The moment of conversion came on what must have been my 36th outing with mask, fins and snorkel. I was poised above the wreck of the H.M.S. Rhone, off the seaward side of Salt Island.
Thirty feet below was the skeleton of a mail ship lost and destroyed decades ago in a fierce hurricane. Between my body and the ship`s remains were a half-dozen divers, their air bubbles tickling the playful yellow snappers.
It didn`t take much time to conclude just who had the better view.
Still, it took another week to locate my courage. I signed up for an introductory lesson on scuba diving and, after a 45-minute session with an enthusiastic instructor, I was 30 feet below the surface, feeling very much the novice.
Another 35 minutes later, I was awed, shivering and anxious to dive again.
A slow start
A mediocre swimmer at best and an initially reluctant snorkeler, the deep held little attraction for me just months earlier when we sailed into Martinique. But after 2 1/2 months of exploring, sailing and swimming in the clear water of the Atlantic Ocean where it meets the Caribbean Sea, it became hard to snorkel without wanting to explore deeper.
The dive sites of the British Virgin Islands have particularly seductive names: Alice`s Wonderland. The Chimneys. Vanishing Rock. Painted Walls. The sites are familiar to certified divers everywhere. And, for the uninitiated and downright frightened, there are plenty of dive shops in the islands that know how to introduce these sites.
The dive operations have their own personalities. Baskin in the Sun on Tortola caters to larger groups, many arranged through cruise ships or local hotels. Dive BVI has the most locations, with three. Kilbrides on Virgin Gorda is the oldest diving establishment in the islands and perhaps the most offbeat. Its owners moved a sunken sailboat closer to the small island from which they operate for snorkelers to enjoy, but not before they removed the boat`s icebox for use at their bar.
Boat-to-boat service
My experience was with a group called Underwater Safaris, which has earned a reputation as one of the more flexible operations. Their boats will go just about anywhere along the Sir Francis Drake Channel in the area to pick up a land- or sea-based diver. After notifying Underwater Safaris the night before of my desire to take an introductory course (called a resort course by most of the dive operators), one of their boats was alongside the next day, bright and early.
Two instructors were aboard, as well as three other divers, all of whom were certified. I was the only beginner that day, and had an instructor to myself.
As one might expect, before the lesson began there was a long consent form to be signed. It reminded me that there were risks in what I was about to do and wanted me, my heirs and assigns to assume full responsibility for those risks. I never sign anything without reading it first, but this was one form I momentarily wished I had signed blindfolded.
The dive boat, Rendezvous Two, was soon moored over the wreck of the Marie L. and the other divers disappeared under the waves one at a time.
For the beginner on board, it was lecture time.
Scuba stands for self-contained underwater breathing apparatus. OK. I can remember that. There are air cavities that will be affected as the human body experiences pressure changes under water: lungs, inner ear, sinuses. Got it.
One at a time, she went through the steps taken to keep those precious body parts happy while underwater. Everything made sense. She introduced the equipment: tank, regulator, spare regulator known as an octopus, B.C.
(buoyancy control vest), weight belt.
Soon, the others returned to the surface, and we powered to nearby Cooper Island to allow the divers to rest and me to take my first plunge-in about 6 feet of water.
Heavy breathing
The ”shallow water” work was almost harder than the dive itself. Listening to one`s own breathing under water is akin to watching a scene in a horror flick where the only sound is the ominous panting of a stalker.
Once under water, it was time to practice retrieving a lost regulator, clearing a fogged mask, and breathing from the instructor`s spare regulator
(oops, forgot to blow the water out of it first and gagged on a mouthful of the salty stuff). All communication was done with hand signals, and all were skills I fervently prayed I wouldn`t need during the actual dive.
Moments later, we were back aboard and headed for Vanishing Rock, a dive site between Cooper and Salt Islands.
It is difficult to describe the sensation of goose-stepping off the platform of a dancing boat while wearing a 25-pound aluminum tank, 10 pounds of lead to compensate for the buoyancy of the body and wetsuit, the mask strap held in place with the left hand and the precious regulator held in the mouth with the right.
When I hit the water, there was a gurgling noise. The instructor pointed to my stray octopus, which had fallen out of the vest pocket during the less- than-elegant maneuver. Oh, yes, and the panting stalker was back.
Next came the descent down a line attached to the boat on one end and an anchor on the other. Blowing into my pinched nose to clear my ears every few feet, I descended slowly hand-under-hand. My instructor controlled my buoyancy by letting air out of my vest, and soon we were on the ocean floor.
The fun begins
The next 35 minutes were sparkling. Instead of being distracted by fears, I was absorbed in the scenery and the motion of everything-myself included-under water. Shades of colors I never imagined were waiting for me. Time suddenly slowed. The turmoil of the waves on the surface were dampened by the depth.
The fish seemed as curious about me as I was about them. Perhaps it was the odd combination of yellow tank, pink flippers, blue wetsuit and red-rimmed mask that drew their attention.
There are some disconcerting sensations as well. My usually good sense of direction is useless under water. The lack of peripheral vision exaggerates the time it takes to be sure one`s partner is nearby. It takes conscious self- discipline to swim with hands tucked behind the back or crossed in front to avoid touching fire coral or knocking another diver`s regulator.
Changes in depth have to be accompanied by working the buoyancy vest, a skill that is not to be acquired on the first dive. Once or twice, I found myself floating to the surface, my trusty instructor just below tugging at my leg and eventually working my vest control for me.
One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, we ascended to the surface hand-over-hand on the line to the boat. A quick maneuver just below the surface to avoid a head-on-stern collision with the boat and I was breathing salt air again and feeling quite pleased with myself.
Instructors helped me lift off my equipment before I climbed back aboard. A towel and sun soon took the chill away. Now all that was left was to drink a celebratory beer with lunch back on board our own boat-and to arrange for another dive.
