I had decided to take Gill.I.Am's fancy jeep for a Sunday drive and a trip to the A-Frames. Gill.I.Am even came too, but not to dive, just to feast in Costa and join us for a late lunch at the Malt & Myre. It fell, therefore, on Jester and I to do the actual diving.
At the sight we met some old friends who advised us that the visibility was a bit rubbish. Undeterred we headed in. Jester's camera failed almost instantly so we just spent an hour pottering about going from frame to frame.
The visibility wasn't really that bad - at least 4m. I wondered if it was because our old chums were diving with scub-newbs. My suspicions were confirmed as we neared the end of our dive and we passed a group of three of the divers. Two of them, not the dive leader I hasten to add, were kicking up so much silt that I was unsurprised by their initial assessment. I looked at Jester and he was obviously thinking the same thing, as the moment we made eye contact he picked up a handful of silt and threw it in the air.
I mean, they were terrible - kit dragging, arms flapping, flutter kicks and bouncing along the bottom. I know we've all been there learning to dive, but it made me wonder why they don't teach frog kicking as a matter of course before divers get in the water.
Still our dive at depths far below the newbs were diving was pretty good as was lunch at the Malt & Myre.
No comments:
Post a Comment