WRI 2730- Essay # 1: Self-Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus

Self-contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus

Equipment is packed, legs are shaved and caffeine has been ingested. Time of departure: 5:00am. 

After a short drive we arrive at a dive shop. Immediately I want to own everything I see, I fantasize about diving every weekend with my own equipment. Taking days off of work to go on very elaborate diving excursions. I notice a pair of pink snorkels, those will be mine. 

In 2009 I was 25 years old and suffering from quarter life crisis. I had a co-worker friend who would share fantasies of doing really cool things. We took rock climbing lessons together and wrote list after list of things we could do. Business was good so I took the extra cash I was making and decided to take up a new hobby.

Scuba diving.

I signed up with my co-worker, Jan who was conveniently dating a scuba diving instructor, who was also a pilot and a motorcycle instructor, oh, and my land lord. Timing was perfect.

There were about a weeks worth of classes where Jan was very close to giving up. She has issues with taking orders from her boyfriends, like “listen” or “pay attention.” There were a few instances where she quit but was on board again by morning. Nothing a little wining and dining couldn’t fix. 

We train in the shallow end of a private pool, first with the snorkel. Just to get comfortable with “living” under water. I lived in Hawaii when I was younger and spent a lot of time in a snorkel. This was very different, not only because I was in a pool, but because I was preparing for something. My mind was in a very different place. I swam away for a second to get away from the very panicked Jan. I wanted to think for a second, take advantage of the silence. The only sound was my breath through a plastic tube and my heartbeat coming from my head. My breaths were short and fast at first then rhythmic once I coaxed myself to calm. 

Why was I doing this? 
Was I really doing this for myself or for bragging rights? 
How many people did I know who dove? 
Does that matter? 
Is bragging about diving worth the $400 it took to get to the pool with a snorkel? 

Bottom line is there’s no going back. If for nothing else, than the nonrefundable deposit.

We pull up to the quarry and my first thought is how murky the water looks. I hear there's a ship at the bottom. I take my camera out to document this whole experience snap a couple of pictures with the quarry as the back drop and get into focus mode, after all I could die. 

The golf cart shuttle takes a hand full of us who are diving to the edge of the water where we will prepare ourselves. I grab my wet suit and head to the bathroom with Jan. Trying to put that god dammed thing on was the most horrific experience of my life. In the 20 minutes it took to slip it on, I had an epiphany. I know exactly what Ms. Kubler Ross felt when writing On Death and Dying. I myself, experienced denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, all in a public restroom, and all in front of a very traumatized Jan. 

Irritated, anxious and nauseous, I put the rest of my equipment on which weighed about 50 lbs. Waddling to the pier with my fins I pose for one more quick picture. 

In the dichotomy of people who jump in the water and people who take there time, I am the latter. With the skin tight wet suit and heavy equipment I didn’t have a choice but to saunter. So saunter I did, until the water reached my chin. We waded around absorbing water and the last bit of class we needed before we went under. My heart is racing for that moment I’m breathing underwater. Then my head goes under and I can see clearly. Fish swim by and seaweed sways below me. Bubbles release from every ones regulators. That is the moment I realized why I decided to do this. Because it was fucking cool. 

Diving Instructor, Mark Chandler
RIP my friend.