Oct 6, 2015 3 min read

The movie “Jaws” traumatized me as a child.

I eventually recovered, but still begged off when one of my best friends urged me to learn scuba diving with him. I cited my fear of being eaten alive. He countered with the fact that sharks prefer to bite snorkelers at the surface (me) rather that divers below the surface (him) and that divers’ bubbles scare them away.

That seemed like a reasonable enough explanation to me. My dive instructor was as patient and knowledgeable as Yoda from “Star Wars.” Now, I’m exploring coral reefs and seeing all kinds of beautifully colored fish (along with two sharks so far!)

I’m still a novice, though, and I’m learning enough to start writing a “Diving For Dummies” book.

Diving is like skiing: Both involve an enormous amount of equipment, a lot of time and effort to get suited up and (eventually) tremendous enjoyment and relaxation.

My dive mentor (think Obi-Wan Kenobi) is my buddy Pete. I felt confident yet nervous the first time we dove together.

My first mistake was not remembering how to check whether I was carrying the right amount of weights. That wasted several minutes and annoyed our dive guide. Getting back on the boat, I got too close to the diver in front of me and again got scolded by the guide.

Each dive I pick up helpful tidbits about gear and technique. Wearing a rash guard despite 90-degree water temperatures saved me from jellyfish stings. I’m learning the best distance and angle to follow Pete so that he can see me but not accidentally kick me in the face with his fins. Each time we surface, Pete gives me the rundown of what I did right and wrong. I always hope for a gold star from my teacher.

When you’re beneath the surface, you communicate through hand signals. On our recent dive trip, we went down to check out a shipwreck and swam around the helm. There was a spot to swim through a doorway and come out about 10 feet away.

Pete shined his light inside and motioned for me to go in. I didn’t think I should swim inside, but he motioned again with his camera.

So I turned and swam through slowly to make sure there was nothing above or around me to snarl my equipment. Pete followed behind me.

After we surfaced, he asked, “What were you doing down there?”

I told him I was following his directions. He said he wanted me to go inside and turn around so he could take my photo but I just kept swimming instead.

I thought of that quote from “Cool Hand Luke”: “What we have here is failure to communicate.” We both burst out in laughter. At this rate, I’ll be an expert diver by the time I’m too old to do it.

Kristin Emery can be reached at kristinemery1@yahoo.com.