It's a diving instructor's first sign-off and he is up for the task but, as Ben Woolnough admits, all the preparation in the world may not be enough
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The biggest step
THE HUMID BLUE SKY WAS FILLED with 30°C of blistering sunshine. The Gulf of Thailand stretched out calmly, showing islands with picture-postcard beaches and promising, down below, a calm, shallow dive site full of aquarium fish in pretty colours.
Aboard our converted fishing boat were a pot-bellied Buddha of a captain; a cartoon-reading, pineapple-peeling boat-boy; two eager Open Water students; and me, a newly qualified instructor.
The couple were to be my very first sign-offs. My name would be on their qualification cards forever. They were unaware of this, of course. My chest was already puffed out and I was confident that all the training and examinations, the late-night chats with my course director and advice from experienced instructors had fully equipped me with what it took to teach in the open ocean.
The past couple of days we had spent in the classroom and on confined sessions in the outdoor pool. We had joked and laughed like old mates reunited; my pupils had studied as if a degree depended on it; and, I believe, they looked in awe upon the role model before them.
There was only the slightest of hiccups, when they were confronted by the partial and fully flooded mask exercise, followed by removal and clearance. There was a hint of a tear and a few "I can't do it!"s to try to put me off. But we got there, and they were as keen as mustard. They could have changed tanks in their sleep, and even referred to fins rather than flippers. Next up was the sea, and real fish.
"Will we see sharks?" the man asked me timidly.
"If you're lucky, but not today," I replied. "We can find them on a deeper dive when you do your Advanced course." You can see that selling ahead had been well drummed into me.
The woman had been quiet as I briefed the couple on dives one and two. In fact, she hadn't said much when we boarded or got the equipment together, either.
I had a quiet word with her while getting some iced water, and she confirmed that she was looking forward to the dives. She had had trouble sleeping the night before, but felt fine. I wasn't worried about either of them.
The couple recognised the secluded bay in which we were moored. A few days earlier they had taken a snorkelling trip around the island on a long-tail boat and had stopped to see some of the shallow life. So I knew they could swim and snorkel, and they didn't mind being at sea. Perfect.
She was still a little unsure about clearing her mask, but knew I would be right there. I told her that the first dive would be just for fun - no skills to worry about.
We put our shorties on and geared up. Buddy checks done in regimental fashion, we were ready to dive.
"Watch me make the giant stride entry, then it's your turn!" I made the right signals, put my hands in the right places, inflated on entry and made the OK signal above my head. The water was warm, and there was no current.
The man bounced eagerly off the platform, his two-footed jump making an exaggerated splash. He signalled OK to me rather than the boat, but he was fine.
His girlfriend hesitantly put on her fins. I could see that she was nervous. I repeated the instructions to her: "OK, left hand on your mask and reg, right hand on your weightbelt. Check the area below. Look out to the horizon, then one nice step forwards. In we go."
Nothing. Not a movement. A lurch forward and a clutch of the metal steps was quickly followed by the brakes being applied, like a lamb on a cliff edge.
The boat boy reacted to my poor Thai and held one of her hands. She said everything was fine, but looked really flustered. She was asking to go home. She wanted her Mum.
We tried a few more times. Nothing. I was starting to get cold, and the captain's gambling schedule was being put out. The man was just snorkelling around nearby, oblivious to his partner's desire to quit.
I tried to reassure her that I could help once she was in. I had asked her all the right questions, and I couldn't work out what was wrong.
"On three. We're going to do it this time. Hands in place. Check below. Look up, one, two, three!" The boat-boy gave her a good shove - his snooker time was being eaten into, I guessed - and she flew in.
I inflated her BC. She was visibly shaken but seemed relieved to be in the water. "Are you OK now? Are you ready to go down? Take your time," I said.
"It's just that I'm... I'm... well, I'm sort of scared of heights!" she said.
Shocked at this admission, and angry at not having spotted it, I asked her: "Why didn't you tell me before?
"You never asked me!" she said.
Angry with myself for not having covered all my bases, I felt frustrated that my teaching career had got off to such a poor start.
A few days later, I felt better. Staff instructors, course directors, friends and captains had succeeded in reassuring me that this was a one-off. A few beers were downed with my students after they had successfully completed the course.
Every new diver I taught from then on was shown how to gear up in the water - just in case they needed to enter the water from a boat 2m high and suddenly remembered that they were victims of vertigo.
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