By guest writer Robert Currer
Our dive gear was already laid out when I marched down the gangway toward the water. The platform floated atop a colossal tank, and I peered into the crystal blue. Countless rays spotted the sandy bottom twenty feet below. I’d been told that the enclosure held 6.3 million gallons, but that number remained an abstract concept in the briefing room. On the decking, I sat to slip on my fins. An enormous blunt head emerged from beneath the platform. A school bus sized whale shark dwarfed all eight divers as we lifted our feet out of its path. I hadn’t even seen it approach. I still couldn’t see the other that I knew was housed in this same tank. 6.3 million gallons became real for me then. Looking to the injured veterans on either side, I think that’s when the experience became real for them, too.
Pre-Dive
Since 2016, Patriots for Disabled Divers has been running trips for injured veterans to dive with the Georgia Aquarium’s whale sharks. While I’d dove with whale sharks in other parts of the world and trained injured veterans to dive for nearly a decade, I’d never made this particular trip. Aquarium diving is some of the easiest around and plenty rewarding with all the life packed into such a relatively small space. In the wild, whale sharks are a rare treat, and injured veterans are some of my favorite people to dive with. So, I was grateful for the opportunity to dive alongside these gentle giants with such an enjoyable group.
I arrived at our Atlanta hotel early and settled in to do some work before the welcome dinner. When the time came, I headed downstairs expecting a night of good pizza and excited conversation about the dive tomorrow. The veterans trickled in, sticking closely to any family that accompanied them. The PFDD organizer, Jeff Currer, and the Aquarium’s Military Salute manager, Jason Bush, introduced themselves and outlined what to expect over the next two days. I watched the group. There were plenty of polite smiles but no mixing. Each veteran was an island unto themselves. Willing to tolerate the presence of the others but reluctant to blend beyond a few stilted attempts at conversation.
When the introductions ended, Jeff and Jason split up, sitting down at each of the tables separately. They’ve got that elusive gift that lets them talk to anyone. Where they stopped, conversation flowed, only to falter when they moved on. For my part, I spent the evening introducing myself to my fellow divers. The 6 who would be in the water tomorrow, alongside Jeff and myself, came from all over the country and spanned nearly every branch of the military. Yet, all had similar feelings about diving. Most were brand new to the sport. A few had a couple years of certification under their belts. All spoke to Jeff and Jason about how much diving helped them. Not one mentioned that to another participant.
The evening broke up after a couple hours. Tomorrow, the group would be free to explore the aquarium on their own before grouping up for the dive in the late afternoon. I began to think the silence underwater would be fitting for such a taciturn group.
Dive Day
The following morning, I enthusiastically explored the Georgia Aquarium. It would be remiss of me not to extol the marvelousness of the place. The expansive building centers around a grand lobby with exhibits radiating out in every direction. Each is whimsically themed with an understated decor highlighting the show’s real stars: the marine wildlife. Not that it would be easy to upstage them. The tanks are sweeping lengths of crystal clear glass, so transparent as to be nearly invisible. Inside, the spotless exhibits hum with healthy, exuberant life. To my mind, diving is the only way to have a more profound experience among the ocean’s denizens.
I could have easily spent both day and night running the circuit of exhibits in a loop, but as the dive hour called, I collected my bathing suit and dry bag from the hotel. The lot of us massed quickly and quietly at our meeting point. The group blended no more readily here than the night before. Though the conversation was pleasant, it remained segmented into quiet, fixed groups. Before long, the dive team arrived, checked us in, and escorted us behind the scenes to the briefing room. There, we watched a video on the aquarium, learned the procedures specific to this dive, and had a moment to ask any last-minute questions.
Burbles of nervous conversation popped here and there as we left the briefing room and headed for the lockers. The route took us around the rim of the tank, where I got my first unobstructed view of its size. From the textured deck, it looked like a swimming pool that had grown too large for someone’s yard. The anticipation built and vented. Jokes and gentle jibes percolated through the locker room as we donned our wetsuits and booties. On the floating platform, a more serious air settled on the veterans. Though our gear was already assembled and waiting, we each settled into the business of gearing up and checking our kit. I remembered suddenly that this was the first dive some of the veterans had been on since their certification. Despite their inexperience, they handled the task loading with the calm, focused demeanor of professionals.
The whale shark passed beneath us, and two by two, we front-rolled into the water. We trickled down to the sandy bottom and gathered in a semi-circle in front of the lead dive guide. Cownose rays, unperturbed by our presence, glowered from the sand in every direction. Above, a manta ray eclipsed the enormous halogens that stood in for the sun as it merrily gobbled up our bubbles. The whale shark came around for another pass. He too snarfed up our every exhalation like candy. All down the line, the veterans watched the giants overhead. What eyes I could see through their masks were wide with thought-devouring wonder.
The dive itself was a leisurely tour around the enormous aquarium. We paraded over the glass-domed tunnel and past the vast viewing window inside the main exhibit. From behind the glass, family members cheered and snapped photos of the warriors. One proud daughter fought back tears of joy as her father fins by the glass. Fish crowded around us. At one point, a goliath grouper muscled between our ranks to return to his favorite alcove alongside the tunnel. Two slow laps around the complex, and we were ready for our ascent. The only trick there was dodging around the whale shark who had returned to bathe in our bubbles.
Post Dive
Cleaning up, the locker room buzzed with excited chatter. Each and every warrior gave a nearly blow-by-blow account of their experience. It didn’t matter that we’d all be on the same dive, that we’d all experienced almost all the same things. The excitement was contagious. I found myself eagerly listening to each warrior’s telling and re-telling. I dressed quickly, and as I was ready to step outside, one of the veterans asked if I’d be willing to watch his service dog while he finished changing. I was touched. Asking someone to watch your service animal is a lot like asking them to look after your kid. You don’t ask just anyone.
By dinner, a definitive change had swept the group. Again, we dined together. Only this time, the islands had dissolved into one unified community. The group not only mingled effortlessly; they practically crammed themselves around a single table despite options for a more spacious spread. There were no lulls or uncomfortable silences. The ice had finally broken, and conversation flowed around the table in easy, welcoming eddies.
I marveled at the change. The night before had been an almost uncomfortably quiet affair, and now I would have been hard-pressed to pull any two of them apart. The only thing that had changed was the dive. The warriors hadn’t spent the day mingling. They’d wandered the aquarium, keeping to themselves. The dive brought them together. Two little laps around the tank were all it took to turn them into a community. Days later, the group chat still pings on my phone. That will fade unless they find reasons to dive together again. Still, it’s amazing what change a dive can make.