Cheito and his
diving buddy, Shorty, went over their dive plan one more time. They each checked their
own diving gear, and then the other's. Cheito helped Shorty put his tank on, and Shorty helped him. Fins in hand, they walked
into the warm water. It was just as calm as it had been the first time he had
snorkeled here for the first time a few years back. Although the careened
yolas, Canadian tourists and busy shops all seemed the same, this time was
different. He and Shorty were going to SCUBA dive to the bottom below the
large buoy moored a pool's length away from the end of the pier. The chain
anchoring the buoy was secured to the sea floor about ninety feet below. The
boys waded until the water was waist deep, and put on their masks and fins.
They snorkeled to the northern end of the pier. They could clearly see the
bottom thirty feet below them. They used their regulators to descend along one
of the coral encrusted supports; french angel fish quietly circled around it.
They signaled each other that all was OK, and ascended back to the surface.
They reoriented themselves, and snorkeled out to the buoy. At the buoy they
checked their air supply, nodded to each other and started the slow descent to
the bottom following the anchor chain. Cheito heard the whine of an outboard
motor, and out of the corner of his eye he saw the boat go by, about fifty feet
away. He ignored it and continued on down. Shorty was below him, slowly
kicking into the blue green depth below him. The chain was blanketed with fire
coral, sea fans, fan worms and sponges, and a large school of sardines circled
around it. The silver cloud of small fish would disperse and reform as the
bubbles from his buddy's exhalations broke into their ranks. He continued down
to the bottom taking in the unreal beauty of it all. At about sixty feet the
surface was no longer visible, and the sandy bottom could barely be seen. All
around him the dim green light reminded him of the late afternoon stained glass
light of the interior of a Cathedral. Other than the sound of his breathing, he
could still hear the suprising snap and pop of the noisy sea life, and the
occasional whine of a boat motor far above. He checked his depth gauge and saw
that he was close to ninety feet. He could make out the end of the chain and
Shorty swimming towards it. Shorty stopped at the bottom and looked up
at him, his eyes wild and a huge grin on his face, which he could see even with
the regulator covering his mouth. Shorty grabbed one his fins and pulled him
down the rest of the way. He drifted to the bottom, checked his depth, the time
and his air pressure, and suddenly he was laughing into his mouthpiece. Rapture
of the deep! Nitrogen narcosis! The school of sardines that had followed them
down danced with him every time he breathed out. He took the regulator out of
his mouth and amused himself by zapping the fish with bubbles. He stopped,
remembering through the haze of intoxication that he needed that air to get
back to the surface. He forced himself to focus, checked the time, saw that
they only had a couple of minutes of bottom time left, got his Shorty's
attention and signaled that it was time to go back up. He looked around one
last time, and began the slow ascent to the surface, into the dancing beams of
light, away from the undersea world of weightless wonder.
Jose M. Caldas, October 7, 2013.
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