A Deep Dive
The view from the top of the cliff, of the body plunging down through the sky, was a sight Quinn would never forget. The splash was almost too small to see, and the dark silhouette against the deep blue sea made tracking the impact even more difficult. Tracing the direction of the fall, there were no airplanes, anywhere in that corner of the sky. In fact, there was no logical place the falling body could have come from. Unless it was an astronaut or a rocket-man...
Divemaster Quinn Cray always gave a solid briefing before each dive he led. He had dove with the French geologist, Marco, a few times before and trusted his abilities, but of his two friends he was skeptical.
"Tell me about your diving capability," Quinn said to the two Canadian women on the drive over to Portrush.
"Well," Alyssa said, "Hanna and I were both certified in Belize two years ago, and we try to go whenever we get a chance. We did some islands in Southern California last year with Marco."
"What was the water temperature like out there? I have never been to the states."
"It's in the low twenties," Hanna answered. She was the thin blonde compared to her shorter, dark haired friend.
"Well, here in Northern Ireland, it is much colder. You did say it was your first time wearing dry suits?" Quinn said, keeping his eyes on the road while his passengers sat behind him in the small van.
"Yes. I'm pretty excited to see what it will be like. We got the little class back at the dive shop, but I'm still not totally convinced I won't break a seal and get soaked!" Hanna said.
"I thought the same thing when I first started diving here," Marco said in his thick French accent. "As long as you are gentle getting everything on, we will be dry."
Quinn pulled off the main road, down a pair of ruts toward the ocean. Castlerock was an intermediate site that he had dove twice before, and figured it would be a good spot to take his group. Quinn was employed by his home shop as a small group guide, and he had the pleasure of taking experienced visiting divers to see the wreck-laden coast of the Atlantic, when he was not assisting with training. This was how he made extra money on the weekends, when he was not working as a janitor. They unloaded the van after checking out the shore conditions and got into their dry suit undergarments. Around the back of the van the group gathered and Quinn got into his brief.
"The name of this site is Castlerock. We will be walking down that staircase and making our entry across the rocks. It is important to keep your balance and take it slow. Select your foot placement carefully and when a wave comes in, bend your knees and move again when you are ready. We will put our fins on once we get to about waist depth and then start our swim out. The area is covered in kelp and sea grass, but we should avoid most of it as long as we follow a sand channel away from shore.
"Water temperature is forecasted to be around twelve degrees, so stick your face in before you start out, so you are not shocked by a unexpected splash while swimming. Once out to a good depth, we will drop down and go out for our tour. We can run a big triangle from our starting point, to get a good go round of the place. I will let you know each turn, but each of you must signal me when you reach the air allotted turns."
"What do each of yer tanks pressure read?" Quinn asked.
"I have 210 bars," Marco read off his gauge.
"208," came from Alyssa.
"Me too," Hanna said.
"Right, so we want at least fifty left over when it is time to come up. Call it one hundred fifty bar of usable air once we first go down, and three legs of the triangle. Therefore we will make our first turn when the first among us hits 150. Then again at one hundred, and begin our surfacing when we reach fifty. Understood?"
Everyone nodded, and Quinn finished. "Maximum depth will be twenty-two meters, and some spots go to thirty or deeper, so watch your depth. Visibility should be at least 8 meters. There are plenty of skate, dogfish and lobster to see out here, as well as pinnacles that have complete ecosystems' worth of life crawling on them, so take your time. Enjoy the sights. If we have any emergencies, look to me and follow all instructions."
The group got into their dry suits, being careful to not tear any seals, and donned the rest of their gear. The heavily laden figures looked clumsy on the land as they performed buddy checks and waddled down to the surf. The two teams entered between a set of waves without incident. The girls were enjoying themselves, laughing about the cold and throwing floating chunks of kelp at each other as they followed the men out into deeper water. After a longish swim with their faces in the water and snorkels in their mouth, the group came to a stop around Quinn.
"Alright, we should be good here," Quin said, giving the thumbs down and placing his regulator in his mouth. A hiss of air erupted from around his body as he let some of the air from his buoyancy compensator that had been keeping him floating easily on the surface. The other followed suit and they slowly descended like freefalling parachutists into the depths.
Below the surface, sound becomes meaningless. There is no point in talking, or hearing of laughter, only the cycle of air flowing from the regulator with every inhalation and a torrent of bubbles to complete the phase. Hand and body signals are the primary method of communication, while underwater writing slates are reserved for last resorts. The group slowed themselves in the higher pressure depths by incrementally adding air to the insides of their dry suits, reacting early to obtain neutral buoyancy, like a hot-air balloon coming in for a landing. Once hovering a few feet from the sandy bottom, Quinn asked with his hands if everyone was ready to proceed. After a positive answer from his flock, Quinn took a bearing with his compass, confirmed with Marco and ushered the group forth.
The diving off the Atlantic side of Northern Ireland was fantastic. If one could deal with the cold and sometime rough conditions, it was different side of diving that few tropical resort divers ever venture to see. Fields of rocks, serving as anchors for kelp, gave the area the look like an underwater forest with the 'trees' swaying in the gentle surge. Quinn felt completely at home under the water, relaxing into an easy kick cycle. He looked over at the Canadian buddy team, who swam in line with him, and watched their air consumption. He could tell by the amount of bubbles being expelled that their breathing rate was a bit faster than his. But that was to be expected. They were in a new environment and the stress level was higher for them. He knew that it would end up being one of the two that reached the remaining air level first, and would prompt the first 120-degree turn.
Cruising over the rocks like helicopters flying nape-of-the-earth, one of the girls (the two were nearly indistinguishable from each other in all the dark gear) signaled that she had reached 150 bar of air remaining in her tank. Quinn nodded and rotated the bezel on his wrist compass and chopped a hand in their new direction. The pack turned and set off, kicking with their feet and using their arms only in the event they needed to part kelp strands from their path. Reaching one of the promised pinnacles of rock that extended almost to the surface, the divers stopped to change depths and inspect the various aspects of the towering stone.
Once the girls had lost interest, Quinn tapped the geologist on the shoulder and signaled their departure. Checking his gauges and being satisfied, Quinn took the lead across a wide expanse of sand that separated them from the barely discernable wall of kelp that they would enter following their path. The water brightened as the sun broke through the clouds for a brief moment, and Quinn flipped on his back, looking to the surface while he skimmed along the sand. When he turned back over to normal swimming position, his senses were assaulted with unexpected stimuli.
In a circle the size of one of the divers, the sand suddenly sunk down into the darkness like a rapidly occurring sinkhole. Quinn's eyes went wide as his brain tried to interpret what he was seeing so close to his face and he was sucked down into the vortex. The divemaster was not the only one to be swallowed up suddenly. Marco was taken directly behind his dive partner and another vortex sucked both the girls in. In the expanse of sand, some part
icles were kicked up making a cloud over the sites where the vortices appeared, but after a few moments, things settled back leaving the area as it had been moments before.
Quinn was inverted. His legs became filled with the air in his dry suit and he was out of control with his buoyancy. Unable to dump the air due to a lack of releases on his legs, Quinn went into automatic problem solving mode to correct the potentially life threatening problem of an uncontrolled ascent. He tucked his legs and rolled into a ball, forcing the air into the main body of his suit. He then used his finned feet and arms to upright himself and used the dump valve on his shoulder to stop his gaining positive movement. Once he was stopped, he trashed around in the water to orient himself and look for the others.
Marco was attempting the maneuver he had just completed, but seemed to be having only minor difficulty. This was not his first time in a dry suit and standard training for the equipment always included what to do in the event of air being trapped in a un-dump-able region. Looking further for the girls, he finally found them, much further towards the surface than they should have been. It seemed that one had not been able to control her ascent and the other had gone after her. This was not good.
Quinn looked to Marco, who was now under control, pointed to the girls and gave the signal to surface. With a nod, both divers kicked slowly to the surface. Deciding to ignore the safety stop for himself in order to more quickly attend to the other two divers, Quinn looked to his instruments, before giving instructions to Marco. What he saw shocked him.
The first thing to jump out at him was the water temperature. For his situation it was not important, but he noticed it nonetheless. Twenty-eight degrees? How had the temp jumped fifteen degrees that quickly? Had they entered a thermocline? And then the depth! It was no wonder he had had a brief uncontrolled ascent. He had been in twenty meters of water and now he was in eight! He could feel the water warm on his face as he signaled to his partner that he should still hover at five meters for three minutes of decompression before surfacing.
The sun was too bright as he watched his bubbles grow larger and escape to the surface. He came up beside the girls who were floating life rafts on the small waves. Adding air to his suit to keep him afloat, Quinn pulled off his mask and checked in on the girls.
"Are you alright? Both of you?"
Alyssa was floating on her back with here mask and hood pulled off her head. Hanna floated beside her, feet down, mask on her forehead.
"I just shot to the surface!" Alyssa sobbed. "I don't know what happened, I didn't even have a chance to slow down!"
At least she is talking, Quinn thought. That meant she probably didn't have a lung over-expansion injury. Hanna was more in shock than her crying friend. She stared blankly at the coastline as she bobbed gently up and down.
"Where are we? That is not our coastline..."
"I don't know..." Quinn answered, perplexed himself. He was going to have to monitor all of them for decompression sickness. They were done diving for the day, and needed to get to the shore and to a doctor. Who knows what had happened to their dive profile...
And the coast! It was a cliff face of light brown stone... Had an underwater current pulled them? And why was the water suddenly bath water warm? They couldn't have lost consciousness because he still had almost one hundred bars of air and they were nearing their final turn before... something... had happened. Quinn took a compass reading for the direction of the cliff and checked the time, storing the information it in his memory. The water around the trio stirred as the bubbles from Marco's safety stop reached the surface. The Frenchman surfaced and Quinn got the group moving to the cliffs.
They had to climb the cliffs, so they left all of their gear but the dry suits they wore down in the water, BC's inflated and tethered to a line anchored at the cliffs.
The way up was moderately difficult for the non-climbers. Marco kept commenting about the content of the cliffs and how they were remarkably different from the land they had left. Quinn paid little heed and was more concerned by reaching the top and getting some help for his possibly bent divers.
Reaching the top fixed none of their fears. As far as they could see was a barren rocky landscape stretching until the land became a haze. Quinn thrust the implications away and started removing his thermal protection. The others did the same and examined their physical situation.
Marco felt fine and so did Hanna. Alyssa complained of a headache and a slight discoloring was found on her chest. Quinn knew she was bent, however it was pretty slight. As for himself, he told everyone he felt fine, and even tried to convince himself it was nothing, but the slight twinge of pain in both elbows whenever he moved them said different.
Quinn plopped down on a rock, looking out at the ocean, and tried to come up with a plan. Where the bloody hell were they? Deep down he knew something was very wrong. The water should not have been that warm! They were not in Ireland anymore, and that was the hard fact he had come to. And then he saw the falling man.
They all saw it. Quinn sat silent while the others whipped themselves into a slight frenzy behind him and didn't quiet down until Quinn announced he saw someone. Someone was swimming towards them from the open ocean.
He approached from a different direction and was on a bearing to hit land a ways up from them, but the groups shouting changed his course. He reached the cliffs at a more difficult place to climb than the group had used, but began to scale the stone at a good pace even so. The group looked down at their visitor and noticed his features. He had close cropped hair; a bristle of black, even length across his scalp. He had light skin and no clothes to hide this fact. He looked up at them halfway up the cliff, smiled in a somber way and nodded his head to them.
The girls noticed this fact and backed away from the cliff to give the man some modesty. Quinn stayed to greet their visitor and Marco stripped off the shorts he wore under his dry suit undergarments. The man coming up over the edge had a handsome non-descriptive face and was built solid, but slightly lanky. Marco threw him his shorts and the man half-bowed to him and pulled them on. Now that he was decent, Quinn took the lead.
"Where did you come from? We saw you fall through the sky!"
"Ahh, English! Where are we?" the man said, speaking in perfect English, but with an unplaced accent.
"That's what we'd like to know too!" Hanna said. "Did you jump from a plane or something? How do you not know where we are?"
"Why weren’t you wearing any clothes?" Alyssa demanded. You could tell she was not feeling well by the sound of her voice.
"We don't know where this is," Marco tried to help. "We were at Portrush diving and then here. Where do you think we are?"
"Portrush?" the man said. He mimicked the pronunciation of the Frenchman.
"Northern Ireland," Quinn said.
"Earth?"
"Yes, Earth!" Alyssa said. "What planet did you come from!? We didn't see any planes, did you jump from space or something?"
"Like that Redbull guy?" Hanna said to her friend. "That makes sense. Maybe why he had to abandon his space suit... Where are the people that are going to pick you up?"
"Oh, it's just me. What year is it, may I ask? This may sound crazy, but I just want to be sure. It has to be somewhere in the two thousands by the look of your gear."
Now everyone was quiet. They were all perplexed by the strange person that had suddenly appeared to them asking what planet they were on and what year it was. Furthermore, his accent seemed to change as everyone continued to talk. At first he sounded like someone from the southern states of America and shifted to a more South African sound.
"Twenty fifteen," Quinn answered quietly.
"And is there a Tsar ruling Russia? Or another form of government?"
This prompted glances between the divers. "I think it's a capitalist system now..." Hanna said.
"Excelent!" The man said.
"And what is your name, friend?" Quinn said.
"Ahh. Since you all come f
rom Ireland, call me Aeongus."
"Angus? Aye."
"So I fell from a the sky, it seems. How did you arrive here from Earth? Because this does not look like the Northern Hemisphere..." Angus said looking around.
The divers told their tale and Angus listened.
"We need to get back, directly," Quinn said in a low voice once their tale had been told.
Angus took a seat on the rocks next to Quinn in contemplation while the others went a small distance inland to scout their surroundings. Angus looked at the shorter, thick divemaster and nodded.
He has purple eyes? Quinn noticed.
"You are worried about the health of your divers. I understand. Sudden pressure changes... I think the best way to get us all to Earth would be back the way you came," Angus said, "through those Mermaid holes."
"Mermaid holes?" Quinn said. "Funny name. But you don't have any equipment. And I don't know if we have enough gas left to do that."
"You told me yourself that time is of the essence for treating your pressure illness. We have to make it work. Finding another way may be possible, but could take a very long time. In my experience, take the way back you know."
"In your experience?" Quinn questioned.
Angus smiled, but sadness could be seen beneath the expression. The others returned to the cliff's edge. Quinn continued to look at the mysterious man and made up his mind.
"We are going back the way we came," Quinn announced.
"What about air?" Marco argued. "I was quite low once I surfaced. How are we to find that spot and have enough air left for all of us? And he does not even have a mask!"
"That is true," Quinn said. "I once tried to make a full dive with no mask and my eyes were ruined for a week. It is impossible in saltwater. You will have to keep them closed. Will you be able to dive with us blind?"
"Of course."
"We have to do this," Quinn said to the others. "Try at least. What other choice have we? I have a reciprocal direction and a time for the swim. I think I can get us close to where we came up. As far as air, this will be the ultimate test for air consumption. We are going to have to buddy breath and even share air. I have more left than all of you, so Angus here will accompany me."
The others were forced to agree. They put back on their dry suits and found their way down the cliff to their gear. Quinn continued to prep his divers for the challenge ahead as they recovered their kits and made the swim out.
"Watch your gauges closely. Calm yourself and take slow normal breaths. When you are out," he said, focusing on the two less experienced divers, "signal to Marco or myself. We may end up with thee of us sharing off the final tank. If you reach your final breath, remember your emergency swimming ascent."
"And you," Quinn said to the purple eyed man, "Any experience diving?"
"Some. Different than this, but I know the physics and can handle myself in water."
Quinn nodded. He looks comfortable in the water, so at least there is that. Quinn explained to the group how they would proceed to look for the holes once they reach the approximate spot they surfaced from. Everyone was nervous, but on board with the plan, putting their faith in the confidence of their divemaster. Quinn hoped their faith was well placed as he had doubts they would find what they were after. But what other choice did they have?
The group descended together. Angus, eyes closed, gripped Quinn's BC and breathed off his emergency air hose that attached to the single tank. He would be burning through air twice as fast now, but luckily he had extra compared to the others due to his efficient intake rate honed by years of experience. They reached the bottom at a depth of thirteen meters and began the search for the vortices on the sandy, featureless ocean floor.
Angus was doing amazing as a piggybacking diver with no gear. He had little trouble staying down with no additional weight and did not encumber Quinn's movements as much as the diver expected. After a handful of minutes of searching, Quinn began to worry, as no suddenly appearing sinkholes had been found. Then, in the soundless world under the sea, a burst of whale like sound came to his waterlogged ears.
Quinn looked around for a source. He looked to his flock and saw that they had heard the burst of sound as well. And then came another, this time from the body holding on to his gear.
Angus opened his mouth and emitted a call, nearly matching the first, and then he was finished. Eyes closed to the salty water, he waited for a brief response and then slapped his host. Pointing in a direction away from the search area, Angus motioned they should swim.
Looking at his remaining air, Quinn agreed on a last gamble and lead the group in the advised direction. Out of the haze that marked the limit of their visibility under the water, a figure coalesced. When the figure gained more detail, Quinn began to shake with excitement. A mermaid, like Angus had said! He had communicated with her! The two speakers of the underwater tongue communicated briefly again. Quinn forgot about the rest of his group, unable to take his eyes from the half-fish maiden. She pointed to a spot near them and Angus again slapped Quinn's shoulder.
The group made their way over to the indicated spot, and the sand fell away. As before, they were sucked in. Quinn found himself inverted once again, but no longer overly buoyant. He added a burp of air to his suit and corrected himself. The water is freezing! He looked around and found the other three divers. One of the girls was sharing air with Marco and the other had started for the surface. Quinn looked at his air, which was in the red, and did the same.
The break to the surface seemed to be a sprint for the finish line. Quinn abstractly noticed his passenger break away from his spare air, but continued to upward with him. There was no time for a safety stop; Quinn could feel his tank emptying as he worked to suck the last of the gas from his tank. He broke the surface directly behind the other in his group. They all erupted in laughter.
It was almost full dark as they bobbed on the surface, but they knew they were back home despite the time discrepancy. Angus shook in the cold water, but his eyes were open and he beamed with pleasure at their success. A boat was a quarter mile off, and Quinn produced a flashlight, waiving the beam in their direction to alert them they needed help.
The boat turned out to be an Irish Coast Guard cutter on patrol for the lost divers. Hauled aboard, the divers were given blankets and hot tea while the boat rushed back to the dock. Quinn's wife and two young daughters were there to meet them, along with the dive shop owner and a plethora of other people concerned with having lost divers off their coast.
Getting off the boat in a flurry of activity, the divers were welcomed by the relieved crowd with a barrage of questions. After a minute of madness being embraced by his worried family, Quinn turned to find the fifth diver and thank him for his assistance. But the purple-eyed Angus was nowhere to be found. Disappearing in the confusion of their rescue, Quinn never saw the man who fell from the sky, and spoke to mermaids, again.