He steps closer, his tone dropping. “Good. Because if you don’t master the basics, we don’t even think about cave diving. Clear?”
“Crystal,” I reply, steadying my voice despite the nervous flutter in my chest.
I put on the full-face mask last. I’d practiced with it in the pool last night—getting used to the motions of putting it on and taking it off both over and under the water. Full-face masks allow underwater voice communication, which is valuable when visibility isn’t guaranteed. But they are tricky to handle. Especially in caves. Wes walks over to me and double-checks my suit and equipment. He looks at me with approval.
“Good. Let’s get in the water.” He claps his hands before turning toward the edge of the dock. The weather is deceptively mild, with no hint of the approaching storm.
We descend into the water by a reef near the coast. Sunlight filters from above, painting golden patterns on the sandy bottom.
I touch the spool and reel Wes gave me as we hover near a rocky outcrop.
“Lesson one is line following. This spool of nylon is your lifeline. Lose it in the caves of Carter’s Drop, and you’re as good as dead. Treat it like it’s worth more than your life.”
His voice crackles over our communication system.
“And never lose the line.”
“Dramatic much?”
His firm stare wipes away any trace of levity. I grip the reel tighter. He starts to unspool a neon-yellow practice line, stretching it between two jagged rocks on the ocean floor.
“As important as it is to lay and follow the line, you also have to be aware of entanglement dangers,” he continues. “Plenty of skilled divers have gotten tangled in their own lines, panicked, run out of air, and died. It’s a pretty easy way to die. Doesn’t matter how good you are. If you get stuck, you have to know how to react and have the right backups.” He brushes his fingers across the many knives he’s secured to his suit.
My stomach tightens.
My job now is to follow Wes’s line, focusing on touch only. First, I need to get accustomed to the feel of the line and rely less on my other senses. My movements are careful, and my fingers brush against the cord as I keep myself steady.
“Good. Monitor your buoyancy. Mastering excellent buoyancy control is the most crucial diving skill. Keep your fins off the bottom. Avoid kicking up silt or colliding with the walls. Focus on your breathing.”
I adjust my breathing, concentrating on slow, deliberate inhales and exhales. My body responds, rising and falling with each breath. Gliding along the line, pride shoots through me when Wes doesn’t correct me.
“Not bad.” He nods his approval. “You’ve got excellent buoyancy skills, Maddie, you’ve been holding out on me.” Then his voice sharpens, carrying an edge of challenge. “Turn off your light.”
My stomach clenches, but I don’t hesitate. Reaching up, I switch off the light.
I’m plunged into near darkness.
Faint illumination from above penetrates the water. The line in my hand serves as my only anchor and guide. I tighten my grip, concentrating on the tension and direction.
“You’re doing great,” Wes says, his voice calm and reassuring. “Stay cool. Trust the line.”
The knot of anxiety in my chest loosens. The line’s presence gives me a tangible object to rely on. When Wes signals for me to turn the light back on, my fingers move, and a soft glow returns to the underwater world.
“See?” Wes asks, his voice brimming with pride. “That’s how you maintain your composure. You’ll need that if you ever lose visibility in the caves.”
We move to a deeper area, where Wes demonstrates emergency drills—how to clear a flooded mask, transition to your own alternate or your buddy’s air source, and hand signals when comms or slates aren’t available or practical. His instructions are clear and methodical.
“These skills are designed to help you regain control in unpredictable situations.” He pushes his emergency regulator toward me. “Your turn.”
I hesitate for a split second before taking off my mask and taking Wes’s octopus regulator. The freezing water on my face and the unfamiliarity of breathing from someone else’s air source make my heart race. I focus, exhaling as a cloud of bubbles rises around me. I put on my backup mask. My anxiety wanes, replaced by steady concentration.
Wes motions for me to put my full-face mask back on.
“Good transition,” Wes says, his voice calm. “Always be prepared to give your primary or octopus air source to your buddy. And be prepared to take it.”
I repeat the drills until each step becomes second nature. Confidence replaces the nerves I’ve had since we started.
Now, I’m having serious fun.
