adventures


20
Jun 24

The anniversary post

Count the big things. All those times she falls asleep in my arms. The knowing looks. Anticipating what story she’ll tell next. That smile. Those eyes. The flutter that comes with knowing our time apart has ended, even the brief ones. These are the things worth preserving.

You may count the setting of the sun as monumental astral mechanics, but I number the many days of sitting together and talking about absolutely nothing and the peaceful nights when we read next to one another, but calendars don’t matter to time, they really don’t. The number of times a day that the moments feel important are unquantifiable.

The less important, the jobs and moves and all of the other little gains in life are so much white noise — the distant hum.

These are the things things that matter.

The way she curls her whole body up when I make her laugh, and all of those times when she reaches out to hold my hand. The tally of histories and memories, great hugs and hot dates, the silliness and seriousness, the number of laughs and smiles and adventures, they all stretch beyond vision. There’s a lot of good fortune and a great many blessings in all of that, too.

If we must, the calendar says we’ve been married 5,479 days. Meaning today’s important number is 15. Fifteen years ago today my uncle stood in front of our family and friends and, as he said, tied us in a knot we wouldn’t soon be able to unravel. I’m grateful for all the important parts that make up everything between then and now, and the simple and grand thoughts of what still may come.


19
Jun 24

Diving in the Cenotes

We had booked four dives a day in Playa del Carmen. Two in the morning, two in the afternoon. This allows for the necessary surface intervals — a safety consideration — and other important considerations like lunch. You could get in a few more dives each day if you pressed, but there are things like timing, fatigue and money to afford them all.

But because of the weather — a tropical storm formed up around here and moved off, and is still impacting the local conditions — our dive card is thinning out. We didn’t get any of our tanks yesterday. We moved to Plans B and C. Plan B was today.

We met a couple, who showed up late, and waited for a shuttle driver. That guy showed up, later, and someone loaded up our gear and put it on the van. The van drove and drove, we made small talk with our new friends from northern California and the driver steered in silence. He steered us to … another resort. We picked up another diver, a Canadian. And then we road on a good deal more, in the gray and in the rain.

Finally we came to a gravel road with a chain across it. Carved out of the woods, with old rusting cars and the leavings of other projects scattered here and there. A barefoot woman under an umbrella came out and moved the chain. We drove on. Finally, we came to a little clearing with three buildings. One made of stone, los banos, another of commercial lumber, the kitchen, and another painted up hut. That was the changing room.

People were clumped loosely together and we found two guys around a pickup truck who were in charge of the five of us. Gear, briefings about the dives and so on commenced.

The cenotes are natural pits, sinkholes. Limestone erodes and collapses, exposing deep reserviours of groundwater. The Yucatán Peninsula has thousands of them, most privately owned, and some open to diving, so here we are. You can find features like this in various places around the world, some of the more popular ones are large open-water pools, but most are sheltered sites, like the ones we dove today. Descend down some slippery stairs, it rained the entire time we were there, and then slip into the water.

This is cavern diving, rather than cave diving. It’s a distinction, our guide explained for those that didn’t know, that has to do with distance between access points. Cave diving requires a more special training. Cavern diving is accessible to open water divers. Open water, no ceilings. Cavern diving, some ceilings. Cave dives, no ceilings.

Around here, the aquifer system is such that the caverns provide deep enough access that the fresh water and salt water meet, a halocline, around 25 or 30 feet deep. It changes two things, the temperature of the water, and the visibility. Right in the halocline you get a blurry, swirling effect. It’s as if, for a few minutes, there are hundreds of floaters in your eyes. As if someone moved the antenna and the signal is going fuzzy. It’s like watching a video online in 1997. It’s the change in the salt in the water. But, otherwise, the key feature of cenotes are clear freshwater. Rain water filters slowly through the ground. There’s not a lot of silt and such in the water.

There’s just less to see. We saw rocks! And a few small fish. Somehow some trees had slid into place. The defining feature were stalagmites, which you could see right up close. These fragile limestone formations tell us the caves weren’t always filled with water. They’re drippings, after all.

We weren’t allowed to take our cameras. But the local guy has a photographer and he took this photo and the dive master grabbed it for us.

I’m looking down in the photo. Incidentally, that’s the first time I’ve worn a wetsuit for a dive since 2006, I think.

The Yucatán has few rivers or lakes, so the cenotes make up the drinking water and so, for the history of man, these have been places where settlements were formed. A few decades ago, in fact, researchers diving in some of these cenotes found the oldest evidence of human habitation. The best thing we found was my dive buddy’s mask. She dropped it getting ready for the second dive. The Maya apparently thought cenotes were portals to the next realm. (Some are protected by the UNESCO Convention on the Protection of the Underwater Cultural Heritage.) That moment when you dip below the surface, you could see how the imagination would go that way. On our second dive, the water was brown-gravy murky at the entrance point. It only lasted about four feet or so — there’s no current, so if you stir up silt it just … hangs there — but those were a few interesting seconds of a dive.

For different reasons, we came up with the same idea about cenotes diving.

Glad I could do it; don’t need to do it again.

Back at our resort after our two dives, we decided to try the ocean. You’ve never seen a happier girl.

She’s a beach girl.

I like the floating part.

She loves the waves. And they were present and vigorous today.

To be sure, they make photo composition a bit of a challenge.

It is a permanent smile when she’s at the beach.

Here, she seems to be waving at Cozumel, which is just 10 miles over that way. You can see it, when the skies are clear. We could almost see it today. We’ll go over tomorrow.

We spent a long time, and 114 photos, trying to do this right, but it was somehow tricky. The angles, the waves, the sea spray, the timing, and so on and so forth. This one of the better ones.

This is, I think, my favorite one.

That was the 106th photo in the series.

Tomorrow we’ll dive in saltwater, if the weather finally cooperates.


18
Jun 24

Make an X with your arms, this is the signal the dive is canceled

It’s rainy and windy on shore, and the water has a lot of energy in it. White capping waves will close the harbors through which the drift divers work. So there’s no getting in the water today.

When we went to th ebeach, the red flags were out for splishing and splashing, as well.

The woman running things at the dive shop is trying to help us figure out plans. They made us do a checkout “dive” in their pool. Gave me a tank with 500 psi and made me do things like mask recovery, regulator recovery and buoyancy control. Who cares? You’re in the water, even if it is a pool, even if it is just for a few minutes. The dive master was fine. He demoed what he wanted you to do and then point to each person with a grandiose gesture like a game show model. His technique for regulator recovery cracked me up.

This is a pretty simple technique. And, obviously, should you lose your reg, you want to be able to get that back, so it is an important technique. He threw away his regulator behind him, and then demonstrated his method. He folded his hands to his face, as if he was going to sleep and rolled to his right. He fully extended his right arm, reached back, tapped the bottom of his tank, tapped his thigh, and then curled his arm forward. The hose was inside his elbow and as he moved his hand forward the regulator slipped right into his hand.

The general style is effective, particularly where he works. There’s a lot of current in Cozumel and your regulator could get behind you if it somehow falls out of your mouth. A foolproof way of getting it back efficiently, then, would be key. It’s also an over-designed technique, and I wonder how many people have lost their regulator, made the sleeping motion, and so on.

Later, my lovely bride laughed at me. She said I didn’t do half of what the guy did. I also did it with my eyes closed, for some reason. You don’t even have to do half of that guy’s style, though.

I was taught two techniques for regulator retrieval. If it gets behind you, you just … roll to your right and look down. Or, equally sophisticated, you reach your right hand behind your head, find the first stage (where the hoses connect to the cylinder) and just pull that hose forward. How many times I’ve had to do either of those in 30+ years of diving? Zero.

You keep your regulator in your mouth.

I haven’t done a checkout dive … in this century.

But you do it with good cheer. Though I do want to know how old that guy is. Obviously he knows what he’s doing. He’s clearly the professional, and I respect that. I’ve also been diving longer than he’s been alive.

I might have dive gear older than that guy.

That’s just a function of getting old, though, I’m sure.

Anyway, no diving today. Sometimes it looked like this.

Most of the time, it did not. So we rested and read and tried to plan out what we could about dives for the rest of the week. The issue is that you’re beholden to harbor masters, whose decisions are purely based on the data that comes to them, and so they are beholden to the weather.

Everything was closed last week, too. Don’t come to Mexico in June.

We did see one of the great treats of the sea this evening.

Tomorrow, we’ll dive the Cenotes.


17
Jun 24

We’re in Mexico

We have a room with a balcony.

I can lie on the bed and stare at the sea.

Oh, such reveries.

On the one hand, we went from home to here in a day.

On the other hand, it took a full day to get here.

Pretty much everything that happened in getting here was my fault. We woke up this morning and I didn’t really have a good sense of our timeline. So I took a little too long in getting out of the house, just like I took a little too long last night in finishing my packing and cleaning.

We were going to use a park-and-ride lot, but there wasn’t enough time for that. It didn’t seem a problem at all until my lovely bride said “Drop me off at the terminal so I can check in our bag, go park and I’ll meet you inside.” So we’re calling audibles.

I did that. Dropped her off, got the checked bag out of the trunk, and then headed to the garage. At our airport, a large and old and tired and almost grimy feeling place, you have to then drive all the way around to get back to the parking garages. Each terminal has it’s own garage. Hopefully I parked in the right area. It’s a big place. A lot of driving. A lot of signs and lanes and it’s dark and, thank goodness not yet busy on the roads around the giant facility.

The roads weren’t busy because everyone was inside.

The Yankee has taken part in the TSA financial shakedown program. I pass through the security theater the old-fashioned way. The signs say I’m 41-45 minutes from security. The line goes around the corner, around another corner and halfway down a long, long hall. The doors close on my plane in 49 minutes. Thankfully, the blue shirts have a mandate to keep it moving when things back up. In times like these your shoes and your belt aren’t so scary and the best people are looking at the X-ray machines, so your devices don’t have to come out bags. Best of all, you just go through the old metal detector and not the slower back scatter machine.

They kept it moving. I made it through security in 30 minutes. That meant it was time to run.

So I ran.

The door on the jetway was closed, but only because the gate agent has to close it behind her when she goes down to do her count. She let us on the plane, easy as you please. In fact, another family came down after us.

We flew to Detroit without incident. From Detroit to Cancun I watched The Boys in the Boat — what if Disney did a movie about rowing crew during the Great Depression and then showed the kids from Washington beating the Übermensch in their home waters in Berlin, and what if all of the aters, Washington and Berlin, were actually English? Because it is a long flight, I also watched The Courier — what if Benedict Cumberbatch was a Cold War-era business man recruited to do a bit of spying for her majesty? Both based on true stories. Both good plane films. I’d probably watch The Courier again first.

Into Cancun without incident. Through customs in record time. That process has really changed. Take a picture, march on in. We walked by all sorts of customs and passport control booths and tables waiting for someone to say “Senor! Senora!” but they did not. We might not even be here, technically.

The Yankee had arranged a private shuttle to our resort on Playa del Carmen, and now we are here. Nice sprawling place, too. It is raining and windy. We are here to dive, starting tomorrow. In the last several days, though, a tropical storm has formed in this area. It has moved on, across the peninsula and heading west-northwest or so, but there’s still a lot of energy in the air.

But then when I sleep

Oh such reveries


14
Jun 24

Our 30-hour tour of southwest Connecticut

Having come up for a quick visit yesterday, we slipped away under cover of rain and darkness tonight. And then went back, for I realized I had forgotten my wallet and keys. It was one of those things where I looked directly at them, said aloud “Don’t forget your wallet,” and then … forgot them.

I do a ritual pat down to make sure I have all of my things whenever I head out from A to B. This evening I waited until I was in the car, and we were leaving the neighborhood, before I realized I wasn’t sitting on my wallet. Well, then, quickly back up the drive, collect the essentials, give one more hug, and then slip off into the darkness and rain.

We outran the rain, and made good time all the way home. The GPS is set to military time, and the initial projection was an arrival at 00:00.

Today we had lunch at a waterside seafood hut. You know the sort of place. You, or one of the people in your group, worked at a joint like this in school. That person also lost nine pounds a week over the course of the summer owing to the fryer in the back, and no cool breeze anywhere. This place specializes in fried seafood. It’s OK. I get a shrimp sandwich and some fries. Hard to go wrong. But you go there for the quite views.

A half-block up the hill is a beloved ice cream stop. And woe to those who must read everything on the menu and the signage.

Some people just know what they want, and they can order it straight away. No need to complicate things.

Sometimes being a kid again is as easy as going to your ice cream shop and getting the usual.

We had dinner with the in-laws, and then I washed the dishes and then we prepared to leave, and then left again. (See above.)

We drove by the George Washington Bridge, a double-decked suspension bridge spanning the Hudson River, considered the world’s busiest motor vehicle bridge (carrying more than 104 million vehicles in 2019) and the world’s only suspension bridge with 14 vehicular lanes.

I mention that because I got a fairly decent, from-the-hip, between-the-trees-and-street-lights, nighttime shot of the thing.

I did the dutiful thing of reading all the news of the day aloud while my lovely bride drove. It’s an important job, entertaining the pilot.

Into our neighborhood, into the drive, collect the things delivered to the front porch and garage and mailbox and then, inside, to attend to the handful of things one must do before one calls it a complete Friday night, on Saturday morning.

And, now, wait for sleep.

Have a great weekend!