Swimming with Sharks
Michael Altschul
call abroad. After 10 minutes I explained that I could have enjoyed
two massages for the cost of the call and we bid each other a fond
farewell (and I went to get a massage). During that brief but lovely
call, I explained to her the number of things I was considering next
on my trip; she enthusiastically ordered me to get my diving
certification. 100R well spent for that call.
I guess I'd never given diving much of a chance. I thought of it as
something of a yuppie adventurer kind of thing to do...ya know, when
golf got boring. Plus I was, admittedly, ignorant. Until Hawaii last
year, I thought snorkeling and diving were synonyms. But I think the
single biggest reason that I shied away from anything related to
diving is that a friend died about 4 years ago diving in the Monterey
Bay waters. To lose someone to an activity of which you're completely
naive creates a rather sizable psychological barrier to entry.
Fortunately, Julie knew nothing of this barrier and her gentle, "Yeah,
why the hell not?" prodding was all I needed to get past it. I'd
study hard, never go beyond my limits, and see what it was about this
sport that captivated such a wide net of people.
I am now pleased and proud to have been caught in this net. The
three-day training course in Amed was thorough and professional,
quickly giving me the experience I needed to dive with confidence.
Day 1: study all morning, learn the basics in a swimming pool.
Sidarta capably and quickly led me through the training. My
snorkeling experience from Hawaii came in handy as I was already
comfortable "equalizing" (alleviating pressure) in my mask and blowing
hard to expel water from the tube on occasion; and those swimming
lessons from the Leawood pool didn't hurt either (nor did my water
sign of Pisces, I suppose). I was instantly comfortable breathing
through the "regulalor" (that's the thing you put in your mouth
through which you inhale/exhale). Solid initial day, this might not
be so bad after all.
Day 2: the fun began. I joined an Israeli family (yes, Israelis in
Indonesia...and I thought I was a rarity) of 3 on their second day
diving and put those basics to practice during an 18m dive. As I
descended, I pinched my nose and breathed through it to equalize the
pressure buildup in my ears -- it worked just like the book said it
would! Within a couple minutes, I was 18m deep and surrounded by
fishies. I looked up, took a couple breaths and struggled to maintain
my composure. Elation, not fear, proved difficult to contain. I kept
marveling at the fact that I was underwater...and breathing. Man's
will can never be deterred, I reckoned. I mean, here I was, after one
day of training, well submerged and breathing underwater. Your lay
person can just up and breathe underwater in a matter of minutes.
That's really amazing stuff. I can't imagine how many centuries of
longing passed before this was possible. I was proud of myself, even
more proud of the species to which I belong. How long until I'll be
able to easily fly? Give man a puzzle and he'll solve it. Damn it
feels good to be a human! As I'm thinking about all this, I hear a
strange noise and look around. Sidarta is waving at me to look at
something. Oh yeah, I forgot -- there's more to diving than simply
doing the impossible. Fish to see. Or sharks. My first dive and
within a couple minutes of reaching cruising altitude, a shark swims
by to welcome me to the club. I would have freaked out, but I
remembered that Sidarta had mentioned that these white-tipped reef
sharks are harmless -- don't mess with them and they'll leave you
alone. We continued along, unearthing sting rays hiding beneath sand,
turtles camouflaged by rocks, and a vast array of fishies. I hadn't
been so captivated by colors since my first 64-crayon set! I struggled
to define the colors that I was seeing. An angel fish...electric neon
royal blue -- is that a color? Many of these fish were enormous! And
most of them could have cared less about sharing the ocean with me --
they'd just swim right by, 1m away, wiggle a couple gills, and squirt
on through. Before I had time to even consult my gauges, we were
already ascending. Time passes quickly when you're having fun (I've
found out all too well this trip); but it darts by at light speed when
you're diving: 1 hour seems like 5 minutes. I've never experienced
any activity, hell anything, that goes so quickly.
Day 3: the shipwreck. So this was it, this was why I came to Amed in
the first place. Learn to dive, then check out the USS Liberty
shipwreck. I got a good night's sleep the night before, ate heartily
(it's really remarkable how hungry and tired diving makes me), and was
ready for my 2 dives. We did a beach entrance, which required reading
the incoming waves (something they forgot to tell us...whoops), and a
balancing act as carrying all that equipment on land throws you off
quite a bit. Halfway into the ocean, a wave nailed me and knocked me
on my ass. I felt like Randy (Raphie's kid brother) in "A Christmas
Story" as I rolled around, limbs flailing. I used a combination of
that cool karate kid kick-jump and my best impression of me on the
dancefloor after 10 drinks to launch myself up and into the ocean.
After swimming out 10m or so, we began the descent. We descended a
bit quickly for my liking and I struggled the first five minutes to
equalize the pressure in my nasal cavities. But I did and quickly
caught up with the group. Visibility was great and I marveled at the
wreck below as I slowly approached it. So fixated on the wreck,
scoping out torpedo holes and treasure chests that less astute pirates
had missed, that I forgot to look around (a common theme, eh?). When
I did, I saw a massive school of baracuda, some of which were huge!
"Oooh, I'll just sit tight and watch these fellas eat up some smaller
fish!" Alas, they must have already eaten their breakfast. We circled
the wreck and I played a game of surprise the fish by peeping through
holes in the side walls and awaiting a passing, unsuspecting fish;
they'd swim by, centimeters from my mask and, feeling vibrations from
my exhale, would freak out and swim away. I played other games, too:
distance myself from my buddy, breathe too heavily, run out of air.
Those were less fun, though. I understand that type of stuff happens
when you're learning the ropes. Still, good thing we practiced what
to do in such situations. I motioned to our dive master that I was
low on air. He kept swimming around, pointing out all kinds of cool
things. I'd observe the cool things, then watch my air gauge plummet.
When it reached one bar (out of twenty), I'd had enough and swam to
the first person I saw (the dive master actually), motioned to him
that I had one bar. It was getting harder to suck oxygen. As he
reached to check my gauge, I changed that motion to "I'm out of air".
I skipped the, "Hey, buddy, how's it going, mind if I share your air,"
routine and went straight for his alternate air source. Sidarta came
over in a matter of seconds and gave me his alternate air and we
headed for the shore together. I guess all that struggling to
equalize on the descent had used up more oxygen than I realized. Wow,
so just 3 dives and I'd already run out of air! But it was a great
experience, I'd much rather run out at 12m when I can ascend if needbe
than at 20m. Lessons learned: one bar can very well mean empty,
insist on ascending at three bars, and I'm not one to panic when I'm
out of air. Whew. The second dive at the wreck was more of the same,
but we went straight through the center, which was fun because there
was great stuff to see both left and right (plus, I reckoned that if I
were to find treasure, it would be somewhere in the middle of the
wreck). The coolest thing we spotted was the outline of a fish in the
sand, which turned out to be a flounder (I think) that just crawled
along in the most bizarre kinda way. I later saw another flounder --
flat and round, these bad boys swim sideways...lushes.
So that wrapped up my dives in Amed. The eve of the last dive I had
dinner with a German couple and a French couple (I've gotten quite
used to being the third and fifth wheel). After a couple glasses of
Arak and a few Bintang, we decided to all head to the Gilis together
(the Gilis consist of three islands off the coast of Lombok, famous
for white sand beaches, great diving, no motor vehicles, and no
hawkers...oh, and plenty of drugs -- all of which I passed on, wasn't
feeling that at all). We hired a car to take us to a port city of
Bali, Padangbai, from which we took a tourist boat directly to the
Gilis. This boat was no ferry, it swayed left and right heavily under
the influence of the Atlantic sea, moving people (and often their
food) around a great deal. I focused on the horizon, sat outside,
zoned out to music (for the first time this trip...I'd totally
forgotten about my iPod), and arrived after sunset to Gili Air.
To be continued...
IndoMike