The Deep Green

It's always tough deciding to go freediving. It means a long trip to Wales and missing a whole weekend of sea dives which are precious as I work 9-5 at the moment with a long commute. But whenever I go I am pleased that I made the effort, my latest trip was no exception, despite the horrendous weather! (Plus I got to stop in and visit my godson and his new brother which was great!).

I always feel and up-welling of excitement which becomes more like nervousness as we get to the quarry, and is definitely nerves by the time the little boat has taken us out to the freediving pontoon. I look down into the deep green water with trepidation, knowing that it's eighty meters deep beneath me.

The walls of the quarry loom over us ominously as the divers begin going through their various routines. The more experienced among our small group begin yoga, stretching and breathing exercises variously while us beginners chat and joke. Back at the quay I can see scuba divers preparing and at various spots around the quarry the tell tale patterns of bubbles give away those already diving, most of them stay closer to the shallow end though.

We continue our preparations by dropping weighted lines off three sides of the pontoon, two longer lines for the deeper divers, we have in our small group several instructors, an instructor trainer and the British record holder as well as people like myself that have only qualified this year. We have two lines on our side, a warm-up line set to 20m and another set to 35m, It amuses me that the warm-up line is only 2m short of my deepest dive, I am determined today to reach 25m.

We don our fins and masks and ease into the cool fresh water and gather around the shorter dive line, we all submerge a few times checking out equipment and getting relaxed in the water, below me the rope disappears into the deep dark green, there is no sign of the bright white weight on the end, I estimate the visibility is about 8-10m.

We take turns diving, as one person descends the rope, attached by a lanyard his (or her) buddy keeps a close eye on them. You hold the rope with one hand feeling the vibration as the lanyard runs down the rope, soon they disappear into the gloom and you wait for the tug as they grab the rope to turn around. As they ascend your job as buddy is to dive down and meet them about 10m down, getting them to signal that they are ok, and watch their eyes for signs of trouble. You float the final few meters to the surface staring at each other then confirm that they are ok, these final seconds are where you are most likely to blackout and safety is the number one priority.

Everyone has a different routine for their warm-up dives, free divers often follow these almost superstitiously. I start by diving to 10m and holding there, then slowly ascending, then 15m and finally make a couple of dives to 20m. As you dive deeper your mammalian dive reflex begins to kick in and you feel more comfortable, the depth and length of your dives increases.

I am thrilled to manage a dive to 25m, but I feel comfortable when I surface and know I have more in me so when I have recovered I dive again hoping to go deeper.

I clip on my lanyard and stare down into the depths for a few moments before turning onto my back and beginning to breathe up. I relax, close my eyes and regulate my breathing, calming my mind and trying distance myself from the nervousness and excitement I feel. After a couple of minutes I take my final deep breathe, turn, duck dive and begin finning down the line, I reach out and let my hand run down the rope. There is a lot to think about, I focus on my technique and overcoming the bad habits spear fishing has taught me, but most importantly I focus on relaxing, I take a stock check, relaxing any muscles that are unnecessarily tensed and economising my finning as I descend into the cool, quiet dark.

My left hand is pinching my nose, as I get deeper I need to equalise almost constantly and I feel the pressure building. The water suddenly gets noticeably colder and although I am not looking up or down I know I am deep (for me) and I force myself to relax and overcome the urge to turn around and race to the surface.

I resist the temptation to check my dive computer but look down instead, I can just see the plate a blur of white below me, it seems to shimmer and I realise there is a temperature differential there. Above and to my right I see another weight hanging against a dark to light green gradient and I realise I must be at about 25m, I keep finning.

The pressure continues to mount both psychologically and physiologically, it becomes harder to equalise my ears as the air inside me is being compressed. It noticeably colder as I pass the differential , I look down again and see the plate is tantalisingly close, I check my dive computer and it registers 106ft, I feel a burst of adrenaline and drift horizontal, before I can rationalise it I am pulling on the rope and swimming for the surface.

I suppress a feeling of panic when I feel how much harder it is finning upwards, I am negatively buoyant at this depth, I am 100ft down and my chest feels compressed, there is a metallic taste in my mouth, every sensation seems strange, I have never felt anything like this before. I keep working my legs and refuse to look up remembering that raising your head restricts the blood flow to the brain.

The swim to the surface seemed to take an eternity, I could feel my diaphragm contracting and have to quash my urge to panic again when I see I am still 20m from the surface. My instincts scream at me to fin as hard as I can and rush towards the air but I keep my pace steady and run through my muscle relaxing check-list again instead.

As the water grows lighter the need to breathe becomes more demanding, then my safety diver appears and looking straight at me gives me the 'ok' sign , which I return. I break the surface with a rush of relief and excitement, a sharp exhale followed by a strong fast inhale, I hang onto the rope while giving the ok sign to my buddy. I don't even realise how much I'm grinning.

(Photos by Kate Adams)