Utila – Week 6, Day 1: The Tank Incident
UTILA
Week 6
Day 1: The Tank Incident
December 18, 2022
PART I
This was a long-awaited day at Underwater Vision – the dive shop buzzing with activity. Everyone seemed to be up at dawn, ready for a full day’s worth of events.
To start off, around fifteen of us gathered in front of the dive shop, waiting for Noah to show up so we could head out for a beach clean-up. I’d never done one before, and the last time Underwater Vision had organised one, I was stuck in bed sick all day. Finally, it was time to try something new – and give back to the environment a bit.
Trash Duty and Turtle Promises
At seven sharp, a large truck rolled in to pick us up. We were loaded on the back like pigs headed to the butcher, and with Noah following on his motorbike, we made our way to a beach on the northwest side of the island.
The sight (and smell) awaiting us was shocking to say the least. In front of us were heaps of trash covering the sand – so different from the clean, pristine beaches I’d seen throughout my trip in Central America, though eerily similar to those pollution awareness ads on TV. Every time I’d use single-use plastic, I’d picture something like this. Over the years, I tried to cut down on that stuff as much as possible – though sometimes it’s just unavoidable.
As elitist as this might sound, I never thought I’d find myself picking up trash as a doctor. What surprised me even more was how excited I was to do it. I grabbed a garbage bag and headed for the dirtiest part of the beach, scooping up as much rubbish as I could with both hands. Years of caper and olive picking with my dad had trained me for this. At first, it was almost fun – also very satisfying seeing an area that was previously covered in trash now glistening.
But then, the more I picked, the more trash I uncovered. It was endless, and, worst of all, our endeavour seemed futile at best. Honestly, it felt like a waste of time. How could we even begin to make a dent on the grand scheme of things? This was one tiny litter-covered beach out of millions out there. Talk about disheartening!
Not to mention, each piece of trash came with a pang of guilt – toothbrushes, plastic bottles, wrappers – every item made me wonder how much I’d personally contributed over my lifetime. Probably enough to fill this entire beach. Maybe more. I shuddered at the thought. We really are the worst!
I thought about all the times I’d accidentally littered – like being at the beach with a beer can that got swept away by the waves. Or all the cigarettes I’d thrown in the sea before I knew how much water each cigarette butt pollutes (1000 litres, FYI). Or all the times a plastic wrapper flew away with the wind. But looking at the sheer volume of trash, I became convinced that this mess wasn’t just bad luck and accidents. It was negligence. If it were really all accidental, I’d have found a few wads of cash between the tampon applicators and plastic syringes.
After filling around fifty bags in just over an hour, I swore to myself I’d do better. When I’d get back to Malta, I’d gonna join every clean-up I could. Fifty bags might not mean much on the grand scheme of things, but the way I see it – if picking up one six-pack ring saves a turtle, and that turtle goes on to help a coral reef thrive, that butterfly effect is enough to justify the work.
World Cup Final
Back at Underwater Vision, I didn’t have much time to reflect on the day’s environmental despair. The atmosphere was electric – tense, loud, excited. It was the World Cup final: France vs. Argentina.
I couldn’t have cared less. I’ve never been a football fan. I mean, sure, I grew up in Malta – a country where football’s practically a religion, players are treated like saints, and matches feel like sacred rituals. Back in secondary school, I spent most lunch breaks playing, but when I finally left that school, I gladly ditched the sport for good. That is, until I became a doctor and started attending matches with Malta’s football association. I still remember going to Macedonia with the U17 team. That trip made me get it – the passion, the hype, the team spirit. For a short while, I felt like part of their squad. After that, I even started bugging my friends to organise football games. Me. Marius. Unbelievable.
So when I saw everyone gathered around the screen, I figured I might as well join. I decided I’d root for Argentina, being such a huge fan of Latin America (yep, that was my only reason). The second the ball moved, I was hooked. You see, that’s how it is with me. I don’t care that much about football, but the second I’m watching a game (which is almost always next to never) I get sucked in. The second Argentina got their first goal in, I was the first to yell and scream like a maniac. Everyone thought I was kidding when they saw me get so much into it since I hadn’t watched a single game all tournament. They believed me by the time the second goal went in.
After halftime, Andreas and Amelia joined, though mostly just to hang out. They sat next to us chatting about random stuff – loudly. I wanted to punch Andreas in the face. He wouldn’t shut the hell up. Constant, incessant blabbering – about how stupid football is, about how hot the players are, about everything except the game. Why sit in front of the TV if you’re so against it? Grr.
Anyway, Adah and Madelaine eventually joined and said they were bored and wished the match was more competitive. Lo and behold – France scored two goals. Just like that, everyone got into it. The energy was wild. Still tied at the end of regular time, some of the crowd started drifting off. Then both teams scored again during the extra time. We were all glued to the screen. When it went to penalties, we may as well have been on the field ourselves.
We chanted “Mange de la merde” every time Argentina scored or France missed. And when Argentina finally won, Underwater Vision erupted. Everyone went wild – yelling, jumping, cheering. Except for one Dutch guy who rooted for France, that is.
PART II
Post-Party Picnic Dive
For those of us on the afternoon boat, our celebrations were cut short as we had to start prepping the boat. But before that, we had to say goodbye to one of our favourite divemasters – Louis (well, not Amelia’s favourite, considering they’d been bickering for weeks and broke things off a few days earlier). Once he left, it was back to diving.
After the previous day’s second sidemount confined session, I was feeling pretty confident about the open water dive. Thinking about all the cables, clips, bungees, and manoeuvres still gave me a bit of anxiety, to be completely honest – but that’s the whole point of the course: to get comfortable with the gear and make diving more enjoyable.
We were headed to Black Hill – a dive site on the north side of the island I hadn’t been to before. During the briefing, Noah told Clive and me that we’d gear up on the boat and then jump into the water fully ready. That already set off alarm bells since we had practised a different method the day before. But, all sat down on the boat, he walked us through the setup again, and a few minutes later I was in the water, all good to go. The descent was smooth this time, with a fully functioning bladder I could deflate with just one motion.
At the seafloor, we ran through a few skills – regulator recovery and regulator malfunction. Somehow, I nailed them on the first try, while Clive struggled a bit. His buoyancy was still off, and he kept floating up with a vertical trim. He always gave me the impression that he’s this alpha male who was born to be the best at any kind of sport. Given that I was the complete and total opposite, he’d seen me do a fair amount of diving fails throughout my training. And so – at the risk of sounding petty – I can’t say I derived no joy from seeing him floundering a bit. In fact, I also offered him a very blatantly condescending hand.
Next up was a fun dive at 30 metres, during which Noah would throw a few problems our way to solve. By now, I already felt more confident diving with sidemount than with a standard BCD and one tank. It felt freer, more streamlined, cooler, and – most importantly – I could control my movements way more precisely. I could float up to admire the huge spiny lobster cosying up in a barrel coral and then go down to marvel at the biggest spotted drum fish I had ever seen dancing in between the coral whilst effortlessly solving Noah’s problems on the way. I felt incredible.
And then I spotted a huge turtle no one else had seen. Considering it was a rare sighting on the island, I felt like I’d won the day when I heard Noah screaming underwater, trying to get the others’ attention. He gave me a fist bump, which felt cathartic after putting him through so much crap over the past few days (including burning his hand with my cigarette).
The Tank Incident
After our standard three-minute safety stop, we ascended. I was proud. Back on the surface, I unclipped the right-hand tank first and passed it to Fleur, who was standing at the stern to help us. As I turned to give her the next one, I realised there was no next one… it wasn’t there.
“Crap, crap, crap!!!” I thought. All panic-stricken, I looked down to see it sinking fast. Noah, floating next to us in case we needed help, said he’d go get it. “You really are special!” Fleur mocked. My brain was going a hundred miles an hour. I was sure I hadn’t unclipped it. Then came the mental self-beating: losing my weight belt, and running out of air with Catherine, losing the brush, cutting my hands on shells, and touching fire coral with Rachel (and Catherine again), burning Noah’s hand with my cigarette and then sucking really bad during the first sidemount session with him – and now this?
If I were Noah, I’d have killed me by now. He had put up with so much of my BS and now this too?! I hated myself. At my very core, I’m an authority-figure-pleaser – yet there I was, seemingly doing my very best to cause as many problems as it is humanly possible to everyone around me. I felt like a complete and total failure.
After a couple of minutes, there was no sign of Noah. Fleur geared up and jumped in to help. “This is all my fault,” I thought. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything other than a helpless “No!” when she asked if I could see him or his bubbles. Without a snorkel, I could only take deep breaths and peer below. Eventually we spotted some bubbles in the distance, at which point she descended. I felt helplessly stupid as I floated up at the surface, unable to assist. Of course, assisting would probably have been the last thing on anyone’s mind by that point, given that I would’ve probably made everything much worse.
The other divers on the boat kept asking what was happening. “I don’t know!” I shouted back over and over, terrified and paralysed. What if something were to happen to Noah? And Fleur! I didn’t even wanna think about it. All kinds of worst-case scenarios ran through my head – Decompression sickness, running out of air, and… oh God – I was spiralling. And even if everything were to go right – how the hell could I be able to face them? I just wanted to disappear.
After a few more minutes that felt like hours of sheer terror and fright, I saw bubbles again, followed by two blurry silhouettes. Fleur came up first, then Noah – tank wedged between his knees as they ascended on the buoy line. I knew they weren’t in the clear just yet, but seeing him there was a relief unlike any other.
After another safety stop, they ascended and, once at the surface, we made our way to the boat, the rest of the divers looking at us – half of them worried, the others laughing their asses off.
Damage Control
Onboard, Noah told me he was okay – looking right past me, unable to make eye contact. I stared at him, teary-eyed and ashamed. He made his way to the bow, pulled out the emergency oxygen and started breathing heavily through the mask as he laid down on the floor, visibly exhausted.
My head was in complete and total chaos. I couldn’t think straight. I didn’t know what to feel, what to do, what to say. “Should I make sure he’s really okay? Should I apologise? Should I start justifying myself?” I asked myself. “I’m a doctor – a doctor! I should be saving lives not putting them in harm’s way!” I chastised myself. I sat myself opposite Noah, not knowing whether my presence would comfort or further aggravate him. Given that it was all my fault, it was probably the latter. I couldn’t just leave him though.
Fleur came and took me aside “It’s okay – everything is okay. It’s just a safety precaution. Go to the front of the boat and relax – mistakes happen. Don’t turn this into a big deal like you did with the weight belt. We’ll talk later.” That stung. Ashamed and all beaten up, I did just that. At the front of the boat everyone else was all sat down, chilling out. “Way to go!” someone joked as Amelia made an “L” sign for loser. Normally, I would’ve been the first to laugh, but not this time. It was still too soon – Noah was still on oxygen and I still had no idea how things would pan out. Whether he’s be okay, whether I’d be okay. The fact that I was thinking about the possible repercussions I’d be facing at this time made me feel so much worse.
We reached the next dive site. By then, Noah had finished his oxygen therapy, and while most of the divers jumped in, a few of us stayed on board. My biggest fear was decompression sickness. Symptoms can show up anywhere from 15 minutes to 12 hours. Noah said the only issue he had was cramps – he’d had to swim hard, and fast. The tank had dropped to 45 metres, deeper than we’d moored, and it was sinking faster than he could chase it.
Considering the tank and regulator were worth about €1200, he didn’t hesitate to go after it. He didn’t want Darcy – the owner of the equipment – to get pissed. He swam deeper and deeper. At 40 metres, he started feeling the effects of gas narcosis, but spotted the tank just below what’s considered safe. His dive computer was still within limits – albeit by one minute – at which point he grabbed the tank and made his way up, kicking as hard and breathing as heavily as he could – burning through most of the little air he had left after our dive. Fleur joined him mid-ascent, and that was that.
New Lease on Life?
Later, Noah told me to relax and that mistakes happen. He even thanked me for giving him the chance to set a new personal best at 45 metres, joking that he was happy he’d get to celebrate his 34th birthday the next day – the one single thought that ran through his head as he swam for his life.
That said, I could still feel my head spinning – my mind a mess from a flurry of blame, pity and self-loathing. He then went on to tell me that regardless of what had happened, this was on him – that as my instructor he should have supervised me more directly and that when he saw me diving so confidently, he thought I didn’t need much help with exiting. Having him burdening himself and possibly getting into trouble made it feel a thousand times worse. The worst part was that I couldn’t even pinpoint what had had exactly transpired. I was certain I hadn’t unclipped the tank. Still, it was a learning moment. From then onwards, I’d be extra vigilant.
Having done two deep dives, we couldn’t proceed with the last part of the course. I felt the need to apologise – again – to Clive, who’d paid a fortune for the course, and to Noah, who now had to skip diving for at least a day and monitor for symptoms for 12 hours. Luckily, he didn’t develop any symptoms at all. I say luckily, mostly cause it was all a matter of luck. It could’ve gone way, way worse and I was sure to focus more on that.
Much like Fleur and Noah had told me, mistakes and accidents do happen and I’d surely be using this as a learning experience. That said, I was starting to question whether I could actually do this. After a week of failures and then this, I felt unsafe. Had this happened a few weeks earlier, I would’ve blamed it on lack of experience – but the fact that it happened at this point in my training – one week before I’d graduate as a divemaster – made me feel completely and utterly dejected and this close to giving up.
Stay wild,
Marius
Post-Scriptum
After all that, the staff meeting was the last thing I wanted to attend. One of the topics? The graduation party theme. We went with “Chrismukkah” to be inclusive toward the majority of the people in the dive shop. Then came the next topic – the Christmas potluck. Tammy suggested everyone make a traditional dish from their country. When Miguel suggested baleadas, the whole room was in tears laughing.