Jenny's First Scuba Diving Adventure

Hi everyone! I'm Jenny, and I'll be contributing to the blog today with my first post about my very first diving experience. Sorry, there aren't very many photos this time - I couldn't document the event because I was in the PADI class and Jessie was out sick for the most part. But don't worry! We'll be diving again soon in September and we'll definitely be taking more photos then! In the meantime, enjoy!

     Late last month, I took the first of what I hope will be many scuba diving courses to come. It was one of the best experiences of my life and an accomplishment I'm truly proud of. 

  

     I used to tend to steer clear of water if I could help it. A near drowning incident at Disneyland had instilled in me a great discomfort and fear of any body of water that not only came above my chin, but also wasn't completely and absolutely still. As a child, I could swim - and by swim I mean float on my back, and when necessary, paddle awkwardly and frantically from one wall to another. For a long time I could only admire and envy others who could so fearlessly enjoy themselves in water. But in college, Jessie insisted that that was simply unacceptable for a person of islander heritage. I had to learn to swim. So with great effort, she taught me to swim with more finesse and confidence, and thanks to her, my world got infinitely bigger and I was able to consider and explore options such as diving.

     I actually started thinking about taking lessons about 2 years ago. I saw an ad for it, and I was intrigued, albeit a little intimidated. Jessie had already certified in high school, and I wanted to certify too so that we dive and explore places together and, at the very least, have a common hobby. I hated trying new things alone, so I was willing to do it if I could take lessons with a group. However, I quickly discovered that with a group, especially one with people you don't know well, plans often fall through, someone postpones, drops out, or gets sick (which is really easy when living in an industrial city like Kaohsiung). No one stayed committed, including myself, and it just never worked out. 

     This year, I decided solo was the way to go. Weather conditions aside, the only thing that could get in the way was myself. So I signed up for a PADI Open Water Diver course in Hengchun, near Kenting, way down at the southern end of Taiwan. Jessie came with me to do a refresher and also to provide moral support. 

     Immediately upon arrival, we got acquainted with our recently certified dive instructor, Steve, a quiet, but very relaxed and friendly guy. Jessie and I knew immediately while arranging plans with him that he was going to be a great instructor and an excellent resource. He exuded an honest enthusiasm for diving and truly wanted every diver to have the best experience possible. 

     Knowing that I wasn't a hundred percent comfortable underwater yet, he took us out to a swimming pool in Kenting to practice our basic confined water skills. Jessie didn't join us this round, but she documented the class as she watched and supported me. After assembling and strapping on the enormously heavy equipment and gear, the first skill I practiced was breathing with a regulator. At first, it didn't seem very hard or unusual. It felt somewhat like snorkeling, but with the added bonus of bubbles and raspy Darth Vader sound effects. 

     I learned to acclimate to breathing underwater easily, and I was having enjoying myself, occasionally laughing at myself for a few failed, yet comical attempts at demonstrating some skills. but as I learned to perform more complex skills such as taking the regulator in and out of my mouth, especially filling my mask with water and purging it, I subconsciously felt that even though we were kneeling at the bottom of the two meter end of the pool, I had been underwater for an unnaturally long time, and I was beginning to feel a sense of claustrophobia I wasn't ever aware that I had. 

     Of all the skills, I struggled the most with emptying the mask, especially with taking it off because when water entered it, it went straight up my nose, which made me panicked, sputtering and gasping for air every single time. Each time I inadvertently snorted up the chlorinated water, the burn in my nostrils and my eyes made the task even more daunting. 

     However, there were other other skills that I did with ease and much more enjoyment. Basic buoyancy control, or the fin pivot, was by far my favorite. With concentration and delicate breath control, my body bobbed up and down, then slowly levitated and suspended itself in the water. It was like meditation and magic! I mastered it almost instantly at the 5 meter section, and especially after the number of times I failed at emptying my mask, this was a real confidence booster. 

     We kicked our way around the pool a bit when we approached the deepest end where the floor suddenly dropped to 10 meters below and I felt as though I were soaring. It was a stunning, indelible experience looking over the edge and then suddenly hovering high above the floor, effortlessly like a bird. But that became a fleeting experience that suddenly plummeted into uncontrollably panic and extreme claustrophobia, which was especially unbearable because I had to contain it all, physically and mentally. My breaths were shallower and uncontrollably faster, my throat was dry, and I remembered just how many volumes of water were over my head.  And with the watery silence I knew that even if I had tried to make a sound in distress, the effort would be pointless. I just couldn't scream loud enough. And I had contemplated abandoning Steve, but the surface seemed unreachably far away and no amount of fast kicking could get me up there soon enough. I did the only thing I could, signal pleadingly to Steve about my anxiety, breathe deeply and calm down. I managed to control myself in the end, but the fear I had felt before was so severe it would stay in my chest and my head for nearly two days. 

     The dive ended early due to my overwhelming exhaustion. We walked up the pool stairs, and while I felt completely weightless in the pool, every step out with my gear on made me feel as though I had added several kilos to my legs and hips, and each heavy step was a reminder of my defeat. I ended the day feeling nauseated and absolutely terrified. As soon as Jessie and I got back to our hotel, my head hit the pillow and I fell asleep instantaneously. All night, I breathed through my dry, wide open mouth, and sometimes I would I breathe through my nose and wake up convinced that I was choking on water. By morning, I was very scared, not so much wishing that I never made this decision, but more that the experience could just end a little bit sooner. 

     There had been a typhoon only three days before, and the currents at the dive sites were still rather strong, so Steve brought me to a current-less bay where I could finish off the list of confined water skills that I had given up on the day before. I dunked myself underwater, and despite the turbidity of the water, I was encouraged by the sight of very small fish swimming around me, and I knew this was only a very small sliver of what I could see in deeper waters. 

     I gathered all my courage, concentrated on not sucking in salt water, and success! I completed all my skills. But just after attempting my final skill where I took off my weights and BCD underwater and, like an astronaut, spun around to put them back on, I swam back up to the surface and promptly vomited on myself.  (Side note: Surprisingly, throwing up in the water turned out not to be a completely unpleasant experience. It washed off immediately, and the taste of seawater that I used to gargle made the vomit taste somewhat more tolerable. Also, Steve kindly informed me that I was contributing to the ocean by feeding hungry fish around me. I always felt sorry for fish that had to swim around in vomit, but if that's really the way things are....) 

     The same afternoon, Steve and I swam out into more open shores where the ocean rapidly undulated, sucking divers in and tossing them back. Already, I felt motion sick. We descended into the much deeper waters, and as I neared the bottom, my descent slowed and then I stopped in the middle of the water. We re-ascended, and as were about to descend again, I threw up again and decided that doing that twice was enough. Time to end the day. 

     The next day, I couldn't bring myself to go on the morning dive. I was so miserable having already thrown up twice the day before, and thinking that the claustrophobia wasn't ever going away. Jessie had been unable to dive because she was having sinus problems, and I felt utterly alone the whole weekend. As I wept, Jessie helped me rearrange my morning, and I completed my classroom portion of the course with Steve. Afterwards, I knew I couldn't keep evading dives. I was done with my test, and more than halfway through with the dives. It seemed shameful to quit at that point, and quitting would only make me feel more like a failure. It seemed there was no other way around it, so I willed myself to do at least one more dive that afternoon.

     So we got set up and didn't linger. We dropped down into the ocean and checked every skill off the list for the day. I conquered my greatest fear, taking off my mask in open water, putting it back on and emptying it. Excited and blinded by the saltwater, and with a few droplets still left in my mask and up my nose, Steve high-fived me and rewarded me with a brief tour and exploration of the site. 

     We kicked around in the fish feeding area near HouBiHu. After we swam away from the empty, sandy bottom we were occupying, we were suddenly surrounded by a multitude of colorful fish. It wasn't the Great Barrier Reef, yet I was overwhelmed by the variety of life that waved and swam around us. We spotted a parrot fish glittering and gleaming, changing colors in the light with every bend and wave of its body. We saw anemones, and spongy and slippery corals, some that looked like shrubs and grasses, others like pillows or pickled brains. We resurfaced, vomit and panic-free, and I had my first great day underwater. I was starting to feel truly optimistic.

     On the final day, we returned to complete a few more underwater skills, and then we explored some more, this time encountering the more memorable cuttlefish and scorpionfish. We swam through a chilly thermocline that made it seem as though we had passed through different seasons. Steve pulled out a bagel and suddenly a whirlwind of fish swirled around us, diving in and out of sight, taking nips at the bread. It happened so quickly and close to my mask, it was dizzying.

     We proceeded later that day to the ocean outlet where we saw feeding baby shrimp and a handful of small clownfish rubbing against an anemone. We moved in and out through cement jacks that were piled along the shore, and entered a dark cavern. As we turned a corner towards the sunlit opening, we could see in the light what appeared to be a curtain of mesmerizing little silhouettes weaving and waving back and forth, veils and organized layers of miniature fish completely surrounding us as we passed through them. It was at that moment, as time seemed to slow down, I had a chance to appreciate everything. Thoughts of all the fear and the anxiety I'd had, the nausea I'd experienced and the vomit I'd expelled started to dissipate. I had come so far, not only as a diver, but also as a person. I'd overcome myself. I took a deep breath in, exhaled bubbles, and as I gently kicked forward once, the fish opened up like a curtain and closed behind me. 

     Before our final ascent, Steve and I waited at our safety stop. I was still thinking about the fish when he pulled out a notepad and wrote, "Congratulations! You did it!" I had nearly forgotten that we were still in class and that I would at last complete the course once we reached the surface. Joyous bubbles briefly burst out of my regulator as I smiled and laughed, and I waved my hands and fingers in celebration.

My heart was buoyant, and I had finally fallen in love with diving.