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La Dania's Leap November of 1966. I had checked in a small group who informed me that they were "NAUI hard-core divers." They wanted the best, no matter how scary or difficult, because they were certified, and he was their instructor. They pointed to a gruff looking little fellow who just bristled with authority. They called him 'Jock.' "What's your certification ?" Jock asked as he glared up at me. "You are Captain Don, aren't you?" I pushed the guest register a little closer to him and motioned to the pen. "No, not any longer. My ship sank a few years back. And my certification is that I've done more than a thousand hours and I'm still around to check you in." My antennae were up; it was going to be a very interesting week. I made some small talk with the group on the pier, then motioned Jock aside. "Get your people comfortable. Then everyone meet me down at the dock. Just mask, snorkel, and fins. No spear guns, please. We don't do that here anymore." There was a little growling among the troops; they wanted to dive now. "A little warm-up," I said, "is the best thing for travel fatigue." I herded them toward the ocean and then, as they entered, I watched each one's water skills. Jock was barking out orders like he was still a Marine sergeant. They all looked fine ... then I saw her. She swam beautifully but repeatedly brought her head up out of the water and yanked the snorkel out of her mouth. She would gasp, look around to see the others, then, reassured, return to her snorkeling. I made a mental note and returned to the business of running a hotel. The following morning was squally, and the rain came slamming down, remarkably cold. I hunched my shoulders and put my back to the wind. A sky shadow darkened the small beach, and my hangover was giving way to a sour stomach. My arm ached from a tussle with a drunk the night before and, quite frankly, I felt rotten. The pounding rain was just what I needed. "Cap'n Don?" I turned to see a figure approaching up the small beach. Female, buxom. Blond hair, tangled and matted, like dead bayou moss, and with a cajun accent to match. I returned my attention to our old Boston Whaler, out on a mooring and quickly filling up with rain water. "Cap'n Don! Why you standin' out here for?" I turned, giving her my full attention. Her mask was so fogged that I was unable to see her eyes. "Is that you, La Dania?" "You 'memba me? Why you standin' out here for?" "Yes, I remember you." After a moment I added, "I'm decompressing. Can't you see?" Then she said, "You cain't be decompressin', Cap'n Don, 'cause you ain't certified." I had to think that one through. Then I stepped off the dock into five feet of warm tropical water and floated over to the Whaler. The squall had passed, the warm winds had returned, and La Dania moved off the dock onto the beach, then waded out to stand alongside me. "Cap'n Don, I 'fraid ... In a little while I do my open-water dive, and Jock he so demanding he. What happins I git salt water in the eyes?" All their training had been in fresh-water pools and this was her first time in the ocean. "Did you know," I asked her, "that your tears are saltier than this sea?" I cupped a handful of water and dashed it onto my face. "The sea," I told her, "is like part of us. As long as we can breathe and control our temperature, we can become part of this wonderful ocean. Of course, there are a few other little things like pressure and such, but as long as you are in control, you can handle it." I turned to leave, then swung back, and added, "I watched you yesterday; the way you handled yourself in the water. I knew that I was watching a natural. You have nothing to be afraid of. You're part mermaid. Just be yourself." This girl was in desperate need of confidence and support, and her instructor was failing her. Their first dive went well. The reefs were great. The water warm. The mere fact that it kept Jock quiet made it even better. La Dania's final test was completed, and she was a full-fledged certified diver. The teaching had stopped, and she had a "C" card which entitled her to join the pros, or get herself killed jumping off some damned fool rock on the coast. The learning, though, was just beginning. The following morning I asked her to gear up for a hike up the street. She looked at me oddly, but she showed up half an hour later, fully geared. She had flip-flops on her feet, and I told her to shuck them and put on her flippers. I had prepared a rag with some red paint and smeared it on the end of one fin. "For the rest of your life, this fin is on the right." Then I tied a four-inch red ribbon onto the edge of her mask. "This is your depth gauge. Bright red here, black at depth. Read it like litmus paper. The deeper you go, the blacker it gets. Understand? "Stick that snorkel in your belt and hang your mask over it. You were overweighted yesterday; take off four pounds, then balance your lead front, left, and right." I looked at her yellow Mae West life collar that Jock had stolen off their incoming plane. I was about to ask her to shed it, but on second thought, decided otherwise, but the lights had to go. "This tank and you are going to get married. Wherever your backbone goes, so does your tank." La Dania's secret lessons had started. Entering tank first, then feet first, even head first. Every trick for entering the sea became hers. She learned the sea and could swim a mile without effort. She was becoming the mermaid I told her she was. Day six, the final day of the vacation, and Jock was still barking. "Well, Captain Don, our last dive. Got anything really different?" "Well, now," I said, "I think I have a special dive for you. In fact, I'll even name it in your honor. How's that for a finale?" The little Marine eyed me from under lowered lids and smirked, "Jock's Reef. I love it." "By the way, Jock, this is a 'total commitment' dive, Once set upon," and I paused for emphasis, "there's no turning back, Kind of like the Oregon Trail. Okay?"
Within twelve minutes, we had fetched the breathing rock, and a minute later, the ledge from which we were to leap into a frothing sea. La Dania looked over the edge and down into the swirling water and said nothing. I felt her eyes on me and I turned to meet a questioning stare. My smile was her only reward, and she swelled with a primitive confidence. Some minutes later, Sergeant Jock arrived with his patrol. He looked over the edge of the cliff and said, "You're nuts! Nobody can survive this!" He called his platoon back from the ledge. "Madness!" he screamed. "Sure death!" They all pressed back from the cliff. I took La Dania gently by the hand and led her to the ledge, glanced down at the sea, then at her. "Let's go. A safe dive, everybody!" I flung my body far off the cliff, returned to the surface, and hollered, "Let's go, Jock. We have some great diving down here." The little marine just peered at me over the edge and repeated, "You're crazy!"
There was no lingering; no delay. Her mask came down. She made two steps to the ledge, cocked her knees, did a little spring, and forward-roiled off that ledge into the next coming wave. That even surprised me a little bit. Jock finally did get himself and his platoon into the water, and with some difficulties, finished the swim. However, for him, the last thousand feet were on the surface. La Dania accompanied me as I walked back up the road to get the truck. Halfway there she asked me timidly, "How'd I do, Cap'n Don!" I smiled to myself and kicked a rock off the road. "Well, La Dania, no less than Jock would have expected." |
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Content © Donal A. Stewart 1996 - Copyright © CaribSeek 2003 - All Rights Reserved - Web Published: September 26, 2003 |
