Free Diving at Tiburon
I was invited to play golf at Tiburon this week, and for the weeks prior to arriving, I was all excited about playing the course. Tiburon is the 36 hole champion course located at The Ritz-Carlton Golf Resort in Naples, and was designed by Greg Norman. Leading up to my trip, I had everything organized—clubs ready, shoes ready, laces cleaned. I was ready to start playing the moment I arrived.
But something happened between receiving the invitation and my departure for Naples. Over the last two weeks, I’d been free diving the Oriskany and I rediscovered just how peaceful free diving can be.
When I was stationed on Crete, I would spend just about every moment I could in the Aegean, free diving, and spearfishing. Every time we had a day off, my buddies and I would load our gear in the car and dash off for the day to someplace new, or visit an old favorite. One of the best spots was a cliff overlooking the water. We’d throw in our gear, then jump into the water 30 feet below. At the base of the cliff there was a swim-through under the water. And if you held your breath long enough and swam through the entrance, when you surfaced you were facing one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. The high cliffs around the sand formed a horseshoe, so the only way to get to the beach was by water. So Horseshoe Cliff Beach became THE place to free dive. After a couple of trips through the tunnel, we found that we could also reach the beach by swimming a hundred feet around the outcropping, but that just wasn’t as fun. From there we’d all go to a little taverna, and challenge each other to breath hold competitions. The loser would buy the beer.
That feeling came rushing back to me a few weeks ago when I started free diving the Oriskany. I was in the water pulling myself down the line trying to get a little farther each time. On one SCUBA dive I even attached tie-wraps at 40, 50 and 60 feet to gauge my progress. And from that moment, I became obsessed. Each day I’d get a little deeper, and spend little more time swimming just above the wreck. Just Monday, I was ready to touch the flag on the Oriskany. But the tech divers who chartered the boat were ready to go home after the first dive. (To their credit, the first dive was 2 hours long.) So I didn’t get the chance to attempt the top of the site.
So today I was surrounded by a beautiful course with a bunch of friends, and all I can think about is getting wet. I didn’t want to play golf any longer. I wanted to go to the pool and see how long I could hold my breath and prep myself for the next chance to dive. But I had come all the way from Pensacola to play, so I put away my stopwatch, and pick up my driver.
We had a shotgun start, with my group teeing off at the fourth. I was playing fairly well, and having a great time with the guys. But my heart just wasn’t in it. I felt like the distracted conversationalist, saying, “Yeah,” and “I agree,” and “Nice hit,” all the while thinking about getting wet. I found myself passing the water hazards, then wondering aloud to my cart buddy, “How many balls you think are in there?”
“I don’t know. A hundred? Maybe two hundred,” he said. He turned to me and looked at me over the top of his sunglasses. “Why?”
I hit the gas and caught up to the other pair. They were about to make their approach shot inches from the pond on the left at the Gold number 9. “No reason,” I said.
“Oh no,” he said. “You’ve been talking about free diving all morning. You’re not going to--”
“C’mon,” I said. “It’ll be fun.” I dashed out the cart. “We can sell the balls back to the club.” I was having a little trouble getting my right shoe off, so I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, but that didn’t stop me from talking. “We’ll make enough money on this one hole to pay for our entire round.” I turned around to see how close he was behind me, and when I did, I saw he wasn’t even out of the cart. “What?” I said in protest.
Then at that moment, my wish came true. I was suddenly and overwhelmingly drenched with the cold, pounding rain of south Florida. And then came the lightening, followed by a surprisingly immediate clap of thunder. The damn storm was right on top of me, and there I was alone in the middle of a golf course with one shoe on, hopping over to the water hazard, and at the same time trying to pull my shirt over my overly muscular torso.
When the first bolt of lightening hit, I fell flat to the ground. When my head came up off the muddy sod, I looked around and saw my buddy laughing from his clean, dry vantage point of cart 57. I managed to pick myself up, pull my shirt back over my overly muscular torso, and hop until I reached my other shoe. Then just as I neared the cart, the lightening hit again.
We finally made it back to the clubhouse just as the rain had thoroughly hammered me, smearing the mud on my face and clothes, and almost drowning my clubs. I was soaked, soiled, and reeked of fertilizer and I noticed all the other guys were sitting around in their pressed shirts and shorts, drinking beer, chuckling at me. I didn’t care. All I wanted a beer to wash down the Scott’s Turf Builder. But when I went for my wallet, I couldn’t feel it in my pocket. It had fallen out during the lightening storm.
I could hear the laughter grow louder, until finally I picked out the biggest one, poked him in the chest with almost each syllable when I wagered, “If I can hold my breath longer than you, you buy me a beer.”
Then before I knew it, men from every table were challenging me on breath hold competition, and each time, I won, earning me a fresh beer. One guy even bet my green fees and lost.
So what started as a friendly golf game, bolted into a free-diving-golf ball recovery attempt, and ended with free beer and golf for me. So even with the drenched clothes, the muddied face, and he one shoe, I still had a great day. I got wet, held my breath and drank free beer.
At least that’s the way I remember it.
But something happened between receiving the invitation and my departure for Naples. Over the last two weeks, I’d been free diving the Oriskany and I rediscovered just how peaceful free diving can be.
When I was stationed on Crete, I would spend just about every moment I could in the Aegean, free diving, and spearfishing. Every time we had a day off, my buddies and I would load our gear in the car and dash off for the day to someplace new, or visit an old favorite. One of the best spots was a cliff overlooking the water. We’d throw in our gear, then jump into the water 30 feet below. At the base of the cliff there was a swim-through under the water. And if you held your breath long enough and swam through the entrance, when you surfaced you were facing one of the most beautiful beaches I’ve ever seen. The high cliffs around the sand formed a horseshoe, so the only way to get to the beach was by water. So Horseshoe Cliff Beach became THE place to free dive. After a couple of trips through the tunnel, we found that we could also reach the beach by swimming a hundred feet around the outcropping, but that just wasn’t as fun. From there we’d all go to a little taverna, and challenge each other to breath hold competitions. The loser would buy the beer.
That feeling came rushing back to me a few weeks ago when I started free diving the Oriskany. I was in the water pulling myself down the line trying to get a little farther each time. On one SCUBA dive I even attached tie-wraps at 40, 50 and 60 feet to gauge my progress. And from that moment, I became obsessed. Each day I’d get a little deeper, and spend little more time swimming just above the wreck. Just Monday, I was ready to touch the flag on the Oriskany. But the tech divers who chartered the boat were ready to go home after the first dive. (To their credit, the first dive was 2 hours long.) So I didn’t get the chance to attempt the top of the site.
So today I was surrounded by a beautiful course with a bunch of friends, and all I can think about is getting wet. I didn’t want to play golf any longer. I wanted to go to the pool and see how long I could hold my breath and prep myself for the next chance to dive. But I had come all the way from Pensacola to play, so I put away my stopwatch, and pick up my driver.
We had a shotgun start, with my group teeing off at the fourth. I was playing fairly well, and having a great time with the guys. But my heart just wasn’t in it. I felt like the distracted conversationalist, saying, “Yeah,” and “I agree,” and “Nice hit,” all the while thinking about getting wet. I found myself passing the water hazards, then wondering aloud to my cart buddy, “How many balls you think are in there?”
“I don’t know. A hundred? Maybe two hundred,” he said. He turned to me and looked at me over the top of his sunglasses. “Why?”
I hit the gas and caught up to the other pair. They were about to make their approach shot inches from the pond on the left at the Gold number 9. “No reason,” I said.
“Oh no,” he said. “You’ve been talking about free diving all morning. You’re not going to--”
“C’mon,” I said. “It’ll be fun.” I dashed out the cart. “We can sell the balls back to the club.” I was having a little trouble getting my right shoe off, so I wasn’t as fast as I had hoped, but that didn’t stop me from talking. “We’ll make enough money on this one hole to pay for our entire round.” I turned around to see how close he was behind me, and when I did, I saw he wasn’t even out of the cart. “What?” I said in protest.
Then at that moment, my wish came true. I was suddenly and overwhelmingly drenched with the cold, pounding rain of south Florida. And then came the lightening, followed by a surprisingly immediate clap of thunder. The damn storm was right on top of me, and there I was alone in the middle of a golf course with one shoe on, hopping over to the water hazard, and at the same time trying to pull my shirt over my overly muscular torso.
When the first bolt of lightening hit, I fell flat to the ground. When my head came up off the muddy sod, I looked around and saw my buddy laughing from his clean, dry vantage point of cart 57. I managed to pick myself up, pull my shirt back over my overly muscular torso, and hop until I reached my other shoe. Then just as I neared the cart, the lightening hit again.
We finally made it back to the clubhouse just as the rain had thoroughly hammered me, smearing the mud on my face and clothes, and almost drowning my clubs. I was soaked, soiled, and reeked of fertilizer and I noticed all the other guys were sitting around in their pressed shirts and shorts, drinking beer, chuckling at me. I didn’t care. All I wanted a beer to wash down the Scott’s Turf Builder. But when I went for my wallet, I couldn’t feel it in my pocket. It had fallen out during the lightening storm.
I could hear the laughter grow louder, until finally I picked out the biggest one, poked him in the chest with almost each syllable when I wagered, “If I can hold my breath longer than you, you buy me a beer.”
Then before I knew it, men from every table were challenging me on breath hold competition, and each time, I won, earning me a fresh beer. One guy even bet my green fees and lost.
So what started as a friendly golf game, bolted into a free-diving-golf ball recovery attempt, and ended with free beer and golf for me. So even with the drenched clothes, the muddied face, and he one shoe, I still had a great day. I got wet, held my breath and drank free beer.
At least that’s the way I remember it.
posted by The Divemaster at 9:39 PM
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