04.21.2010

Essay from 9.21.2008
After driving for 11 1/2 hours, Allen and I arrive at the marina in San Diego and board the boat that we will be spending the next three days on. We will be diving around the Channel Islands in the great kelp forests, amongst quadrupeds and garibaldi. My birthday is soon and this is my present. I am also trying out my twin doubles for the first time in the open ocean. The last time I dove with doubles was a disaster. Allen and I signed up for a deco/nitrox course and went down to Florida to dive in the fresh water grottos there. Long story short, I was woefully unprepared for the rigorous, military style dive boot camp. The instructor had a big van with F.R.O.G labeled on the side of it. Good first impression, I like frogs well enough. Then I found out it stood for, Fully Relying On God. I should have taken that as a sign from the Universe that this class was more then I was ready for. The next day brought more demoralizing frustration then I had felt since junior high math.
There are people everywhere on the boat, talking loudly, laughing as they haul gear on board and try to find a place to put it. I have been a little apprehensive about the number of other folks that are going to be sharing this boat with us. Whenever I am around more then 5 or 6 people I begin to feel as if the others are breathing all my air. Soon gear gets all sorted out. People begin to file to the upper deck into the dining area for a briefing before we head out. After introductions and some common sense rules we are allowed to mingle and socialize. I follow my husband down to the sleeping bunks and we get toothbrushes and go back up to the deck. Soon four or five people are brushing their teeth. I wonder if we are aboard a boatful of lemmings.
Our bunk is on the very bottom, ie. The floor. We crawl in and close the curtains. My sea sick pill is starting to kick in with a vengence. I had carefully timed taking it an hour before we boarded. Alas, I am a land lubber. A desert rat from western Colorado, transplanted to Salt Lake City. I have been sea sick before, and have no qualms about better living through pharmacy. In addition to quelling nausea the pill makes me drift off to sleep, actually enjoying the movement of the boat as it rises and falls on swells. I have dreams about being an owl and flying in the mountains, and then I’m awake, and we are out to sea.
A minute or two passes before the cold water starts to trickle down my back. I bob in the ocean like soap in a tub as I wait for the Allen to jump in. The current takes me away, and I have to kick to get closer to Allen before we begin our descent. As the cold water slips over my head my world becomes quiet and blue. I find my neutral buoyancy and begin my way through the giant kelp forest. As we sink gently deeper the cold water presses against me. I glance at my dive computer and see that I have 2800 psi, full tanks, I clear my ears and sigh with content. Girabaldi swim up to my mask and peer into it wondering what lies behind the reflective surface. There is reef structure that reaches down so far I can’t see the bottom. We glide along the structure taking our time, checking out the little nooks and crannies for critters. I pull ahead of Allen and turn upside down to watch my bubbles rise to the surface. The twin doubles feel unruly and I struggle with my neutral buoyancy. As I come back around to the prone position I notice that my reg is breathing a little hard. I make a mental note to ask Allen to look at it when we surface, and then I breathe the tanks dry. No Air.
Allen is about 15 feet away. He appears to be inspecting a long frond of kelp.
I watch him, willing him to feel my gaze as I slowly blow tiny little bubbles through my reg. The trick works and he glances at me, I signal to him that I’m out of air, a brisk stroke of the hand across the throat. Apparently he doesn’t quite believe me, and he mimics the signal back to me as a question. “What, You’re out of air?”
I can see through his mask that his eyebrows are lifted in a question.
Yes, goddammit, I’m out of air! I signal back to him. At the same time it dawns on me that I have an alternate reg. I think it might be a good time to try it while Allen is kicking over to me. I forget to purge it and toke on some icy sea water. I’m feeling a little air hungry now, and Allen seems to be moving in slow motion. I give the octo another suck and find that it has been cleared of water. I take a really really big pull of air on it, and then another and then another. Allen is by my side and I show him that I’m breathing now. According to Rick, the dive nazi, there is no longer an emergency, after all I’m breathing. I still feel as if there is an emergency however. I have a firm grip on Allen’s arm, and my face is very close to his. His eyebrows are all frowny now and I can see his mind whirling, trying to figure out what is going on with my rig. I signal, with authority, that I would like to ascend. We begin to slowly kick up, purging air from our BCD’s as the gas expands. At 15 feet we stop and hang for a three -minute safety stop. As we break the surface I realize that I can’t inflate my BCD. Hmmm…? One regulator is dead, no joy for the BCD. Wonder if there is something wrong with my manifold? I reach back and fiddle with the valve. I feel and hear the rush of gas from one tank to another. Everything makes sense now. My isolator manifold was in the off position. Who ever had filled my tank apparently shut it, and filled only one tank. I feel some relief, and then I feel really really stupid because I did not check my valves before hopping in to the water.
After clamoring back aboard the boat Allen and I debrief and talk what had happened and why. Allen tells me that my eyes were very wide open down there. He snickers to himself a little bit. I take note of my eyes and feel as if they are still wide open. Even out of the water, with all that lovely breathable air swirling around me I feel anxious and a little short of breath. I wonder about the propensity of humans to toe the line and try to be where they really don’t belong. I think about how breathing is really underrated and quite a fine thing in itself. I think about how pleasant it is to feel my lungs full of air.