Breakfast With Rice And Fish - Bruce Willis Rocks All Films - BWRAF - Buoyancy Weights Releases Air Final check - I rehearse the pneumonic in my mind, checking and double checking my gear. Pssshhhhhht, check, my buoyancy control device (BCD) is working. Two, four, six kg weight around my waist and configured to quick release if necessary. Releases clipped in and tightened, check. Kshhhhht, pshhhhh, Darth Vader style inhalation of the familiar dry, oxygen heavy air - gauge reads 210 PSI, check. Final check: dive computer, mask, flashlight, inflatable surface marker buoy, GoPro, check.
As I’m rubbing a thin layer of baby soap into my goggles to prevent fogging, a desperate attempt to prevent the fog infliction that struck during yesterday’s night dive, Mohamed, a former diver in the Egyptian Navy with an MMA fighter’s build and pro-fighter aspirations, takes me aside and says, “Cory! look… you and me, we’re going down to 40 meters today, I know an underwater canyon down there, but you can’t tell anyone. I wan’t to show you what it’s like down there” He flashes his well practiced, flirtatious smile and laughs at my furrowed eyes as I calculate just how much deeper this is then I had ever been before. It was 12 meters (40 feet) deeper - narcosis depths. “It’s going to be fun… don’t worry” He adds. Mohamed, like many professional divers, is a man in search of the extreme. Tales of shark attacks, dangerously deep dives and out of air emergencies are a regular subject of our conversations. His most recent anecdote about emergency breathing from his buoyancy device after running out of air deep underwater combined with my dive buddy Caroline’s diving stories that always seem to end in a near death experience for someone involved, do the opposite of instilling confidence in me.
As the sun rose this morning, we were briefed military style on the dive plan for today, the 20 or so divers crowded into the boat’s common area, sipping our instant coffee (or a dollar extra for espresso). Various maps, depth charts, current readings, and anecdotes from our Egyptian dive masters play out in front of our waking minds as we warm up for the day underwater ahead of us. Today, the dive is deep, down to a max depth of 30 meters, although Mohamed has other plans. Current conditions are strong, during the ascent we will drift letting the fast current carry us to our pick up point. The water is colder than usual this time of year: 23º C, cold enough that after 30 minutes underwater, I’ll begin to shiver, taking precious energy away from the calm, deep and continuous breathing so important in the alien environment of the depths below.
As we bounce over the swells in our inflatable zodiac boat, detached from the main vessel, the rapid fire Arabic of the captain is drowned out by the high surface winds and sputter of the motor. I look around at the relaxed demeanor of the five other divers geared up in fitted wetsuits, compressed air tanks and professional grade underwater camera gear, thousands of dives logged between them. My 20 dives - only a blip of their underwater experience. I get the strange sensation that I’ve somehow stumbled into a Navy Seal training exercise.
The surface is too choppy for a normal entry Mohamed explains, so, on three, we roll backward off of the boat, buoyancy bladders fully deflated, exhaling as we hit the water, a “negative entry”, immediately falling into the calm, quiet of the underwater world.
As the sea floor rises beneath me, my depth gauge ticks deeper: 10…20…30 meters down. As we reach the bottom, colors begin to fade, converging to a greenish blue. Fish more alien than my wildest imagination of extraterrestrial life go about their day, navigating the rocks and coral that speckle the sea floor.
The crowd of divers is still too thick for our deep excursion, so Mohamed signals to Caroline, my dive buddy, and I to follow in a new direction. As we swim away from the group, I check my dive computer - 7 minutes no decompression time remaining, a biological clock has started.
Aside - under pressure
No decompression (no deco) time is the amount of time you can safely stay at a certain depth before ascending to the surface puts you at risk of decompression illness aka “the bends”. Each breath of air you take under the extreme weight of the ocean above you is highly pressurized. At 40 meters below you’re consuming air from your tank 5 times as fast and each breath of air will contain 5 times the nitrogen you’re breathing at the surface. In addition to the elated, confused, narcosis effect caused by breathing this dense nitrogen, you have about 5 minutes to stay at that depth before the rapid decrease in pressure from ascending to the surface will cause all of the nitrogen your body has absorbed to form bubbles in your tissues and blood stream, potentially killing you.
To avoid this whole.. dying thing, when a diver has absorbed too much nitrogen to safely ascend, they perform a decompression stop, like waiting for 10 minutes at 20 meters below, to allow their body to off-gas nitrogen slowly under pressure, avoiding the bubbly nightmare scenario. In most recreational dives, you don’t plan to make decompression stops, as they’re an easy way to run out of air underwater, quickly burning through dense air while waiting for you body to decompress.
If that sounds like a lot to remember, it is. So instead of remembering, we use dive computers to calculate all of this for us. Most importantly, the No Decompression Time should stay above 0, indicating it’s safe to ascend to the surface without stopping.
Now separated from the larger group, our trusty navy guide Mohamed, leads us deeper still. We approach the “canyon”, which to my eyes seems to be more of a crevice. Mohamed disappears, falling headfirst into the rocks. Caroline follows, excited as always, for a potential near death experience story I presume, signaling first to check that all is ok. My turn, I deflate my buoyancy bladder, position myself into a headfirst dive, and sink into the rocky crevice.
As we descend, the narcotic feeling intensifies and elation passes through me. Lightheaded and sinking still, I begin to giggle, amused by the strange and dangerous situation I find myself in. How, exactly, did I find myself in this crevice? Ahead, Mohamed signals us to level out, then gives us the ok to continue call and response with his hand 👌. Mostly out of habit, I reply with the ok signal, giggling through my air regulator, as I glance down and see my watch flashing max depth in bright red.
Distantly, I remember that this may be worrying. As I try to decode what all of the signals on my wrist mean, the numbers slowly come into focus. Depth: 40 meters below, No Decompression Time: 0 minutes remaining, ascend now. My elation starts to sharpen into anxiety, as survival instinct rushes through me, further focusing what my dive computer is telling me: I’ve absorbed too much nitrogen and need to ascend - now. If I don’t, I’ll have to make decompression stops on the way back to the surface, to avoid the bends, which may mean running out of air. My breathing becomes more labored and panicked as I remember just how much air each breath at this depth is consuming, ironically accelerating my air consumption.
All I can seem to focus on now is the 0 blinking on my wrist - in my confused state, I can’t tell if it’s been blinking for seconds or minutes. I get Mohamed’s attention by clinking my flashlight on my aluminum air tank, “all ok?” he signals? "0 no deco time, I’m confused by narcosis, I need to ascend" I signal in response. Without waiting for a reply, I begin to kick upwards, my breathing now near hyperventilation, my memory of the importance in not panicking underwater seemingly the only fragile barrier keeping the storm of panic at bay.
The blinking 0 doesn’t change as I strengthen my kicks, depth: 38…35..30 meters, still 0. 28...27...26 meters - the 0 ticks to a 1, then increases to 7. Seven minutes, seemingly an eternity. It’s as if the sun has broken through a stormy cloud of narcotic fog in my mind. Color begins to return to the world around me. I close my eyes and take a deep, long breath (much easier at this depth), all is ok, I am ok I tell myself.
I look down and see Mohamed and Caroline emerging from the crevice, “level out, stay calm, breathe slow, are you ok?” Mohamed signals. “No deco ok; narcosis ok” I reply.
I arrived in Cairo, Egypt from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam, fresh off the motorcycle and convinced that traffic couldn't possibly be more hectic than the Vietnam roads. I was mistaken. In Egypt, driving feels like you're in a scene from Mad Max. Surrounded by the desert, shimmering in the hot sun, cars race, drivers yell in Arabic, honking as they swerve into narrow gaps in the traffic. Lanes don't exist - just space.
My plan: check out what the Pyramids are all about and then head to the Red Sea, famous for its clear water, healthy coral and wreck filled scuba diving.
Instead of blabbbbbering on about the bustling streets of Cairo and the Ancient Egyptians, I'll share a few of my favorite photos from the trip.
Sunset from Al-Azhar Park in Cairo
Pyramid (Cory for scale)
Boat burial - for all your transportation needs in the after life
