Never Eat The Tourists
Never Eat The Tourists
At 90 feet below the surface of the water, my air tank should last another 25
minutes. Providing I don’t hyperventilate, freak out or pass out, I will be ok. But given the circumstances that was beginning to seem impossible. “If I don’t follow my buddy out of this tunnel, the dive master will surely come in after me. Just do what you’re supposed to do and don’t panic”. - That is what I kept telling myself.
Scuba divers are trained to assess the facts of the situation when they are frightened and calmly talk to themselves through all options. I knew that I had plenty of air and plenty of time. Still, I found myself beginning to breathe more rapidly and that little fluttering feeling in my chest was moving up towards my throat, constricting my airway – the first sign of panic.
I was diving in Belize, Central America, home to the second longest barrier reef in the world. The underwater life is amazing with schools of electric blue tangs, giant queen angelfish shimmering as they appear to change from green to blue to yellow. The corals are alive and healthy and sway with purple sea fans, florescent blue and yellow tube sponges and enormous orangey brain coral. But the real attractions at this particular dive sight are the really big creatures. A 600 lb. jewfish, speckled brown and black and white, hovered just a few feet away. Giant spotted eagle rays glided past, looking like cast extras straight out of Star Wars.
Then, suddenly, there were the sharks. Three nurse sharks ranging from five to nine feet in length were swimming menacingly near. Now, I’m sure they hadn’t intended to menace, but when you have the reputation for being a killing machine, sport assorted jagged scars from life-threatening battles and have the cold dead eyes of a thug; it’s pretty hard to seem cuddly.
Everett, my Belizean friend and dive master had attracted the sharks with sardines and they were following him through one of my favorite swim-through tunnels. It was about 15 feet long and four feet in diameter. Daylight was streaming from melon-sized holes in the ceiling of the tunnel, casting little light inside. It was shadowy and spooky and filled with creatures. “Yikes,” I thought, “I’m glad those sharks aren’t following me.”
I entered the tunnel, remembering to adjust my kicking to shorter strokes. It is very easy to stir up the sand in a tunnel making it impossible to see. Once vertigo sets in you can easily become confused and lose your way. The diver in front of me was flopping around like a boated marlin, silting up the tunnel. He had just turned the corner, out of my field of vision and I found myself in a very narrow spot. My air hose kept snagging on the tunnel walls, threatening to be pulled from my mouth and with every inhale my tank hit the ceiling. I needed to let all the air out of my lungs, cross my arms and maneuver myself through a turn. “Relax,” I thought, “You’ve, done this before.”
Suddenly, three sharks appeared in front of me. They were swimming quickly toward me, with a bold swish of their tails. I startled. “Oh no, sharks can smell fear can’t they? Or is that blood? Did I scrape my skin banging around on this coral alerting them to a tasty human snack trapped inside?”
“Yum” they must be thinking, “I love the soft puffy ones!”
Now, I know that nurse sharks are not aggressive. They don’t have jagged exposed teeth like the “jaws” we know from the movies. But, they do have teeth and at no time do they stop being sharks. I waited, dangling on the edge of panic, for them to pass. But they didn’t pass. In fact, they all came to rest directly beneath me. They just stopped swimming, and lay on top of each other, occasionally jockeying for position like 6th graders in the lunch line.
I tried again, but I couldn’t move forward. My tank was still hitting the ceiling, and with these three sharks almost touching me, I couldn’t drop any lower. I was going to have to encourage them to swim away without scaring them. Nurse sharks won’t attack, but they will defend themselves if they are frightened.
I decided to give the nearest shark; let’s call him “Herbert the Killer”, a little poke. I tapped him with my index finger, much like you might tap a stranger to call their attention to the fact that they are sitting on your coat. “Um, excuse me Herbie, but one of us has gills and it’s not me.” I sent him telepathic messages to “Move it along cowboy.”
Herb was unimpressed. He simply whooshed his tail and shook his head as if to say – “Hey, I’m not the one playing it fast and loose with my oxygen supply buttercup.” I poked him again, this time with a little more insistence – nothing, not even a bored eye-rolling dismissive snort.
I was beginning to move into full-fledged panic. I checked my air gauge again, plenty of air, depth 90 feet. I can’t move forward, I can’t turn around. What should I do? And so I screamed. Now, I’m not much of a screamer, I don’t rely on that skill much in my regular life on the surface. I was expecting it to have thunderous effects, calling out the nearest coast guard personnel, shocking the sharks into a cowardly retreat.
But underwater, a scream sounds like nothing more than whistling-gurgle. The shark seemed to cock his eyebrow and impatiently drum his fins on the sand. I realized that my courageous roar was not frightening at all. It was pathetic.
I was panting now. Bubbles were spewing out of my regulator like champagne from the bottles of drunken party revelers on New Years Eve. I could barely see. And then, when the bubbles cleared, I saw the sharks begin to swim away. Not afraid, not fleeing, more just bored “moving along”. Holy Cow I’m going to live to tell this story!
I got to leave that tunnel feeling a bit of a tough guy. I had tangled with some sharks and come out victorious. I had wrestled with my own fear and panic, and mostly didn’t do anything overly stupid. In the end I did what I should have as a diver (except for the poking – NEVER poke a shark). And the sharks did what they should have as sharks -NEVER eat the tourists.
Word Count: 1098
Julene Nolan
jules@julesnolan.com
www.julesnolan.com
www.takethekidswith.com
(507) 382 5404
At 90 feet below the surface of the water, my air tank should last another 25
minutes. Providing I don’t hyperventilate, freak out or pass out, I will be ok. But given the circumstances that was beginning to seem impossible. “If I don’t follow my buddy out of this tunnel, the dive master will surely come in after me. Just do what you’re supposed to do and don’t panic”. - That is what I kept telling myself.
Scuba divers are trained to assess the facts of the situation when they are frightened and calmly talk to themselves through all options. I knew that I had plenty of air and plenty of time. Still, I found myself beginning to breathe more rapidly and that little fluttering feeling in my chest was moving up towards my throat, constricting my airway – the first sign of panic.
I was diving in Belize, Central America, home to the second longest barrier reef in the world. The underwater life is amazing with schools of electric blue tangs, giant queen angelfish shimmering as they appear to change from green to blue to yellow. The corals are alive and healthy and sway with purple sea fans, florescent blue and yellow tube sponges and enormous orangey brain coral. But the real attractions at this particular dive sight are the really big creatures. A 600 lb. jewfish, speckled brown and black and white, hovered just a few feet away. Giant spotted eagle rays glided past, looking like cast extras straight out of Star Wars.
Then, suddenly, there were the sharks. Three nurse sharks ranging from five to nine feet in length were swimming menacingly near. Now, I’m sure they hadn’t intended to menace, but when you have the reputation for being a killing machine, sport assorted jagged scars from life-threatening battles and have the cold dead eyes of a thug; it’s pretty hard to seem cuddly.
Everett, my Belizean friend and dive master had attracted the sharks with sardines and they were following him through one of my favorite swim-through tunnels. It was about 15 feet long and four feet in diameter. Daylight was streaming from melon-sized holes in the ceiling of the tunnel, casting little light inside. It was shadowy and spooky and filled with creatures. “Yikes,” I thought, “I’m glad those sharks aren’t following me.”
I entered the tunnel, remembering to adjust my kicking to shorter strokes. It is very easy to stir up the sand in a tunnel making it impossible to see. Once vertigo sets in you can easily become confused and lose your way. The diver in front of me was flopping around like a boated marlin, silting up the tunnel. He had just turned the corner, out of my field of vision and I found myself in a very narrow spot. My air hose kept snagging on the tunnel walls, threatening to be pulled from my mouth and with every inhale my tank hit the ceiling. I needed to let all the air out of my lungs, cross my arms and maneuver myself through a turn. “Relax,” I thought, “You’ve, done this before.”
Suddenly, three sharks appeared in front of me. They were swimming quickly toward me, with a bold swish of their tails. I startled. “Oh no, sharks can smell fear can’t they? Or is that blood? Did I scrape my skin banging around on this coral alerting them to a tasty human snack trapped inside?”
“Yum” they must be thinking, “I love the soft puffy ones!”
Now, I know that nurse sharks are not aggressive. They don’t have jagged exposed teeth like the “jaws” we know from the movies. But, they do have teeth and at no time do they stop being sharks. I waited, dangling on the edge of panic, for them to pass. But they didn’t pass. In fact, they all came to rest directly beneath me. They just stopped swimming, and lay on top of each other, occasionally jockeying for position like 6th graders in the lunch line.
I tried again, but I couldn’t move forward. My tank was still hitting the ceiling, and with these three sharks almost touching me, I couldn’t drop any lower. I was going to have to encourage them to swim away without scaring them. Nurse sharks won’t attack, but they will defend themselves if they are frightened.
I decided to give the nearest shark; let’s call him “Herbert the Killer”, a little poke. I tapped him with my index finger, much like you might tap a stranger to call their attention to the fact that they are sitting on your coat. “Um, excuse me Herbie, but one of us has gills and it’s not me.” I sent him telepathic messages to “Move it along cowboy.”
Herb was unimpressed. He simply whooshed his tail and shook his head as if to say – “Hey, I’m not the one playing it fast and loose with my oxygen supply buttercup.” I poked him again, this time with a little more insistence – nothing, not even a bored eye-rolling dismissive snort.
I was beginning to move into full-fledged panic. I checked my air gauge again, plenty of air, depth 90 feet. I can’t move forward, I can’t turn around. What should I do? And so I screamed. Now, I’m not much of a screamer, I don’t rely on that skill much in my regular life on the surface. I was expecting it to have thunderous effects, calling out the nearest coast guard personnel, shocking the sharks into a cowardly retreat.
But underwater, a scream sounds like nothing more than whistling-gurgle. The shark seemed to cock his eyebrow and impatiently drum his fins on the sand. I realized that my courageous roar was not frightening at all. It was pathetic.
I was panting now. Bubbles were spewing out of my regulator like champagne from the bottles of drunken party revelers on New Years Eve. I could barely see. And then, when the bubbles cleared, I saw the sharks begin to swim away. Not afraid, not fleeing, more just bored “moving along”. Holy Cow I’m going to live to tell this story!
I got to leave that tunnel feeling a bit of a tough guy. I had tangled with some sharks and come out victorious. I had wrestled with my own fear and panic, and mostly didn’t do anything overly stupid. In the end I did what I should have as a diver (except for the poking – NEVER poke a shark). And the sharks did what they should have as sharks -NEVER eat the tourists.
Word Count: 1098
Julene Nolan
jules@julesnolan.com
www.julesnolan.com
www.takethekidswith.com
(507) 382 5404
posted by jules @ 11:24 AM
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