I'm interested in everyone's first experiences with freediving or else the most memorable dive you've made (okay, one of them!). All this talk of equipment, training, pbs, and physiology is great, but it's the stories that I always come back to.
I'll start things off with a short example since I am prone to rambling....
The first day I felt that I had really gone freediving was with Eric Fattah last November at Porteau Cove in BC. I had only been freediving for a month or two and was okay at 40 feet. Porteau is a recreational site with many wrecks and interesting underwater debris. We finished the long surface swim to the Nakaya, a wreck in about 60-100 feet of water. The deepest I had gone at the time was 50 feet, although after most dives I would sprint for the surface. I was not relaxed!
My first forays into the water below 30 feet were scary, to be honest. I had no Scuba experience at depth. Shafts of light disappearing into black abyssmal depths had always been a source of fear as a kid. In the North Pacific it was cold and dark.
My static times were pretty decent and all along Eric told me that with proper technique, I would eventually dive much deeper that my pb. Diving with him also helped my confidence, although it was all new to me.
After we caught our breath from the surface swim, I made a few shallow dives to let the cold water ease me into "seal" mode. Eric went down and said that the Nakaya was at 60 feet or so. I did a slow breathe up and went. I followed the yellow line we had brought out and soon the darkness overwhelmed me. I kept kicking downward (back in my bi-fin days!) and put my arm overhead in case I crashed into something. Suddenly, and it gave me a shock, the Nakaya appeared from the gloom like a ghost. My lungs felt fine. I looked at the gauge in disbelief, 61 feet. I hung there for a second and then retreated to the surface, sprinting. Eric asked me how it felt. I had no contractions and no burn. I was ecstatic. He said to go down and relax on the bottom, relax for a few seconds. I wasn't sure about that, but after a few minutes, I went down.
Trying to relax my body, I set down on the bottom next to a large anenome. A solitary ling cod watched from the wreck. The Nakaya was poised on the bottom, an eerie sentinel, shrouded in shadows of green and grey and black. The length of the hull faded into the dark with the slope of the bottom. The wood of the hull was dusty and looked fragile. Small fish darted in and out of holes. I could hear my thudding heart slow in my head and body. The tides hissed in my ears. The bottom was soft and I could see the glow of the surface far above, straining to pulse through the crud layer. I looked at my watch as I started back for the surface. I had only been down for 15 seconds and yet these details were forever branded in my memory.
At Sasamat lake last month, Eric went down to the bottom and stayed there for several minutes. After a while I went down to join him. We lay still on the bottom at 28 metres. The lake was absolutely silent. I watched the silt stirred up by my landing on the bottom settle like snow over Eric's silver suit. In every direction, the pillowed brown bottom gradually came into focus as my eyes adjusted to the light. My face was cold. After a while, the sting of it went away. Eric showed me his watch, it read 2:45. We smiled. We started slowly back to the surface, each monofin stroke as relaxed as possible. The water changed from black to green and then silver as our spotters came into view. We surfaced and laughed at our inability to comprehend fully what we had experienced. How could we felt so comfortable, so peaceful at the bottom of the lake after almost 4 minutes underwater?
It reminded me of those first "deep" dives on the Nakaya. The disbelief I experienced lying on the bottom, each detail jumping out at me. To me, being in the element of water on its terms is what freediving is all about. That's why I train.
I look forward to competiting in Spain for Team Canada, but mostly it's anticipation of sharing thoughts with other freedivers and diving in clear blue water. I wonder how it will feel without the usual comforts of my home waters?
I look forward to your stories...
Pete
I'll start things off with a short example since I am prone to rambling....
The first day I felt that I had really gone freediving was with Eric Fattah last November at Porteau Cove in BC. I had only been freediving for a month or two and was okay at 40 feet. Porteau is a recreational site with many wrecks and interesting underwater debris. We finished the long surface swim to the Nakaya, a wreck in about 60-100 feet of water. The deepest I had gone at the time was 50 feet, although after most dives I would sprint for the surface. I was not relaxed!
My first forays into the water below 30 feet were scary, to be honest. I had no Scuba experience at depth. Shafts of light disappearing into black abyssmal depths had always been a source of fear as a kid. In the North Pacific it was cold and dark.
My static times were pretty decent and all along Eric told me that with proper technique, I would eventually dive much deeper that my pb. Diving with him also helped my confidence, although it was all new to me.
After we caught our breath from the surface swim, I made a few shallow dives to let the cold water ease me into "seal" mode. Eric went down and said that the Nakaya was at 60 feet or so. I did a slow breathe up and went. I followed the yellow line we had brought out and soon the darkness overwhelmed me. I kept kicking downward (back in my bi-fin days!) and put my arm overhead in case I crashed into something. Suddenly, and it gave me a shock, the Nakaya appeared from the gloom like a ghost. My lungs felt fine. I looked at the gauge in disbelief, 61 feet. I hung there for a second and then retreated to the surface, sprinting. Eric asked me how it felt. I had no contractions and no burn. I was ecstatic. He said to go down and relax on the bottom, relax for a few seconds. I wasn't sure about that, but after a few minutes, I went down.
Trying to relax my body, I set down on the bottom next to a large anenome. A solitary ling cod watched from the wreck. The Nakaya was poised on the bottom, an eerie sentinel, shrouded in shadows of green and grey and black. The length of the hull faded into the dark with the slope of the bottom. The wood of the hull was dusty and looked fragile. Small fish darted in and out of holes. I could hear my thudding heart slow in my head and body. The tides hissed in my ears. The bottom was soft and I could see the glow of the surface far above, straining to pulse through the crud layer. I looked at my watch as I started back for the surface. I had only been down for 15 seconds and yet these details were forever branded in my memory.
At Sasamat lake last month, Eric went down to the bottom and stayed there for several minutes. After a while I went down to join him. We lay still on the bottom at 28 metres. The lake was absolutely silent. I watched the silt stirred up by my landing on the bottom settle like snow over Eric's silver suit. In every direction, the pillowed brown bottom gradually came into focus as my eyes adjusted to the light. My face was cold. After a while, the sting of it went away. Eric showed me his watch, it read 2:45. We smiled. We started slowly back to the surface, each monofin stroke as relaxed as possible. The water changed from black to green and then silver as our spotters came into view. We surfaced and laughed at our inability to comprehend fully what we had experienced. How could we felt so comfortable, so peaceful at the bottom of the lake after almost 4 minutes underwater?
It reminded me of those first "deep" dives on the Nakaya. The disbelief I experienced lying on the bottom, each detail jumping out at me. To me, being in the element of water on its terms is what freediving is all about. That's why I train.
I look forward to competiting in Spain for Team Canada, but mostly it's anticipation of sharing thoughts with other freedivers and diving in clear blue water. I wonder how it will feel without the usual comforts of my home waters?
I look forward to your stories...
Pete
