An Introduction to Scuba Diving
Updated: Aug 20
The ocean...is there a more alluring place on earth that piques human curiosity whilst exposing our physical vulnerabilities?
Humans have proven themselves a rather resilient land-dwelling species, but taking a stroll into the ocean is another story. Because the ocean wins every time: it constantly spits us out on its shorelines and it laughs at our buoyant vehicles. It aggressively stereotypes and discriminates and has no remorse, and as such, is a force that demands our respect.
So, of course, like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to the briny deep.
Scuba diving was one of those things that seemed completely out of reach; an activity that I was always curious about, yet never mustered a proactive bone to check it out. Why? Well, I guess because I didn't grow up near the ocean, I didn't think I knew any divers, and so it was bypassed for other endeavors that involved less paraphernalia and less effort.
Then, within the span of one week, I was asked by two different people if I was certified to dive.
The first inquiry was from a new and intriguing friend with whom I wanted an excuse to spend more time. The second was from an industry Stuntman and Propmaster looking for an assistant on a film shooting in Mexico.
The first “no” was a bummer, the second was rather tragic, but provided an all-too-coincidental reason to revisit the first.
I returned to Mr. New & Intriguing with questions and he was generous in implementing his connections with Hollywood Divers. Before I knew it, I was enrolled in the PADI online open water scuba diving class, which entailed: online testing, classroom testing, pool testing, and a weekend of ocean testing at Catalina Island.
I wasn't entirely sure of what I was getting into, but knew it would be...a lot.
Cue montage of tedious online scuba PowerPoint studying, writing checks and shedding tears, one in-classroom testing session, the introduction of other newbie divers, the careful selection of start-up scuba gear rentals and purchases, and loads of anxiety peppered throughout.
On the inside, I was Diane Keaton-style losing it.
And I don’t know why I was so nervous.
Everyone else seemed to be really enjoying the whole challenge. I was surrounded by living, breathing motivational posters.
But for whatever reason, apprehension had taken hold of me and its apex came when I took an instructor’s advice prior to the pool testing...
I was most nervous for one testing the skill in particular: the complete removal of the face mask.
This is where the human must kneel on the ocean floor, take off their face mask, (rendering that crucial sense of sight, moot) and breathe through their regulator for a full minute. No sissy-la-la plugging of the nose allowed.
And so, it was recommended for us newbies to practice breathing through the snorkel, sans mask, in our kitchen sink. Yes, the kitchen sink…because that’s just like being in the Pacific Ocean… Yes, yes, just fill up your sink with water, submerge your head, and breathe through the snorkel.
Now, common sense might suggest this to be a ridiculous act, however, poisoned by anxiety, common sense took a backseat to fear.
And so, with my trusty Toy Story 3 beach towel standing by, I drew the blinds shut, filled up my kitchen sink with cold water (to rival the 58 degree ocean), ignored the floating bits of Ramen, held firmly to the white tile counter, placed the snorkel in my mouth, and willingly submerged my entire head in my sink, in my kitchen, in my apartment, in North Hollywood, feet firmly planted on the laminate floor for over two minutes.
Emerging from the ten inches of water, I did not feel victorious. Not even close. I felt embarrassed in front of Woody, Buzz, and the gang. It was far too easy, it was obviously nothing like being in the ocean, it was so stupid.
It would have been comedic if it weren’t me, but there I was: hair soaking wet, water dripping down my face, looking around my otherwise empty studio, in disbelief of the foolish spectacle that was myself.
I think it was the idea of being tested on ‘skills’ never before performed that was just daunting enough to turn an otherwise skeptical and mildly intelligent person into a naïve dope.
Of course, I did the kitchen sink thing two more times, just to be safe.
And perhaps thanks to kitchen-sink-scuba-diving, I passed the pool testing. But just because I didn’t lose my cool in the pool, didn’t mean I felt ocean-ready.
I was in it deep (heh-heh) but still determined to do what was necessary to have fun, damnit. This was, after all, supposed to be fun. I wanted to do this. I was paying to do this. Plus, at this point, people knew what I was planning to do. Casual inquiries were made concerning what I was “up to” and a fascinating truth was revealed. Interests were piqued and follow-ups were promised. People were anxiously awaiting my sure-to-be incredible scuba stories. I couldn't let them down…
All too soon, the day arrived when I was to battle Los Angeles traffic to catch the boat from Long Beach to Catalina Island.
I queued up to board and lugged my gear through the labyrinth of walkway barriers. Once aboard, I dumped my 50 lb. tank with no handle/carrier/or anything utilitarian at all, and my 40 lb. scuba bag at the back of the ferry, as directed by people with white polo shirts...just left it there for anyone to steal.
Already, at that point, I would have honestly been fine with someone walking off with all of it, but no one did. There is no mercy on the Catalina Express.
Making my way up to the top deck, I found a nice little spot in the back corner with a fantastic view and as we motored away from the main land, I felt a tinge of excitement for the first time.
As soon as we were out of the harbor, my happy-haven turned into the soak-zone at SeaWorld, so I moved to a middle seat while most others retreated inside. Ten minutes after the upper-deck-mass-exodus, humpback whales were spotted off the port side.
Truly majestic. A good sign, indeed.
Cut to: the check-in counter at our scuba-friendly Avalon hotel whose greatest attribute is their golf cart service: picks you and your gear up at the dock and takes you to the hotel. The best.
I also found amuzing, the sight of dive gear strewn all over the premises. Wet suits of all sizes were hang-drying outside three stories of staggered railings, dive tanks by the dozens on the ground, towels, bags, gloves, hoods, fins...all littered in organized-scuba-gear-chaos.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of equipment, just sitting around because screw this, I'm not carrying this junk up any more stairs.
Everyone was down for the night by 10pm to be up at 6 the next morning. While all slept peacefully, I awoke in thrashing, panicky, cold sweats at least a half dozen times; normal, maybe, before participating in an activity that can kill you.
Alas, morning arrived. This was it, Judgment Day. Definitely no turning back now, let's just get this over with.
I tried not to have that attitude, but it was there. I think mainly because this entire activity is really all about trust: you have to have unwavering trust in your own capacity to not panic, trust in your newfound skills, in your dented rental equipment, in your dive-buddy you met a week ago.
You have to believe that everything is going to work as it should. With my innate hatred for everyone and resolute trust in almost nothing, this was no small undertaking.
But I wanted to explore oceanic crevices and witness amazing exotic sea creatures. I wanted to find Nemo and be a part of Team Zissou...so there I was.
Our gear was taken down to the dive site called Casino Point...not because there's a Native American gambling establishment there, but they said in Italian, 'casino' means 'gathering place,' or something... That didn't sound quite right, but I went along with it because there were more important things to question.
The site was pretty amazing, all things considered. There were maybe 100 other divers and snorkelers with their gear lined up along an 18" high wall that bordered the ocean. It was a big, open, paved area and we set up camp at the north end, fairly close to the entrance point.
And so began the process of getting scuba-ready.
Reflecting on some of the most difficult things I've ever had to do, somewhere near the top of that list, just after "getting queen sized down-comforter in duvet cover," would have to be, “squeezing body into 7mm wet suit."
Fortunately, my wet suit rental was brand new, which meant that no one had used it as a urinal.
Unfortunately, that also meant it was unforgivably stiff and with the built in rubber knee pads and shin guards, I looked like Danny DeVito and felt like Randy in A Christmas Story.
The first test is setting up your scuba gear with your dive buddy, properly and efficiently. Hoses, gauges, tanks, primary and secondary regulators: it's a team effort with important checks and balances.
Slap on the hood, booties, fins, gloves, mask, snorkel, 12 lb. weight belt, regulators, gauges, the buoyancy control vest with 6 more integrated pounds of extra weight, and the 50 lb. tank of air...oh yeah, we're good and scuba-ready now!!!
Once properly geared-up (fins in hand), we lumbered to the entryway staircase: a very literal stone staircase, carved out of the earth, leading directly into the ocean, complete with metal railing and assumed normal highway traffic rules and regulations.
Dozens of people all around were laughing and having fun. I felt like I was walking the Green Mile.
A step or two away from the end of the staircase, before the waves can toss you off balance, is the time to put your fins on.
Lacking both grace and speed, I managed to pull on and tighten those suckers without toppling down the stairs into the water, the rocks, or other people. All that was left to do was take a couple duck-steps to the last platform.
It was early morning on the Pacific and therefore high-tide so there wasn't much for me to do but stand there, knee-pad deep, and wait for the ocean to sweep me away, like the large clump of dead seaweed I most certainly felt like.
Officially in the water, my small group of scubites and our instructor battled the slimy kelp and swam over to a buoy with a rope-line anchored about 25 feet below planet Earth's available human-life-sustaining conditions.
As this was an open-water certification class, we were primarily out there to prove our competency in scuba diving basics by completing a series of tests over five separate dives in two days.
The plan is to make sure you are completely comfortable in an environment you have absolutely no business being in, that all equipment is in perfect working order and for a fleeting moment, you feel a spark of confidence that you will be just fine and this will be a fun experience.
Then, they do everything in their power to put you in nightmarish, more than sufficient cause-for-hysterics, situations (fill your mask with water, take off your mask completely, remove. your. air. supply.). I completely understand why they do this and I have a great appreciation for the patience and skill of all the instructors, but I didn't like it.
And can you really blame me? Just because you gave me 30 minutes worth of perfectly clear instruction at our basecamp, and I nodded, doesn't mean I think I can survive this.
So, apologies to my instructor, Anastasia, while she clearly and perfectly scuba-signed the skill I was to perform and I just stared at her with wide, blank, dead shark eyes. You want me to do what? Wait, WHAT?
Everything I read during the hours of online tutorials, the written tests, the pool session, and whatever pearls of wisdom you cast my way at the surface two minutes ago...was gone. It was all gone from my brain and I had, "the scuba dumb."
But then…
Slowly, slowly, you somehow get used to the feel of the gear, the temperature of the water, the hospital-like sounds of your own heavy breathing, and the fact that your field of vision has almost no peripherals and everything you are doing is proficiently done at a decelerated pace. You breathe. And you focus. And somehow, you manage to kneel on the sea floor, remove your mask completely and breathe calmly through your regulator for one full minute without sucking the entire ocean up your nose. (I still hate you, kitchen sink.) You do it because this is the choice you made. Because you’re curious and adventurous and used the word “briny.” Imagine all the places you'll be able to explore once you clear this hurdle. And remember, people are going to ask about this on Monday. What story do you want to tell?
Over the course of two days, my fellow divers and I were able to successfully complete all the skills to receive open water certifications.
I did it because it’s a great notch to add to my resume. I did it because my friends were into it. But mostly, I did it because I wanted to, and if you don’t truly want to scuba dive, if you aren’t afraid to feel like a fish out of water…in the water…don’t even bother.
Prepping and packing (not to mention carrying) the equipment alone is enough to deter anyone who simply thinks the ocean is cool.
Because the ocean exceeds cool.
My first scuba adventure ended up being pretty amazing, even if it was mostly testing. Of course it did. You knew it would, I knew it would, everyone knew it would.
And diving gets better with each decent. Easier too, not in a complacent way, but in a comfortable one.
Confidence comes with time and repetition. You learn to master buoyancy control, both with your BCD and just your own lungs. You get to live those awesome flying dreams, but even better because it’s real. You slowly accumulate your own gear, quality gear that will last a lifetime. You meet crazy people who live for this stuff and have been to the most beautiful places. You do, indeed, get to experience an alien world, a world where you are a guest and you develop a great appreciation and admiration for all things wet and dry.
You may take to it a lot quicker than I did, or you may discover this is not the activity for you whatsoever. Either way, at least you give it a try. You won't know until you're in it...so go for it!
Here's all you need to know to begin your PADI open water certification: https://www.padi.com/help/scuba-certification-faq
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