Life as a Diver

Megan Gleeson, Colorado State University

Life as a Vet Student

     The sun was deep below the horizon by the time we arrived to the dive site, with Kauai just off our bow. Sitting on the edge of the boat, I tightened my weight belt and put on my fins. The water looked cloudy. It had rained a lot in the last few days, and red dirt run-off was sifting over the algae reef. Seth, the dive master, began to tell divers about the site, Hale O’honu—in English, “House of Turtles.” True to its name, these reefs were usually busting with Green Sea Turtles. I looked at my older brother, Joe, who was also the captain of this boat. Needless to say, I had an easy “in” for a summer job as bubble watcher, deckhand, office manager, etc. Getting to join in on the dive tonight would be an added treat, and I was antsy to get in the water.

Joe gave me the “go ahead” nod. I pulled down my mask and snorkel and slid into the water. My hair immediately stood on end. The water was indeed murky, but in a more disturbing way than I’d predicted. About 15 feet below me, an expanse of brown murk had spread out so thickly that it might as well have been a hardwood floor between me and the reef. I’d been diving in cloudy waters before, but something about this murk filled me with anxiety. And most unnerving, I had the overwhelming sensation that I was being watched. Hopefully just by sea turtles, I thought to myself.

I pulled my head out of water and looked up at Joe, who was standing tall from the bow. I envied how far he was out of the water. “See it?” he asked. I spit my snorkel out with a bit of seawater and said, “Not yet. There’s a really weird murk layer down here.” I was glad I had a mask over my eyes, so that Joe couldn’t read the get-me-the-hell-out-of-this-water face. Had there not been tourists on board, I might’ve been more frank with him. But as it was, I needed to save face and get this over with. So instead, I put on the ain’t-no-thang face and said, “Toss me the line. I’m going to need it as soon as I see the buoy.“

With the bowline in hand, I poked my head back under water, half expecting to see the iconic, gaping jaws of a shark about to envelop me. Yes, this was at the heart of my anxiety. Truthfully, I enjoyed seeing sharks. It was a goal for every dive. The reef was full of little white-tipped reef sharks. They had always given me a pleasant chill, those sharp eyes and pointed teeth, even though they were quite harmless.

That being said, this water attracted a different type of shark. Tiger Sharks are bigger and more aggressive. They like to hunt in low light. They thrive in murky waters where they can’t be seen, using their ampullae of lorenzini to sense the electrical impulses of their prey—turtles being a common catch. Lastly, while most sharks wouldn’t look twice at a human for food, Tiger Sharks have been known to be less picky. It bothered me immensely to not see a single turtle at one of the busiest cleaning stations of the island. Something had caused them to clear out, and by all good logic, it was time for me to clear out. From where I sat, bobbing like an amorphous chunk of meat in low visibility, I felt acutely vulnerable.   

But oh what we’ll do to save face! After much scanning and squinting, I found the buoy that held up the mooring line. It was so deep in the brown that it was stirring it. I might’ve audibly moaned into my snorkel. I did not want to be so close to that murk. I drew in a deep breath and dove down, the weight belt slipping up to my ribs as I went vertical, down through the thermocline, ears popping, and finally to the buoy. My abdomen seemed terribly exposed. I pushed the bowline through the eye splice and pulled the rope back out, all the while visualizing massive jaws exploding from the murk and chomping down on my middle. Gripping the end of the bowline, I bee-lined for the stern of the boat, where Joe had lowered the steps. I nearly burst out of the water, flopping ungracefully to the floor of the boat, my tummy safely out of range of a last-second attack. Seth had finished his talk with the divers. I was panting. He looked at me expectantly, and asked, “How’s it lookin’ down there? See any turtles yet?” Nope, they’re all dead or gone because of the massive tiger shark that’s lurking in the reef tonight….

But instead, I said, “No turtles yet, but the visibility is pretty low, so we still might see them on the reef.”

I did go on that dive. This was less due to bravery and more due to the presence of other bodies that the shark could grab before mine. The reef flourished in the hazy darkness. Fish twinkled and eels gaped from the cracks. The more peculiar critters of the night had come out in full force—Shrimp, Spanish Dancers and other nudibranchs. But, of course, not a single turtle to be found.

An hour later, I stood next to Joe as he drove the boat back to Port Allen. The stars were completely uninhibited by moon or city lights. I began to feel foolish about my anxiety earlier. It wasn’t like me to be so paranoid. I guessed it was all in my head, this magnificent, powerful hunter just out of sight. Seth joined us at the front. His eyes were wide as he whispered, “Look what I found down there.”

He held out his hand. In the middle of his palm was a broad, jagged tooth. Unmistakably, a Tiger Shark’s tooth. “It was on top of the sand, totally uncovered,” he said. “There’s no way it’s been there longer than a few hours.”

Joe and I leaned in to study it—pristine and white. Maybe broken off by a turtle’s shell earlier this evening. I felt chills again, but this time, very pleasantly. We all shared a sort of giddiness at the close encounter. So maybe I wasn’t crazy. Maybe the shark had watched me after all, but bored or full, it had stayed away. Either way, my two minutes alone in the water had been completely primal, unnerving and humbling. I realized I was hugging myself, the chills lingering. Or maybe I was just grateful to have an intact abdomen.

Comments

[Megan Gleeson]

This is terrific writing, Megan. Why do I keep finding out about all these scary, dangerous adventures AFTER (a long time after) they occur??? No wonder your old grandma is getting SO gray!

Your degree in journalism is clearly displayed in this article.

Love,
Gamby