I’m incredibly grateful to Pete, my reliable and fantastic dive buddy for 15 years. He can be militant at times, as I can be, especially when we’re keen to get into the water.
“Get a move on, it’s not as if we have all day,” one of us will say, knowing perfectly well that we do. That’s one of many upsides of diving holidays, you do usually have all day to dive, and if, you’re really keen there’s the option of a night dive as well. Neither Pete nor I are keen on night dives, which would make many categorise us as not hard-core. Even when the water temperature is 29 degrees centigrade, it still seems cold and dark, and therefore a horribly miserable idea to struggle into wet gear at night.
Five weeks before a dive trip to Bali, Pete broke his leg. Not one to be discouraged, he insisted it was business as usual. Each morning he took his crutches right to the water’s edge where the rustic Indonesian boat waited for us. Despite my concerns, all went well. Pete and his wife, Merilyn, visited me just before this trip, and he managed to trip up my steps, landing with arms, legs and crutches sticking out at strange angles ahead of us.
“I did ask him how I’m supposed to help when the waves smash against the boat at the dive-site,” I say to Merilyn as Pete struggles to right himself.
“Just put your hand on his head and hold him under for a very long time!” replies Merilyn, her sharp wit instantly in play.
I wouldn’t have made nearly as many dive trips without the familiar phone calls that start off along the lines of: Have you read such and such an article on a dive destination; google it and I’ll call you tonight to discuss. The best piece was about diving with whale sharks in Irian Jaya. The magazine made it look amazing, and the reality was even better. Which makes me eternally grateful to have an instigator for such trips.
We can both be grumpy, but because we’re not a couple, we sort of respect each other and don’t argue as partners are inclined to do. So, the trips generally go smoothly and without drama and upset. It works really well, and we’re able to squabble like an old married couple without either one taking it too personally.
Pete saved my skin when I ran out of air at 30 metres, my own fault for failing to check my gauge. The Indonesian boatmen had forgotten to fill my tank for the dive. I exhausted the reserve twenty minutes into the dive, and as I took the next breath was alarmed to find my supposedly new tank empty. Luckily, Pete was close as we were converged on a leafy scorpionfish pointed out to us by another diver. I grabbed Pete’s arm, gave him an out-of-air signal and indicated I’d do an emergency ascent. My main thought should have been – my god I could die. It was in fact – my god, my sinuses will explode on the way up.
Pete expressed complete disbelief until I showed him air gauge with the needle at the bottom of the red. No need for panic – like a well-trained dive-master, Pete grabbed his mouthpiece and shoved it at me, and then retrieved his octopus-piece for himself. We completed the dive, arm in arm to keep close so I could breathe his air supply, and because we’re both economical on air, had almost as long a dive as everyone else. When we surfaced, he told me that If I wanted to hold hands, I only had to ask!