Perhentian Kecil, Malaysia

Kevin was drowning and I had to act quickly. I turned to Will, “Can you have someone call emergency medical services?” He nodded. “And assemble the oxygen kit now just in case we need it!”
I ran over to the rack of swimming fins, and started yanking sets out, throwing them to the floor as I looked for my size. I found the closest thing I could. They would be a little tight, but would have to do- this was not the time to be picky. Snatching a mask and snorkel from the soaking bucket and a buoyancy vest from one of the hangers I ran towards the frothing mass of the South China Sea. I inflated the vest with a few quick breaths, donned my mask and flippers, and kicked quickly towards my floundering friend.
I stopped a few feet short. “Kevin?” I shouted, “I'm going to pass you this BCD, use it as a floatation device and I'll tow you to shore! OK?”
He nodded, his eyes wide, arms flapping wildly. As I passed him the vest, his panic slowed. He became calmer. I towed him towards the shore. He was too tired to clear the tide himself so I slung his arm around my shoulder and helped him hobble feebly up the beach. I laid him down on his side so he could cough up any water he might swallowed. He hacked and sputtered, a welcome indication he was breathing.
Will jogged closer pinching his nose and imitating the wail of an ambulance siren. “Eeeee-awwww! Eeeee-awwww!” He smiled at me and slapped me playfully on the back commending my performance in a thick English accent, “Good job, mate! You all right down there Kev?”
Kevin nodded, and sat up. He breathing heavily, his long, wet hair plastered to his face and beard. “Bloody hell, you took long enough though! I was starting to get tired out there. It's hard work this drowning business.”
We all laughed and I extended a hand to Kevin helping him to his feet. Then we all walked up the beach to grab a coffee.
This was how the last two days had passed, and how the following two would proceed. Just when I least expected there would be some accident. Some faux call for help. Each dive I took was plagued by problems. Will and Kevin doing there best to imitate panic underwater, or being stung by poisonous barbs. Will would get mock cuts, bleeding profusely at ten meters down or fall out of the boat as it sped towards our dive site. Each act executed with mischievous glee.
I had no one to blame for all this but myself. I'd signed for the Rescue Diver Course. I'd asked them to make it hard for me. I was the only student, and with one instructor and one dive-master accompanying me for the course, I was sure to receive plenty of attention. Besides, it was fun. No one was really getting hurt and I was learning to handle realistic situations that could occur over the course of any day at the beach or during any average fun-dive. The kind of stuff any serious diver should really know.
I hadn't planned on taking this course. Amanda and I had thought we'd just hit the Perhentian Islands for a couple of days before heading back up to Thailand. But on our second night we'd struck up a conversation with Will and Melanie, a married couple who both happened to teach diving courses at Turtle Bay Dive Shop the next beach down. We got along immediately and I was impressed by the level of professionalism and sincerity with which they spoke about teaching. I was still disappointed by how my advanced certification course in Koh Tao had felt rushed and second rate. I never wanted to feel that way again about a learning experience. I got the impression that if I took a course here, I'd have a lot less chance of being disappointed. I was right.
The last day was the hardest. Two dives in which anything and everything could happen. A culmination of all the skills I'd learned over the last few days, and a few surprises that thrown in for good measure.
During the first dive I got a small taste of what it would be like to be lead a dive. Will was pretending to be a newly certified Open Water Diver, and Kevin was a know-it-all with advanced certification. They really got into their roles, Kevin chastising me for going performing routine safety checks on our equipment before we descended, and Will constantly inflating or deflating his floatation vest at the wrong time. Will would kick too quickly, and I'd have to remind him to move slowly, and be more relaxed as to not tire himself out. He also swam erratically, knocking Kevin's breathing apparatus out of his mouth, and I would need to help get Kevin's equipment back in order and plead with Will to swim with his arms still. Every time I would try to instruct the “novice,” the know-it-all would storm off impatiently, and I'd struggle to get our group back together.
It was a good lesson that demonstrated how hard it can be to look after others in such conditions and how to try to spot problems, and solve them, before they escalate. Sometimes it was hard not to laugh, watching each them play the fool.
The second dive was no laughing matter though. I knew I was in trouble when Will told me that this afternoon, “We'd just be going for a fun dive.”
This lack of information spoke volumes. Anything, could happen. Or nothing at all. I spent all of lunch mentally preparing myself. Going over every possible scenario in my head. But just like a real situation you can't plan everything you would do ahead of time.
The dive started out innocently. Will leading, Kevin with me close behind. Visibility was terrible. I could barely make out anything more than a couple meters away from me. We swam through a narrow channel of coral, and though I'm sure there were plenty of fish to be seen, I was too preoccupied with keeping an eye on my comrades to notice anything of interest.
Will stopped me twice, asking me to check my compass for a positioning of 270 degrees. I would point, and we would follow. We came across a wall of coral that sloped upwards towards the surface and Will flipped himself upside down, floating with his head angled at a crevice towards the bottom. He pointed at the hole and interlocked the fingers of his two hands, wiggling the fingers back and forth to indicate he'd spotted a lionfish. I swam up to the hole to check it out for myself, clumsily using my breathing to adjust my buoyancy, but couldn't see it. By the time I came back up, Will was nowhere to be seen.
I looked to Kevin doing my best to ask him through signs and gestures whether he'd seen which direction Will swam off in. He shook his head. A missing diver scenario.
I knew the standard procedure. At the beginning of every fun-dive, they tell you the same thing about what to do if you get separated. If you lose the group, look around for one minute. If you haven't found the them by that time, slowly ascend to the surface.
I wanted to do what I knew I'd do in real life: I would find the 270 degree direction that we'd been following during the dive and search briefly in that direction. After all, in most real-life cases Will would just have gone off on his own and when he realized he'd lost us he'd surface so we could all regroup. This being a scenario, I knew it wouldn't be this simple, but it was still the right thing to do.
Kevin disagreed. He traced out a square edged spiral in the air indicating that we should perform a search using an expanding square pattern. Arguing is difficult if not impossible underwater. You can point something out or indicate a simple plan but you can't really explain the thinking behind it.
I knew my idea was more textbook accurate, but I also knew we had no time to waste. I'd go along with Kevin's idea of jumping straight into the search pattern, but I'd start off in the direction I thought Will would have gone off in. Thus I pointed myself in a position of 270 degrees, and propelled myself five kick-cycles forward. Stopped. Turned right. Ten kick-cycles forward. Stopped. Turned right. Fifteen kick-cycles forward, etc.
When one is in a stressful situation, it's often hard to multi-task effectively. I was worried I was losing direction, wasting time. I was searching a broad area, but I still hadn't found Will.
Kevin grabbed my arm. I looked over at him, and he pointed up. I had become so focused on the direction and rate at which we were traveling that I hadn't noticed we were going upwards as we followed the natural slant of the coral shelf. We were in fact ascending at a dangerously quick rate. The expanding square pattern would not work in this terrain.
I did something a little rash at this point: I improvised. I found the 270 degree heading we'd been following originally and took off in that direction hoping that there was some methodology to the planning of this scenario. It wasn't necessarily the right thing to do, but I hoped it would work. We swam past a group of divers practicing their buoyancy, but Will was not among them. I let out a few more desperate, frustrated kicks. Scanning the murky depths I saw a dark shape in the distance floating near the bottom of the water. As we got a closer I realized it was Will.
I swam up behind him and tapped him on the back. No response. I waved my hand in front of his mask. Nothing. He was pretending to be unconscious. I emptied his buoyancy vest and clasped the metal tank strapped to his back between my legs. I looked at Kevin and indicated we were going up. I began slowly inflating my vest but we didn't rise as I expected. It was then that I noticed Will's arm was tangled up in a thin stalk rooted to the ocean floor. I yanked and yanked, eventually ripping the plant up from the sea bed, and we finally began our ascent.
When surfacing from a dive once must do it slowly as to avoid problems brought on by the expansion of air in the lungs due to decreasing pressure. Doing this at a safe speed while straddling a comrade like a horse, and trying to keep ones balance seems to last an eternity. The feeling of relief I got when we finally broke the ocean's surface was great, but short lived.
“We've got to get him in the boat!” Kevin yelled, his voice firm and authoritative.
I snapped out of my momentary trance and flipped Will over on his back inflating his vest. I removed my weight belt and then his so we would be at maximum buoyancy. Removed both our masks and regulators. Then I checked his breathing. Nothing.
I started to administer mock rescue breaths while towing him towards the boat. Kevin had flagged down our captain who brought the dingy closer, so that thankfully I did not have far to bring him. The waves were choppy and kept slopping over Will's face as I dragged him through the water, increasing the difficulty of mouth to mouth and I'm quite sure also decreasing his comfort.
Kevin got his equipment off and climbed aboard while I removed Will's vest and tank. We lifted him into the boat. On board Kevin began CPR while I removed my equipment and climbed aboard.
The boat sped back towards the beach, where we would call emergency services and administer oxygen. It felt like the test would never end. I knew I had done some things wrong, but overall, we'd gotten the job done. During my debriefing later that afternoon Will was critical but supportive.
“Remember,” he told me. “You're going to make mistakes. You're not always going to do everything perfect. Besides, in a real situation there's no one right solution. But you've educated yourself about some of the ways to try to do things better. And now, if a real situation takes place you'll be informed.”
I knew he was right. I was glad I'd taken the course, and felt good about the skills I'd learned over the last four days. I just hoped I would never have a chance to use them.