A quick inspection under the stern showed the prop completely engulfed in a mass of net. The body of the net disappeared into the deep as far as visibility allowed me to see. It was a big one, a rogue net probably lost by a local trawler. I dove under the stern and had a go. Between fending off the hull that was trying to beat my head in, and avoiding getting caught in the net myself, there was precious little breath left for actual cutting. This was going to take forever. After about ten dives, I came back alongside and explained the situation. No good.
Jimmie was already rigging the breather, a sort of umbilical air line that can push air to a diver down to ten meters. I re-boarded to don weights, fins, and help rig the breather. John was going to buddy watch from the water. Back in I went, much more prepared. I got well below the hull and started cutting away the net in clumps. There was a stiff current pulling us, and the net, south. I told myself "Watch the net, Boyo, watch the net. Don't go with it." There would be no swimming out of it when the net pulled loose and sank. After about five minutes my air started dropping off. John was now on a second line and had joined me. The breather unit, though rated for two divers, was going to drive us both to the surface for lack of air. I stayed down and John went up. Just before having to surface, the air line filled my lungs again and I was able to resume work.
After sawing away the bulk of the net, I realized some of the cut portions had hooked my weight belt. "Not today Boyo, not today" I freed myself, circled to the other side of the prop to keep the net down current from my body, and continued to hack away. As more net was cut, the remainder grew more taught in the current, helping me to slash through the remaining strands. At last, the net pulled free and drifted away. With a small fragment left for a souvenir, I cleared my lines and headed for the swimming ladder.
Smiles and high-fives all around, I felt the conquering hero, having earned our passage. While the boys coiled gear and we made way again, I did sort of get the hero treatment from Bam and Bee, who were more than a little relieved. They brought me towels and water and fussed about, making sure I was OK. My hand was bleeding a bit which, once spotted by Bam, sent her immediately to the rail so she could chum the fishes a bit.
It was an epic adventure, and not completed yet. We had leagues yet to sail and would have to navigate into Phucket by moonlight, traversing a shallow channel. In the end, well into the night, this was done. We finally found a moorage and tied up several hundred meters off of the jetty. There was some fussing with the dingy, a ridiculously tiny affair, and then three grown men and luggage putting slowly to the pier steps. Goodbyes all around, John and I were safely ashore. Walking through the bars and B-Girls of the pier strip, we searched for a quiet guesthouse, which, in the, the end, we found.
Now, this next day, John has departed to rendezvous with his daughter who is further north on the island. I have two days of lounging around Phuket. I have already found my farang ex-pat coffee house, and there are good noodles just across the soi from my guesthouse. Perhaps I will go up the hill to see The Big Buddha. Or not. It is the tail of the trip, I have no schedule, I am alone again, and there is nothing to do. The girl from the guesthouse just brought me, unbidden and uncharged for, some amazing pineapple.
Life wanders along, and I with it.
Not today Mr. Sharky, not today.
No comments:
Post a Comment