 I
am navigationally challenged. It’s no big secret to my family and
friends. My children's early years are splattered with back seat views
of driving around the docks of Baltimore, looking for the elusive
Baltimore Washington Parkway. Back in those days, downtown Baltimore
wasn’t the charming mix of shops and restaurants it is today. It was a
seedy, dark and dirty neighborhood and the people loitering on the
street corners weren’t the type you wanted to stop and chat with to get
directions.
I lived in New York City for many years. As confusing as it seems to
visitors, it is fairly easy to navigate. With the exception of Little
Italy & Chinatown (and of course Brooklyn, which to New Yorkers was that
small foreign country across the bridge), the streets are logically
numbered and you know when you are going north, south, east or west. To
travel in the city, you only needed a subway map or a good set of
sneakers. You could always find your way home. That I could easily
manage.
Years of living in foreign countries and driving in unbelievable
conditions honed my driving skills but for some reason that sense of
direction continued to elude me. I’m great with a map, even in foreign
languages, but when you take the map away, you might just as well put a
blindfold over my eyes. My husband was standing in the right line when
they handed out the navigational genes. I’m convinced that if you
blindfolded him, dropped him into the middle of a strange city, and told
him go to a specific location, he would find his way without a map and
definitely without stopping to ask for directions. I, on the other hand,
would be viewing the same scenery over and over again as I drove in
complete circles. Eventually I would be thinking that I must be OK
because those buildings look awfully familiar.
What does this have to do with diving? Almost everything. In the
early years, it was fairly easy to get around because we were diving the
wrecks of the New Jersey, Delaware and Maryland coasts. A wreck is easy
because it becomes the center of your universe. Things are recognizable
and you can visualize your way back to your starting point by memorizing
things like hatch covers, walkways, and ship’s railings. Swim as far as
you can in your allotted time, then turn around and head back in the
same direction. I don’t remember ever worrying whether I would find the
boat back then.
 I
did manage to squeeze in a class in underwater navigation and while it
seemed totally logical, it became clear that I should not be the one
leading the expedition in any unfamiliar territory. There was one
occasion where my buddy and I, she being as navigationally challenged as
I, spent a whole dive in a Pennsylvania quarry, swimming in tight little
circles and thoroughly entertaining the observers on the surface. We
were supposed to navigate to a small switch house, pick up a marker, and
return to our starting point. I’m convinced that other divers moved the
switch house to a different location in the quarry just to confuse us.
Our family headed off to the clear, warm reefs of Guam for a couple
of years. Even then, the navigational challenges weren’t insurmountable.
Guam is a mountain top that drops into the sea. When you are descending,
you are headed away from shore and when you are ascending, you are
headed back to shore. In theory, this sounds easy but it is complicated
because most reefs on Guam are accessible through a cut in the reef that
allows you to get into deeper water. You do have to find your way back
to the cut or risk being tumbled over the reef flats when you try to
return to the beach. The excellent visibility on the Guam reefs made
navigation easier. In most cases, you could see huge sections of reef
and usually see your exit point from almost any spot. We did have a few
exciting passages through some very narrow channels when the wind picked
up and the tide started it’s incoming journey but we were never unlucky
enough to need the Sea-Air Rescue helicopter to yank us out of the sea.
One of our friends holds that distinction and since she believed in
diving freedom – translated to no wetsuit, no bathing suit and in fact
only a simple gold chain around her waist – the SAR team was more than
happy to offer their assistance.
Resort diving in places like Palau and the Philippines didn’t
generally challenge my skills in terms of navigation. In the
Philippines, we walked off from the beach or dove from small bonka
boats. These are dugout canoe with outriggers. One of our dive buddies
swears they are called “bonka” boats because when you come up under them
in the wrong place, the outriggers bonk you in the head. The boat
followed you throughout your dive and because the visibility was so
excellent, you could easily be seen at all times during the dive. At the
end of the dive, you surfaced and removed your tank. The boat driver
pulled up your tank and then grabbed you under the arms and pulled you
in like a beached whale. And then, there was that really nice treat
where you got back to the beach, had a nice shower, headed to the
mini-bar, and watched the sunset. Your dive gear mysteriously made its
way back to the dive locker, was rinsed and hung to dry, tanks got
filled – sometimes the air tasted a little strange but maybe that was
the aftereffects of too much “tuba”, the Philippine equivalent of
moonshine.
Diving in Taiwan was also excellent and during most of our 5 years
there, was not considered legal by the Republic of China military
government. Nonetheless, we managed to spend most weekends exploring the
underwater coastline. Most of the diving around Taiwan took place on the
north/northeast coast and if we were very lucky we got to head to the
southern tropical waters of Oluanpi, the southern tip of the island and
where on a clear day you can see some of the northernmost islands of the
Philippines. On the north end of Taiwan, the coastline is rugged and
rocky. The diving is not coral reefs such as those we dive here in
Florida, but there is beautiful coral growth on the huge rocks and
boulders that drop into the Pacific coast. For the most part you were
either swimming north or south and only had to find the open cut to get
back to the beach. The water could be rough and currents tricky so many
times we didn’t usually venture far from the entry point.
I loved diving in Curacao and Bonaire. The walk-off beach dives,
right from the comfort of your resort, are nirvana for the
“navigationally challenged” diver. Walk down some steps, glide toward
the edge of the reef in shallow water, and follow a big rope as deep as
you plan to dive. Head into the current keeping the wall to one side.
When you have completed half of your dive, turn around, drift back with
the current, keeping the wall to your other side and when you see that
big rope, follow it back up the wall and right back to the resort. It
doesn’t get much easier than that.
Now that we have made our permanent home here in southwest Florida, I
find my directional deficiencies to be the most challenging. I hate to
say that my more “mature” outlook might be a factor also but I do find
myself wanting to stay closer to the boat. When diving in the Gulf, it’s
not so much of an issue. Most of the time, the boat is moving and
hopefully someone is trying to keep track of your bubbles. I do have a
compass and as soon as I get on the bottom I try to familiarize myself
with the direction we are headed and where I “think” the boat is.
Imagine the confusion in my favorite buddy’s eyes, when it’s time to
head back and I’m off in the wrong direction. Of course, he knows where
we are supposed to be going and I’m smart enough to trust him instead of
my own faulty instincts.
Oddly enough, it’s the Keys that cause me the most confusion. I
listen carefully to the description of the Divemaster when he tells us
that there are a series of coral fingers that run out to deeper water
and that if we get too shallow, we’ll be washed up on the shallow reef.
Then, when I reach the bottom, the image I have in my mind looks nothing
like the actual bottom of the ocean. Where are those fingers? Is there a
thumb that I can pick as a landmark? The first thing we like to do is
get a little way from the boat so we’ll have clear water for
photography. I try to pick a coral head with an odd shape or color and
memorize things like the purple sea fan sticking out of the side and the
cluster of rocks positioned at the base. We swim a little way and guess
what? There is another coral head that looks almost exactly the same. I
turn in the direction we came from. At least that is what I believe, and
I can’t see the first coral head. I wonder if we just swam in a circle,
after all I’m a natural at that skill, and that this is actually my
landmark coral head. I start looking at the surface, wondering where the
boat is. I look for other divers or bubbles and can’t spot any. My buddy
is happily photographing a rainbow cluster of tiny Christmas Tree Worms
and I’m worrying about how we are going to find the boat. At the end of
the dive we finally surface almost directly under the boat and I was
positive we were going to be drifting to the Bahamas.
I keep thinking I’ll get better but honestly, I’d just be satisfied
if I could do the unthinkable – something that fifty percent of the
population won’t do – stop and ask for directions! |
