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On stern of Reef Encounter,Maori Wrasse, Coral, Fish, Lion Fish

Great Barrier Reef,
part II

By Stan Morse
December 15, 1997

Gavin finally brings in the last round of novice divers. He goes into the cabin, then comes out shortly.

"Okay," he says. "The doctor's given his approval."

An instructor-trainee will come along for backup. I'll have two guides for my solo dive; they're taking no chances. But I feel confident.

Then I discover how intimidating it is to have a metal tank strapped to my back; how incapable I am of controlling the weight. I sit on the platform atop a lifejacket, next to the ladder, feeling like a doll with a pole up its back. Gavin tightens the tank's straps, reminds me to breathe in only through my mouth, and shows me how to clear water from my mouthpiece and mask. We practice hand-signs, especially the one for trouble.

It's time.

"Jacob will lift you up and push you forward," Gavin says. "Just relax and remember to breathe."

"Sure," I reply, suddenly concerned that my right foot will get stuck in the ladder. I scoot left so my foot floats clear from the aluminum rungs.

I feel Jacob grab my tank. Then I rise up and forward. Holding my mask, I belly-flop into the water.

The weight of the tank pins me down, and claustrophobia swells up like a dark cloud.

Breathe! I remind myself. I take a deep breath, then breathe back out. I realize I'm weightless. It's as if the tanks have become a part me. I take several more easy breaths and the fear of drowning disappears.

We head down, Gavin propelling me forward, his right hand on my tank, his left hand lightly holding my left hand. I realize I'm gripping his hand tight, and relax my fingers until they rest lightly against his. I finally begin to enjoy my first scuba dive.

As we glide towards the Reef the other instructor brings up a sea cucumber that resembles a foot-long Tootsie Roll. I take it, feel it's slick leathery hide, then let it sink back to the ocean floor.

Gavin locates two clams, one the size of a microwave oven, one as large as a wheelbarrow. We sink to the larger clam, which is open 10 inches. Gavin signals me to touch the black, fleshy lip. I gingerly caress the silky-smooth flesh with my index finger. The clam jerks shut. I'm smiling, despite my mouthpiece.

We next hover before a coral wall, playing with delicate purple antennae that disappear into small holes at the slightest touch. As I move closer, the second instructor catches my legs before they can brush against the sharp coral. He and Gavin gently move me away.

Gavin is doing all the work, and I'm starting to feel cold. I begin to breast stroke, trying to warm up, and to see if I can move on my own. My hands repeatedly brush against Gavin's equipment and body, until he understands. He turns me loose. After two minutes of practice I find a rhythm, and begin to lumber through the coral maze under my own power.

When we finally turn back towards the ship, three suitcase-sized Maori Wrasse mysteriously appear and escort us to the hull before vanishing back into the depths of the Reef.

"You did great," Gavin says when we're back on deck. But it was Gavin who made it work so smoothly, with his complete support.

The day closes with singing under the Southern Cross, a crescent Moon, and Venus shining bright as a headlight.

I now face challenges below. A narrow hallway, a toilet cubicle with no grab bars, and a shower stall with no bench or chair.

I also face the possibility that I have damaged the skin on my rear during the many transfers, by sitting on the diving platform, or from something I was unaware of. I might also do damage in the toilet or shower, before I make it to my bunk. I won't know of a problem until I'm off my rear for at least an hour, which is about what it takes before skin problems begin to appear as welts or swelling.

Two crewmen, in our now-familiar arms-over-shoulders routine, squeeze me down the steep stairwell. Then they sidestep me down the narrow hall, and set me on the toilet and close the door.

I manage . . . just. As hard as the toilet was, the shower is a greater challenge. I'd assumed there would be at least one chair aboard that I could use in the shower, but there isn't. I'll have to sit on the floor. But at least there is a small alcove adjoining the shower, large enough for my wheelchair, so I'll have privacy to transfer and bathe.

I inch forward off my wheelchair onto two stacked orange life preservers. The stall's floor is rough as sandpaper, and I try to keep my feet from sliding off the preservers, because my heels would be instantly peeled open.

I'm making progress, but then my right knee wedges against the stall. I'm stuck, hanging halfway out of my chair. If the wheelchair dislodges I'll tumble backwards.

Carefully, I lower my rear onto the leg-rest of my wheelchair, then use my momentarily-free right hand to nudge my knee away from the wall. My foot shoots forward, and for a moment I think I've scraped my heel. But I haven't.

I finally sit, frog-style, scrunched up on the stall floor. The life preservers shift nervously under my weight. I brace my elbows against the walls for stability.

They have cautioned us to conserve water, so after 10 seconds I turn off the jet and lather up. Back under the fresh water, my sweat and salt are finally washed away. I luxuriate for one minute, then reluctantly close the valves.

Gingerly, I hoist myself backwards into my wheelchair, and the guys come to transfer me into my room.

I lay on a clean sheet in the warm darkness, soothed by the gentle rocking of the ship, trying not to acknowledge the fear that the day's adventures may have damaged the skin on my rear. I decide not to check right away. I'll wait till morning.

My eyes open at 5:30 and I'm instantly wide awake. I check, and find the skin on my rear is intact. It's a huge triumph. I had expected at least one small problem from a full day of risky activity. I'm too elated to even consider going back to sleep.

That morning, I scuba dive again, adding a shark to the list of wonders. It's a young Black Tipped Reef Shark, only four feet long. It quickly swims away, and I'm disappointed it didn't come closer.

I've decided to return to Cairns rather than spend another night on the boat. I've seen thousands of colorful fish and acres of coral. I've seen the Southern Cross from atop the Great Barrier Reef. I've braved the toilet and the shower. This morning I even dove into the water from the edge of the deck.

It is enough.

I'm ready for a long hot soapy shower, air conditioning, and a restful night in a queen bed.