Friday, September 28, 2007

Poopsie!!

Finally! I don't have to keep my lips sealed any longer!

As I've typed about at great, gleeful length I am a volunteer diver at the New York Aquarium. There are about a million reasons why that is the coolest thing to be, but none is so cool as this.

I got to meet the baby walrus months ago. Only days after he was born... I got to see him. I'd like to say I got to hug him and pet him and call him George, but if I'd tried that his 1,300lbs, protective mom would've turn me into pate in about two seconds.

It's been hard not to talk about as A) I'm so damned talkative and B) he's so damned cute. I have kept my mouth shut, though. For a walrus to be born in captivity is exceedingly rare and for that calf to survive is rarer still. The dedicated, passionate, and experienced aquarium staff wanted to focus all available energy on making sure this fat, sweet, monster of a baby was safe and healthy, not to squander any attention at all on organizing PR.

And so they did. A keeper has been posted to watch mother and child around the clock, logging everything they do every minute of every day. Not the same keeper, of course. They rotate on 36 hour non-stop shifts. (Actually, I think it's every 15 minutes or 1/2 hour they change off.) They watched with concern as mom trained son to hold his breath by forcing him and holding him underwater. They watched with interest as he gained and gained and GAINED weight. And all the time I saw them, they watched with a smile, because it's a lil walrus and how friggin cute is that?

One of the exhibit tanks was meticulously cleaned over the course of weeks upon weeks to "baby-proof" the place. Not as easy as zip-tying the cabinet doors and plugging the wall sockets, the Wildlife Conservation Society workers ensured that every square inch of enclosure was free of anything a baby walrus could possibly find with which he could hurt himself. Then Dick and Pat, the Dive Coordinators, jumped into the tank to double, triple, and quadruple check.

Then, well, then I don't know. I've heard stories about how he, being an obviously strong-willed and curious, little dude ignored his yowling mom when they opened all the gates between the safety of the nursery enclosure where they've been for the past three months and the big pool. Word is he ventured out almost immediately and dove into water he'd never seen before with little reserve. I've also heard about how he learned very quickly what glass is when he plowed headfirst into the display window, nearly cold-clocking himself. But I wasn't there for those events and I'll always regret that.

I did get to see him, though. If you were part of the volunteer team, so would you have. But you're not (at least not yet), so you can go see him now. You can also vote on his name.

I voted for Akituusaq. I like the idea that the aquarium is getting to enjoy Little Dude's company as a karmic reward for the work they do.


Thursday, September 27, 2007

Membership Has Its Privileges

I’ve got a shiny, new instructor’s card I’ve been showing off to anyone willing to look. Yeay me! I am pleased with myself and the accomplishment, and I’m happy to be able to tell people some of the things I know. There are armies of reasons to enjoy being an instructor which revealed themselves to me in wave after wave while I was training to teach.

The vast majority of people who make the decision to get certified do so for the same reason I initially did. They have a vacation planned for the not-too-distant future to a destination warm, blue watered and skied, and known for its diving. More often than not, it is a couple who figures they’ll give it a try together. You find people are at their best when they’re working on a class for this reason. They behave as though it’s a vacation appetizer and, as such, are easy to smile and laugh which makes them fun to be around.

I am always grateful for this sort of opportunity also because I am an eco-hippie. It is comforting for me to know that once these folks have finished with my course, they will do their absolute damnedest to never, ever touch the coral and to otherwise do their best to minimize their impact on the dive site. Every course mentions, “Don’t touch the animals,” in passing and I think divers, by and large, are more ecologically aware than most. But, I believe this knowledge is worthy of more than passing mention and I treat it accordingly.

Then there is the satisfaction in seeing a student’s eyes as they master this or that task or skill. Mask clearing especially gets me smiling. Everyone freaks out the first time or two they try to clear their mask. Often you see wide-eyed dread when they blow and blow and blow bubbles into their mask just to open their eyes to find themselves still blind and underwater. If someone is going to go charging for the surface during any skill… this is the one.

They get it in the end. Their eyes tentatively flicker open, then focus, and smiles form in their gleaming look as they return an “OK” sign. They’d accomplished something they’d never imagined they’d do in a million years, an impossible task in an alien world, and they can do it! The memory of my own pride the first time is reflected in their happiness and relief, and I am proud again.

Getting people interested and informed: that’s what it’s all about. Which is why it is so triply-pleasing when divers find themselves excited enough about the sport to return for advanced classes. Nitrox and Advanced and Night Diving and Rescue. There’s so much to learn in each course and eager divers eat up the material. As we all well know, the academics of diving aren’t that hard, but they are of vital importance. So when people absorb the guidelines and the rules of diving it is not a painfully intellectual experience; it is people studying up on a pastime, which can make the study itself a pastime. At least that’s what I think any instructor worth their weight in ditchable weight should try to do.

Don’t get me wrong. Teaching for teaching’s sake is noble and groovy and all, but I ain't Don Quixote. There are a jillion selfish reasons I enjoy the experience, too. One, of course, is the incredible fame and wealth that comes with being a dive instructor. It's just like being a star quarterback, it is.

Another one of these selfish reasons got me thinking last night, as I was helping teach a technical class. One required skill is no mask, sharing air, touch-contact communication while following a line, trading a small tank you have clipped to your BC, then deploying your spare mask. It’s a relatively task-loaded skill.

As I demonstrated, I was trying to remember my mother’s pesto recipe so I could stop on the way home at the supermarket.

“Your mind is wandering, Jerk,” I thought, “Get back to the task at hand.”
“What am I going to do?” I retorted, “Keep an eye on the students? I got no mask. All I see is fuzzy blobs.”
“Good point,” I had to agree and got back to thinking about Basil.

That’s when it occurred to me just how comfortable I was. My hands moved mechanically, knowing where to be without being told. My body responded to this and that movement automatically. When I had to pull off my mask, to let the cold water slap me in the face, I did it without hesitation or fear, having performed the task somewhere in the range of a quintillion times before.

I thought, in that moment, “Thank god I get to do this.”

I became grateful for the opportunity to teach because, in teaching I continue to learn. Talking to students, hearing their questions, I have the chance to constantly improve my own skills and my own procedures. Demonstrating techniques so often gives me the comfort of muscle memory so that if/when I do find myself in a situation which requires emergency measures, I’ve performed them so often the emergency can be reduced to an inconvenience.

Of course, if I was a wiser man I would have always been doing this, practicing and over-practicing skills constantly. I would have flooded my mask from time to time, just so that I’d be comfortable with the feeling and able to clear with a simple motion. I would have spent a few minutes at the beginning and the end of a dive to just hang and check my buoyancy. I would have been an absolute master of every skill I could think of.

I am not a wiser man. I had let most of my skills become stale, having performed them once in class, then filed them away as memories. It took the pursuit of an instructor’s certification to kick my ass back into gear.

In diving we hope not to learn from our mistakes, because diving mistakes can sometimes be really bad. We learn from research and from others’ mistakes. So I’d suggest you learn from mine: over-practice your skills. That way when they are called upon, you can try to remember what that movie with the two Coreys and Heather Graham was called while your body automatically bails itself out of trouble.

Or… become an instructor. It’s awesome fun.


Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Bad Eats

I pride myself in a fairly far-reaching exposure to various and exotic dishes. My parents never heeded, "I don't think I’ll like it," when I was a kid. If we were having Sri Lankan food, we were having Sri Lankan food and my choices were eat it, or skip dinner.

The good things about such early introductions are that I grew to appreciate the sometimes subtle and sometimes drastic differences in cuisines and I feel that by having such experience it makes my life that much richer. The bad thing is that, occasionally, I get the taste for something off-the-wall and that one dish is the only thing that will sate my hunger. Even in Manhattan that can often be a chore. For example, tell me where the closest Albanian restaurant is to you right now.

This afternoon I was in the mood for Vietnamese noodle soup. Pho. Fairly easy in a city, but I’m in the burbs. So I Google-Earthed Vietnamese food and found a place not too far from my office.

I ordered without even looking at the menu. The soup was delicious and it hit the spot as only it could’ve hit the spot. The fresh flavors of lime, basil, and chiles... just wonderful.

Until a young couple sat at a table just behind me and perused the menu only cursorily before ordering themselves.

“Two sharkfin and crabmeat soup.”

“Well, crap,” I thought as I put down my chopsticks.

“May I have the check please?”

“Something wrong with the soup sir?”

“No. This soup is delicious, but I’ll be leaving and I won’t be coming back as you carry sharkfin on your menu. I’m sorry.”

I felt like a jerk to say it, but what point is a protest without anyone knowing what or even that you are protesting? I wasn’t about to wait for the couples’ meals to come out and then kick the hot soup into their lap, jump onto that table, and shout slogans. Not my style. Just a couple of words to get everyone thinking, then get out of there without causing a scene.

With any luck at all, at least one of the three people within earshot were so curious about what I’d said that they’ll read up about it. With a little more luck, they’ll change. With all the blessings of the universe at our back, they’ll tell someone else about it.

But for right now I am still hungry and the only other Vietnamese place nearby is closed today.

If you have no idea what I’m talking about or why I would deny myself mouth-watering noodle soup, you need to watch the movie Sharkwater.


Monday, September 24, 2007

Good Eats

I totally ripped this idea from the eminent Mike Strickland, but it's too good an idea to leave quiet.

As more than a few divers are aware, due to overfishing and ever rising mercury levels in the swordfish steaks and the toro sushi that is so delicious, there is good seafood and there is not-so-good seafood. Then there is the stuff any responsible consumer and/or health conscious individual needs to avoid altogether.

But how to keep track when there are so many fish in the sea?

At a bawdy, topside dinner during the recent Oceanblue Divers' trip to California's Channel Islands, Mike unfolded a little card he'd pulled out of his wallet and compared it to the menu before ordering.

When questioned by the curious lot around him, he passed around a super-groovy, wallet sized seafood guide. Even giving it away to I-don't-remember-whom.

"I can just go to the Monterey aquarium website for another," he explained.

So can you. Click that link and choose your particular area of the world. Print the guide, fold it up, keep it in your wallet for reference the next time you go out for fancypants, restaurant food.

Mike, being the polite sort, offered his copy of the guide to anyone at the table who was interested before ordering their meal that night.

I'm not polite, so I'd suggest holding your butterknife to your friend's neck until they change their order from Chilean Seabass to something less detrimental to our planet. You could even use such a tactic on diners at other tables. They'll appreciate it, trust me. You'll just be helping them help make the world a better place.

Just for fun, check out the rest of the Monterey Bay Aquarium here. They have a White Shark. That's cool. I hope it lives.

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