Last year I visited Caye Caulker; a sunny small island in Belize which is catered for tourists but isn’t overran or ruined by them. (Or maybe I was just lucky with timing a none-peak season – I went in July).
Seeing so I was fond of my newfound pastime of scuba diving it made perfect sense that I would sign up for a dive in The Great Blue Hole – one of the most famous scuba diving destinations in the world with a very possible chance of seeing hammerhead sharks.
Fond – yes. Expert – no. Total novice. Apart from my first exam in Borneo, I’ve only dived around five times and I grew in confidence with each one. I’m an awful swimmer so I already started with a fear and it was a fear that I got over. Whilst paying my money to the dive master I told him repeatedly, that the last time I dived was in Japan over a year ago – and more importantly that I was worried that I was rusty, asking if he could just keep an eye on me.
Do you ever get the feeling that someone is not listening to you but they’re saying the right words to shut you up? Yeah, that’s what was happening. Caribbean folk are so laid back that they’re almost living in last week. He just wanted my money in his hand and my words fell on death ears. I felt antsy as we got on the boat.
I introduced myself to the other lads, all European and it wasn’t long before the scuba diving dick measuring contest took place…with me clearly having the weiner of the sea. It turned out that they averaged over a thousand dives – they were pretty much ninjas of the sea and I was the odd one out.
Not to worry – my dive buddy is a dive master! What could possibly go wrong?
As we submerged ourselves into the water the dive master didn’t make any effort to stay by my side. I wasn’t wanting him to hold my hand or give me underwater canoodles or anything – just to stay nearby like all the other guys seemed to manage. I constantly played catch up as we swam under the cave and to the other side of this natural beauty of the Belize sinkhole.
Around half an hour, after a tight and claustrophobic squeeze through an underground tunnel – I saw a shiver of around twenty hammerhead sharks prowling roughly four metres below me as we were 40 metres below the ocean. I was in awe! Completely lost in the moment with these beautiful majestic creatures, I hovered over them and looked around to see if my dive buddy was as impressed as myself – but he was AWOL and I was alone.
In a somewhat meditative state I got lost in the bliss of the moment as I watched these gorgeous beasts stalk the bed of the ocean. Then suddenly – my mask started sucking my face. I fought to breathe in vain while the suffocation took place and there was no one to be seen in sight.
For those who don’t dive – it’s not a case of just going to the top and getting your breath back. Your lugs can explode which is why we perform an emergency stop for a few minutes before returning to land every time. But of course, I had no air and I figured I’m pretty much dead already if I stay here with no spare mask, or anyone to help me so I may as well risk shooting to the top and hope my organs don’t explode.
As I scrambled with every part of me, 40 metres below the sea with water already in my body, coughing, convulsing and almost blacking out – there was a panic in me that I’d never felt before in my life. That this really was game over. Damn – I haven’t seen Bruce Springsteen in concert or tried magic mushrooms yet, it wasn’t supposed to end like this!
Roughly five metres towards the top – my dive master appears (finally) and grabs me. He’s making the hand signal to tell me to clear my mask. We are under water of course so I can’t say; “I don’t have water in my eyes you idiot – I’ve got no fucking air left you deserter!”
A scuffle continued and I managed to fight myself off him and get to the top. Obviously my lungs didn’t explode – maybe the guy grabbing me was a good thing. There are no words to describe how good it felt to breathe again.
Once I got my breath back fully, the guy and I had a disagreement about the whole thing on the boat and I had to be pulled off him as I was so incensed by his blasé attitude. Which is hilarious as he was built like a Samoan rugby prop and I had about as much energy as a hungry newborn kitten.
I don’t like to play the victim card and retrospectively I think the whole affair was 50/50 blame. He just didn’t listen or care and he didn’t stay nearby for when the shit hit the fan. But with all that being said and done (before I get any hate from diving experts cringing at my performance) – I am responsible for my life and I should have been more vigilant with my oxygen meter (if that’s what they are even called).
I’d happily name and shame the company but I can’t remember the name or find it on Google. I can tell you it wasn’t White Sands Dive Shop, Belize Diving Services, or Frenchie’s Diving Services.
Please don’t let my bad experience put you off scuba diving in The Blue Hole of Belize. It was an underwater heaven until this happened – and could have been one of the best days of my life if it wasn’t for incompetence on both sides. Sadly, my fear of water seems to have returned and I’m in no rush to scuba dive again unless I know the person I’m doing it with. in fact I’m lucky I ran out of air after I was under the cave or it would have definitely been lights out!
Song for the moment – The Day I Died, By Just Jack
“The day I died was the best day of my life
The day I died was the best day of my life
Tell my friends and my kids and my wife
Everything will be alright
The day I died was the best day of my life”