An Evening at the Carnival with Mister Christian

"Someone else told me about that. Do you do that?"

"I don't like being cold, so, uh, yes, I sure do."

"Well, when in Rome..."

"It sounds bad, but you do it a few times and you'll get over it. Really, unless you get right out of the water it's all gone in a few minutes."

"You said in class this first dive will be to around sixty feet or so?"

"We'll drop anchor near some rocks, then go down to the bottom. Yeah, about sixty feet, and then we'll visit Waldo."

"Waldo?"

He smiled. "Yeah, I'll introduce him to you."

"Okay, sure. You say so..."

"So, what kind of doc are you?"

"Psychiatry," she said, and he thought he heard a little defensiveness in her voice.

"Married?"

"You got to be kidding, right?"

"Why's that?" he said, trying not to sound too ironic.

"I'm short, fat, Jewish, and a shrink. What a catch, right? Besides, I thought I might meet some nice west-side boys out here, taking this class..."

"You're not fat."

"Right. Thanks."

"So...any luck?"

"You've got a lousy since of humor, you know?"

"Ah, you never know who you'll meet out here. I've watched some pretty interesting hook-ups on these trips over the years..."

"Yeah? How long have you been doing this?"

"Oh, let's see. I went into traffic almost fifteen years ago, so...two years after that I finished the instructors course. I've been at it ever since."

"You like diving that much?"

"I like the ocean in general, but I like being under a lot more. You know...all those Cousteau shows on TV growing up..."

"Me too. Seen many sharks over here?"

He chuckled again. "This is their home. We're just visitors, if you know what I mean."

"Is that a yes?"

"That's a big yes, but as long as no one's spear-fishing nearby it's not that big a deal."

"Great Whites?"

"Geesh, are you sure you wanna be out here?"

"No, no...I mean I want to see one."

"A White?"

"Yeah, hell yeah."

"Well, next time we take a trip out to San Miguel or Santa Cruz, you might want to tag along. If you want to see Blues, or some of the more 'off the wall' pelagic types, we're running out to a site near San Nicolas in a few weeks. Assuming you pass this class, sign up for the next advanced class. We make our third and fourth dives out there."

"What about the first two dives?"

"Santa Barbara. The small island. Really desolate, unspoiled. Amazing number of deep water species in both places, a lot of kelp diving too. Ah, there's the Isthmus light, that flashing one, right over there," he said, pointing. "We'll drop anchor in about thirty minutes," he said, looking at his watch. "Sun will be up by then, so call it an hour or so before we hit the water."

A handful of his other students had been drifting forward, and he smiled. For some this was their first trip out to Catalina -- and he could tell by looking at their faces how excited, and how nervous they were. They'd all been through two weekends of classroom study, as well as several pool dives, but there was always something about making your first ocean dive that caught first-timers off-guard. This was the real deal, and he'd had more than a few freeze up and call it quits before they ever hit the water.

"How deep is it here?" one of the younger kids said.

"Like I said in the class last week, out first dive this morning will be between sixty and seventy feet. Our second will be in much shallower water, around thirty, after our surface interval. And remember, we'll do all our calculations manually today."

"So, no dive computers?"

"Nope. Computers can break, remember? You always need to record your depths and times on a slate, just in case. ALWAYS. You're going to be excited enough as is, so keep with your buddy and both of you make sure you remind each other to keep writing your times down, all the time. We'll check your slates when we get down there, so if you haven't written this stuff down, please don't ask why you failed the class. Okay?"

He made eye contact with each of them...and everyone nodded understanding.

"We'll have three Divemasters with us today; two are students and they'll be getting their 'student dives' graded today -- just like you. They're in the orange wetsuits, so if you have any questions while getting suited up, ask them. Again, just like you they're being graded on their understanding and the way they interact with you, so there are no stupid questions out here today. Again, please ask them, so if you don't know XYZ? Just ask. If you're not sure how to hook something up? Again, please ask. There are no stupid questions out here this morning, okay?"

Lots of stern expressions on the faces he looked at, and he nodded. "Good. Remember, this is serious stuff, the real deal, but it's also a lot of fun. Learn the right way today and it'll be something you can do the rest of your life; start developing bad habits today and you WILL get in trouble. As soon as the anchor's down we'll start suiting up, so please get some water on board now, two bottles at least. You don't want to dehydrate down there, and remember, the compressed air in these tanks dries you out in a hurry. And remember what we said about peeing in the wetsuit? If you feel cold, just let it go."

The group broke up and drifted aft, yet the psychiatrist stayed up front with him, enjoying the wind and the spray...and she looked back at the mainland, at the warm glow of the sun chasing the night away.

"It's kind of cool out here..." she observed. "I wonder what it would be like to sail across the Pacific. You know, just leave one day and keep on going?"

He looked away. "I don't know. My sister was into that, though."

"Oh?"

"She was the family genius. Harvard, Georgetown, that kind of thing. Never knew what she did to make a living, but then about a year ago I learned she was in a mental hospital. Schizophrenia, they said. That's what my mom told me, but I don't know much about it."

"She has a boat?"

"Yeah. Somewhere up in Seattle, big fat thing. I was appointed guardian a few months ago, and I really need to go up there and get things sorted out."

"That sounds painful. Are you two close?"

"It is a long story, but there was this gap in time between when she and my other sister were born, and when I came along. Like seven years. I hardly knew her when she left for college, and I've rarely seen her over the years."

"You've never seen the boat, then?"

He shook his head, looked away.

"Wow, sounds like a handful to take on. Have you visited her?"

"According to my mom, no visitors allowed."

"After a year? That's kind of odd."

He nodded his head, still looking away from her. "Every thing about her life is weird. Always has been."

"How so?"

He looked at the horizon and the navigation buoy, guessed they'd drop anchor in five minutes. "Well, I hate to break this up, but the crew will need to start doing there thing up here now. We'd better head back, get suited up."

"Yeah. Okay."

He looked at the skipper in the wheelhouse and waved, then went aft himself, stepping over the two dozen dive bags strewn out all over the aft deck on the way to his own. He peeled off his jeans and fleece, revealing a black and silver lycra body-suit; he pulled his Instructor's wetsuit from the bag and pulled it on, then his booties. He circulated among his students, reminding them how to place their regulator valves and why to keep the octopus on the left side of their buoyancy compensation vests, and with the sun now up the air warmed quickly as he walked around the rolling deck.

"Wind's picking up," the skipper said as he came to the gate on the aft deck, "so it might get rough out here later this afternoon?"

"Another Santa Ana blowing in? You want to head over to the far side?"

"Might want to think about it. Could be hard getting beginners back onboard if it really picks up."

"We okay for the first dive?"

"Should be."

"Okay. We'll get 'em in fast. First dive will be for thirty five minutes or so."

"Right."

He went to his dive masters and talked the plan over one more time, then stood in the middle of the deck and addressed his students. "Okay! Listen up! I want your tanks front and center, and I want to see your slates attached to your BCs. We'll have twelve students, three dive masters and one instructor in the water. Sixteen people. Your two jobs are to keep track of your buddy, and to make sure you record your time of descent and time at maximum depth. We are going to head down to some rocks about fifty-five, sixty feet down," then he held out a can of pressurized cheese-whiz spread. "When we're down there, I want you to gather 'round behind me, and I'll introduce you to Waldo, then you'll break off with your dive master for our exercises."

Everyone looked at him, confusion clear as they tried to remember their pool dives.

"We'll descend as a group, with two dive masters taking the lead, then you'll follow immediately, with your buddy, one pair at a time. I'll follow up with another dive master. It's a sandy bottom with a few rocky outcroppings, so gather around ABOVE the dive masters down there, then let's get ready to have some fun. Just a reminder...do NOT land on the bottom; adjust your BCs to hover at least five feet above the sea-floor. Any questions?"

He walked over to the trainee dive masters and talked over the plan one last time; one to stay with him, the other with their trainer, then he turned his eyes on them and addressed them sternly. "If you see panic in anyone's eyes, pull them out and get them on the line and bring 'em up." He looked at them, made sure that point hit home. "Okay, let's get 'em in the water, and remember, keep them in a hover once we're down there -- we won't be able to see a damn thing if they kick up a bunch of sand."

The sun now well up in the morning sky, once all the students were in the water he signaled the first two dive masters to begin their descent. They grabbed a line running down to the bottom and deflated their buoyancy compensators and began a slow drop to the seafloor -- even sixty feet down still clearly visible below. A few parrotfish drifted by as the first students took off, then he cleared the air from his BC and began his descent, writing on his slate he drifted down. He looked up and saw another group hit the water and swim off towards some kelp...

'So far so good,' he said to himself as he settled above the group. He porpoised over to the largest rocky outcropping and pulled the can of cheese-whiz from his BC, then tapped it on the rocks a few times. He turned, saw the group assembling behind and just above him, then tapped the can on the rocks again.

He peeked out then, first a shadow, then his head...

Waldo, an ancient moray eel poked his head out of the rocks and he squirted an inch long string of cheese onto his finger, then held it out. The old moray was shy at first, but came about a foot out of the rocks and gently took the cheese off his fingers. Moving slowly, he turned to a student and motioned her forward.

It was the shrink, he saw, and she held out her hand and he shot another inch of the goop onto her finger -- and then Waldo drifted over and gently took it off. He could see the expression in her eyes, the wonder, the restrained excitement, and the moment reminded him why he still did this after so many years.

The other dive masters arranged themselves around the rock and pulled out cans of cheese-whiz -- and then a half-dozen morays appeared. One by one, students got the opportunity to feed an eel, and as many times as he'd done this the magic of this moment, this interaction between species, never failed to amaze him. He hovered above the scene as his students ran through their exercises, keeping an eye on his watch until it was time to ascend, then he tapped on the rock with his dive-knife, signaled everyone to get ready, then pointed at the first dive masters to lead-off. He watched as everyone started their ascent, and when he confirmed the count he too started up.

He saw the shark then, a medium sized Blue, a predator, and he tagged his trainee and pointed, and they moved off to place themselves between the ascending group and the shark. It circled almost at the limits of their vision, looking for a weakness, then it turned and disappeared towards the kelp. He looked at his buddy and nodded, and they kept up an ultra-slow ascent until they were a few feet below the boat. He pointed at his buddy and indicated he should go up the ladder, and after she cleared the ladder, he went up too.

"There was a shark down there?" someone asked as he came up.

"Yup," he said. "A little blue. Maybe seven, eight feet long. He kept his distance, though."

"Why didn't you tell me?" the shrink said -- and he laughed.

"I was a little preoccupied. Next time he comes around though, I'll be sure to tap you on the shoulder."

She laughed. "Guess the moral of that story is to keep your eyes open, huh?"

"I'd say so, but they're predators, and they don't like to advertise their presence."

"Damn!"

"I wouldn't sweat it too much. You dive around here regularly you'll see plenty of 'em." He looked around the group, confirmed the head-count again. "Okay. Get your slates out and start calculating your intervals. Our next dive will be to thirty five feet, so tell me how long we can stay at that depth, and what our surface interval should be."

He left them to it and walked up to the wheelhouse. "How's it looking?"

"Small craft warning just popped on the VHF. Backside looks okay, but the wind is picking up fast. As soon as that other group gets back we'll weigh anchor and head..."

"Shark!" someone yelled, and he ran back to the aft deck, saw one of the guys from that other group swimming for the aft platform, then...fifty yards out he saw another guy fighting off the blue, swinging away at it with a speargun.

"They're spearfishing!?" he yelled, suddenly very angry. There was supposed to be no hunting when students were in the water, but that didn't matter now. He ducked back into the wheelhouse and grabbed the SharkDart and ran aft, grabbed his mask and slipped his fins on as fast as he could after he dove in. Dart in hand, he slipped his snorkel in his mouth and porpoised out towards the stricken diver...

The shark was now circling warily about ten yards out; the guy had dropped his speargun -- with a dead parrotfish still attached to the spear -- and he was holding his arm, puffy-cloudy swirls of purplish blood drifting all around the guy. He took the cork off the dart and primed the cylinder, then dove down about twenty feet, keeping an eye on the shark now as it turned and sprinted in towards the cloud of blood.

He powered up, the dart ahead of him and he thrust it into the sharks belly when it was about five feet shy of the diver; when the dart compressed it discharged several pounds of carbon-dioxide into the shark's abdomen, instantly causing all of the animals entrails to explode out it's mouth...

He pulled the diver to the surface, inflating the guy's BC as he pulled him to the swim platform; the dive masters pulled him aboard, cut off his gear and started assessing his wounds. He climbed up the ladder, doing his best to hide the dart, then he went to the wheelhouse and handed it to the captain.

"Did you get it?" the man asked.

"Unfortunately, yes. Stupid son-of-a-goddamned-bitch..." he thundered as the full fury of the adrenaline rush hit him, then he stomped out of the wheelhouse and made his way to the aft deck.

"Is his group all accounted for?" he asked as he looked at the guy's wounds.

"No arterial bleeds, mainly superficial, but my guess is he's lost a lot of blood."

He walked back to the wheelhouse and told the skipper to call the Coast Guard. "Where'd they hide their spearguns?" he asked.

"Tossed 'em over in a dive-bag while it was still dark, probably while we were anchoring."

He shook his head. "I suppose they signed the acknowledgement form?"

"Yup."

"Okay. Well, I'll take the paperwork."

"Thanks, Spud," the skipper said as he called the Coast Guard. He relayed the situation and their position, then signed off.

"You know, you're the only human being left in the world who still calls me Spud?"

"It's the only name that fits, Amigo. I sure ain't going to call you Ted..."

He walked aft again; the stricken diver was trying to sit up, light-headed and in deep shock as he knelt next to him. "Let's get him on the board, legs up until the coasties get here, spread some coagulant on that arm. Any family here with him?"

"Me...he's my brother-in-law."

"Okay, you need to get ready to go in with him. Coast Guard will fly him into Harbor Emergency, and they might ask for a relative to come along."

"Okay."

He pulled the kid aside. "Y'all signed a 'no spearfishing agreement.' You do know there's going to be trouble?"

The kid nodded his head.

"That's good." He turned, saw the CG Blackhawk roaring across the water from Long Beach, and a minute later the flutterbug was hovering over the aft deck, a basket coming down. They loaded the guy into the basket and the pilot hauled him up, then the Blackhawk promptly turned back towards the mainland and roared off.

"Your lucky day, kid. No ride in the chopper for you." He turned and walked forward to the wheelhouse. "I've had enough fun for now. Let's head towards Avalon and see if we can meet 'em halfway."

"Will do; I'll let 'em know."

He walked aft, saw his dive masters and the boat's crew washing blood off the deck and shook his head. "Okay, y'all gather 'round. We're heading for Avalon, have some paperwork we need to do with the Coast Guard, then we'll need to decide if we want to finish up our second dive or not. Anyone here too spooked to continue?"

Everyone's hand went up and he laughed.

"Well, that takes care of that. We'll schedule a make-up dive, probably a beach dive at Palos Verdes for next weekend. Any questions you have, let me know."

A half hour later a Coast Guard 44 could be seen steaming their way, and fifteen minutes later they were alongside. Two uniformed men hopped over and he led them forward to the wheelhouse; he went over the incident, excluding use of the SharkDart, as the coasties filled out their forms.

"How'd you get rid of the shark?" one of them asked...

"Well-timed blow to the snout," he said. "Works every time."

"Yeah, sure. Okay, skipper. Sign here. Spud? You too."

"Gotcha. You know what this Santa Ana is up to?"

"I'd get back across ASAP if this was my boat. 55-60 knots in the new forecast."

"Okay," the skipper said. "Thanks Chief."

"Later." They were gone in a flash and the dive boat turned to 30 degrees and began the long pounding ride back to Long Beach. He went forward and sat on a deck-box, sitting "Indian-style" as he leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes for the first time in a day.

"You wear a red cape on your days-off, I see."

He opened his eyes, saw the shrink sitting beside him and he wanted to tell her to go away, but that just wasn't in the job description. "Well, you got to see your shark, didn't you?"

She burst out laughing and he looked at her. He liked her eyes, he reminded himself, and the way she carried herself, but her skin was pale...like too many years in the library, he guessed, but he liked her deep brown hair, especially when he saw red highlights shimmering in the sun. But her deep brown eyes, he thought, were really something special. He guessed she had been an athlete at one time; her legs looked powerful, her arms too, and he remembered she'd moved with confidence underwater.

"Yeah, guess so. Suppose I have to leave you a big tip, huh?"

"Sorry. Not allowed."