Mar 11, 2022
A Part Of Your World
Trying not to die under the waves.
Time has a way of distorting memory, particularly when memories were formed as a child. My memories of growing up are pretty fantastical — I’ve got a baked-in sense of hyperbole which is why I loved Calvin and Hobbes so much. So relatable, except I had Herbie the Hippo and Alfred the Chimpanzee instead of a stuffed tiger.
My parents would “rent” movies for us from the public library back in the seventies. It was a rare treat, but one my sister and I looked forward to. I’m sure it was a tremendous pain in the ass for my parents because renting back then was not like it is now.
My dad would come home with a projector screen, a film projector, and film canisters of varying shapes and sizes. He would set up the screen, place the projector on the dolly stand with wobbly wheels, and nudge it across the floor to find the ideal focus. My mom would be making the perfect batch of popcorn as the film was getting threaded.
Levers were flipped, buttons were pushed, and on the couch, with a huge bowl of buttery popcorn, we’d watch in awe as Roger Bannister ran the first sub-four-minute mile from 1954. Another reel was loaded, and we cheered on the heroic accomplishments of the athletes from the Olympics of days gone by.
This is where my memory is a little muddy. Was it on the actual television I saw this, or was it a series of films my parents procured? My wee brain says it was films brought over from the library, but I’m prepared to be wrong — however it happened, The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau changed my life.
When I was a child I wanted to be a Marine Biologist; even more specifically, I fancied myself as an aspiring Marine Mammal Biologist. I was inspired by the explorations of Jacques Cousteau and the silent world he shared with all of us surface-dwellers.
Things change. We moved from Ontario to the Prairies, and I put that dream aside in the frothy-sludge of adolescence. I always thought I would come back to it (who knows, I might still), but it wasn’t until I went to the Caribbean roughly 20 years ago that I would take my first breath underwater and experience a completely different world.
Watching scuba divers on television is not the same as actually being in the water. I’m not a huge fan of snorkelling — being on top of the water — I much prefer to be down under the surface and be a part of that world.
On that first dive in St. Croix, I let the air out of my BCD and bubbled five feet down to the ocean floor and just sat there getting used to breathing underwater. The water was the temperature of a warm bath, and I could see hundreds of feet all around me in the crystal blue tropical water.
All you can hear is the sound of your breathing and the bubbles as they escape your regulator — every so often, you could hear muffled sounds of faraway ships or buoys rattling, but it was mostly silent except for breathing.
Once the Dive Master was confident we (probably) wouldn’t die, he led us on a 45-minute dive at a maximum depth of 25 feet. There was an abundance of coral and schools of brightly coloured fish cruising around and doing their own thing. I followed a couple of Sea Horses that were swimming over to a bed of seaweed — their tails knotted together like a couple holding hands — but then got distracted by an adorable and curious Puffer Fish who wanted to see what my bubbles were about.
Finning a couple of feet above the ocean floor, I saw a really interesting-looking fish hanging out in the sand, so I drifted closer to it to get a better look. Then, out of nowhere, the Dive Master showed up in front of me, waved his finger at me, and made a gesture that looked like he died suddenly and violently. His acting was persuasive.
Got it. Don’t touch this fish. Don’t look at this fish. Stay away from this fish. The fish in question ended up being one of the most poisonous around, the Scorpion Fish. I had no idea I close I came to having a really bad day.
Continuing on our journey, we came across a small black octopus, about the size of my fist, minding its own business arranging things “just so” in coral. The Dive Master pointed it out and very gently gave it a little nudge. A tiny, cute cloud of ink jetted from the little guy, and he proceeded to swim over to an extremely small pipe and squeeze himself in. I never would have thought it possible for this creature to fit in there, but inside he went, turned around and popped one eyeball out to watch us. I named him Charles Inkbottom III.
After a minute, Charles decided that we probably weren’t out to murder him and came back out to continue whatever he was doing before we interrupted him. This world under the waves was a wonder; everywhere we looked, even more life was going on about their business.
We made our way back to the shore, keeping an eye open for Scorpion Fish, and that was it. I was hooked. Bad metaphor, but from that day forward, I have been getting under the waves wherever I go in the world to visit this undersea paradise and do my best not to die.
I might not be a Marine Biologist, but every time I get to experience breathing underwater, I take a moment to smile at my bubbles and silently salute Jacques Cousteau and Emile Gagnan for inventing the Aqua-Lung so I can be a part of this world.
