Bali, Indonesia — A Close Stroke with a Balloon Fish

An underwater odyssey with my knight in diving gear

I am as graceful as a fish with two left fins when it comes to swimming, each stroke a breathless struggle with oxygen deprivation.

A little snort of water up the nose and that’s it. I’m convinced drowning is just a few strokes away.

So it must have been a moment of madness when I signed up for scuba diving.

I was in Bali with my sister and her husband – both of whom have PADI certificates. I do not as you may have guessed.

Somehow, they talked me into it.

“You don’t need to be a good swimmer to scuba dive!” my brother in law insisted.

And Bali, with its crystal-clear seas, vibrant coral reefs, and a dazzling array of marine life, is undeniably a top-notch diving destination.

Sucked in by the glossy photos of manta rays, shipwrecks, and aquatic Nemos, I, in a fit of wanderlust and a momentary career break, decided to conquer the depths.

That was a mere 24 hours ago, and it seemed like such a brilliant idea at the time.

Now, as I found myself cloaked in a snug diving suit and weighed down by a plethora of unfamiliar equipment, my stomach churned with nerves. There was no turning back – the shoreline had shrunk to a distant smudge on the horizon, a testament to my commitment to this moment of underwater madness.

My scuba diving resume? A paltry two dives, both over five years ago – one in the enchanting waters of Rhodes, Greece, and the other in the tropical paradise of Guam.

In both instances, I vividly recalled the initial surge of claustrophobia that had gripped me upon submersion.

But there I was, for the third time, hurtling toward the open waters of Nusa Penida, Bali.

As the boat cut through the waves, I mentally reviewed the basic hand signals:

A-ok for ‘All good.’

Thumb up for ‘Get me out of here.’

Flat palm with a side-to-side motion for ‘I have my doubts.’

Hand across the throat for ‘Help, I’m out of air!’

Lucky for me, with my meagre dive history, I was paired with a PADI instructor as my dive buddy. I secured my mask, and the crew helped me with my tank.

Hold on a minute – flat palm with a side-to-side motion?

Something didn’t feel quite right.

In fact, nothing felt right.

Breathing through my regulator sounded more like Darth Vader, and the tank on my back felt like it could rival the Titanic.

And now, in addition to all that, my dive buddy, Alex, was strapping weights to my waist and ankles, turning me into a human anchor.

As someone began counting down, “1… 2… 3…,” my fellow divers and Alex flipped gracefully into the water.

Now it was my turn.

I placed the regulator in my mouth, tested it with a few breaths, clutched my mask securely with one hand, and mimicking everyone else, I somersaulted backward into the bubbling abyss.

Somehow I hadn’t messed that up.

The descent began as we released air from our buoyancy control devices, sinking further into the deep blue sea.

Thank heavens for Alex, my lifeline.

We equalised and slowly dove, while my sister and her husband, with far greater experience, explored marine life with ease.

The underwater world burst into a riot of colours —corals and marine life in every conceivable shade of the spectrum. It should have been exhilarating, but a niggling unease persisted.

Water slowly seeped into my mask, and panic started to surge as I frantically tried to clear it. One inadvertent snort of water up my nose, and fear took the reins; I urgently tugged on Alex’s flipper.

Thumb up… Thumb up…

I motioned repeatedly toward the surface where fresh air awaited.

My mind raced: Lungs, water, oxygen, unconsciousness, death.

Thumb up… Thumb up… Thumb up…

Both thumbs up now, jerking faster.

I noticed another diver from a different group ascending a chain toward the surface with their dive master. Envy surged within me.

Could I swim over and climb the chain, breaking the diving safety rules of ‘ditching your dive buddy’.

Alex watched me intently, signalling to exhale slowly.

Slow breaths followed.

Perhaps he wanted me to calm down before surfacing early. But no, that was wishful thinking. Alex noticing my improved breathing, released more air from my BCD and I found myself sinking even deeper into the abyss.

As we descended further into the depths, our surroundings transformed into an unexplored world of marine life, and with the mask fully rectified, I relaxed in to my breathing.

The seabed revealed an impressive coral formation, its intricate ridges and valleys resembling a colossal brain. It was a living canvas to the intricate dance of colours and shapes as schools of tropical fish darted through the coral maze.

As we navigated through the seabed’s contours, a peculiar sight caught our eyes – a flat fish camouflaged itself to blend seamlessly with the sandy ocean floor. Its mottled patterns mirrored the surroundings, making it nearly invisible to the untrained eye.

In our pursuit of this master of disguise, we moved with caution, trying not to disturb the underwater serenity. The flat fish gracefully glided over the seabed, showcasing its ability to mimic the environment.

It made me appreciate the wonders of the ocean, realising how every creature contributes to the intricate web of life beneath the surface.

Soon enough our 25 minutes were up, and I was able to ascend up to the surface slowly.

Back on the safety of our boat, we paused for lunch, although I could barely manage a bite of anything.

We were in choppy waters, and the malaria tablets I was taking for my upcoming trip to Sumatra made me feel queasy.

I deliberated whether to skip the second dive, mind going in to ‘what if’ overdrive.

What if I had to vomit while diving? Could I throw up into my regulator and switch to the spare?

What if the tide swept me away from the others? Where would I end up?

Somehow I mustered up the courage for a second dive.

The current was stronger this time. Occasionally, we clung to rocks to prevent drifting away. Hand in hand, Alex and I floated through this underwater Eden. The colours were mesmerising —turquoise and ultramarine Angel fish, yellow and cyan Parrot fish, orange and red Rock fish. But the showstopper was a balloon fish nestled in a crevice, an odd-looking creature resembling a spotted black ball.

Alex held the balloon fish with his free hand, and we studied it in detail. The fish seemed unfazed by our presence, peering at me with a round smile, revealing tiny white teeth.

As the current intensified, transforming into a forceful surge, my grasp on Alex’s hand faltered, and I felt myself being swept away.

Frantically, I clung to the unforgiving rocks, each jagged surface a lifeline in the tumultuous underwater world. I held on tenaciously, fully aware that my grip was the only defense against being carried further away in this deep blue sea.

The chaotic dance of underwater currents seemed to have even the schools of fish caught in its relentless sway. They too appeared to be carried away, their fluid movements becoming part of the underwater ballet orchestrated by the powerful tide.

Gratefully, Alex my knight in diving gear came to my rescue. Seeing, quite frankly, the terror etched across my face, we commenced a gradual ascent, bringing our underwater adventure to a thankful end.

Stepping back onto solid ground brought a wave of relief and a sense of accomplishment.

Bali’s underwater secrets, though enchanting, had tested my limits. With three dives marked on my CV, I felt ready to retire from further underwater exploits.

Acknowledging I will never be comfortable in more than 6 feet of water, I decided to strike cave diving in Yucatan and exploring China’s Atlantis of the East from my bucket list. Those adventures could wait for the more daring souls.

The profound beauty above and below Bali’s waters left a lasting impression, a reminder that some adventures can also be appreciated from the safety of solid ground.