Tutukaka

“Where’s Garrett?”

I looked up at Connor walking towards me from the camper van.  I took my toothbrush out of my mouth and said “Imundt mow.  Heez mnot inm va vamn?”

“No.”  My mom came out and he turned to her.  “Do you know where Garrett is?” 

“He’s asleep in the van.”

“No he’s not.”

In the high-pitched voice only a scared mother can achieve, “What do you mean he’s not?”

“He’s not in the van.”

After a few more minutes of this quibbling and the three of us coming to the conclusion that, no, Garrett was nowhere near where we were, I started laughing uncontrollably, my mom started cursing incomprehensibly and running towards the camper, and Connor just shook his head.  It had taken us thirty-five minutes to drive to the marina from where we were parked the night before.  Knowing that Garrett was stranded on that beach but that he would be just fine was comical but my mom’s hysterics would be too much for me to handle.  I snatched my book from the vehicle before they sped off while I waved them farewell. 

They returned forty minutes later, Garrett in tow.  Apparently he had woken before all of us and gone for a walk along the beach.  On his way back to the car he even pondered to himself about us leaving him.  And then we did.  Isn’t that always how it happens?  As my mother and Connor pulled up Garrett was, they told me, laughing uncontrollably while my mom cried hysterically.  Even though we look little alike, at least the senses of humor Garrett and I share are testament to our relation.  Now that the family was whole again, we could get back to thinking about a day of diving. 

Poor Knight’s Island is one of the most acclaimed dive sites in New Zealand.  The islands are all protected habitat with goals of proper conservation and research.  It is illegal to step foot on their shores.  The swells that lick their cliffs, however, are open to divers willing to dawn a hefty two-piece hooded wet suit to fight the chill.  It is the perfect temperature for maintaining the kelp forests, grouper, nudibranches, eel, snapper, and other species adapted for colder waters. 

Cold-water dives are dramatically different from those in tropical seas.  The wet suits, which expand and compress erratically with ascents and descents, respectively, can be difficult to account for with weights and a BCD.  This day would be Garrett’s first day of diving ever (aka losing his diving virginity, getting wet for the first time, etc), Connor’s second day of diving, my first day diving with so much wet suit and my first day of diving with my mom since our certification where she proved to have some difficulty.  It didn’t look good for us, and it wasn’t.  Once we were all in the water, our guide checked our buoyancy.  I had no problems but everyone else needed adjustments.  Then it was time for a free descent.  Still, issues.  It was always one thing after another.   While cruising along I was being crowded by one or all of them, getting smacked in the face with a flipper, getting rammed from above or below but always from behind.  The thing that drives me crazy about certifiers is that they don’t instill in their students the proper demeanor for diving:  keep your hands tucked in tight, don’t drag anything, and pay attention to where you are in relation to others at all times!  My dives and the natural life decorating them have been disturbed too many times by uncoordinated people with no self-awareness.  I understand perfect buoyancy takes practice, and I’m far from perfect, but people can’t make an effort to adjust their ways if they are ignorant of what they should and should not be doing. 

And of course, maybe people shouldn’t be diving in certain situations if they have no clue.  Diving in tropical waters is one thing; you don’t need to account for the thick wet suit, but certain people shouldn’t dive in cold water.  My mother, who had apparently done fine diving in tropical waters, couldn’t manage her buoyancy, had panicked, surfaced too fast, and ended up having to bail on both dives due to vomiting spells.  Shame.  Garrett got the hang of things after a while and once I had told him that he should focus on being slow, controlled, and graceful, he improved rapidly.  He’s a born little doer that one. 

On our first dive, Garrett and my mom had to ascend about fifteen minutes before Connor and I (due to oxygen levels).  After they had departed, Sophie our guide led Connor and I into this large underwater cave.  Ahead of us we could hear a huge gulping noise, like the thudding of a heartbeat.  It was an air pocket being compressed into the far corner with the rise and fall of the swell.  We made it to the air pocket, removed our respirators, and treaded water while breathing the beating air.  We became a part of the ocean’s heart, feeling the gentle squeeze of the atmosphere around us like the loving embrace of an elder that knows she may never see you again.  Our guide brought us back to the moment and we receded down again into the belly of the cave.  The silhouettes of dozens of large fish patterned the blue light drifting in.  They parted in front of us with seemingly no effort, as if we had a bubble around us always keeping them just out of arm’s reach.  Lying on the ground we spotted a grey eel.  We watched his slow gulping that, in conjunction with his milky eyes and despite his gentle nature, made him seem the fiercest creature alive.  We made our ascent, stepped out of the magical world that resides below the surface of all oceans, and joined those aboard the Calypso. 

During our one-hour interval, the crew drove us into the largest sea cave on the planet.  It could have easily fit half a dozen boats the size of ours.  Our captain told us of the massive sponges that grow along the cavern floor and why ferns were hanging tight from the ceiling.  Apparently the light entering the cave and reflecting off of the water has inverted where the ferns think the sun is and they now grow downwards, ever reaching for the false sun on the water’s surface.  After his informative talk about the cave, the captain got us whooping and hollering to reveal the acoustic wonder of the walls painted the colors of the sea.  Not one of our senses was left unawakened. 

Our next dive landed us outside of a large watered archway surrounded on all sides by a bed of swaying kelp.  This time it was just Connor, Garrett, our guide and myself.  Swimming through the archway we were greeted by hundreds of sapphire blue fish larger than my head resting along the walls.  An eagle ray swept around us.  The rock faces were covered in multi-colored crustaceans.  We spent the dive exploring the rock walls for tinier creatures like the ever so cute and colorful nudibranch mollusks, holes and crevices for eels, scoping the kelp blades for groupers and tracking the eagle rays as they glided passed.  It was a beautiful dive.

After surfacing, we received the approval to jump off the double-decker dive boat and enticed others to do the same.  We then returned to the marina, passing blue penguins, cormorants, and several species of seagull.  Connor, despite having a great day, was exhausted, irritable, and selfish, so we let him take off on his own for a while and Garrett and I sat in the local pub, me with a cocktail in my hand and him downing nachos.  After my fourth or fifth, everything seemed pretty funny until the cute bartender made reference to Garrett being my kid.  There’s nothing funny about the possibility that a twenty one year old would have had a fourteen year old, even if he does look eleven. But at least he was there.  At least Garrett had made it that day, to be called my child or not, for watching him see the ocean in that way for the first time was a treat.  Observing him improve his diving technique in such little time made me swell with pride.  Having him next to me at the bar was a relief of common companionship amid the hostilities my family can create.  I am so glad he made it, despite school, to experience it all with me.