The boat ride out to the reef was bumpy and my stomach began to churn early on. I have a history with motion sickness, but I was determined that it would not get the better of me. After an hour of focusing on feeling well, breathing the sea air and watching the horizon we slowed to a gentle bob, at which point it was time to transfer to the larger boat that would house for the next couple of days. Although I never came close to vomiting, I now feel far from normal. Am I hungry? Am I auditioning? It is akin to both those things. It is not nausea, but the jitters. Perhaps it is related to the diving that awaits me.
Within minutes of stepping aboard the Reef Encounter, I find myself suited up and sitting down, one foot in the water. I am at the back of the boat wearing a snorkel and mask, getting splashed by surprisingly violent waves and trying to fit my second flipper before such a wave steals it. The water is deep. I plunge in.
The first thing I notice is how buoyant my wetsuit is. Floating is a cinch. That's a calming thought. My next thought is that these flippers (also called fins) are a dreadful nuisance. My legs do not know how to accommodate their new extensions. I put my head underwater and keep it there. Keep breathing. Trust the snorkel. My jaw clenches to give all incoming air a strong welcome, like the firm handshake of the breathing world.
I try swimming and find the flippers make far more sense when I'm horizontal. But I am gasping for air. I feel like Sandra Bullock in Gravity, and I hear George Clooney speak to me, "sip the air". OK George. But my breathing won't be calmed so I return to the boat to sit and by still and remove my snorkel/mask combo. I take it off to breathe more freely but I am sure to focus my attention on cleaning out my goggles, a sure signal to anyone watching that yes I do know how to snorkel, just a little casual mask maintenance going on here.
I don't want to get to comfortable sitting on the back of the boat, so I soon launch off again. It is an exercise of willpower to keep my head down and trust the snorkel for all my oxygen-related needs. I do it, though. I follow the anchor rope away from the boat and upon reaching the anchor, clearly visible, I realise the water here is not so deep after all. Another comforting thought. I continue to swim, listening to my breathing. It sounds forceful but this is working so I decide to breathe as furiously as I like. Sorry George.
I take a moment to glance back at the boat, and am impressed with how far I have travelled in a short time. These flippers are all right. The vertical me has still not figured them out, but I'm soon horizontal again and I like them a lot. I swim yet further from the boat. Gasp PTOO gasp PTOO gasp. Then suddenly there's a wall in front of me. It's just an arm's length away. Or maybe it's a full body's reach. I can't tell but I do know it is the most beautiful wall I have ever seen. Under ordinary circumstances it might have taken my breath away - but as things were, my breathing immediately slowed. A warmth washes over me. Have I just peed in my wetsuit? Relatively sure that's not it. I'm calm now. A school of small blue fish swim goes by. They're close. Fish! Look at them! I'm seeing what I came here to see!
My breathing is now relaxed, a bland variation on the theme of normal. As I approach the beautiful wall I notice more and more fish. Small ones at first, then I look deeper and see bigger fish. Near fish, small fish, far fish, big fish. There are fish of every colour, as long as it's fluorescent. And I'm away. Swim, breathe, rest, watch, swim.
After exploring the reef for ten or fifteen minutes, a wave splashes down my snorkel. Moments later, my mask fills with water. I fix these problems without issue, but my flow has been broken. I start to breathe hurriedly once again, so I take my snorkel off for a spell to recalibrate. I resume my exploration, but gone is the serenity I had known moments before. My stomach is churning.
I decide to head in then, while still on a high. My flippers deliver me back in no time and I'm soon safe and dry. Before long I'm watching the clock, eager to do it all again.
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