A couple of weeks ago I was in Cairns, Australia. I had been to Cairns twice before, so I didn't feel the need to rush around doing touristy things. This trip was more about visiting friends than ticking sights off my list. However, I decided to do some SCUBA diving anyway seeing as it's not every day that I'm so close to the Great Barrier Reef. Also, I knew that Rajeev was back home doing a PADI course and that would give us something ELSE in common to do together for fun, so I'd better refresh my skills pronto.This reef brings back memories. Waaaaaaay back in 1987 when I was on a working holiday in Oz, I did my PADI certification in Cairns. It took about a week and cost around $250, including an overnight stay on a dive boat, several solo dives and a night dive. It was the highlight of my first trip to Australia. Learning to dive there spoiled me. I've done lots of traveling since, but snorkelling in places like Indonesia, Thailand and Belize didn't compare to my memory of descending into the blue waters off Cairns, with huge schools of fish surrounding me, giant clams on the bottom, gorgeous coral and incredible visibility. I was looking forward to seeing that world again.
Problem was, I hadn't dived since 1998 and that was just a refresher course off the breakwater in Victoria B.C. (read: COLD WATER and FULL WET SUIT). I couldn't remember what all the gear did, how it was put together, and all the hand signals that would supposedly save my life if I needed to communicate to my buddy that a) I was out of air b) about to be eaten by a shark or c) getting ready to puke into my regulator.
I wasn't planning on diving during this trip so I hadn't brought my PADI certification card. Seeing as it contains the Most Hideous Photo of me ever taken, it's no surprise that it stays hidden away in my filing cabinet most of the time. I had to get Rajeev to find it, scan it and email it to me, which he did. Then to find a computer in Cairns that could print it out legibly. The woman who helped me said, in the way that only a tough, middle-aged Aussie Sheila can, "What an awful photo, dahling. It looks like you have no teeth." Yes, I know. But until I take another PADI course, that card is mine for life.
I called up one of the diving companies who suggested that instead of a refresher course in a pool (kind of pointless when one is so close to the world's biggest reef), I could go on a day trip with a bunch of divers and the instructor/guide would stick with me and give me a wee refresher on the spot. So far, so good.
It was a sunny day, hardly any wind, perfect conditions for the hour-long trip out to the reef. On the way, the diving guides divided us into groups according to our experience. I was in the introductory group which included folks like me who hadn't dived for awhile (defined as a year or more) or who were recently certified. My group contained a Brazilian couple, a Dutch couple, and a young dude with b.o. from Hong Kong who insisted that people call him "Ouch." Oh please don't let him be my buddy, I thought. Well, at least the salt water would take care of the b.o...
Our diving guide, Kerrin, gave us a briefing that included descriptions of the equipment, reminders about hand signals, and told us what to expect when we got out there. As he was doing this, I felt myself getting very hot. This is weird, I thought, it's air conditioned in here. I hadn't noticed that the catamaran was cruising farther away from land and into some gentle swells. I'm not normally prone to seasickness, especially in calm weather. On a snorkelling trip out of Port Douglas in 2004 I got sick despite having taken motion sickness pills, but then the weather was rough and windy, and we almost capsized. This time wasn't rough at all. What was going on?
Looking back, I think it was a combination of motion sickness and nervousness at doing my first boat dive in 19 years. Kerrin promised to look after me out there, but it was still my responsibility to breathe underwater and use the skills that I was supposedly certified for, and on some level I wasn't sure I could do it.
I went outside to get some fresh air and sat next to an Indian couple. The woman was holding a white paper bag and looking worried. I had one of those in my hand too, and was contemplating using it. Kerrin told me "Just look at the horizon, mate." Why do people tell you to do that? I don't find that it helps. It only reminds me that the boat is moving A LOT and the horizon is not. In this case, I was looking at the rapidly receding mainland and wishing I was back there. Meanwhile, the dive staff flaunted their sea legs by putting on wet suits, sauntering around without having to hold onto anything, and munching on muffins.
As we approached the dive spot, an announcement was made that all scuba divers should gear up and get ready. By now I was feeling better, and even a bit superior to the Indian lady who was still green. Ha, I thought. I can take it. Or could I? After all the gurgling and stress that my guts had been experiencing, I thought it would be smart to go to the toilet before donning my wet suit. But I found I couldn't quite let go of the death grip I had on the bench. Why can't we wait until the boat stops moving before we gear up? I wondered. One of the dive guides told me I really had to hurry if I wanted to dive at this spot, so I bit the bullet and lurched over to the head.
Well, one look at the toilet and up came my breakfast. Half way through upchucking I thought "I can't do it. This is awful. Why did I pay so much money to do this?" However, once my stomach was completely empty (and oh yes, it completely was) I felt much better. There wasn't anything else to come up, so I might as well get in the water. This is a pic of me 3 minutes after upchucking, looking nervous and still a bit green and sweaty. The Dutch couple told me not to be nervous and that I would feel much better once I was in the water. "You can even puke into your regulator if you have to," said the Dutch man. "In fact, if you puke, it will bring more fish around." That might be true, but I wished he was stop using the word "puke."
My dive went well. Kerrin led us through a series of exercises to make sure we could clear our masks underwater and use our backup regulators. Apart from forgetting that the "thumb's up" hand signal means "go to the surface" and not "I'm OK," I passed this part and we continued. Ouch whacked me in the face at one point because he swam with his arms (quite unnecessary when you are wearing fins) and didn't realize I was swimming next to him.I did one other dive that day and even managed to eat a little sushi and bread for lunch. A 10-minute nap in between dives got rid of the seasickness for good. I chatted with some of the snorkellers and discovered that I was certainly not alone - there had been much upchucking on the ol' catamaran that day.
On the whole, I was glad to have refreshed my skills. But I have to say I was disappointed with the diving experience. A lot of the coral was dead, the visibility was poor and there weren't many fish. This wasn't how I remembered it at all. It could be that this company's particular diving spots have experienced stress with so many inexperienced visitors churning up sand and knocking against the coral. Or it could be that since 1987 the Great Barrier Reef has deteriorated. That would be a shame. I want to see as many tropical reefs as I can before Global Warming kills them off.Next time, though, I'm stocking up on something like this.
