The One About Scuba Diving in Lesvos

I have recently read about a 60 year old Australian woman who has survived a shark attack whilst snorkelling off the apparently popular Whitsunday Islands in Queensland.

As I read I couldn't help but be consumed by admiration for this absolutely mad woman who fought the shark off by punching it on the nose and kicking it in the neck. She suffered bites to her thigh and buttocks, lost several litres of blood and will need to undergo at least 5 more operations to repair the damage. The woman is reported to have said "I wasn't going to let that shark get the better of me."

I wondered if that was a common Australian attitude because I know, that in the very unlikely event of my swimming off the coast of Australia (I have seen the film JAWS, people)and having the misfortune of glimpsing a sharks fin on the horizon I would indeed be screaming "AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH I'M GOING TO DIE!!!!!!" The shark wouldn't have to be anywhere near me to get that reaction.

But our Aussie heroin, instead of booking herself in for therapy, stated "I'm going to get a new remodelled bottom, so that's a positive"!!

Incredible and a lesson in the power of positive thought.

You may have guessed from the start of this post that I am not the bravest of coastal swimmers. I kid myself that if the water is clear I don't mind swimming or snorkelling in it and that it is just the muddy and murky waters which disturb me; I don't like the idea of not being able to see what is lurking in my ocean space.
In truth that is just not the case and I am in fact pathetic regardless of visibility levels as a holiday in the lovely Greek island of Lesvos proved.

Picture the scene. Stepping out of the plane onto the scorching tarmac of a Greek runway. Sun hat, glasses, Bermuda shorts and vest top, although we had left Gatwick at 5am in the rain and in temperatures that would have frozen the...well you know the rest. With a small bottle of water in hand and rucksack over our shoulders, my, then wife-to-be, Dave and I climbed into a taxi and were driven a hair-raising 2 hours to our holiday destination. The Greek driver smoked and smelled of sweat, the windows were fully open as there was no air conditioning, the radio crackled the sounds of traditional Greek plinky-plink music and we negotiated at terrifying speed hair pin bends on one side and land-slipped boulders on the other; the perfect start to a holiday in the sun.

Our hotel was basic but perfect for what we wanted- a simple holiday. Simple food, simple local wine, simple days, simple nights- no hassle, no challenges- just simple, relaxing, kick off your shoes, laze about type of holiday.

Dave it seems had other ideas and as she unpacked her goggles, flippers, 2 snorkels, wind-up head torch, piece of purple cord (I don't know why!), beach bat and ball, pop-up tent, nose clip and inflatable crocodile, I realised that the only thing simple about this holiday was going to be my girlfriend!

Now Dave is an excellent swimmer and is more graceful in the water than I could ever hope to be on land and has more adventurous spirit in her little finger than I have in my entire body. But I do try to keep up with her and appear excited at the same time; although I confess to being more than a little apprehensive when she booked us in for a day’s scuba diving for beginners (you will recall my shark-phobic tendencies!).

The day arrived and early morning we headed down to the small fishing port where we clambered aboard a small boat and received a crash course in scuba diving. Instruction was given on how to breathe with breathing apparatus, how to use hand signals, how to clear our ears of the pressure by blowing out through a pinched nose etc etc. Our dive would last 30 minutes and we would be diving no more than 5 metres.

Once I had shoe-horned myself into a wetsuit and had been assured by our instructor that there were no dangerous sea creatures off the coast of Lesvos (well you've got to ask haven't you?), Dave and I slid off the boat and into the sea.

In fairness I didn't realise that the water was shallow when I clung onto to the boat with the top half of my body and clamped my legs underneath it like a giant bulldog clip. It was only when Dave stood up next to me that I realised that the water was only 4 ft deep. I should have got back into the boat at that point really but not wanting to disappoint Dave I waded with her further away from the boat and to a rendezvous point where we were to put our mouth pieces in and kneel on the ocean bed whilst waiting for the rest of the group to join us.

Now kneeling on the ocean bed weighed down with weights and oxygen cylinders should be quite easy to do...Dave could do it. But for some unknown reason I kept floating upwards. Dave would grab my arm and pull me back down again, would indicate the rotating hand movement that I should do to keep me in place but off I would go again floating towards the surface.

After 5 minutes the instructor, concerned that I was too light (that'll be the day!) walked me back to the boat and increased the weight in my dive jacket. That, he assured me, should do the trick and feeling a little more confident I rejoined Dave for our dive.

Now apparently if you want to sink down to the bottom of the ocean all you have to do is dip your head forward and down you will go, unless you happen to be useless at it like yours truly. When I dipped my head, instead of gliding gently down to the sea bed with the others, I ended up vertical with head downwards before tipping over completely and looking like an upturned turtle struggling to right itself. As soon as I turned myself back over so that I was looking down and not gazing at the sky I floated back up to the surface.

In a sort of 2 steps forward, 1 step back way, I made my way slowly down to about 2 metres but was stopped in my tracks by a high pitched whistling noise in my ears clearly due to the water pressure and probably by the blood rushing intermittently to my head.

I stopped swimming and floated to the top again. By this time I was getting so frustrated, that my face mask started to steam up. So there I was some 12 inches below the water’s surface unable to see a thing through my mask and being deafened alternately by a high pitched whistle and the blub, blub, blub, blub, blub of air escaping from my breathing apparatus.

And just as I thought things couldn't get any worse there in the distance was a large jelly fish floating its way towards me.

"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH, I'M GOING TO DIE!"

Panicked and by now beginning to hyperventilate, I raced the 12 inches to the surface, giving no thought to the bends, and swam as fast as I could back to the boat.

My nightmare only got worse as I tried to lift myself onto the boat but failed to do so as the extra weights packed in my dive jacket now weighed me down. So there I stood in 4 foot of water, waiting to be stung to death by a giant jelly fish; helpless and hopeless.

Sometime later Dave and the group arrived back, full of their diving adventures and oblivious to the trauma I had suffered. Helped on board, I took Dave to one side, crumpled into her arms and sobbed whilst relaying my experience.

"I didn't see a jelly fish, are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure. It’s still out there" I said pointing to the beast as he bobbed up and down on the waves.

“What that translucent thing?"

"Yes (getting slightly irritated now). Jelly fish are translucent aren't they?"

"That's not a jelly fish darling. It's a plastic bag!!!!"

Had I have realised that earlier on I probably wouldn't have felt the need to piss in my wetsuit!

So hats off to the 60 year old Aussie. I think she and her remodelled bum deserve a medal.