We’re setting up for a night dive at Pelican Anchorage. We have a lobster trip aboard, the count is 22. They’re from Reno, Nevada – mostly quarry diving out there so the ocean is new and a bit scary to some of these folks. Only two want to go down in the cold, so just the second captain and I are on watch. In the distance is practically a blockade of squid boats with their bright lights to attract their prey. The line of them goes as far as we can see. One of them temporarily blinks their overheads off. In the darkness, what few lights they still have on, including their navigation red/green lights, make the boat look more like some strange alien caterpillar crawling across the water. The colored lights are its eyes as it passes, the trail of wake behind it like one a snail would make on a leaf.
It’s nine PM but my day started at 6. Every bone in my body is aching. Night dives are exciting to most, but the threat of increased shark activity doesn’t make it my favorite thing. Divers’ general fascination with sharks never made much sense to me. To me it’s a futile attempt to talk themselves into feeling safe with a wild animal, when there is no safety to be had. There is rational fear and irrational fear. Fear of sharks is completely rational. We can appreciate and respect them, but their power should never be underestimated.
It’s so bright out here it looks like there’s a floating city. I do my usual safety briefing about night dives – two lights required, etc. But I emphasize to avoid corners. At night, there is no way for staff to help divers who can’t be seen or heard. Our two divers enter the water. but one of them makes me nervous. This is his first night dive. The other seasoned diver has promised to stay with him, but I am skeptical.
Turns out I was right to be. I see their lights going off in the distance, and then I see a beam getting cut in half abruptly. I sigh angrily – I know this means they’ve gone around the corner. I call for Dave who goes out to meet them in the skiff before any more time passes and they get more lost.
Turns out when the new diver surfaced, he saw Dave and says “Oh, are you here to save me? I’m so glad because I am out of air.” What a dangerous and foolish stunt. It takes all my willpower not to spit nails at this guy when he gets back on the boat, but he’s caught his first lobster ever, and I know if I yell at him now it will really ruin his whole trip. Still, this guy is on my naughty list the rest of the trip for sure.
Divemastering is not a job for complacent people. You must constantly be anxious, on edge. Anything could happen at any moment. My approach is prevention as much as possible, I talk a lot during the briefing and triple check everyone’s gear who jumps off the boat. Some folks has started making fun of me for being very strict about corners… but I think this is a healthy divemaster attitude.
Cheers!