Monday, July 23, 2007
NEwbies, Represent!
I’m a sightseer. I like to find corners of the world that aren’t all that oft-visited and lamentably less often appreciated for the beauty which they reveal. I enjoy the little nooks and crannies where I might be the only one in 10 or 50 or 100 years to even think to peek into. I enjoy the sweeping vistas that are so tremendous and awesome that only the truly ignorant would not be stopped in their tracks, dumbstruck. And I enjoy the sense of important humility that can be learned all of the above.
I dive because I like the sea and because, when done properly, diving is the easiest way to sightsee. I used to mountain-bike, but I’m growing timid and lazy in my old age. Mountain biking is a hard, sweaty, dirty, dangerous business, whereas diving is just wet and calm and wonderful; you just float!
I had set out to write about why diving in the Northeast is the coolest, or the best. But, now that I'm three paragraphs deep, I must admit it isn’t. I don’t think there can be a "coolest" or a "best." Many might argue that it is the best because it offers spearfishing or lobster hunting or artifact collecting or the rich history of the uncountable natural wrecks, but I dive in the Northeast because it’s diving, and it's close.
The North Atlantic can challenge you; it would be a lie to say otherwise. The water’s a little deeper by default, the temperature never gets above the mid-60s, and every once in a while you need a three-foot long show dog leash to keep track of your buddy. And yes, there are a few dives for which you need enough gear to actually sink a ship.
Yet, when conditions are normal and you can do it properly, it isn't the grizzled tough-guy activity, requiring everything you've ever owned chained to yourself that so many divers on NE dive boats like to tell themselves it is. It is only mellow floating.
There are fish a-plenty with whom you can have imaginary conversations, and more hidden nooks and crannies than one could peek into in a thousand lifetimes. Ever-changing nooks and crannies, I might add: the ocean greedily devours the iron, and storms that had blow through knock down this or that deck since your last dive to a wreck.
On a dive two weeks ago, I was reminded that there are times you don’t even SEE what you’re looking at unless you’re really paying attention. When I grabbed a piece of shipwreck, I disturbed -- only an inch from my hand -- another piece of shipwreck that got up and swam away. Following it, I found I’d annoyed a sea raven, a shy, harmless, and funny-looking scorpionfish that returned to near-invisibility upon settling back to the deck.
Also, for jerks who say there aren’t as many colors here as in the Caribbean, they obviously haven’t enjoyed a safety stop surrounded by the impossible colors of glimmering comb jellies. (No, they don’t sting.) Nor have they gotten the treat of seeing a sea turtle swim through the swarm happily munching those colors up.
I never imagined I’d do much diving beyond my lucky vacation to the Caribbean once a year (twice on good years). Just a dive or two in between trashy novel time and Pina Colada time. Then I went to the quarry, thinking to keep my skills fresh. "Once" quickly turned to "a lot." Then I moved back to dear, old Joisey, closer to the ocean than to a quarry. That excited me; it was time to learn to dive somewhere new.
They had a saying at that quarry (and, I subsequently learned, at every other "home" site on the planet): “If you can dive here, you can dive anywhere.” That’s not altogether true. Not of here, not of anywhere.
I’m excitedly looking forward to Oceanblue Divers' Channel Islands trip in a month and a half, but I’ve never dived there before. Despite now being a fairly seasoned Northeast wreck diver, I’m not about to pretend that I can dive "anywhere" without thinking. That would be dumb and potentially dangerous. But I will tell you this: having spent some time underwater in the quarry, in the Northeast, in the Caribbean, at the Aquarium, plainly wherever I CAN get underwater, I’m up to the challenge of learning to dive somewhere new, and enthusiastic about exploring what that place has to offer.
It can be hard to learn to dive somewhere new. Perhaps especially in a place like the Northeast, where it always involves a boat ride, sometimes with unfamiliar people carrying lots of unfamiliar gear. But, for every pompous dweeb who scoffs at newbies, there are a dozen cats who just love diving and will chew your ear off if asked any question you can think of.
My hope is that more new people start to appreciate the beauty of the ecosystems found where the ocean is taking back the boats once thought to dominate her, and appreciate it enough to see that it is worth the learning curve. Because I'm getting bored of being surrounded by spearfishermen; most of them can't dive worth crap.
I dive because I like the sea and because, when done properly, diving is the easiest way to sightsee. I used to mountain-bike, but I’m growing timid and lazy in my old age. Mountain biking is a hard, sweaty, dirty, dangerous business, whereas diving is just wet and calm and wonderful; you just float!
I had set out to write about why diving in the Northeast is the coolest, or the best. But, now that I'm three paragraphs deep, I must admit it isn’t. I don’t think there can be a "coolest" or a "best." Many might argue that it is the best because it offers spearfishing or lobster hunting or artifact collecting or the rich history of the uncountable natural wrecks, but I dive in the Northeast because it’s diving, and it's close.
The North Atlantic can challenge you; it would be a lie to say otherwise. The water’s a little deeper by default, the temperature never gets above the mid-60s, and every once in a while you need a three-foot long show dog leash to keep track of your buddy. And yes, there are a few dives for which you need enough gear to actually sink a ship.
Yet, when conditions are normal and you can do it properly, it isn't the grizzled tough-guy activity, requiring everything you've ever owned chained to yourself that so many divers on NE dive boats like to tell themselves it is. It is only mellow floating.
There are fish a-plenty with whom you can have imaginary conversations, and more hidden nooks and crannies than one could peek into in a thousand lifetimes. Ever-changing nooks and crannies, I might add: the ocean greedily devours the iron, and storms that had blow through knock down this or that deck since your last dive to a wreck.
On a dive two weeks ago, I was reminded that there are times you don’t even SEE what you’re looking at unless you’re really paying attention. When I grabbed a piece of shipwreck, I disturbed -- only an inch from my hand -- another piece of shipwreck that got up and swam away. Following it, I found I’d annoyed a sea raven, a shy, harmless, and funny-looking scorpionfish that returned to near-invisibility upon settling back to the deck.
Also, for jerks who say there aren’t as many colors here as in the Caribbean, they obviously haven’t enjoyed a safety stop surrounded by the impossible colors of glimmering comb jellies. (No, they don’t sting.) Nor have they gotten the treat of seeing a sea turtle swim through the swarm happily munching those colors up.
I never imagined I’d do much diving beyond my lucky vacation to the Caribbean once a year (twice on good years). Just a dive or two in between trashy novel time and Pina Colada time. Then I went to the quarry, thinking to keep my skills fresh. "Once" quickly turned to "a lot." Then I moved back to dear, old Joisey, closer to the ocean than to a quarry. That excited me; it was time to learn to dive somewhere new.
They had a saying at that quarry (and, I subsequently learned, at every other "home" site on the planet): “If you can dive here, you can dive anywhere.” That’s not altogether true. Not of here, not of anywhere.
I’m excitedly looking forward to Oceanblue Divers' Channel Islands trip in a month and a half, but I’ve never dived there before. Despite now being a fairly seasoned Northeast wreck diver, I’m not about to pretend that I can dive "anywhere" without thinking. That would be dumb and potentially dangerous. But I will tell you this: having spent some time underwater in the quarry, in the Northeast, in the Caribbean, at the Aquarium, plainly wherever I CAN get underwater, I’m up to the challenge of learning to dive somewhere new, and enthusiastic about exploring what that place has to offer.
It can be hard to learn to dive somewhere new. Perhaps especially in a place like the Northeast, where it always involves a boat ride, sometimes with unfamiliar people carrying lots of unfamiliar gear. But, for every pompous dweeb who scoffs at newbies, there are a dozen cats who just love diving and will chew your ear off if asked any question you can think of.
My hope is that more new people start to appreciate the beauty of the ecosystems found where the ocean is taking back the boats once thought to dominate her, and appreciate it enough to see that it is worth the learning curve. Because I'm getting bored of being surrounded by spearfishermen; most of them can't dive worth crap.
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