Utila – Week 5, Day 1: Rust and Reels
UTILA
Week 5
Day 1: Rust & Reels
December 11, 2022
PART I
Another day in paradise with plenty of dives in my agenda – what more could I want? While I’d usually be over the moon knowing I’d get to dive, this time round, I was kinda riddled with anxiety.
I’d be continuing my Wreck Penetration course with Buck alongside Levi. For the first time since I started diving, I found myself genuinely worried about my safety. Scenes from Baywatch ran through my head – divers getting stuck in wrecks, running out of air. And with my still-crappy buoyancy, that didn’t seem too far-fetched. It’s funny how such a familiar dive site was suddenly giving me so much anxiety. I’d already dived around the Halliburton wreck about six times by then, but knowing I’d have to penetrate it made it feel like a completely new experience – and to be fair, it definitely was.
Buck’s briefing was top notch – covering almost every single detail. We’d have to swim over the cargo deck, then make our way to the stern, into the first room on that level, and continue into different rooms on different decks (O1 and O2), tying knots to reference points before entering each room. In principle, it sounded simple. In my head, though, I was already getting tangled in the reference line, caught on the wreck, silting everything up, getting lost, running out of air, and dying in that rusty old death trap. I’d be leading – going in first and tying the knots – with Levi swimming behind me and untying them on the way back. Buck would observe from outside, ensuring we visited all the rooms, tied the knots appropriately and forming a proper reference lie – helping out if need be.
Once again, he emphasised the importance of maintaining proper buoyancy – each warning eliciting a twinge of shame and alarm from my end.
A Nervous Wreck
I didn’t have much time to dwell on my insecurities though, as we quickly got to the dive site. Unsure and restless, I jumped in the water and descended toward the wreck.
With my flashlight and reel, I gave myself one last pep talk and headed to the stern of the ship. I tied the first knot outside of the main door and entered the first room without hesitation. I took a good look around – it was a chaotic mess of pipes, valve wheels, more pipes, hatches and random stuff left behind by other divers – namely a BCD and a baby doll (creepiest thing ever – think of the baby-spider hybrid from Toy Story). Apparently, there’s also a pink dildo hidden somewhere in there.
Once I’d finished scanning the room, I moved through the only visible opening – a narrow passage between rusty metal and pipes. I passed through surprisingly easily, buoyancy still holding up. It led to a smaller room filled with metallic cylinders (no clue what they were for), but with no hatch leading elsewhere. There were windows on all sides big enough to exit through. I looked at Levi , confused, unsure where to go next. I tied a knot and hesitated. Then Buck appeared outside one of the windows and signalled me to untie the knot and head back – we’d gone the wrong way. That room, apparently, was kind of a secret annex we weren’t supposed to enter. In fact, he hadn’t even mentioned it in the briefing…
Back in the first room, I couldn’t find the hatch to the real second room for the life of me. Disorientation kicked in hard. We were almost 30 metres deep, and deco time was ticking down fast. I couldn’t screw this up now – my buoyancy wasn’t failing me, but my navigation definitely was. Upon seeing me spinning around in circles trying to find our way forward, Buck entered the wreck. He came right up to me, and calmly signalled for me to breathe and relax. I wasn’t panicking exactly, but I was rushing – and yeah, I needed that reset.
Then Levi spotted the hatch. I darted into the second room on O1 – a larger space with more debris, a discarded wetsuit, and an Australian flag among the mess. I tied the second knot to a pipe, and we pushed deeper. A door at the back looked promising – possibly leading to O2. Instead, it opened into a tiny storage area with shelves and a cupboard. As I turned around to search for the actual O2 entry, I saw that the reference line was loose and slack. I tried to tighten it but couldn’t get it to reel in. I kicked up some silt in the process, which luckily didn’t result in a full-on silt-out. From a nearby window, Buck had been watching everything – and that seemed to be the final straw. He signalled for Levi to take over.
I felt a swirl of emotions – disappointment, resignation, resentment, frustration. I’d expected buoyancy to be my downfall, not navigation. But I couldn’t deny I was doing a poor job. I handed over the reel, and Levi somehow got it to work. We untied the knot on O1, and as we were about to head back, we spotted the hatch leading to O2 – a small, windowed room with nothing particularly interesting inside. I’d heard there was a tight hatch leading to O3 – the wheelhouse – but in all the rush and stress, I failed to look for it.
We made our way back, untying the few knots I had remembered to tie, and exited the wreck. As I passed through the last door, the reference line got caught on my tank valve – Buck having to untangle me as I hovered there helplessly. Just perfect.
Wrecked by the Wreck
My wreck dive was a complete and total train wreck. I felt like such an utter disappointment – exactly as I felt when I had done my lionfish hunting course.
The first thing Buck said once we were back on the Miss Tamara was, “First off, your buoyancy sucks!”. I knew that – but during the dive, it had felt like the least of my problems. He told me I should do the Peak Performance Buoyancy course or get a one-on-one session with an instructor to sort it out. “Second,” he said, “you need to calm down. You need to stop, breathe, and think.” He was 100% right. Levi stood silently beside me, clearly feeling awkward as the sermon proceeded. Although Buck was harsh and didn’t beat around the bush, I appreciated the honesty. He didn’t sugar-coat anything and he was the first person to actually tell me what I needed to do to get better.
Later, as dejected and miserable as I felt, I went over the entire experience in my head. My buoyancy had genuinely improved in the last few weeks. I knew I was getting better. I could also pinpoint my exact problem. The core problem, I realised, wasn’t buoyancy – it was trim. I couldn’t hover horizontally. Every time I tried, I’d slowly tip backward into an upright position.
I scoured the dive shop looking for Buck, and the moment I spotted him, I cornered him with my newfound realisation and asked for help. He suggested placing my weights further forward on the belt and strapping the tank a little lower. At that, I could feel my eyes tear up – I finally had a real, practical solution. Of course, I’d have to test it out, but for the first time in a long while, I felt like I had something solid to work with.
PART II
Open Water Woes
My day wouldn’t be over just yet. Amelia and I would be assisting Noah and Catherine with our second PADI Open Water course. We had a total of six students – five Dutch guys: Cory, Gary, Quentin, Tom and Milo– and a Quebecer, JP. One of them, Noah warned us beforehand, was a bit slow compared to the others, and so, we’d need to pay more attention to him in particular.
By the time we finished with the equipment set-up, we were quite unsure as to who the one slow students was, given that both Quentin and JP needed us to repeat every single step at least three times before they got it. That said, every time, they’d shower us with gratitude and thankfulness. Quentin admitted he was a slow learner – something I could totally relate to, especially after that morning’s debacle. JP, on the other hand, told me he always tries to rush things in order to finish faster – something I could also relate to. I felt like I was paying forward Buck’s patience with me.
Then it was time for the confined session over a shallow, sandy patch. We’d be splitting into two groups of three, and I’d be joining Catherine. With us would be Quentin, Tom and Gary. After going over a couple of surface skills, Catherine made sure to warn everyone not to kick their fins down, as the visibility was already poor and we couldn’t afford to make it worse.
The second we descended, we could only see sand – so we went back up. We then swam a few metres away and, seeing Quentin kicking up all the sand, I suggested to Catherine that we swim away once again. Third time was the charm – we descended and, for once, we could actually see each other. Until Quentin started to panic and kicked up the sand again, that is. We re-ascended and tried again. Sand. Again. More sand. Again. More sand.
On the seventh attempt, I could see a change in Catherine’s demeanour – something I’m sure only I could pick up on, given that we always seemed to be on the same wavelength.
Almost ready to throw in the towel, we decided to split the group again. We agreed Quentin would need a bit more help, so Gary and Tom joined Noah and the rest of the gang. Meanwhile, Catherine and I focused solely on Quentin, who, after a couple of attempts, started feeling more comfortable underwater.
Every time we’d try a new skill – like mask flooding or regulator recovery – he’d panic and go back to the surface. But after a few tries, he’d manage. It filled Catherine and me with a feeling of satisfaction unlike any other. Every time he failed, he’d apologise and feel defeated – something Catherine seemed fully equipped to handle. She’d reassure him and even bust out a couple of jokes, like the classic “What do you call a fish without an eye? Fsh!” – which made him feel at ease and ready to go back down.
I, for one, didn’t wanna overstep, but sometimes I’d tell him that even I’m a slow learner and that there are things I still struggle with. But diving’s a sport – practice makes perfect, and perseverance is key. I think I was reassuring myself as much as him.
After a long, long afternoon session, Quentin had mastered all the skills and impressed us with how confident he’d become by the end of the day. Later, Catherine thanked me from the bottom of her heart, telling me that she could’ve done it without me but that I made it way easier for her. Need I reiterate how much I love her? Oh, she also bought me a beer.
Stopping Time Itself
As we were downing one Salva after another and getting some much-needed rest after such a tiring day, Amelia told me to enjoy it while it lasts.
By now, I already had an internal timer counting down the days before we’d have to leave Utila. In just two weeks, Amelia and I would be on our way to Nicaragua, leaving this beautiful piece of heaven behind. I’d look back on the time we spent here and find myself in pieces knowing we’d have to say goodbye to a place we’d come to call home – not to mention the people we’d come to call family.
Every day, I’d find myself on the boat or at Underwater Vision, looking wistfully at the horizon, soaking up the sun, still in awe of the beautiful creatures we had the honour of seeing underwater – wondering how on earth I’m gonna deal once I move on. The only thing that seemed to comfort me was knowing that I’d genuinely cherished every single second I spent on the island and that I was making the most of every single minute.
Sometimes, when I feel so, so happy – as I felt right there and then – I end up becoming hyper-aware of how I’ll never relive that exact same moment ever again. The melancholia manages to slip in, reminding me of just how finite time is. And always, every time, I remember the words of Katy Perry’s The One That Got Away music video trailer (perks of being an OG).
Blink once, and you’ll miss it – a sentiment I had upheld since I had started my trip. Back home, days, weeks, sometimes months would blend in. So much time wasted. But now? Now I was making every moment count. I was living through every single second with such ardour and tenacity and passion that I wanted to remember everything – every single detail.
As I thought about my time in Utila, I had this smile on my face which prompted Catherine to ask me what I had been thinking of. When I told her we’d be leaving soon, she just had one word to say about it: “no.” One word, two letters. Just two letters – but in those two letters, she managed to express all the pain and hurt and sadness she could muster. It was heartbreaking. I could literally feel that “no” as it chewed at my heart. She then told us to stay at least till New Year’s Eve. Like that, we’d spend the feast with our Underwater Vision family and – she asserted – we’d get to see her go wild, dance all night and skinny dip – something we really wouldn’t wanna miss.
I looked at Amelia with my best puppy-dog eyes. “I’m not the one with the crazy day-by-day itinerary!” she yelled – meaning the decision was mine. Just like when I had decided to stay here to become a divemaster and the other two times when Amelia and I had decided to extend our stay by a few weeks, my mind was already made up. We decided to stay at Underwater Vision for an extra week until the end of the New Year’s festivities.
I swear I was high with happiness the second we decided to re-extend. Of course, I’d have to rearrange my itinerary AGAIN – but I’d be more than happy to do it if it meant spending more time on the island.
Stay wild,
Marius
Post-Scriptum
Given that the incredible two-month itinerary I had planned for Costa Rica had been reduced to a measly three weeks, I did feel like I had betrayed my original idea of spending enough time in each country to savour as much as possible and get the most out of them.
But in a way, one thing I really got to appreciate from this trip is freedom – freedom to do whatever I feel like, to be wherever I want to be. And this would be in keeping with that newfound philosophy. In Utila, I had found a home, I had found a family, I had found happiness.
Changing my itinerary to fit all this in was nothing but a small compromise! Plus, I later realised that by cutting my Costa Rica itinerary short, I’d saved so much money that I’d end up with a positive balance at the end of my trip. Or at least I would’ve – had I not signed up for a couple of extra specialty courses!