I went to the pool a few days ago to swim a few laps. First time back in the water since I came back from Cozumel, and it gave me the chance to savor my scuba memories a bit more.
Same pool I went to for that first scuba lab-- where I felt so out of place and so scared.
I put my bag in the same locker I used when I got myself tied up in my wetsuit. No such crisis this time.
I went just to swim laps, and no one looked at me with interest or amusement because there was no heavy equipment, no knobs or belts.
Yup, I missed it.
I jumped in and there was no BCD to make me float, no regulator to let me breath underwater.
I did the first lap and was disappointed at how slowly I swam without fins or current. I even missed my mask. Laps in the local pool are kind of a bummer after Cozumel.
That last boat dive in Mexico Ricky told me I was done with lessons; I was officially a diver. My euphoria was tempered because I was a bit dizzy and nauseous, and I had the sneaking suspicion that my ears were to blame. Stupid ears.
But I got to take my camera (shallower dive), and I so wanted that "official" dive, so I suited up and went in, dizziness and all.
This time we were at Yucab. Not as much reef as the Palancar Breaks, but still amazing. Ricky was my "buddy" this time and not my teacher, so I told him with a smile that he had to show me all the cool fish. He nodded gravely like I'd charged him with guarding the holy grail. Entering the water was easy; working my way down was slow but not bad. Ricky dutifully led me to all the rarest and coolest sights: a nurse shark, a splendid toadfish, barracuda, a HUGE lobster-- all of them hiding under rocks or in little caves. The shark was probably my favorite. I wasn't the least bit afraid (he wasn't so big and he was hiding anyway), and I swear to you the look on his face said, "For cryin' out loud people-- move along. Tryin' to nap here."
This time I was with the group more, and got a kick out of watching B___ float motionless in a standing position while the dads, son, and daughter played in every nook and cranny.
I was feeling like a pro, right up until I almost brushed the reef a few times and had to awkwardly overcorrect. I have to face it, I'm just not overly coordinated or graceful.
So the last dive was a lot of playing with my camera, fighting with my ears, basking in the amazing terrain, wishing I had a friend to share it with, and trying not to look incompetent.
On the way up I had a hard time staying at the medium depth for my safety stop, and I was ready to let my Eustachian tubes have a rest, but I also couldn't believe how fast it all went and wasn't anxious for it to end.
So I'm not quite Zen yet, afterall. I don't know what the sound of one hand clapping is-- but I know the sound of sucking air at 60 feet. I can't sit motionless in the lotus position, but I hung out with sharks and eels (okay, so I tried to but wasn't cool enough for them to come out from the rocks and play, apparently).
I do know one thing: I have SO gotta get back down there... and SOON!
Monday, April 13, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Scubasuz in Heaven
At the start of this blog I nicknamed my instructor "Zen" because of how surprised I was at the serene aspects of scuba.
Now it somehow seems even more appropriate, because on March 16, 2009, I made it to Nirvana (and I ain't talkin' 'bout the band, neither).
I got on the boat with Ricky, Snoop (my name for the dive master), a father and daughter duo, a father and son duo, and "B," a been-there-done-that New Yorker. I was so sure the little boat would make me seasick, so I hung back and got on last. I was wrong (as usual, apparently). The boat ride was fantastic. Bumping along with the wind, the sun, looking at the turquoise water and the white sand and rocky reef shores roll by, finally, FINALLY going to do a "real" dive: it was great. I could have circled the island in that boat all day.
I still had one or two things I had to prove to Ricky, my referral instructor in Cozumel, before I could get my official certification, and he reminded me of it just before we arrived at Palancar. Suddenly I felt a little queasy. NO MORE BLASTED DISASTER PRACTICE, %$# it! But I suited up obediently. I brought a dive skin (think bike shorts that go from ankle to neck to wrists), and I tried to discreetly wriggle into it, but everyone else was doing the same. I'm glad that I didn't bring the wetsuit, though, because I was self-conscious enough about being the only virgin diver on board without throwing in the acrobatics required to get into my wetsuit. The other folk, all very friendly, listened with bemused interest as Ricky went over the skills I'd need to do for this dive.
I know, I know. Not REALLY my first dive. But 20-30 feet down when I waded in from shore the first time and then jumped off a dock the second time didn't feel real enough to me. I guess not even the eel or the seahorse helped! I wanted to be completely free of shore. I wanted to be deep.
It turns out we were going so deep that I couldn't take my camera. The dive was to 60 feet, and my camera's only rated to 50 (not really a dive camera-- but until I have hundreds of bucks to blow on a dive camera, it's what I've got). So I left it on the boat. In some ways I think it was a good thing, because I thoroughly, completely enjoyed this dive, and I wasn't distracted by trying to take pictures.
This time I had to get into the water by rolling off the boat backwards. Naturally, I had issues. Naturally, I told Ricky I was scared. Naturally, he just looked at me like I was a moron. Naturally, he was right.
The boat was small, so diving buddies had to go off together, one on each side of the boat, so the boat wouldn't tip over. That meant when Ricky was ready to roll, I had to be ready, too.
I hung my (have I mentioned lately) really heavy gear off the side of the boat, put on the mask and regulator and filled my BCD with air. 1-2-3 splash and once again it was SO easy that I was embarrassed about my anxiety.
Ricky knew about my ears (how I have to go down more slowly because they don't equalize very well), so he stayed between me and the rest of the group, who were well below by the time I even entered the water. The ear problem turned out to be a blessing, because suddenly Ricky was pointing frantically to a space beside me, just out of range of my limited peripheral vision (mask issue). I thought maybe it was something scary, but it was a gigantic turtle swimming to the surface.
Now it somehow seems even more appropriate, because on March 16, 2009, I made it to Nirvana (and I ain't talkin' 'bout the band, neither).
I got on the boat with Ricky, Snoop (my name for the dive master), a father and daughter duo, a father and son duo, and "B," a been-there-done-that New Yorker. I was so sure the little boat would make me seasick, so I hung back and got on last. I was wrong (as usual, apparently). The boat ride was fantastic. Bumping along with the wind, the sun, looking at the turquoise water and the white sand and rocky reef shores roll by, finally, FINALLY going to do a "real" dive: it was great. I could have circled the island in that boat all day.
I still had one or two things I had to prove to Ricky, my referral instructor in Cozumel, before I could get my official certification, and he reminded me of it just before we arrived at Palancar. Suddenly I felt a little queasy. NO MORE BLASTED DISASTER PRACTICE, %$# it! But I suited up obediently. I brought a dive skin (think bike shorts that go from ankle to neck to wrists), and I tried to discreetly wriggle into it, but everyone else was doing the same. I'm glad that I didn't bring the wetsuit, though, because I was self-conscious enough about being the only virgin diver on board without throwing in the acrobatics required to get into my wetsuit. The other folk, all very friendly, listened with bemused interest as Ricky went over the skills I'd need to do for this dive.
I know, I know. Not REALLY my first dive. But 20-30 feet down when I waded in from shore the first time and then jumped off a dock the second time didn't feel real enough to me. I guess not even the eel or the seahorse helped! I wanted to be completely free of shore. I wanted to be deep.
It turns out we were going so deep that I couldn't take my camera. The dive was to 60 feet, and my camera's only rated to 50 (not really a dive camera-- but until I have hundreds of bucks to blow on a dive camera, it's what I've got). So I left it on the boat. In some ways I think it was a good thing, because I thoroughly, completely enjoyed this dive, and I wasn't distracted by trying to take pictures.
This time I had to get into the water by rolling off the boat backwards. Naturally, I had issues. Naturally, I told Ricky I was scared. Naturally, he just looked at me like I was a moron. Naturally, he was right.
The boat was small, so diving buddies had to go off together, one on each side of the boat, so the boat wouldn't tip over. That meant when Ricky was ready to roll, I had to be ready, too.
I hung my (have I mentioned lately) really heavy gear off the side of the boat, put on the mask and regulator and filled my BCD with air. 1-2-3 splash and once again it was SO easy that I was embarrassed about my anxiety.
Ricky knew about my ears (how I have to go down more slowly because they don't equalize very well), so he stayed between me and the rest of the group, who were well below by the time I even entered the water. The ear problem turned out to be a blessing, because suddenly Ricky was pointing frantically to a space beside me, just out of range of my limited peripheral vision (mask issue). I thought maybe it was something scary, but it was a gigantic turtle swimming to the surface.
[Not a pic I took-- no camera, remember?-- but this is what my guy looked like]
TELL me that's not incredibly cool. And I got to see one before the rest of the group did.
I made it down (eventually), and it was one of the most awe-inspiring sights I have ever seen. The reef forms canyons, caves, and crevices, most surfaces covered with an unreal assortment of waving plants and sponges. The deeper you go, the less you can see color, but I could see every color I'd ever imagined. There were tiny critters and huge ones and everything in between, and every dark overhang seemed to have something cool hiding in it. I've never seen a place so teeming with such variety of life. The fish were not the least bit interested in us, and would swim around, near, and over us. Ricky kept leading me away from the group through canyons to point out different rare critters, but everything was so new and so interesting that I couldn't help but stare at it all-- not just the unusual bits.
All the embarrassment, all the expense, all the trips to the stupid ear doctor, all of it was worth it for those 40 minutes.
And this was a drift dive: just enough gentle current to move you along slowly. Zero effort. You just hang there, suspended a few feet from the bottom, and watch thousands of God's creatures as you drift by. The boat cruises down and picks you up when you're finished. No exertion necessary.
I know I passed off some skills, but I couldn't tell you what they were. None of it mattered any more compared to the reef.
We headed back to the surface (funny thing about diving, I doubt many people are dumb enough not to surface when they're supposed to, seeing as how you'll run out of air if you do). I lost a fin getting into the boat, but Ricky gallantly retrieved it for me.
I hadn't been near the group much, but back in the boat they all wanted to know what my first time had felt like. I gave them a huge knowing grin, which they all returned, and I gushed about how amazing it all was.
B___, the "been there done that" diver, had been to Cozumel to dive every year for 15-20 years. I asked him how things had changed, and he said there was much less life than there used to be. Maybe it's all the people (there were dozens of boats just in the area we were), maybe the hurricane that destroyed part of the reef, but I have to say if this is the DIMINISHED version, holy cow, the original must have been off the charts. Check out the pics below and the pics at http://www.diver.net/bbs/posts002/70452.shtml to see the kinds of amazing things I saw (this is random stuff I googled, but it's just like what I experienced).
We had to have our surface time, so we headed to a beach where we had a few minutes to wander. The beach was crowded with families and spring breakers and waiters bringing drinks to people under cabanas.
I was smug. I had just come from paradise. I had just been somewhere that made sitting at the beach all day seem like purgatory. I was part of a club that many of them just didn't understand. I wondered who'd been down there, too... who'd understand the paradox of excitement and complete calm that I'd just been through.
And I still had one more dive to go.
Shore Dive 2, Cozumel
This was a quickie--
We surfaced from the first dive and meandered back to the dive shop, again walking in front of the sunbathers on the beach.
We took the requisite break (you have to take time to clear nitrogen from your bod), strapped on new tanks, and headed this time for the dock.
Now I had to prove to Ricky that I could do the "big step" method of getting into the water. SCUBA is so creative with the terminology, don't you think?
So here I was, with a weight belt and 40 other pounds of tank and equipment, standing on the edge of the dock like a three-year-old at the edge of a pool. And I'm sorry to admit I was scared.
See, when I was about 5 or 6 I did a lovely twist jump off the edge of a pool and cracked my chin open. Hospital, stitches, the works followed. I'm still somewhat wary of jumping into water. I'm fine at the pool, but add the equipment and I become certain something's going to happen. I had done the big step in the pool for Sr. Zen back home, but this was higher and there were boats buzzing around and rocks and no lifeguard in the ocean.
And perhaps most importantly, there was no mommy or daddy in the water to assure me they would catch me.
Yes, in retrospect it seems silly. But I told Ricky the instructor I was scared, and he gazed at me silently with his Mr. Suave eyes and said, without the least bit of irony (but perhaps a wee bit of scorn), "Why?"
A man of few words, but strangely effective.
I pumped up my BCD (vest), put the regulator in my mouth, held onto my mask, and took the plunge. It was nothin'. It was less than nothin'. With all that air in the BCD I bobbed to the surface (and, in fact, half my body was out of the water). There was no temperature shock (Mexico, right? Nice and warm). There was no hold-your-breath problem (regulator in). It was nothing. I'm such a wimp.
The rest of the dive was fine. I was distracted by the fishies, and Ricky was making me practice underwater castrophes. Once again I had to take off my mask and put it back on. It got caught in my hair and yanked out a huge chunk. All of a sudden people paying $15-$20 for things that go over your mask strap to protect hair didn't seem so foolish after all. (I completely repent of scoffing when they tried to sell me one back home). When I got the mask back on and opened my eyes I also saw that the current had carried me an amazing distance in that short span. Note to self: don't close your eyes and dink around with your equipment when you're in a current.
My one other big memory from that dive was the unnerving feeling that accompanies looking up to see boats speeding around above you. I had brief visions of rocketing to the surface and being chewed up by a boat engine.
I also want to note that every cliche song you can imagine was going through my mind: "Bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea..." "Under the sea, under the sea, something is better, down where it's wetter, naturally..."
Ya know, I'm with Sebastian. Why the heck would a mermaid give up the ocean for some pretty boy on the surface?
Well-- for MOST pretty boys on the surface [wink].
We surfaced from the first dive and meandered back to the dive shop, again walking in front of the sunbathers on the beach.
We took the requisite break (you have to take time to clear nitrogen from your bod), strapped on new tanks, and headed this time for the dock.
Now I had to prove to Ricky that I could do the "big step" method of getting into the water. SCUBA is so creative with the terminology, don't you think?
So here I was, with a weight belt and 40 other pounds of tank and equipment, standing on the edge of the dock like a three-year-old at the edge of a pool. And I'm sorry to admit I was scared.
See, when I was about 5 or 6 I did a lovely twist jump off the edge of a pool and cracked my chin open. Hospital, stitches, the works followed. I'm still somewhat wary of jumping into water. I'm fine at the pool, but add the equipment and I become certain something's going to happen. I had done the big step in the pool for Sr. Zen back home, but this was higher and there were boats buzzing around and rocks and no lifeguard in the ocean.
And perhaps most importantly, there was no mommy or daddy in the water to assure me they would catch me.
Yes, in retrospect it seems silly. But I told Ricky the instructor I was scared, and he gazed at me silently with his Mr. Suave eyes and said, without the least bit of irony (but perhaps a wee bit of scorn), "Why?"
A man of few words, but strangely effective.
I pumped up my BCD (vest), put the regulator in my mouth, held onto my mask, and took the plunge. It was nothin'. It was less than nothin'. With all that air in the BCD I bobbed to the surface (and, in fact, half my body was out of the water). There was no temperature shock (Mexico, right? Nice and warm). There was no hold-your-breath problem (regulator in). It was nothing. I'm such a wimp.
The rest of the dive was fine. I was distracted by the fishies, and Ricky was making me practice underwater castrophes. Once again I had to take off my mask and put it back on. It got caught in my hair and yanked out a huge chunk. All of a sudden people paying $15-$20 for things that go over your mask strap to protect hair didn't seem so foolish after all. (I completely repent of scoffing when they tried to sell me one back home). When I got the mask back on and opened my eyes I also saw that the current had carried me an amazing distance in that short span. Note to self: don't close your eyes and dink around with your equipment when you're in a current.
My one other big memory from that dive was the unnerving feeling that accompanies looking up to see boats speeding around above you. I had brief visions of rocketing to the surface and being chewed up by a boat engine.
I also want to note that every cliche song you can imagine was going through my mind: "Bobbing along, bobbing along on the bottom of the beautiful briny sea..." "Under the sea, under the sea, something is better, down where it's wetter, naturally..."
Ya know, I'm with Sebastian. Why the heck would a mermaid give up the ocean for some pretty boy on the surface?
Well-- for MOST pretty boys on the surface [wink].
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Suzanne gets certified in Mexico
March 15, 2009, Cozumel, Mexico
[All the pics in this entry were taken by me except the ones OF me, of course]
Signed up to do my open water referral dives. You can’t spit and miss a dive shop in Cozumel, so I went with the one I could see from the window of the condo. (Why not?) Love the nice guy who ran it—Juan Carlos. This pic is from the balcony of our condo at El Cid la Ceiba. The little hut looking thing behind me is the dive shop.
On Friday and Saturday I had tasted what was in store with a lovely bit of snorkeling outside of Hotel Fontan (our first hotel). It was amazing—at least half a dozen different kinds of fish wandering around right next to you. Someone threw some bread in the water near Nancy and I and we got a lovely swarm to take pictures of. Drawbacks? Stuck at the surface and accidently sucked in water when a wave hit my snorkel wrong. EEE—yuck!! Time for SCUBA, Baby!
Showed up at the dive shop Sunday morning and waited. And waited. After an hour Ricardo showed up. He couldn’t have been more of a stereotype. Shorter than me, longish wavy hair, unnecessarily tight boy short speedo, and slick. He was all business and very serious.
Not 3 minutes into the dive Ricky stopped us and pointed to what looked like an orange tag attached to a little bit of plant. I figured it was for teaching purposes—like a “notice this plant… do not touch” kind of thing, but when I got closer I realized it was….[drum roll]… a sea horse!! It was SO cool!!
A roped off area in front of the resort—El Cid la Ceiba—held all sorts of fascinating critters. Between the two shore dives and a LOT of snorkeling with Nancy I must have seen several dozens kinds of fish and things.
[All the pics in this entry were taken by me except the ones OF me, of course]
Signed up to do my open water referral dives. You can’t spit and miss a dive shop in Cozumel, so I went with the one I could see from the window of the condo. (Why not?) Love the nice guy who ran it—Juan Carlos. This pic is from the balcony of our condo at El Cid la Ceiba. The little hut looking thing behind me is the dive shop.
On Friday and Saturday I had tasted what was in store with a lovely bit of snorkeling outside of Hotel Fontan (our first hotel). It was amazing—at least half a dozen different kinds of fish wandering around right next to you. Someone threw some bread in the water near Nancy and I and we got a lovely swarm to take pictures of. Drawbacks? Stuck at the surface and accidently sucked in water when a wave hit my snorkel wrong. EEE—yuck!! Time for SCUBA, Baby!
Showed up at the dive shop Sunday morning and waited. And waited. After an hour Ricardo showed up. He couldn’t have been more of a stereotype. Shorter than me, longish wavy hair, unnecessarily tight boy short speedo, and slick. He was all business and very serious.I wasn’t the only student. An 19-ish year old islander was there, too, and she had never dived before—not even in the pool. I had to listen to the whole spiel again—in Spanish this time—but I’ve heard the first dive stuff so much I knew exactly what he was saying.
We strapped on our equipment, and Ricky DOUBLED the weights (“Salt water make you float, senorita”). Then we had to lug the stuff on our backs across the beach past the sunbathers so we could take the easy steps into the water. Gee, that’s not embarrassing or anything.
We strapped on our equipment, and Ricky DOUBLED the weights (“Salt water make you float, senorita”). Then we had to lug the stuff on our backs across the beach past the sunbathers so we could take the easy steps into the water. Gee, that’s not embarrassing or anything.
Not 3 minutes into the dive Ricky stopped us and pointed to what looked like an orange tag attached to a little bit of plant. I figured it was for teaching purposes—like a “notice this plant… do not touch” kind of thing, but when I got closer I realized it was….[drum roll]… a sea horse!! It was SO cool!!
A roped off area in front of the resort—El Cid la Ceiba—held all sorts of fascinating critters. Between the two shore dives and a LOT of snorkeling with Nancy I must have seen several dozens kinds of fish and things.
We ventured deeper—I had to repeat all the skills. I have decided that scuba class is like taking driver’s ed—if in driver’s ed they made you be the crash test dummy. 8 times.
Eventually we wandered past a plane wreck that’s somewhat famous… it’s in parts now with all the hurricanes and things. Ricky pointed out an eel hiding underneath the wings. Cool! Too bad he didn’t show up on the photo… maybe he’s a vampire eel. 
If you aren’t jealous yet, wait ‘til I tell you about Palancar and Yucab!!
If you aren’t jealous yet, wait ‘til I tell you about Palancar and Yucab!!Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Do you know the way to find Jose? (la la la la la la)
I went to the dive shop to pick up my referral form for my open water dives in Cozumel, and as usual there was an assortment of groupies hanging around with Zen and Smiley.
I managed to get Zen to sign the right forms, but I wanted to know which dive shops he recommended I go to. He told me they were all probably good.
What? Umm... not what I wanted to hear.
I asked Zen who he usually went through, and Smiley answered, "Jose."
"Great," I said, "It should be easy to find some guy named 'Jose' in Mexico." That at least got me a laugh from the groupies.
"Tell them you're with A___ Dive Shop, and they'll find Jose for you."
Are you serious? I KNOW the island isn't that small.
As if reading my mind Smiley said, "We were there once and almost went out with another dive master. They found out we were from A___, and they said that Jose was our guy-- and went and got him."
Then Zen remembered, "He's with Paradise Dive." Now we're getting somewhere.
"But there's about 10 Paradise Dive Shops in Cozumel." Oh, crap. Why do I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello routine?
"I'm sure the guys at your resort will be fine."
I'm starting to agree. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to ask for Jose.
I managed to get Zen to sign the right forms, but I wanted to know which dive shops he recommended I go to. He told me they were all probably good.
What? Umm... not what I wanted to hear.
I asked Zen who he usually went through, and Smiley answered, "Jose."
"Great," I said, "It should be easy to find some guy named 'Jose' in Mexico." That at least got me a laugh from the groupies.
"Tell them you're with A___ Dive Shop, and they'll find Jose for you."
Are you serious? I KNOW the island isn't that small.
As if reading my mind Smiley said, "We were there once and almost went out with another dive master. They found out we were from A___, and they said that Jose was our guy-- and went and got him."
Then Zen remembered, "He's with Paradise Dive." Now we're getting somewhere.
"But there's about 10 Paradise Dive Shops in Cozumel." Oh, crap. Why do I feel like I'm in an Abbott and Costello routine?
"I'm sure the guys at your resort will be fine."
I'm starting to agree. Just for kicks, though, I'm going to ask for Jose.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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