I am riding on a bumpy boat off the coast of Seogwipo dressed in a skin-tight wetsuit, and sitting next to four well-trained scuba divers. My mind is racing with worried thoughts, when suddenly, the song on my iPod snaps me back to reality. “Once in a Lifetime” by the Talking Heads is playing, and I cannot help but chuckle to myself when I hear the lyric: “You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?” I have been asking myself that question all morning; I am woefully ill-prepared.
It had all started off innocently enough. A week before a friend of mine, Yang Seung Chul, had asked me if I was scuba certified. I responded that I was, but I had become certified seven years ago and I could not remember much from my classes. Apparently some things were lost in translation, because all Seung Chul heard was, “Yes, I am certified.” I did not know this at the time, so when I was invited to go scuba diving I thought he was fully aware of my incapabilities. I spent the next week stoked about the dive, safe in the knowledge that we would do some refresher lessons first.
My worries did not kick in until the appointed day, when I realized we were going straight into the open water without any training.
Seung Chul had planned and coordinated the dive with his scuba-experienced friends and guides at Marine House dive shop in Seogwipo. I frantically began trying to explain to them I was not prepared to go, but my English was getting nowhere. I then discovered that Marine House offers lessons, but when I saw the prices for those lessons, my judgement became instantly influenced. A false confidence arose in me, and I thought, “Scuba diving is not that difficult; I can figure out how to do it.”
Now here I am, on the boat, racking my brain for any knowledge from past scuba classes. I come up with absolutely nothing. My main goal is to survive, but, if at all possible, I would like to not make a complete fool of myself as well. If I am going to pull this off, I am going to have to be cunning and smart.
First off, when we step off the boat at our dive destination, Munseom Point, our guide tells us to prepare our air tanks. I have no idea how to do this so I feign the need for a restroom break in order to watch from afar. Away from the group, I watch the divers prepare their tanks and become confident that I can mimic their moves. Apparently, I do not watch closely enough because when it is my turn I completely muddle up my tank. Step one... failed.
Step two, pre-dive check and arrangements. After my tank performance, some doubts have been raised about me, especially with the guide. He pulls me to the side to review some points and ask questions. Fortunately for me, he speaks practically no English. His solution is to bring another diver, who speaks marginally better English, over to act as a translator.
So the questions commence. They are rapid-fire. I devise that my best bet is to nod vigorously every three seconds and copy the guide’s hand motions. If he points to his mask and fins, I point to my mask and fins (while nodding). I also decide to use bigger English words, ones that I know the translator will probably struggle with and hopefully not understand.
Instead of admitting he does not understand, I bank on the chance that he will provide the right answers to the questions in order to save face. Even after numerous quizzical looks and raised eyebrows from the guide, my plan works, and I am allowed to continue with the dive. Step two... passed.
Finally, we are on to step three: the dive. I wish that I could say I had a brilliant plan for this step, but the best plan I have is not to panic. In fact, it is the only plan I have.
We begin the descent into the water, and my plan is running smoothly until around the 10-meter mark. That is when things begin to go awry. My head feels like it is going to pop like a popcorn kernel because of the pressure and, just like that, my scheme goes out the window.
What ensues is embarrassing to describe. I will spare the description and just leave you with a visual instead. Imagine the erratic movement and flailing around of a live fish on a boat and you will begin to get an idea of my performance in the water.
Also, since I do not have a clue as to how to control my BCD (buoyancy control device), which controls the ascension and descension while underwater, I bounce up and down like a live fish on a boat tied to a yo-yo.
Needless to say, my ruse is up, and no one is fooled now. Luckily for me, the guide comes instantly to my side and calmly helps stabilize me. For a moment, our eyes catch and the look in his eyes transcends all language barriers. His look says what I know all the other divers are now thinking: “You, sir, are a complete fool.”
Step three... failed. But wait a minute, I am still alive, right? <Jeju Weekly>
<Adam Montgomery contributor@jejuweekly.comⓒ Jeju Weekly All rights reserved>
