A diving trip to the Cayman Islands became a ‘side quest’ to keep life interesting | Canada Voices

I stare down at the tank, the buoyancy control device, and a tangle of rubber hoses and wonder how to assemble my scuba gear.

My partner Scott and I are poolside at Ocean Frontiers Dive Shop, on the east end of Grand Cayman. Over the next two days, we’ll learn to be open water scuba divers. With excellent visibility, a kaleidoscope of marine life, and as many dive sites as there are days in the year, the Cayman Islands are an ideal place for an underwater adventure.

We already had a trip to Grand Cayman planned, and after my daughter asked me if I was taking a “side quest” this year, I figured learning to scuba dive would be the perfect detour. I was ready to re-engage with the world after grieving the loss of my father and the departure of my daughter for university in the same week.

Like any quest, I felt a sense of trepidation. Although I had spent plenty of time snorkelling in Grand Cayman, was it too late for me to learn in my 50s? Would it be dangerous? What if I didn’t enjoy it?

It didn’t get off to a good start. I struggled to fit the pieces of my scuba gear together. I had a hard time with the hose that’s supposed to help inflate the buoyancy vest. Seeing my frustration, our instructor, Cam Taylor, helps me get set up.

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“Now take it apart and do it five more times,” he tells us. Cam is a second-generation dive master who grew up by the ocean in Miami. With his shaggy beard and mop of hair, he looks like a young Grizzly Adams.

The morning is spent learning fundamental skills like buoyancy, doing a controlled descent and clearing a flooded mask underwater – which proves to be much harder than it looks.

Scott and I completed our basic knowledge training online before the trip, now Cam’s job was to translate the abstract into the practical in an outdoor pool. That included learning how to do a controlled emergency swimming ascent. The task seems simple enough: travel from the bottom of the pool to the surface, while making a continuous “ahhh” sound, with one arm raised – like Superman flying through the air.

Even though it feels silly, Cam explains that in an emergency, the tendency is to hold your breath and ascend.

I realize the risks associated with scuba diving are very real: decompression sickness, nitrogen narcosis (a condition caused by breathing gas deep underwater, which can cause impaired judgment and other issues) or simply running out of air.

After lunch, the three of us head out for our first two open-water dives. Scott and I wiggle into our wetsuits and assemble our gear. Then I waddle like a penguin, adjust my mask and take a generous stride into the water.

Practising in a pool is an entirely different experience to being in the open water, even if we only go 25 feet below the surface. I struggle to maintain neutral buoyancy and bump along the sandy bottom. To compensate, I overinflate my BCD, then helplessly float to the surface. Returning to the bottom, I signal “okay” to Scott and Cam.

Our second open-water dive feels less chaotic. I even ace the dreaded task of clearing my mask. Back on board, Scott and I suck on orange wedges as the afternoon sun hits our face.

That evening, I fall asleep early and dream I’m scuba diving, gliding effortlessly through the water. It feels like flying.

Day two begins like the one before: learning increasingly complex skills in the confines of the pool. I can’t say I’m enjoying diving yet, but gearing up, I realize I already feel more comfortable.

That afternoon Scott and I, along with Cam, join four other divers on their two-tank boat trip. Any preconceived notions of being too old to learn vanish when I see that the only young people on the boat are the professionals. I strike up a conversation with Ann, a Minneapolis-based grandmother, who tells me she first learned the sport two years ago and is now making up for lost time.

While the group of four goes off on a separate dive, Cam assesses some of our skills.

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Then it was time for our final dive and last chance to demonstrate the skills we need. Can we perform a predive safety check? Maintain neutral buoyancy? Complete a three-minute safety stop to mitigate the risk of decompression sickness?

“Just relax and enjoy it,” Cam says. And we do. During the dive, he guides us by coral, pointing out juvenile trumpet fish, a scorpion fish, and an enormous crab tucked into the crevice of a rock.

Back on deck, we peel off our equipment.

“We now have two more certified divers on board,” Cam announces to the group. Our fellow divers applaud and Scott and I high-five each other. I’m astounded by how far we’ve come in two short days.

Fortunately, my side quest wasn’t quite over. We had time to fit in one more adventure – this time, as qualified divers. We returned to Ocean Frontiers.

As we head to High Rock Drop-Off, a limestone vertical dive wall, our guide provides instructions that would have been a mystery at the start of our trip.

In the water, Scott and I follow the other divers. Scott signals to me there’s a beautiful, venomous lionfish by interlocking his hands. Later, our guide shines a small light into a hidden crevice. A huge lobster, as majestic as Poseidon himself, stares back at me.

We continue to drift past reef fish feeding on pastel coloured coral and descend the limestone cliff. I peer into the abyss and the curious thing is, I don’t feel afraid. The side quest was a success.

If You Go

Ocean Frontiers offers PADI diver training with accredited dive instructors as well as learn to dive vacation packages with accommodation at Compass Point Dive Resort.

The PADI Open Water Diver two-day course is US$950 for an individual, or US$695 a person for two students booking together, without accommodation. The cost includes the prerequisite e-learning, gear rental and four boat dives.

Special to The Globe and Mail