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Wednesday evening.
51 minutes is not bad for my first open water dive. I was (not literally!) holding my breath the whole time, waiting for the dive to be over. Is this good for a first dive? It’s not exactly the Red Sea or the Indian Ocean, but there is a certain macabre charm about the murky depths.
First the briefing, then we kitted up.
On my first ‘try dive’ with Matt, he said that setting up the tank, the buoyancy control device (BCD) and the regulators would become easy. I wasn’t convinced, but now it’s the one skill I’m most confident with.
With fins in hand, we walked over to the steps… and down, one by one, holding the guide rope to steady myself. Standing in the water we donned fins, inflated the BCD, walked backwards and then sat back, in the sea. Done.
I’m getting nervous again, writing this!
We get to our position under the jetty. Lou must have decided against a buoyancy check, because she indicated straight away the 5 point descent. It took me a while to get under the water, even with deflating my BCD; it seems that when you’re uneasy, your lungs are packed full of air and this keeps you buoyant. I’m now weighted to the hilt and given a helping hand in the form of a tug from Lou below. I’m sinking, equalizing my ears as I go and trying to breath slowly, hoping to fool my brain into feeling calm…
We begin to fin. I hold tight to Lou’s hand. I’ll probably cut off her circulation before long, but it’s a huge comfort.
It is so alien down there; the light is a cool green and everything has a grubby feel, possibly due to the sand and the algae. A crab is my first sighting; they are also the creatures I have found remains of on the shore at Studland. This spiny spider crab is covered in algae and is massive! It’s walking along the sea bed below me. The next is a Cuckoo wrasse, although not with the colours in the book; I saw pale and darker browns. I remember stripes from head to tail and a little iridescence in the stripe under torch light… My mind is concentrating on breathing rather than good observation.
The visibility is poor, thick with sediment hanging in the water. From nowhere, a dark shape appears before us… a pillar. Slowly we pass by, and before long the next ominous shape looms. At this depth I’m in limbo, neither able to see the ground nor the reassuring light from above. Here is obscurity. There is a shimmer of light caught in the flanks of bass and small mackerel, but no other life. I shudder. I am feeling the cold and I signal Lou.
Five minutes more?
We arrive at the Tompot Blenny’s pillar. Lou places a stone in its hole and we wait. A moment later the stone is propelled out and I see it drop from the ledge. Repeat… I see the stone, I see the stone fall from the edge, but I don’t see the Blenny. We move on.
A five point ascent goes well and I surface, holding high my snorkel rather than the buoyancy control device with low-pressure inflator on my BCD. Fool! We flip onto our backs and have an agonizing swim from the end of the pier back to the steps. I can see how exhaustion can kick in; we rest for a moment, then continue.
Back on dry land, and relief that my first sea dive went well in their eyes. My memory will be: “keep going, just a bit longer; you’ll be back on land in thirty minutes.” Does it sound bad? It was an experience; I am glad I’ve done it… but I was lost, had no idea of my bearings and felt claustrophobic.
Thursday evening, Rockley Park.
Two hours in the pool with Steve. He is calm and methodical and it helps. Step by small step, mask clearing… and almost there?
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