Free Diving

After a minute of careful deep breathing, I kicked my feet into the air and sank beneath the water. I did not move a muscle until I was completely underwater and my momentum from the initial dive died away. Before I began floating up again, I kicked fluently using my hips, knees, and ankles. As the entire surface area of my flippers and legs pushed me down, the bottom drew nearer. I was swimming in a fashion similar to that of a mermaid's, but I had learned that that style of kicking, when used slowly, is the most oxygen efficient way of reaching the bottom. I squeezed my nose and blew out against my fingers to depressurize my ears.

Once I reached the bottom, I turned and swam along it. I wove between the coral looking at fish and plants. The odd crackling of life underwater filled my ears. After ten seconds of cruising on the bottom, a surprisingly lengthy time, I headed up. With all-out powerful kicking, I raced toward the surface. The peaceful underwater noises were broken by the sound of kicking flippers and bubbles that I let out to ease the burning in my lungs. Finally I burst through the surface gasping. I stayed there for a minute before diving down again in a nearly identical fashion. I repeat this over and over for hours every day. By doing this day after day, I can spend longer and longer at the bottom and reach deeper depths.

In the Virgin Islands, I have learned how to free dive. Free diving is swimming underwater while holding your breath with no extra air. The story above was an example of one of my free dives. While snorkeling, I do dozens of dives twenty feet or shallower. My record is approximately 45 feet with flippers and 40 feet barefoot, a tiny amount compared to the world record of over 100 feet especially since diving gets harder the deeper you go. The professional free divers use larger flippers, a weight belt to help them sink, and can hold their breath for 10 minutes when necessary, a feat that can only be done without serious damage to brain cells by building up to it over the course of years. When sitting perfectly still and using as little oxygen as possible, I can hold my breath for a minute, so I need some practice. 

Although having a diving range of over fifty feet of depth would be nice, going much deeper starts to make me nervous. I like being able to see the bottom when I start diving and thirty feet down in clear water is about the limit of visibility. Regardless of my need for practice, and a probably unorthodox swimming style learned mostly from trial and error, I enjoy diving repeatedly in shallow water and getting a close up view of underwater life. Due to Rabbit's and my constant diving, our parents are often told they have half-fish for sons-a comment which always makes me smile. The following photos are old- most are from over two years ago, but they give you a sense of what it is like underwater.

Here Rabbit waves to the camera next to some brain coral.

In order to pose for a picture, I use my hands to swim myself in place.

Our free diving has opened up new realms of photography-including underwater selfies.

As I race to the surface blowing out to ease burning lungs, fish swim placidly over a wreck.

Though this looks like a hand stand, it is Jack diving down. The weight of his legs drive him a meter or so below the surface.

Diving in the murky waters of the Galapagos, I set a personal best of eight meters, one which would stand until I returned to the Caribbean almost two years later.-Porter