Another day, another diving course.
After my fruit pancakes, I had the briefing for the "Deep Dive". Being moderately nervous, in fact I'd woken in the middle of the night umm- vocalising, I was being stalked by girl-guides in a London Underground tunnel, (don't ask me , it was a dream), I put this down to the heat, .... where was I? Being moderately nervous I asked Roxy to go through the signals again. She shows me "up", "down", "something is wrong", "No not those, there was another one I didn't recognise." We stare at each other for a couple of minutes and finally decide that it may have been a "safety swim" (a cromlech - see top - with a wiggling tail).
As this is my official "Deep Dive" I have to do a number of tests designed to show the effects of narcosis. I have previously completed a quiz (17 seconds) which I have to redo at depth. Question One throws me, while sitting in the hotel, "What is the Capital of Slovakia?" We eventually come to a mutual decision that "Bratislava" will do as an answer. Then into the jeep and off to the Canyon (lengthy video on YouTube here ).
The Canyon is a rift in the reef, there are several wide chambers and some narrow squeezes (to be avoided). To get there you have to exit over the reef from a pool, at low and high water, or wind, this can involve current. We exit as a group comes in, they totally fail to spot the Octopus that is sitting on a pinnacle just at the exit, we (Roxy) however do spot it. and watch it blanch and prickle. Then we move off, down to the top of the drop off before turning left and meandering up to the rift.
At the Canyon we adopt the pose and skydive to the bottom, my suit compresses (finally) and the air becomes considerably thicker, as though it has been mixed with a small amount of honey. The first task is to compare depth gauges, we do; Roxy:- 33.3 metres, Nick:- 2 metres. Ho Hum. I do the quiz, some naughty person has changed the sums (17 seconds). Then I have to turn my back while Roxy changes something, which I then have to spot. I turn and turn back, a few seconds later I realise that instead of having the regulator shoved in her gob, she's got her snorkel. At this point narcosis must have set in as I fail to fail to spot it for the next five minutes and instead, point it out straight away, next time the mask is on upside down. We ascend through a column of Sweepers/Glassfish who occupy the inside of the shaft, waiting for the onset of evening when they will leave, I wonder whether they will all leave the same entrance, like bats.
We return and spend our surface interval in the cafe, drinking tea and chatting, I sit in the sun wearing my sarong, shirt, hat, with my arms covered in a towel. As we prepare to move on I go to the toilet, when I return the cafe owner is deep in conversation with Roxy. Apparently he has a brother in Cairo who needs a wife, with Roxy, everyone has a brother in Cairo who needs a wife, even I have a brother in Cairo who needs a wife. there is, of course, the question of field-testing for the biCwnaw.
We move on to Rick's Reef (Yes Roxy I know but if people want to look it up, oh all right!) AKA Roxy's Reef and drift slowly back passing large nurseries and huge clouds of Anthias (more fish pics here ). Behind there are shoals of Sergeant Majors, possibly sniping. By now I have favourite fish : The Humbug Dascylus which has just black and white stripes but the blackest black and the whitest white, the Whitespotted Puffer, who, safe in the knowledge of his toxic skin, lies moribund with large dark-rimmed eyes, it reminds me of a recently told-off Basset puppy. We arrive back at the Canyon pool and head for shore, and from thence back home. I have asked for a guesstimate, it arrives and upon opening I adopt the expression of the Whitespotted Puffer.
Still, life goes on and I have to pick my other adventure dives, because I have failed to realise that the paper has two sides I suggest a DPV - a Diver Propulsion Vehicle. Roxy thinks this would be a good idea and assents to my choice with typical South African reticence, "Fuck Yea! We hev got to do thet Mun!" or accent to that effect. I stroll of to see Lindsay, "Hi I'm thinking of doing the DPV are you going to get me one?"
As this is my official "Deep Dive" I have to do a number of tests designed to show the effects of narcosis. I have previously completed a quiz (17 seconds) which I have to redo at depth. Question One throws me, while sitting in the hotel, "What is the Capital of Slovakia?" We eventually come to a mutual decision that "Bratislava" will do as an answer. Then into the jeep and off to the Canyon (lengthy video on YouTube here ).
The Canyon is a rift in the reef, there are several wide chambers and some narrow squeezes (to be avoided). To get there you have to exit over the reef from a pool, at low and high water, or wind, this can involve current. We exit as a group comes in, they totally fail to spot the Octopus that is sitting on a pinnacle just at the exit, we (Roxy) however do spot it. and watch it blanch and prickle. Then we move off, down to the top of the drop off before turning left and meandering up to the rift.
At the Canyon we adopt the pose and skydive to the bottom, my suit compresses (finally) and the air becomes considerably thicker, as though it has been mixed with a small amount of honey. The first task is to compare depth gauges, we do; Roxy:- 33.3 metres, Nick:- 2 metres. Ho Hum. I do the quiz, some naughty person has changed the sums (17 seconds). Then I have to turn my back while Roxy changes something, which I then have to spot. I turn and turn back, a few seconds later I realise that instead of having the regulator shoved in her gob, she's got her snorkel. At this point narcosis must have set in as I fail to fail to spot it for the next five minutes and instead, point it out straight away, next time the mask is on upside down. We ascend through a column of Sweepers/Glassfish who occupy the inside of the shaft, waiting for the onset of evening when they will leave, I wonder whether they will all leave the same entrance, like bats.
We return and spend our surface interval in the cafe, drinking tea and chatting, I sit in the sun wearing my sarong, shirt, hat, with my arms covered in a towel. As we prepare to move on I go to the toilet, when I return the cafe owner is deep in conversation with Roxy. Apparently he has a brother in Cairo who needs a wife, with Roxy, everyone has a brother in Cairo who needs a wife, even I have a brother in Cairo who needs a wife. there is, of course, the question of field-testing for the biCwnaw.
We move on to Rick's Reef (Yes Roxy I know but if people want to look it up, oh all right!) AKA Roxy's Reef and drift slowly back passing large nurseries and huge clouds of Anthias (more fish pics here ). Behind there are shoals of Sergeant Majors, possibly sniping. By now I have favourite fish : The Humbug Dascylus which has just black and white stripes but the blackest black and the whitest white, the Whitespotted Puffer, who, safe in the knowledge of his toxic skin, lies moribund with large dark-rimmed eyes, it reminds me of a recently told-off Basset puppy. We arrive back at the Canyon pool and head for shore, and from thence back home. I have asked for a guesstimate, it arrives and upon opening I adopt the expression of the Whitespotted Puffer.
Still, life goes on and I have to pick my other adventure dives, because I have failed to realise that the paper has two sides I suggest a DPV - a Diver Propulsion Vehicle. Roxy thinks this would be a good idea and assents to my choice with typical South African reticence, "Fuck Yea! We hev got to do thet Mun!" or accent to that effect. I stroll of to see Lindsay, "Hi I'm thinking of doing the DPV are you going to get me one?"
"What's this then Boys and Toys?"
"No, the DPV is an essential diver tool, it allows the diver to explore a larger area, it allows the diver to get to places without using precious air and in the case of tandem use, confers these advantages on both divers."
".... You'll have to rent your own."
"Oh - ok."
In the evening I pluck up courage and head out into the town where I end up, after a chat with Mohammed, who's very excited because his wife is coming from Faversham in September, and who's now a good boy because he's married, look, and wearing his ring. At this point a couple of willowy half-clads come past and look at the menu,
"Russian?" I venture, making a guess on the flesh to cloth ratio.
"No. Hungarian. Very easy."
I order the Bedouin lamb, which turns out to be a stew. The meal turns into the usual marathon, with free soup, some dips, and, finally, the ubiquitous watermelon. It also involves every cat in Dahab coming to check out my meal and lounging Bast-like on my sofa. To celebrate my courage in going out by myself I indulge in a shisha, while watching the moon rise over Saudi. At this point one of the waiters arrives with a bottle of water,
"Ah well, when in Rome." I twist the top off and drink, it is tap - desalinated. confused and with a constricted throat, I wash my hands with it - nonchalantly. When I return, Joey takes great delight in telling me that I have drunk the "cat gun" which has a hole in the top for shooting the cats. there is much hilarity all round, well, nearly all round.
We chat about diving and Joey's time with Unilever (we manage to come up with Fred Trussel in common, for you Unileverites), then she tells me about the survey she did on Diego Garcia with one Professor Jacqui McGlade - my flatmate in 1976. We also talk about the trials and tribulations of running a Ski Chalet in France, to be frank I can't detect that many.
The next day Roxy and I bum about while Said tours all over town and manages to come up with one DPV, we decide to "share", and head off back to Lighthouse as we reckon the pose factor will be better there, plus there may be a chance of getting it back if we drop it. My instructor takes the DPV in and gives it some extensive testing, I float and watch, after a few minutes I decide that it could do with a bit more thrux and a lot of poke, then I focus on the DPV. Eventually I'm allowed to have a go, though I can detect the pout even around the regulator. It's quite cumbersome and sinks when it stops but it's good, slow fun, though nifty on the turns. We ride tandem for a bit and a Lionfish comes out of his oildrum and cruises towards the overly large, overly noisy, invader of his territory, we turn to chug away, prepared to drop the DPV and swim should it charge, it'll be faster!
After a lounge about, we move on to The Islands, probably my favourite dive area of the holiday, a reef just off the shore and therefore with different species. This section of reef has been split by an earthquake a few years ago so that it's interesting to see the different patterns of regrowth; some 2mm some 10cm. There is also a Barracuda nursery in one of the pools. This was where I did my compulsory navigation section, difficult stuff like trying to swim a ten metre square, to make matters fair, I, of course, shut my eyes during the legs of the swim so that I couldn't correct by line of sight. No really, I did. Then I was taken off for a jaunt, where , much to my chagrin, I failed to pass under an arch without clouting it, see it still niggles. Though I did find my way back to the start when requested, even throwing in a false dogleg to make my instructor think she'd beaten me. However modesty forbids me to go on about it. I was told I was the only person ever to do it though, no I was, I can't believe she says it to everyone, surely not.
In the evening I pluck up courage and head out into the town where I end up, after a chat with Mohammed, who's very excited because his wife is coming from Faversham in September, and who's now a good boy because he's married, look, and wearing his ring. At this point a couple of willowy half-clads come past and look at the menu,
"Russian?" I venture, making a guess on the flesh to cloth ratio.
"No. Hungarian. Very easy."
I order the Bedouin lamb, which turns out to be a stew. The meal turns into the usual marathon, with free soup, some dips, and, finally, the ubiquitous watermelon. It also involves every cat in Dahab coming to check out my meal and lounging Bast-like on my sofa. To celebrate my courage in going out by myself I indulge in a shisha, while watching the moon rise over Saudi. At this point one of the waiters arrives with a bottle of water,
"Ah well, when in Rome." I twist the top off and drink, it is tap - desalinated. confused and with a constricted throat, I wash my hands with it - nonchalantly. When I return, Joey takes great delight in telling me that I have drunk the "cat gun" which has a hole in the top for shooting the cats. there is much hilarity all round, well, nearly all round.
We chat about diving and Joey's time with Unilever (we manage to come up with Fred Trussel in common, for you Unileverites), then she tells me about the survey she did on Diego Garcia with one Professor Jacqui McGlade - my flatmate in 1976. We also talk about the trials and tribulations of running a Ski Chalet in France, to be frank I can't detect that many.
The next day Roxy and I bum about while Said tours all over town and manages to come up with one DPV, we decide to "share", and head off back to Lighthouse as we reckon the pose factor will be better there, plus there may be a chance of getting it back if we drop it. My instructor takes the DPV in and gives it some extensive testing, I float and watch, after a few minutes I decide that it could do with a bit more thrux and a lot of poke, then I focus on the DPV. Eventually I'm allowed to have a go, though I can detect the pout even around the regulator. It's quite cumbersome and sinks when it stops but it's good, slow fun, though nifty on the turns. We ride tandem for a bit and a Lionfish comes out of his oildrum and cruises towards the overly large, overly noisy, invader of his territory, we turn to chug away, prepared to drop the DPV and swim should it charge, it'll be faster!
After a lounge about, we move on to The Islands, probably my favourite dive area of the holiday, a reef just off the shore and therefore with different species. This section of reef has been split by an earthquake a few years ago so that it's interesting to see the different patterns of regrowth; some 2mm some 10cm. There is also a Barracuda nursery in one of the pools. This was where I did my compulsory navigation section, difficult stuff like trying to swim a ten metre square, to make matters fair, I, of course, shut my eyes during the legs of the swim so that I couldn't correct by line of sight. No really, I did. Then I was taken off for a jaunt, where , much to my chagrin, I failed to pass under an arch without clouting it, see it still niggles. Though I did find my way back to the start when requested, even throwing in a false dogleg to make my instructor think she'd beaten me. However modesty forbids me to go on about it. I was told I was the only person ever to do it though, no I was, I can't believe she says it to everyone, surely not.
Back to base to prepare for the night dive, this involves going to the toilet several times and then putting on the wetsuit. As I don my supersize shorty and longjohns, Roxy appears in her newly repaired seal suit, she looks svelte and smooth, like a ..., like a seal...with knockers. I stare ruefully at my centimetre of clunky rubber, any stirrings I might have felt being suppressed by 1. the constrictive clothing and 2. the constriction in my circulation, as the dread hour approaches. With the cheesy grin favoured by the true dominatrix, Roxy announces that it is time. Said eager to avoid carrying my gear, appeals to my vanity and offers to carry my gear. So it is that I waddle down to the launch pad and am then dragged ignominiously across the reef to the prosaically-named "Trench", I fin generously to assist, rather sacrificing the role of "client" I thought.
We drop into a strange, bleary world; the reef has been washed of colour, the day community of fish has dwindled, approaching a table of acropora you become aware that it has fish threaded through its horns, threaded so that nothing appears outside the coral to be nibbled. For me, everything appears out of focus but my breathing rate slows, my buoyancy miraculously comes together, and we float in the night, surrounded by a nimbus of diffuse light, itself pierced by the focused rays of the torches. the sand slope away beneath us and disappears into the dark. you can imagine a long, slow fall down this slope away from the light, through and into the bottomless dark - so I don't. Instead I concentrate on the Featherstars, all seeking high points and waving their arms to catch anything floating on the breeze, we pass a Basket-Star who has an edge on the Feathers by sheer size, its arms span at least 70cm, as the wash from our fins catches it, it collapses back in on itself, to nothing. Other highlights include a pair of large Sea Slugs cruising the sand, a Spiny Lobster whose eyes glow red in the torchlight, sparky phosphorescence when I hide the torch, a cone shell (a Marlin Spike ), some shrimps and getting back alive without being eaten by Goblins.
I fin back over the reef and plod wearily back up the road, Said having cheerfully employed his reverse psychology again, sort out the gear - and there we are - done. Now all I have to do is fill in the next five days, I resolve to be brave.
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