A New World

November 1990. I was anticipating my first ocean dive. My husband, Don, and I had been certified the previous August in the cold, murky waters of Green Bay. Rereading my logbook entry for that last certifying dive, I found, “...like diving in an algae shake.” Not much promise of future excitement.

We were on a Windjammer cruise in the Eastern Caribbean, sailing from Sint Maarten to St. Barts, Nevis, St. Kitts, and Anguilla. At the first morning “story time” with the captain, he explained how the week would go, where we might stop (courtesy of the prevailing winds), and what adventures we might have. Near the end of his remarks, he asked if there were any scuba divers on board. Four of the passengers raised their hands; Don and I, and two women across the deck. He asked us to remain after sending the rest of the passengers off to enjoy their day. Gathering the four of us, Captain Marcel asked if we were interested in having him arrange dives for us at our island ports of call. After answering an enthusiastic “yes,” we all confessed to being newly certified and never having made any ocean dives. With a big smile, he said, “I know the perfect dive operation for you. Kenneth Samuels on St. Kitts. We’ll be going there tomorrow evening. I’ll contact him on the radio, and he’ll meet us when we anchor at Nevis, the neighboring island.” He excused himself to attend to his duties.

The four of us got acquainted; Karen from Louisville was the most experienced with five logged dives since her certification, Catherine from Toronto, and Don and I from Green Bay; all newly certified, all slightly apprehensive, all thrilled at the thought of finally being in the warm ocean.

After an afternoon of snorkeling and a barbecue on Columbier Beach on the edge of St. Barts, we sailed through the night and awoke to find the Polynesia sailing into Nevis’ tiny harbor. Standing on the deck of the ship, I thought the town looked like everyone’s fantasy of paradise. Tall palm trees swayed, shops opened onto a narrow main street with the lapping waves on the other side of the road. Too shallow for us to dock, the crew lowered the gangway and prepared to ferry passengers ashore in the launch.

Captain Marcel spoke with the four of us after breakfast to say that Kenneth would pick us up at two o’clock at the ship. We were free to explore the island until then. Agreeing to meet Karen and Catherine on board for lunch, Don and I went ashore to check out the stamps at the post office, visit the ruined baths, and wander the tiny town of Charlestown.

Too excited to wait, we went back to the ship after only a couple of hours, packed our scuba gear, and met Karen and Catherine. Time dragged as we sat on deck after lunch, waiting for Kenneth and waiting to see what was under all that water.

Finally, a tiny boat approached. As it neared, we could see three people on board. A smiling Caribbean voice welcomed us aboard and introduced himself as Kenneth. He was a PADI Instructor, he assured us, so we all felt better about our first ocean dive. The others on board were the boat driver, Ezekiel, and Dave, another rookie diver from Cleveland, staying at a resort on St. Kitts. We all made sure Kenneth knew we were nervous about diving in the big blue ocean, and he made the choice of dive sites based on our lack of experience. He announced we’d go to Turtle Rocks on the west side of St. Kitts, on the lee side, out of the waves and surge. Ezekiel drove to the site, and Kenneth caught the mooring to keep the boat in place. He gave a very thorough briefing about what he expected from us and how he planned to conduct the dive. I stopped hearing his words when he mentioned a back-roll entry. Cold sweat drenched me despite the 90-degree heat. A back-roll? I didn’t think I could do that. Sit on the gunwale of a small rocking boat and just flip over backwards? Not this chicken!

Finishing his briefing, Kenneth directed us to don our gear and checked each of us to make sure we had our air on. The other four divers, one by one, sat on the side of the boat and flipped over. Kenneth had directed them to swim to the mooring line, stay together, and slowly begin their descent. I sat on the gunwale, holding my mask, rocking back and forth, not quite able to overbalance enough to go over. Time slowed as I tried to work up the courage to enter the water. The thought of hitting my head on the underside of the boat kept me glued to the deck.

Kenneth smiled at me and said, “Are you having a problem?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll hit my head on the boat. I don’t know if I can do this,” I said.

“Take all the time you need. We’re in no hurry,” he said.

I sat there still as a statue, holding my mask, and thinking about what I wanted to do. He sat patiently on the opposite side of the boat. He smiled at me. And at that moment, I realized why I would love diving for the rest of my life. He had given me permission to be nervous, and that thought alone sent me over the side.

As I fell toward the water, I realized that as soon as I’d rolled off the boat, Kenneth had too. I hit the water and was engulfed in a swirl of tiny bubbles. I made sure my mask was in place and tried to orient myself. Realizing I was looking at the surface, I rolled over and couldn’t believe my eyes.

Four divers were slowly going down the mooring line below me. Behind them was a scene I had only imagined. Corals of every shape and color, swarms of bright fish darting in and out of tiny openings in the reef and blinding white sand underlying it all. The water was so clear it was as if I could touch the bottom thirty feet below.

I felt a tap on my shoulder to see Kenneth beside me, giving me the “OK” signal. I nodded. He signaled again asking, “Are you OK?” Then I remembered to answer the “OK” with my own hand signal, equalized, and when Kenneth indicated we should descend to join the others I gave the most enthusiastic “OK” I could muster.

Deflate your BC. Remember to equalize a lot. Find your buddy. Remember to kick. Control your descent. Add a little air. Thoughts from class raced through my mind.

Swimming to join my husband/buddy, Don, I couldn’t look hard enough to take in the surrounding beauty.

Kenneth lined up his newbie divers like a mother hen with her chicks and started leading us into a whole new world. A stop at some tall pillar coral with its polyps extended, feeding, saw Kenneth shaking his finger at us to remind us not to touch. It was tempting, as the coral looked like the fur of a favorite teddy bear, but we had learned in class to “look, don’t touch.”

Next came a sponge so vividly colored that it looked like neon. Another finger wag, no touching here either. With eyes darting everywhere, trying to absorb this amazing sight, time had no meaning.

Suddenly I remembered what I’d been taught in class; check your air often. Picked up my gauges, yep, still got plenty of air. Checked where Don was. Good, nice and close. Deep breath, back to exploring. I was amazed at the feeling of weightlessness and the sensation of flying over an alien landscape.

Kenneth swam up to us with his hands cupped. Motioning for me to hold out my hands, he tipped out what looked like a little bunch of toothpicks. As my eyes widened, a tiny arrow crab unfolded on my outstretched palms. The “toothpicks” became six long, spindly legs. A pair of claws that looked like tiny, purple boxing gloves enlivened an elongated, triangular body with a tiny, frowning face at the wide end. This little creature enchanted me. He stood on my hands, looking up at me. I think I could have stayed there until my air ran out, but I handed my new friend off to one of the other divers. They passed the arrow crab from one to another until it made its way back to Kenneth. He led us on to see more amazing things. A brittle star, giant purple tube sponges that looked like organ pipes, fish of every shape, color, and size. Too soon, it was time to surface.

Words cannot describe the looks on the five faces as we reached the surface. Scrambling back onto the rocking boat with Ezekiel’s help, we couldn’t wait to talk to each other about all we’d seen. Voices overlapped. Everyone had questions.

“What was that big silver fish?” someone asked.

Kenneth replied, “That was a barracuda. They are as curious about you as you are about them.”

A barracuda? Cool.

“What’s that long, skinny yellow fish called?” I asked.

“A trumpetfish. They turn yellow when they’re pregnant.”

Karen asked, “Why couldn’t we touch anything?”

“Because touching coral can kill it, and some sponges can hurt you. I brought you the arrow crab and brittle star to touch and then put them back where they had been,” Kenneth said.

Put them back where they had been? I thought. How could he remember that with all there was to see? I had trouble remembering which way was up.

After stowing our gear safely, Ezekiel unhooked the boat from the mooring, dropped Dave off at his resort, and took us to the deep-water pier on St. Kitts to meet the Polynesia, which we could see sailing from Nevis. Karen, Catherine, Don, and I stood on the pier, unable to stop talking about our first real diving experience.

Catching a ride into town with a Canadian couple, we found a cafe to get something to drink. Four logbooks were on the table, four pens trying to put sensory overload on paper, four voices unable to stop talking about what we’d seen. It seemed as if we were in a bubble of excitement that would never end.

Throughout the rest of our vacation week, we dived again at St. Barts and Anguilla. Both wonderful dives, but neither of them sticks in my mind like that first, incredible view of the new world I’d just begun to explore.

Thank you, Kenneth.

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