Ignophobia – Nathan Mallory's Weblog

Well, the last dive is done, and we enter the closing phase of the trip.

The last dive, at Trinity Caves, was just a short ways from the dock where we began the trip, and consisted almost entirely of — you guessed it — a network of caves and swim-throughs. Dr. Noriega decided not to come on this dive, which I feel a little guilty about but I suppose it’s up to him (and I shouldn’t be so egotistical to think it is entirely due to our disagreement), meaning that it was Ramon, Ric and I down into the caverns. While perhaps not a highlight of the trip, the dive was certainly a change of pace, from the earlier sealife-oriented dives to dimly lit and sparsely populated nooks and crannies. We did find a sleeping octopus, however, and Ramon was able to shoot pictures of him to his hearts delight. The three of us ducked in and out of the shallow tunnels, bumping and scraping through but being careful not to be too adventurous in our choice of passageways. I think Ramon, who shares none of my enthusiasm for caves and swim-throughs, got a little tired of it by the end, but as a capstone on the week’s dives I thought it was great! When I get home, I fully intend to check out cave diving and see what kinds of gear, training, and like-minded divers are available.

Some things I’ve discovered on this trip:

1. I need a soda gun.

I’ve been drinking Diet Coke here like water and it still hasn’t run out. The cost of setting up a fountain of my own might be high, but if this is the standard length one of those syrup boxes lasts, I’ll make up the cost of not having to buy from Albertson’s in short order!

2. I need underwater audio.

Thinking back, I’m still not sure what my aversion was to the H2O Audio player. Maybe I was so set on an iPod player and so disappointed not to find one, I just got lazy towards the end of the summer’s gear hunt. Regardless of the reason, it’s one of the best parts of my dives now, so iRiver, you’ll be getting a little of my business at long last!

3. I need Spit.

Divers try any number of methods to try to keep their masks from fogging while underwater. And most can attest to how worthless many of the commercially products like Absolute Clear and 500 PSI are. Spit, one of a couple brands of product the Noriegas brought with them, is not only the best name solution for foggy masks I’ve found on this trip, it has worked every single time I coat the inside of my mask with it. It seems to only reliably last two or so dives, so I’ll need a couple bottles of it, but it doesn’t take much and the bottles hold a heck of a lot (relatively speaking).

Just for the sake of record, we had another dive at Marilyn’s Cut yesterday afternoon. While not quite as bad as below, it basically falls into the same category…

I think I’m beginning to figure out which dives will result in some contention. Apply this simple formula:

1) A dive briefing laying out “two dive sites in one”, both consisting of large networks of swim-throughs, caves, and everything starting below 45 feet

+

2) Dr. Noriega

Now, that’s not to say that he is the sole reason that this dive was the low-point in the trip. General fatigue with spending close quarters with just about anyone for an entire week will make you a little more likely to annoy each other. Also, this particular dive site was distinguished in having virtually nothing appealing EXCEPT for a large network of swim-throughs and caves (other than a lot of small, brown-ish sealife and sand).

That made things a bit awkward when we begin heading towards, as explained, the ONLY attraction of the site and we are pulled back by Ramon and Ric’s father with the rather frustrating parental reprimand:

“Don’t Play Games.”

Now, the general merits of that statement aside, I’m assuming he was in one action accusing me of being reckless, not listening to his warnings from previous dives, and expressing a paternal, if unnecessary, concern for my safety. Of course, this aggressive parenting tactic swiftly curtailed any straying by his younglings more than 20 feet from his side and made me feel like a 10 year old who had broken the rules in Lower School again. Concern for my safety is perfectly appreciated, but at 25 years old I am ultimately responsible for my own safety, and his attitude serves only to frighten his own children out of engaging in (one more time) the express purpose of the dive site.

I have no idea what we’ll find at the coming site for our final dive, or if Dr. Noriega will join us (I hope he will, this has been too good of a trip to end it in a spat), but he’s kicking me off the computer right now, so I’ll be back with a (hopefully more cheerful) wrap up in a little bit.

I made a friend!

Just as the sun’s coming out this afternoon made for warm air and clear water, this dive site was as much an improvement over the last two. It features a small trench cum network of caves (a.k.a. “Marilyn’s Cut”) which empty to a sheer wall. Such a description in and of itself might not differentiate it much from our past sites, but this one has more energy and life, brought on I’m sure in no small part by the sun’s glowing rays. Ramon, Ric and I took off for the Cut, which we found with ease. Leading the way, I noticed a darkened, person-sized nook in the wall just before hitting a chimney (vertical tunnel leading out of the trench). Dashing a little ahead of my companions, I proceeded to concealing myself in the shadows like a red and black ninja of the deep. Then, like a stereotypical Japanese tourist, I snapped pictures of the oblivious fools, then sat back and waited to be found. For a moment, I was afraid they might not see me at all and just continue on, but sure enough they found me, crouched in inky blackness.

After ascending to the main sea floor at around 30 feet, we skirted the wall in a lopsided figure-eight around the boat. That’s where we encountered by far the most friendly creature I’ve met thus far. He was a rather large grouper with some evil-looking nostril flares, but he was all nudges and cuddles (a phrase I hope I never have to repeat about ANYONE besides an amiable fish). Ramon caught video of me petting him, but had swum off when the fish, who measured in at about the size of a small dog, actually let me wrap my arms around him for a full-on hug! It was great! Though I think he took that to be formal adoption procedures, because he and a buddy of his tailed us all the way back to the wall and almost to the boat.

We’ll be going back in at this same spot in just a little bit, so I’ll see if I can’t find him again.

I don’t have much to say at this moment, but I’m blogging anyway. Not because I have to, though. I’m just extremely tired (probably from that 5:45 wake-up).

Our second dive to Nancy’s Cup of Tea was about the same as the first, but this time confirming that it wasn’t just the morning light that accounted for the general drab color of that area — it was the area itself. So it was myself and the Noriegas, swimming around and seeing the same overall fish we had seen a hundred times so far.

The next dive, before lunch, was far better. The drawing of the dive site during the briefing was a little lacking compared to the others, but it conveyed all we needed to know: 20 feet of water below the boat, and just next to it, a 6000 foot drop off! We only stayed for one dive, but it was a return to the kinds of bustling sealife we had seen earlier in the trip. The cameras were back out in full force and Pirates of the Caribbean on the mp3 player. We dove down the the side of the wall a few dozen feet and watched in awe as Leesa (our resident expert photographer) guided her massive camera rig snapping what I’m sure are far better pictures than our small, sub-$500 cameras would be capable of.

Lunch was some kind of tropical/asian assortment of rice and chicken and shrimp, pretty tasty but nothing to the hot dogs and hamburgers we had yesterday (god, I need more serious things to talk about, don’t I?).

Oh well, I’ll think of something as we go on our next dive. The sun is back our and we are at Marilyn’s Cut (whatever that means). I’ll report back if Marilyn makes it or not.

Okay, they must just pull these dive site names out of their asses… Nancy’s Cup of Tea…

A knock on our door woke Ramon and I up at 5:45 this morning. Fortunately the wake-up call was for me, not Ramon, and while he rolled over and went back to bed, Ricardo and I descended for a (very) early morning dive. Diving just before sun up felt to me like I would imagine diving in a light fog would be. Colors for the most part were muted, visibility down but not so low that it hampered the experience. Being that you’re supposed to make your first dive of the day your deepest (and get progressively more shallow with each successive dive), Ric and I went down an even 100 feet or so. For the most part it was uneventful, but we did encounter a smallish reef shark (they all look like great whites to me), and I had a bullfight-esque showdown with an erksome stingray. Of course, for this dive I forgot to bring my camera.

I am beginning to feel familiar with the sorts of dive sites around the Cayman Islands, the kinds of coral formations to expect, the typical fish you’ll see on every dive. I think that means it’s about time to move on. They showed us a DVD of the Aggressor fleet’s newest addition, a boat at North Sulawesi a little off the coast of Singapore. Black sands, creatures that look like something out of a sci-fi movie, now THAT would be an experience.

Now that the sun’s up as well as most of the other divers, we head back to try to find that Cup of Tea poor Nancy seems to have left somewhere down there. Oh, there are supposed to be some cool anchors too.

Tonight’s dive is the first I’ve had mildly mixed feelings about. The rest have been inarguably good times. This night dive at the Bus Stop felt wrong somehow…

Our group was Ramon, Ricardo, their father, and myself. In the unusually close quarters that night dives seem to promote, four cooks certainly seemed to spoil the broth. In particular, Dr. Noriega seemed to be possessed by a paranoia at straying too far from the boat or too far from each other, to such a level that it felt less like a night dive and more like an evening circling the boat.

I’m sure my choice of music didn’t encourage happy feelings, but the most depressing moment for me on the dive was when Dr. Noriega fought for a couple minutes to extract his slate (used to write notes underwater) and proceeded to write “STICK TOGETHER,” a message he aimed at Ramon. I happened to catch it from a distance, but then was surprised to see the two of them head off in the direction of Ricardo without a backwards glance. I hung back a dozen or so feet to make sure it was not a mistake, but they never seemed to notice. I suppose the line of overprotective parenting stops at inconveniencing others for the (sole) sake of your blood.

That’s not to say I’m in a bad mood, it’s just a mellow evening here on the boat. Tomorrow morning, Ric and I are getting up for a “pre-dawn” dive at 5:45 AM in lieu of a night dive tomorrow night, so I should probably get some sleep.

They say Ireland has a hundred shades of green. If that’s true, then the sea has the monopoly on yellows and blues. For our afternoon stop, we went back to Little Cayman to a busy dive site on the coast aptly named the Bus Stop. Like many of the places we have gone, it is populated with sandy pockets broken up by coral formations and swim-throughs.

On the first dive, I went down with the whole Noriega clan and, while we did see some good creatures, the group of four seemed a little bit crowded. Between Ramon and I taking pictures, Dr. Noriega not wanting to venture too far off the beaten path, and Ricardo agreeable to just about anything, we ended up not doing all that much.

Resurfacing, I engaged in what has become my routine rush through tech — updating my blog, swapping out the mp3 player with new audio, leaving relatively little time for the relaxation that others seem to jump right into. Oh well, maybe I am becoming my Dad, forcing himself to stay busy even on vacation. That seemed to be the case this afternoon especially, as all three of the Noriegas declined to do the afternoon dive. Insistent that I do my level best to dive every single dive, however, that would not do. After finally establishing that I wouldn’t be diving with anyone I knew (and everyone else I DIDN’T know having already departed) I shrugged it off, shouldered my mp3 player, and went for my first solo dive.

As an experience, it was again very different from going it with one or more buddies, though not as dramatic a change as the night dives. On the positive side, I no longer had to come to consensus on where to go, what to do, or how long to spend in any place. But that freedom has a serious price — you must be doubly vigilent of your surroundings, your depth, and how much air you have left. Done too much, I suspect it could also be a bit lonely. But as a diversion when no one else wants to go, it amounted to another new style of diving in my log book of experiences on this trip.

Now time for what I’m sure will be a crowded night dive back to the Bus Stop. Tonight’s music: Silent Hill!

Ramon and I headed back to the 356 a couple hours later, this time sans tour guide and WITH mp3 player. I still say its the single biggest improvement to my diving experience since I began, and it’s good to have Tom around to share the enthusiasm (otherwise I’d be the only one).

It was a little more fun to explore the wreck without someone guiding us, though without Graham we lost the nerve to dive headlong into dark and rusted corridors. We took some pictures of the impressive aft guns and little nooks and crannies throughout the frigate’s exterior, including a humorous movie in which I get “electrocuted.”

The curse seems to have subsided a bit lately, though that could just be a result of my running out of electronics to break! Pray for my iPod, who is with us still. I also have this small gash on my left hand middle finger, next to the nail, that seems unable to heal thanks to its five-times-a-day saltwater dunking. I keep it clean and it doesn’t look poorly… but whenever I put on or take off my gear it hurts like hell.

It’s a little depressing to know that we just have a couple more days left to the trip. Despite my technological hiccups, I’ll try to post some more pictures from the past few days later tonight.

Our night dive at the Three Fathom Wall was just as creepy and unnerving as the first. This time, accompanied by music, Ramon and I were explorers on a distant world, rather than lost, marooned scouts in a doomed space mission. Okay, so maybe I let my imagination run away from me a little on these dives. But I can’t properly express how different it feels to dive at night. Most of the colorful fish present in daytime hours are gone, replaced by slow-moving, cautious fish not used to having bright lights shined in their faces. This time, we also encountered several tiny, translucent squids. They were unusually friendly, and Ramon captured a few photographs of one just three inches from my mask. Bathed in the impressive glow of the Light Cannons, these little creatures would light up and shimmer like magical pixies, whose brilliance my words can’t do justice.

So THAT was fun.

This morning we had arrived near Cayman Brac and one of the trip’s highlights, the wreck of the Russian frigate #356. Left in Cuba after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ship was purchased by the Cayman Islands to be sunk here (and renamed the Keith Tibbets… don’t ask me why…). In the decade since it was lowered to the watery depths, parts of it have fallen in on themselves and the entire ship has split in two. This worked to undermine the efforts of the original architects of this dive site, who welded all doors and windows shut to keep curious divers from venturing to a premature grave. Needless to say, in we went!

Actually for this first dive, Ramon and I were led on a little tour by Graham, one of the crew who knew the place. Now Graham, a Brit, and I are developing a bit of a history (all in good fun), so I was a little worried he might be taking me down into the ship to kill me. It began when I made a terrible mistake on our first day of diving… I was descending the ladder to the dive platform with full gear on (tank, wetsuit, BCD, etc.). As I was going, Graham had moved into the path of where I was headed to hand someone their underwater camera, leaving me to bring my tank down squarely on the back of his neck. Judging by his cry of pain, I’m guess it hurt. He did his best to shrug it off and I felt terribly, but right afterwards I did catch a look from him that looked an awful lot like, “I am going to kill you on this voyage.”

Since then, we have disagreed on the merits of underwater music, and I made the unfortunate decision to wear a t-shirt on deck by “Manchester Ltd. Co.”, which I suppose sounds a little too much like “Manchester United” for his British sensibilities. *shrug*

We have one more dive at the #356 before lunch and moving on, so I am going to prepare the mp3 player with the appropriate accompaniment and will report on that and any other gear of mine that stops working later. Oh, in other news, the soda machine works again (so the curse is limited just to me).