Blow out the candle, run out of air. James recounts a chilling experience (literally) diving in the Galapagos, 80 feet below the ocean’s surface. Happy birthday, bubba.
On my birthday this year, I looked fear dead in the eye and basically dared her to hurt me. I challenged her to a duel. I didn’t come out unscathed, but I didn’t DIE. So there’s that.
Before I left for the Galapagos (read about the full trip HERE), I got a refresher course on my PADI training so I could have the option to scuba–see some wildlife that doesn’t stick close to the surface. LIKE THE MIGHTY HAMMERHEAD (seen below).
I arrived at the diving office, got fitted for my fins and BCD, then answered a few questions. “How many dives have you had?” “Six, maybe seven. Sorry. I left my dive log book at home in the ‘States.”
<pause>
“OK. Sign here, please.”
That shoulda been a good sign that I was, perhaps, please pardon the pun, in over my head. But I persevered. I wanted to see sharks. I wanted to do something HUGE on my birthday-day. And I was willing to do just about anything to do that, including making a pretty risky decision based on my level of training and experience.
Preparing to dive
Flash forward to the boat, chatting, laughing, gear checking, the whole thing. The newbies get a 20-minute refresher at the site, my heart is pumping purple peanut butter. I’m relatively certain with the warnings they’re giving me this is going to be pushing me to the limits of my education and experience. Rough current. Cold water. Bars instead of PSI. Depths beyond any I’d dived before. I’m listening so hard my eyes are nearly boring a hole through the dive master’s forehead.
We start the dive. After our 20-minute quiz, I FEEL like I’m a bit lower on oxygen than I should be. Nah. I’m fine. The regulator—is it supposed to GURGLE like that? Nah. It’s fine. FINE. It’s all fine. Quit bein’ a pollo.
Um, is this supPOSED to happen?
The water is cold. SO cold. I’m wrapped in my neoprene, so it could be worse, but WOW. Is it COLD. I’m kicking for all I’m worth because this current seems…much. I’m regulating my breathing as best I can, but I feel my breaths are too deep, my exhalations too soon after my inhalations.
Water’s murky, so I’m nervous I won’t be able to see much. But no–it was amazing. Sharks and turtles. And not just one or two. Close to a dozen hammerheads and easily three or four turtles. It was incredible. It was everything I’d hoped to see when I booked the trip. The child in me thrills at the proximity of these beautiful animals. The man in me knows they are still wild animals and, though impossibly beautiful, potentially dangerous.
Gordon’s Rock is the dive site, renowned for the wildlife above and below the depths. The rocks themselves were covered in boobies (boobys?) and sea lions as the day above the deep blue was GLORIOUS. But down in the depths? The currents we fought aggressive; the water swum FREEZING, visibility low. And we were only going…deeper.
When I started to realize something wasn’t quite right…
About 20-ish minutes into the dive, the dive master asks via hand signals how much air I have left. I gesture with six fingers and give him the sign of taking a drink, to indicate I’m working with “bars,” not PSI. I can see his eyes widen a bit in his mask as he gestures some unfamiliar terminology to his partner who swims over to check my instruments, just to be sure I had it right.
Yup. I had it right.
Partner asks me if I want to share his oxygen, as I’m clearly low. We had this discussion topside. If you get low on oxygen, they’ll ask if you’d like to share. It’s not required. You have the option to refuse. But, y’know, you can’t breathe underwater without oxygen, so your dive would be…brief. Or at least more brief than the others’. Somebody would take you safely back to the surface to ensure you’re never at risk.
But I didn’t want to go. I wanted to see what more was down there. I didn’t know if I’d see it again on the second dive.
South Korea, Denmark, Germany, USA, and Ecuador represented.
Employing the “buddy system”
So then my dive master linked arms with me and shared his alternate with me, the two of us on his tank, which still had ample oxygen left for the both of us.
Shortly after, one of the women in the group came to join us. She had plenty of oxygen, but she felt more secure swimming in tandem with the two of us. So now we’re an underwater daisy chain of security and, without getting too dramatic, survival.
In every class I’d ever taken, every experience I’d ever had, I was told in no uncertain terms that panicking was the single most dangerous thing you could do if you found yourself in a bad spot. None of these variables—the cold, the murkiness, the current, lower-than-expected oxygen—on its own was enough to incite panic. But together? I was starting to feel some serious doubt, building into what could’ve been panic.
But I clung to that rock, and I rejoined my daisy chain, and we made our way around Gordon’s Rock until we were all ready to surface.
Topside once more
When we finished the dive, we all returned to the surface to get a snack, warm up, and give our bodies a chance to adjust/equalize/re-acclimate to breathing “real” air, not the tanked stuff.
Oh, and to prep our systems for another deep dive.
But y’know what? I’d seen what I came to see. I could not stop shivering. I’d nearly run out of air 25 meters (that’s 82 feet, imperial fans) below the water’s surface. The frigid currents below tugged at us insistently all while death-gripping barnacle-sharpened volcanic rock, digging into both bare palms and thumbs as I clung. Didn’t even realize until I’d gotten to the surface I was bleeding.
I wrestled with the right decision. I wasn’t prepared for this dive—I’d made it through because I had really well-trained, thoroughly experienced and vigilant dive masters chaperoning me. And now they were offering a second. All the instruments indicated conditions were worsening, currents strengthening, visibility decreasing. That probably also meant colder water down there.
The decision
I peeled the neoprene from my body and crawled onto the nose of the boat, soaking up every drop of liquid gold beaming down from that glorious equatorial sun. After a few minutes of goosebumps and trembling, I started to warm. The dive master approached me after a few minutes, asked if I was ready to suit back up, and I told him I’d seen all I needed to see, that I was staying “upstairs” for this second dive.
“You sure?”
“Sí. No quiero ir otra vez.” That’s a Spanish “no thank you,” extra-polite, Southern style.
He grinned at me with all his teeth – not making fun – but he and I knew the matter was settled. I was left to bathe in sun instead of sea. And I did. I saw no fewer than three turtles, a leaping ray, and watched the waves crash against the three rocks that comprised Gordon’s domain.
Gettin’ that solar ENERGY, y’all
I roasted myself. Every square inch of skin that wasn’t covered by baseball cap or bathing suit was burnt to a crisp. The only nekkid part of me that didn’t resemble lobster that night was the wrinkle/rollover formed by poor posture, just above my navel. A white stripe on a field of crimson. Roll Tide.
I said it, I stood by it, and I don’t regret it. I wanted the others to have an incredible dive, but I had a perfect afternoon in the sun. I enjoyed my birthday doing what I thought I wanted to do and, after getting a taste of that, changing my mind and doing what I ACTUALLY wanted to do.
Takeaways
I learned a few valuable lessons that day.
1) Don’t let a little scaredy-business keep you from doing what you want to do, but try to take as many variables as possible into account when making your decision. I wouldn’t call this my wisest choice, but it is a FAR cry from my most foolish. SO far.
2) Should you find yourself in over your ahead/beyond your experience level/above your pay grade, there is zero shame in asking for help. In fact, if you’re the first to ask, there could be others in a worse spot with more harmful pride who could benefit from you being wise enough to raise your hand. It may not just be your own predicament you improve by asking.
3) Birthday luck is the BEST luck. Because though I doubt I was ever in any real danger, it’s best to assess the situation and act accordingly. You couldn’t have asked for a better day to sit on the nose of a boat in the noontime sun. Cloudless day, exhibitionistic wildlife—perfection.
TREAT YO’SEFF
And that night, after all the brush with death and the burnt alive business, I enjoyed a milkshake in a sack. Una batida en bolso. And it was delicious.
Love y’all!
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