Monty with the ‘ biltongthin ’ Denis Bourret
DARKSIDE
Going swimming
Anyway , back to a squeaky bummed Englishman eyeing a cave entrance . This particular system is called Laguna Dudu , and was also a popular local bathing site . Indeed , above us was a zip line from which tourists could drop into the very pool , if they were that way inclined . As I did my final checks , a girl in a dental floss bikini slightly mis-timed her entry , hitting the water with a noise like a gun-shot , to emerge with a bum as red as a fire engine , a spectacle the watching crowd enjoyed tremendously .
Denis had already dived with me a couple of times during my stay , and as a finale had urged me to try a plongée into one of the numerous cave systems that honey-comb the island , a suggestion I had done my best to side step .
“ But Denis ,” I said , using a decades old fallback to get out of precisely this type of situation . “ I ’ m not a cave diver .”
“ Pah ” he said . Okay , he didn ’ t say that , but his face did . “ Zis iz a cavern Monty . Eez jus a particularly long thin one .”
Now , before the cave diving fraternity also start giving me flack , I should hastily note that he was right , it was a cavern and defined as such because natural light ran right through it . You can see the entrance / exit pretty much throughout . If you squint . And use your imagination . He ’ s a good lad is Denis , hugely experienced , and knows his stuff . Technically , what lay before me was indeed a cavern , but for the sake of this article , and any subsequent stories I tell about it , it ’ s a cave .
Just before we slipped off the step into the limpid ( no other word , I ’ m afraid ) pool at the cave ( rn ) entrance , it should be noted that there were two things uppermost in my mind .
The first was that due to an unwise attempt to swim in what was essentially a festering waterhole earlier in the trip , I had a horrible ear infection . This meant that the cacophony of squeaks and whistles in my ear as I prepped for the dive sounded like a colliery brass band tuning up . This did not auger well . The second problem was not one I was prepared to share with Denis at the time , but I ’ ll share with you now .
Everyone has a preference for dive computers , and mine happens to be Suunto . Everyone also has a preference for training and triathlon watches , which co-incidentally in my case also happens to be Suunto . I had grabbed one of my two watches from my bed as I left the hotel , and having just glanced down at my wrist as we slipped beneath the surface , realised that I was wearing the triathlon one , not the diving one . This would provide me with the following information during my first ever cave dive .
The date . My speed . And that I was going swimming .
Again , before the howls of outrage and derision become deafening , I should point out that Denis had told me that our max depth would be eight metres , and our dive duration about fifteen minutes . But all the same , I still didn ’ t tell him . I just nodded thoughtfully at my “ dive computer ”, pushed a pointless button or two , gave an assertive ok sign , and off we went . “ Je m ’ appelle légende ”. Or “ quelle gigantesque imbécile ”. You decide .
Serenity now
The dive was absolutely bloody terrific , really was . We descended first into the depths of the sinkhole - if you classify “ depths ” as eight metres , which in this case I do . My triathlon watch definitely did , as it was panicking at this juncture and sending me the urgent electronic equivalent of “ what the hell is going on ”. At the bottom of the sinkhole was an eerie
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