Mutterings and Musings

Shivering and cold...

One might well argue that if it is cold enough for bobble hats and scarfs, then it is too cold for diving.

One would of course be wrong.

I've been back out of the water now for nearly an hour and a half and the feeling has come back to my toes. Just. My thighs however still bear an almost Arctic chill (my hypothesis that there is no such thing as a fat pro-diver does not extend to amateurs such as myself). I'm going to warm myself up with some soup and replenish some of the calories frozen out of me this morning, but first I want to give in to my other great love, writing. This morning, wrapped in 7mm of neoprene (in perspective, most winter suits are 5mm and ones worn in tropical climes, if worn at all, are normally as thin as 2mm) as well as three layers of rash vests, hood, boots, gloves and any other paraphernalia I could don, I went for my first dive of the year.

In England. In January.*

We saw pollock, including some beautiful juveniles decked out in their sleek bronzes, crimsons and golden rippling stripes. We saw dozens upon dozens of spiny starfish littered along the seabed, and a few of their deep purple cousins, the Bloody Henry. Tiny jewel anemones no bigger than the nail of your littlest finger and swathes of sea orange, a type of sponge that grows in blotchy patches and resemble ugly velvet cushions. And although we didn't see any today (I admit, I was gutted) there have been plenty of dolphins and octopuses spotted recently as well as the prolific seals that breed along our coast.

Hanging weightless in the near-silent environment is both a wonder and a privilege. Every time, I imagine floating in space; surely this is as close to zero-gravity as you get this side of being an astronaut? There is something soothing and other-worldly about scuba diving; even for someone as inexperienced (and downright cold!) as me. Coming back to the surface is always a babble of excitement, with even the most experienced instructors on their most frequented sites chattering nineteen-to-the-dozen about what they had just seen. For someone with only 15 dive hours under my weight belt, I have been lucky enough to dive in some remarkable places. And it is the same the world over - like writers, divers are a mixed-bag bunch, but a burning passion drives them to seek out the underwater world and explore, explore, explore. Like most writers, I love people watching and, as my partner cannot imagine anything more abhorrent then choosing to dive, I'm often in the company of strangers. (Oh, and as an aside, the gender balance seems to be heavily towards guys and the occasional husband-and-wife pair. Solo girl-divers appear to be unusual.) And since I'm really shy, this gives me ample people-watching time. Next time you spend time with a specific hobby-orientated group, watch them. Sit back and observe how insane they must look to outsiders.
Look at how they interact with each other - there is a camaraderie with divers that I find mind blowing - and with the enthusiasm they'll welcome someone new to their circle. Then there's the in-speak; most hobbies, sports or occupations has its own language. Divers will babble incessantly about the vis, the drift, and use shortenings for already obscure words or expressions. To say nothing of wide-eyed praise of the most bizarre creatures - wasn't that scorpion fish stunning? who saw the frogfish? was't the moray adorable?**

And that's on the surface, there's also the hand signals for below the surface.

If that's how much of a language difference there can be for a single sport - and there as so many others, as well as jobs, arts, hobbies, militant- medical- and scientific-pursuits - in just one language, how much can we really expect to put into our make-believe worlds of fantasy and sci-fi? Tolkien, George RR Martin and many others have invented entire languages for their races and species. The Bible has even been translated into Klingon; the KLV. https://www.bibleworks.com/forums/showthread.php?468-The-Bible-in-Klingon

Amazing. Almost as amazing as the idea of leaving my warm, comfy bed at silly o'clock this morning to submerge myself in water that was only ten degrees Celsius (50F for those of you that use Fahrenheit). And I've known divers in the Med use dry-suits.....

*On a side note, I have an appointment to see my GP tomorrow regarding my mental health. Somehow this doesn't seem quite so unnecessary now.....

**In all fairness, no one but a diver or marine enthusiast is ever going to call a moray eel anything other than 'ugly' or possibly 'terrifying.' Since Best Beloved won't budge on the cat, Rottweiler or even hedgehog, 'can I get a moray?' has become my new way of winding him up. It works, because he's never entirely sure I'm joking.***
***I'm not. I would love a moray. I'm ridiculously jealous of this woman: https://youtu.be/3IQ2I-P8Ucw

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moray_eel