As early as Ain and I were, by the time we had bumped and pot-hole dodged to Sam's, everyone was already in full swing. Our 18 dive partners were already suited up and on their respective boats, Jess and Ethan (the dive masters) were ready to do the dive briefing, and the two captains (1 of whom was Jack) had the boats gassed up and ready to go. Apparently I was not the only one who was overexcited about the dive. Usually divers dawdled in between the equipment shack and the boats, making numerous trips, but not that morning. As soon as we suited up and were ready to go, Jess and Ethan told us the menu du jour. We would do both dives at Peleliu, both current dives, and head home by five. Plenty of time to go home, shower, and meet everyone at the local watering hole where we would wish merry adieu to 1998.
The ride to Peleliu was relaxed, uneventful, for a Palauan day. Ain and I secured the back of the boat and sunned ourselves lazily as we skidded over the water to a hidden underwater express, as current dives were often referred to. I caught snippets of conversation here and there, but was mostly deafened by the hum of the motor and hypnotized by the sounds of the water hitting the boat. Mostly I remember shielding my eyes from the sun and watching the smiles on every one else's faces. All were content. Liquid. Fluid.
About an hour later, I felt the boat start to slow and sat up lazily. No dolphins heralded our arrival this time, but I had no doubt that it was just as beautiful and wondrous below as I remembered it from previous times. Slipping on my mask and weight belt, I sat on the edge of the boat and rolled in backwards, inflating my BCD so that I would gently bob at the surface while I waited for the rest of the group to get in and for Jess to give us the signal that we could descend.
I wish that I could say that the dive was unrivaled by any other, but as anyone who has been diving in those islands can attest, that is simply not the case. All the dives there are phenomenal, and this one did not disappoint. Ain and I floated away from the rest of the group and rode the currents along the wall watching the sharks float out in the blue as the anemones waved their greeting and the trigger fish nipped at our fins, signaling us that we were too close to their homes. Fair warning. I was entranced. Many times I have dreamt about those dives, watching the sharks lazily swim by in what my sleeping mind can only equate with blue jello. Those dreams leave me itching to get in the water, leave me dissatisfied with my day to day dealings. Truthfully, I spent most of the time upside down, floating backwards, watching the wall upside down and in reverse, surveying the crevices for eels and lobsters - my own version of the inflight movie.
Ain hung back, taking pictures, preserving those minutes for when we get old and wrinkled and I say, "HEY! Remember when we...?" and he'll say, "Sure! Cuz I got the pictures.", although I doubt he'll say "'Cuz" because he always speaks proper English and is very much the gentleman, he is. He'll pull them out and we'll look and laugh and probably bore the piss out of our grandkids. About 55 glorious minutes later, he signaled that it was time to do a rest stop, and we ascended to 15 feet, where we hung in the water like jellyfish, floating along in the current. I watched the time wind down as a young grey reef shark played at our feet, unaware that I was curling my toes in my flippers, trying to avoid losing them.
We surfaced to Jack, Jess, and the rest of the crew waiting for us on the boat, hungrily waiting for us to break the surface. Diving made you hungry that way. I always felt like I could eat a small horse (not to be mistaken for a big horse) as soon as I took my regulator out of my mouth. Usually I warmed myself up and squelched my pangs with some betelnut, but today I decided that the only thing that was going into my mouth was FOOD. I needed to be strong for the next dive. It was going to be our 2nd strong current dive (meaning that you just get in and ride. There was no hanging on, and there was no swimming against it. Period.), and I didn't want to have to spend it hooked into the reef, fun as that was. I was addicted to the feeling of flying too much.
We pulled up to a small dock and took out our delicious bentos. I inhaled mine, made note of how food always tasted so much more satisfying after diving, and muscled my way to the back of the boat where I claimed my original seat in the sun. Nobody seemed to mind, and I sleepily laid down, enjoying the music of voices woven together in happy conversation and awe from the dive, punctuated by loud laughter and good natured ribbing.
After the hour and a half of surface time had passed, Ethan and Jess said that it was time to go. I hopped up, shimmied into my still wet wet suit (which is never fun. At all.) and rechecked my 2nd tank to make sure that the seal was good and that my regulator was working. As many times as I had taken the equipment for granted, I was meticulous about checking it when diving, especially when I knew we would be going to depths of 90 feet or more.
Our boat of divers was highly motivated that afternoon, and we charged in the water ahead of our companions. "No matter," Jess said, "We'll just have to wait a couple minutes for them to surface," she smiled and winked. She knew that there was plenty of beer and betelnut for us to start our New Year's Celebration early. Down we went, nearly separated from each other immediately - the current was nuts that day . I set my sights on Ain and answered his hand signals that I was okay, and we floated away.
At some point during the dive, we were hooked into the reef by our BCD's. There were two triangular metal pieces stitched into the front that we attached in the front and clipped together with a keychain like contraption that was attached to a nylon string that was tied to a hook. By placing the hook in a crevice in the reef, we were able to let go and remain suspended above one place and enjoy the view. Although I had been adverse to hooking in earlier in the dive, the amount of wall that we traveled within the first 35 minutes lead me to believe that if we did not remain stationary for some of the dive, that we would float clear away. Maybe even to join Momma in the Philippines, not that we would make it there alive. Peleliu was famous for their Pelagic fish - hammerheads, great whites and tiger sharks included.
I assume that to the fish we looked like a bunch of human balloons, floating there in the "breeze". I heard a loud snap and looked behind me to see one of the men flailing, as one of his triangular pieces had been ripped right out of his BCD. Right out of the reinforced stitching. Ain helped to get resituated, unhooked, and he floated away, just like somebody had put a hole in him and he was expelling all that air. We watched him go and looked at each other in disbelief. Neither of us had seen anything like that before. Much less equipment get wrecked underwater because the water was pulling so rapidly. We hung around until we had 500 psi left in our tanks, unhooked and went flying sideways down the wall. It was the first safety stop I had done where I was not hanging motionless off the wall, just watching the fish swim by. The fish were watching us swoosh by, bubbles following as I hung on to Ain for fear of separation. We hung at 15 feet again, traveling steadily eastward as I begged the 5 minutes to fly by so that we could surface, deploy our safety hot dog, and get back on the boat. We watched one of the boats race by overhead, and assumed they were going to pick up the other divers. When it came back about 2 minutes later, we assumed they were readying to pick us up. "1 more minute" Ain motioned and I just nodded nervously, pointing to the surface as we traveled farther and farther away from our drop in point, signaling that I wanted to go up. It is one of the first dives where I remember feeling physical fear, big sharks be damned.
Almost done, almost done! I'm stopping here.