It was unnerving, the dark blue underneath and the bright blue up above as I bobbed in the waves alone. The last I had seen of my dive buddies were bubbles receding in the depths as I swore at myself through the regulator. I’m pretty competent most of the time, so pressing the inflator button instead of the deflator button was a ridiculously stupid thing to do and I shot up at a much faster rate than the prescribed 18m/minute. I’m fucking lucky I didn’t get the bends, or blow a lung out, though for the latter I’m still keeping a wary eye out.
For isolation though, there are fewer more unnerving moments I’ve had than then, alone in the vast Indian Ocean, with no boat in sight apart from the big liners on the horizon. Waves slapping up against me as I looked around for the boat and waved at anything that seemed promising. Looking down into the 21 meters below me, I couldn't even see the bubbles from my hidden dive buddies, though with the strong current I had no idea how far away I had drifted in those few moments. Thankfully the boatman managed to see my waving arms and I clambered on, shame faced and feeling extremely stupid. The only solution is to dive more, at least 20 more dives before the season fizzles out in March.
More blue yonder here I come.
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