(Near) Death by Scuba

The Mummy game of course
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Where to begin. Perhaps at the end. We are sitting in the bus station at Mersing awaiting our bus to Singapore. It is already 20 minutes late. We are in a funny mood after spending five days on Tioman Island. It might have been the most relaxing portion of our trip since perhaps Nepal or the peaceful Rift Valley in pre-election trouble Kenya. But as usual we found plenty of drama to fill our days despite the ultra relaxed atmosphere of island life. We met a couple of travellers at the ferry to Tioman, Steve the Aussie and Carien the Dutch. The four of us spent the few hours we had waiting for the ferry swapping stories and examining Steve's infected foot. It was an injury he'd sustained it an unfortunate flip-flop accident and we all agreed it should be amputated. Steve was killing time before his return to Oz after six months in South East Asia and Carien was as well burning some days before heading to Bangkok for a rendezvous with her boyfriend. Boarding the ferry had its usual complications due to lateness and miscommunication but soon we were all four snoozing on a bench as we were taken across the choppy waves under the influence of Karin's dramamine pills. An exceptionally kind woman met us at the jetty at Salang to recruit us for her little resort but we diligently checked the competition before agreeing to follow our instincts and bunk down at her collection of bungalows. It was very hot and the bungalows were quite stuffy. The mattresses left something to be desired, and the lack of a bathroom sink only became obvious when one looked for it. But the price was right, the location central and scenic. Steve and Carien grabbed one hut and we took another one two doors down.

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We met later for lunch at a cafe that would become something of a local joint and were immediately met by a very nice guy whose two interests seemed to be making some friends and inviting us to dive with him at his little dive shop located just across the path. In that order. He also wanted to know if Steve was Carien's boyfriend. It was the very soft sell, and the fact that he was American endeared him to me instantly as we caught up with the details of our entire lives in the space of a half and hour. We even forged a quick inside joke between us when he assured me that his style was to calm his divers with a hug if they should feel nervous. Soon we were suggesting that everyone should get a hug, for no reason at all. Magda was dubious though, as she is with anyone who she sees as too friendly, and wondered if it was all just an act. I felt that it wasn't, since I think I know the outgoing and slightly emotionally available American type well, since he is me. We agreed to dive with him sometime in the next two days, sight unseen (we didn't really take a look at his gear and hadn't even shopped around for prices). We also agreed to hook up for sundowners at the bar he regulared right off of the beach. Our group of four, plus our new dive master became bigger as he recruited a Dutch couple, two hilarious Irish girls and a few other equally friendly and entertaining tourists. It was actually the first time in a while we'd met such a big collection of clever, funny people on the road and we felt lucky to have landed amidst such a good group. The one problem element was the Dutch guy, Floris, who was opinionated and loud, but for who I developed a liking to despite his hilariously acidic personality. There is something about hard headed people that I like, even if their opinions are completely wrong. I hope he's reading this. If he is, all his opinions are totally right on. The next day was confusing. The dive schedule and price structure Andy the divemaster had told us about had changed and we decided it wasn't for us. When he changed it again, for our sakes, we agreed to go but feeling nervous, soon apologetically bailed again. We hadn't really planned on diving that day and we thought Andy knew that. He had brought some new people in and some of them needed instruction. We couldn't quite figured out how he was going to work in a class and two dives. But as the day progressed we decided again to join the dive. Some of our new friends were still going despite the loopy schedule and we were inspired to join them. We also felt bad for Andy since he seemed to be trying to appease everyone by changing according to everyone's desires. The dive went well, but by the time we came back it was too late for the second promised beach dive to happen. We signed on anyway for two dives the following day. To our later distress we ignored two obvious red flags that told us we should find another dive shop. Besides the facts that the equipment seemed a bit old and that I'd watched as a local repair man disassembled a regulator on a picnic table, that Andy spent a good deal of energy flirting with the pretty girls in the group, going as far as to offer one of them a job though she had no great amount of dive experience, we should have been more concerened about one small incident during our first dive. One of our fellow divers was getting low on air, to the point where soon she would reach 50 bar, theoretically ending the dive for everyone. But Andy gave her his secondary regulator and they swam along together, sharing his tank. At the time I thought this was an excellent bending of the rules. Our dive outfit on Koh Tao would have never stood for it. The other red flag was that in his original discussions with us he mentioned that his dive training included learning how to kill a panicked diver who is risking your personal safety by trying to grab your regulator or submerge you at the surface in his wild eyed thrashings. The fact that I'd never heard of a need for such a technique apparently only displayed my dismal safety training, so I just hoped I would never panic around my new friend, forcing him to kill me dead. The second day started with a lovely boat ride away from Tioman out to a dive sight called Fan Canyon, named (by Andy) for the profusion of sea fans. We were diving without meter gauges. When I pointed this out, Andy told me he'd be controlling our depth. There were 8 divers in total on the dive, Andy and two assistants (who he later described as " just trainees") myself, Magda, Carien and two Swedes, a father and son. The father had 20 years of diving experience under his belt. Magda and I did our "buddy check" to make sure we'd remembered to gear up properly. Everything looked okay except our secondary regulators were stuffed in side pockets instead of hanging loosely like we are used to. I made a note to myself, with a little added cheek, to just look in Magda's pocket if I needed some extra air. I chuckled at the thought.

Terror in the Deep, Starring, Unfortunately, Ian

Beach Bar in Salang
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Once we were all in the water we gave the okay sign all around and submerged. As soon as we were underwater I started to feel strange. Still descending, my head felt slightly dizzy and I realized it was because my regulator was feeding me too much air. I reached up to adjust the flow but just as I touched the mouth piece, it exploded. Suddenly I watched as my regulator came apart, the mouthpiece going one way, the rest of the thing the other. A storm of white bubbles temporarily blocked my vision and then, propelled by the force of the discharging air, the regulator shot behind my back. For one second I stayed calm. It was a free flowing regulator, a situation we'd been trained for but it somewhow never seemed so frightening when practicing in shallow water. Holding my breath I reached behind my back for the malfunctioning tube. Not finding it, I reached for my secondary, not remembering it was snug in a pocket. When I couldn't immediately grab hold of it, my panic became extreme. Deep under water, unable to breathe, with Magda in front of but not facing me, survival instinct erased survival training and instead of calmly finding and withdrawing my alternate from the pocket I made an emergency, read uncontrolled, ascent to the surface. I went up too fast and I knew it. As I sucked in a gulp of fresh air, suddenly reborn into the familiar above water world, a fresh wave of panic hit me. Nitrogen in the blood. I surfaced too fast and in my terror ignored all the strict rules of decompression. I wasn't wracked with excruciating pain or bleeding from any orifices though so I guessed I was temporarily okay. I was alone and extremely freaked out. I waved to the boat which was a ways off, the driver lazily acknowledging my distress call and casually started the engine. As he approached at a Sunday cruise pace, a head broke the water and I was joined by not the dive master, or either of his two assistants but by the fatherly Swede. I told him what happened and that I was scared I'd surfaced too fast. He agreed that I probably had, which didn't soothe me in any way. His first question is the one that I'd be asking for the rest of our stay,

THe Beach
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"Where's Andy?"

In my state of distress I didn't remember that panicked divers were just the type of people Andy loved to kill. But in the Swede's mind and in most people's (not Andy's) opinion it should have been the divemaster who surfaced to care for his charge, not a fellow fun diver. The fact that it had been his equipment that failed only put an exclamation point on his absence. At the moment when I reached the surface, Magda was swimming to Andy to get him to advise her. She saw my ascent but didn't know if she should follow me. He signalled for her to stay down, saw that the Swede was going to me aid, and continued flippering through the deep blue. He did finally come up. The Swede actually had swam down to insist on it. When he surfaced he asked me why I hadn't done what I'd been trained to do, for which I had no answer, I panicked I said, and I lowered my head in shame. It didn't occur to me to ask where he had been, I was too busy self loathing. So began the great debate over whether Andy had reacted properly to my improper reaction. Fuelling the fire was the fact that he charged me for the dive as he insisted it was a dive that if I'd reacted to properly, I could have completed. As if anyone with six dives under their belt would have the guts to react properly and then casually go about a dive with only one air source, the first one having blown up in his face. Magda went ballistic when he said this and retorted that if I'd been a pretty girl he would have already given me a full refund. I think that's when he decided he really did not like Magda. And I was reminded why I do.

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When our group of friends learned he'd charged me, the defections from his class began in earnest. Four of our group had been ready to learn to dive with him but all opted out. We overheard Andy blaming us for the defections, insisting as he had to me that he couldn't risk his own life, or the lives of the other divers to attend to me. He repeated this several times to me as well as I tried to rationally discuss the incident with him. I told him I would never have wanted him to shoot up straight after me, all I wanted was to see him and hear that everything was alright. Dammit, all I wanted was my hug! When I told him that, we laughed and he hugged me. But I still had to pay for the dive. As time went on, Floris the Dutchmen, who happens to be a divemaster, became more and more irate. I tried to keep him away from Magda as I knew they'd rile each other up, but it was no good. When one night she told him that we were diving without depth meters during the incident, I had to practically hold him back from charging Andy who was standing at the bar. In the end there was nobody more furious than Floris about the myriad of dangerous elements surrounding the dive. Long after the rest of the group was sick of hearing the details, Floris and I continued to whip each other up into a furious lather over the wrongness of it all.

Illegal Catch
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In the end I seem to have no effects from the rapid ascent. Acoording to Andy I rose from about 8 meters after being down for about 2 minutes. That is essentially the depth and time that pearl divers will dive to, holding their breath the whole time. He did apologise once for the equipment failing, but insisted that these things happen all the time which is why we are given training to deal with it. I wonder.

The incident was a great bonding experience with our other friends, and they helped me laugh away my lingering bad feelings about diving. I did go down again with Andy immediately after the incident, so I know that I can remain calm in the future. The main thing that I'll remember is from talking to Floris. He told me that in the future I should be comfortable with every aspect of the dive situation, or else not go at all. The secondary in my pocket I should have taken out and clipped somewhere where I was used to having it for instance. And of course, always pay attention to the red flags.

Eating the Illegal Catch (Morality Warning bells chime)
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Update: We were just informed of more craziness that went down after our departure that makes me want to rewrite this entry with a little more venom towards Andy. I will however, just add the name of his dive shop which I was hesitant to do before, still giving him the benefit of the doubt. The day we left, Andy was talking to Steve about how much everyone on the island disliked Floris. Things got a little tense between the, and Floris came over to make sure Steve was alright. At that point Floris told Andy what he thought of his dive skills, which led to Andy punching him in the face. Floris fell and snapped three tendons in his shoulder. While he was on the ground writhing in pain, Andy kicked him once in the head before Steve could wrestle him away, while he was furiously trying to kick some more. The police were called and they decided to press charges. Apparently this sort of thing isn't uncommon with Andy. At some point, another diving incident came to light where last year a beginning diver, diving with Andy, completely ran out of air. Very scary.