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It’s February 2008. Life is filled with Florida winter things. Here in
Cape Coral, we have a complex watering schedule to learn but we’re not
worried that it is going to harm our landscaping. Our lawn is kind of
Florida natural. Sometimes we have grass but mostly we have some grass
and plenty of weeds that actually have names – most that I can’t
remember but that our lawn care specialist rolls off his lips like the
names of my cousin’s husbands. Anyway, you might now guess that diving
isn’t the biggest priority of our lives. Actually, it is still the
biggest priority but there is something about wind, cold air and cold
water that push it just a little down in the list of things to do at
this time of year.
So, you say, what do divers do in these frigid winter months? And, of
course, if you come from some of our northern borders you are laughing
hysterically at the idea that we think 40 degrees is frigid. Honestly, I
think 70 degrees (air) is frigid and I’ve already dug through the deep
recesses of my closet for those fuzzy sweatpants and warm socks that I
can wear when I make the swift trek down my driveway for the morning
paper. The only good part of morning on these days is the fact that when
I arrive back at the front door, and swing it open that the smell of hot
coffee is calling my name.
Well, there is also an almost 3-year old grandchild calling my name or
at least something that sounds like “grandma – I want breakfast”.
Regardless, we are not waiting for our carpool to show up anxious for us
to throw the dive gear into the back and start the trek to the Keys.
Oddly enough there are still those hearty souls who are packing up their
gear and heading off to the Keys and the Florida East Coast. On the
calendar is a “Lemon Shark Dive”. This is the time of year that the
Lemon Sharks grace our lives with their presence as they work their
migration. For the shark-o-phobes, this is apparently an event that
thrills the divers and leave the sharks with a “ho-hum – divers in the
water again” attitude.
Some people head to the northern Florida springs to swim with the
Manatee. I remember olden days, back in the 70’s, when we used to drive
from Maryland to Northern Florida to dive the springs – although we had
no idea what a Manatee was nor did we ever experience the thrill of
encountering one. We had a friend with an old Ford van that he bought
from the phone company (maybe it was the old AT&T). We would pile up our
dive gear and leave his house at o’dark thirty in the morning and drive
straight through to the booming berg of Branford. There was a single
motel at the traffic light and we had rooms where we could park our
baggage and a community pool room/bar where we enjoyed a festive New
Year’s celebration. The highlight of our weekend was the fact that
everyone who had a dog (and who in Branford didn’t have a dog in those
days?) packed them up into the back of their pick-up truck and drove
through town to see who had the meanest and strongest dog. The meanest
dog won the fight and we all ended up drinking cheap wine or beer and
listening to the victory celebration going on in the street. In the
early morning, and I still believe we could see frost on our breaths; we
would drive across a farmer’s field, through some trees and down near a
small, clear water hole. We donned wetsuits and dive gear and trudged
through a little mud to enter what we knew as Jug Hole. There was no
close-by dive shop, no dive platforms, no cave diving
certifications or even instructions other than an underwater sign that
said “divers have died here”. Once, I was first in the shallow water and
I dug my hand into the muck and came up with a very nice, expensive dive
watch. At the end of the day I talked to the only dive shop owner in
town and left my name and telephone number (and no there weren’t any
cell phones in those days). I never heard from the owner of the watch
and I wore it proudly over many years until it finally decided that
keeping time wasn’t in its best interest.
We ventured on to sites like “Devil’s Eye” and “Ginnie Springs”. We
didn’t have maps and only the word of locals who told us we could ask
the owner of the property for permission to drive through their fields
and dive in their springs. I don’t think I will ever forget the sight of
being in a clear water spring and looking up through a narrow hole to
see the tannic red flow of the Suwannee River that ran over the top of
the springs. I guess we were somewhat fearless or maybe just dumb
because we wandered through the springs donned with scuba tanks and
reminders to pull the CO2 cartridges out of our vests (now known as
BCD’s) so we wouldn’t accidentally inflate our vests and end up
plastered to the ceiling of some cave.
We weren’t lured by the mystery of the caverns and ultimately ended up
headed toward the Florida Keys. In these times, especially in January,
we wouldn’t even consider diving in anything less than 5 ml wetsuits.
Back in those days (maybe it was youth) we threw on a sweatshirt and a
pair of jeans (our version of dive skins) and jumped in to what we
believed to be “warm” water. Spiny Sea Urchins littered the reefs at
night and we had to really pay attention to our buoyancy so we didn’t
drop down onto one of the spiky creatures and endure the pain of their
puncture.
My first night dive happened at midnight on the opening of lobster
season. On our way out to the reef, we stopped to dive the spooky
mangroves – deep red in our dive lights but loaded with life darting
back and forth between the dark roots. There may have been moonlight but
I sure don’t remember it. I only remember looking over the side of the
boat where I was supposed to fall in, only to see black water. I just
thought – well, here goes – and dropped backwards into the inky, warm
water. To my surprise, the dive lights illuminated a world that I could
have never imagined. The only dive films in those days were Sea Hunt
with Mike Nelson (better known as Lloyd Bridges) and were mostly filmed
in the clear Florida springs. Jacques Cousteau was not in our dictionary
and we had no idea what to expect. Imagine our delight to discover what
was actually beneath the surface. In those days, the reefs were
alive with activity. We were already into “no touch and no take” (except
for those delicious spiny lobsters) so we explored. When we arrived back
at the dive boat, and climbed the ladder, we were all so excited at the
experience that we could barely get on board the boat without yelling
“Did you see …?” We were diving mostly 6-pack or slightly larger boats.
No mates, no tank racks, no oxygen on board, etc. I remember being
stabbed by a sea urchin (and I can tell you that it really hurts) that
the captain’s solution was either to pee on it or soak it in pure Joy
dishwashing soap. You can guess what my choice was. Our captain came up
(bare skinned) with huge red marks on his back. It seems he came up in
the middle of a Man of War tentacle trail. He was sick and obviously in
pain. We were worried but the captain took it in his stride and said he
should have paid more attention. Needless to say those huge red marks
were with him a long time.
We are now sitting in our warm, comfy home and new 5 ml wetsuits are
hanging in the garage with only a couple of dives on them. The camera
housings are going back to the manufacturers for rehab so we will be
ready for spring. Our scuba tanks are at the dive shop for VIP and Hydro
and our regulators and computers are getting overhauled. We’re checking
our equipment to make sure it is in good condition and doesn’t need
replacement yet. We are experiencing the new (and old) experience of
searching for reliable baby sitters so we have the free time to enjoy
our full summer of diving. Our grandson is a fairly steady fixture in
our home and at almost 3, he (nor we) are ready for him to sit on the
dive boats and wait for us to do our dives. We are definitely looking
forward to our upcoming dive schedule and having the time to enjoy our
weekends with our dive buddies. I guarantee that we will not be diving
in jeans and sweat shirts. In fact, I never hit the water last year with
less than a 3/2 ml suit on my body and I have learned to love the little
lycra hoods that keep my head warm (regardless of the fact that I look
like a demented nun rising from the deep – sometimes with seaweed draped
on top).
Gone are those long ago days when I believed that I was invincible and
that 70 degrees was warm water and that all I needed on the dive boat
was a bathing suit, a towel and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich to
feed my soul and body. Bring on summer!
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