for many events. Fish going off the bite, seeing a shark, or a random storm whipping up will generally entice the captain to check bags and toss the offending fruit overboard. For them to take this so seriously is testimony to every fiction being based on fact. Though the times of extreme superstitious behaviour has now long passed, no one in ready to change the game. It’s safer that way. I know I now believe in the myth, because when that yellow devil was ripped from my hand that day, the sun went behind a cloud, a cool wind swung from the north, and a bird screeched overhead that sounded like a soul in hell…
I just found out that I was conceived on a tropical island during the coral spawning… Too Much Information?
But it explains a lot, as well as raising the question of who is my actual father (“Don’t ‘No, Dad’ me, I’m your polyp!”) … 
But seriously, there has to be a link between my love and connection with the ocean to that particular… ‘event’. But then I would have to say my silliness is from Dad getting a crab on the INSIDE of his mask while snorkelling (how does that even happen??) that week. Or my bad luck, as their towels got stolen. Or my accident-prone-ness, from Mum hurting her toe on the first day of the trip. Or my randomness, the sock she had to wear over that toe (Which apparently went quite well with her bikinis).
I’ll stick with the coral spawning story, but either way I’m glad. The ocean soothes and heals me, excites and amazes me, and I feel that connection when I am diving and I appreciate it. I have since been to that island, and although it has changed since the 80′s (don’t try and guess my age), it is a beautiful place, a home away from home. I didn’t see the coral spawning though, ‘coz who wants to be reminded of their parents having sex?! Not me.
(Pic – Coral Polyps, Great Barrier Reef, Aus.)
One of the most common questions people ask me as a diver is, ‘Aren’t you scared of sharks?’ My answer? Yes and No.
This is especially true these days, as overfishing increases the sharks search for food in shallower waters. With our coastal culture, Australia is obviously going to have an increase in attacks, but I believe there are ways to lower the rate.
For divers, the comfort is in that a sharks eyes are towards the top of their head, and a diver swims below. (This possibly accounts for more surfer fatalities.) But in this scenario, the fear is not in the shark itself, but the predator between you and the surface, topped with a pulsing heart and a quickly depleting tank. But then I thought, is there an increase in attacks for other reasons that we have just failed to see amidst the horror? And for this reason I say,
“Bring back the fluro!!”
Black is the new… well… black! Everything is black (with the exception of increasingly sexist pink fins and regs for women) and the thing about black is, it is very seal-like. So, why do we insist on imitating one of the sharks favourite meals? Yes black is slimming, sexy, guaranteed to all co-ordinate, doesn’t fade etc. So how come I find such appeal in the old 80′s clips of divers in bright pink and green (and yellow and blue) ensembles! Even earlier in fact, is vintage retro diving at its best…
… How is that not the BEST thing you have ever seen in your life??
So embrace the fluro! You may leave the 80′s nappy style crotch tab horror though, nobody wants to see those EVER again. But bright colours, fandangled suits and clashing palletes is what I want. For the simple reason that in the marine world some fluro colouring means ‘poison’ and I’ve never seen a hot pink seal. So go get your fluro on.
(Photo credit – Asian Diver Issue 1/2009.)
I can’t hear. Well… not very well. Sounds distort and surround me, hit me from all sides. It’s all wrong.
I turn full circle to find out where, but I can’t see properly, no peripherals. Nothing. Though the landscape is lush with plants; colour is dulled. Red disappears.
Then there’s the animals, communicating no doubt, by each emitting their own musk. It is wasted on me. Scent is mute. No fragrance, odour, stench. Nada.
And no taste. Mouth only concerned with one thing. Breathing. Guess that’s kind of important.
Only one sense left… Will it stay? As evidence that my body is still mine? That something that makes me human still resides? But no, even touch is different in this place. The pressure, the temperature, the gloves. I cannot feel.
My body is not mine here, there is no gravity, no senses, of distance, of which way is up, of my usual vices. Of humanity.
But it is beautiful here, and there is so much more to gain. I give up my body willingly.
Bubbles, travel ever upwards, the only evidence that underwater, I might still be human.
(Pic – Diver bubble trail, Solomon Islands)
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)
