This was the deepest blue you can imagine. Above, below and beyond there was nothing but blue. It swallowed all perspective. The flecks moving in front of my mask could have been sprats a few inches away or giant fish metres long but on the edge of my vision. It was impossible to tell.
For a brief moment panic set in. I had only been diving for three days and my instructor had taken us on a route that led between reefs separated by a plunging canyon. As we swam over it, for the briefest of moments the reef behind us disappeared before the reef ahead came into view. We were left suspended in astonishing nothingness - a bizarre weightless flying sensation 30 metres below the waves. The instructor swam on, we followed, and within a few metres the next reef loomed. Order, size and other colours came back into the world. It was then I knew I was hooked.
You never forget the first time you breathe underwater. I had signed up for a week's intensive course on Egypt's Red Sea, which has some of the best and easiest diving in the world. Five days of lessons in the classroom, pool and open sea would license me to dive anywhere in the world up to a depth of 100 feet.
But nothing prepares you for the first time you plunge your head beneath the surface, teeth clamped around a respirator. It is a spectacularly weird feeling. At first you breathe quickly, not really sure that you should be able to do this. You are underwater after all. But you hold your nerve and resist the temptation to hold your breath. It just feels unnatural to be breathing down here. The feeling goes away after a while and as you gain confidence in the pool you discover a whole new way of moving. Instead of swimming with your arms, flippers on your feet become the only way to propel yourself around. You learn to control your depth by varying the amount of air you keep in your lungs. Gravity becomes meaningless in a place where you can move up, down or sideways at will. It is a whole new universe of vision and sensation. You would never have imagined being so close to what it feels like to be a fish.
In many ways the best descriptions of diving are the clich¿s. It really is a gateway to a whole new world. At times the reef can be a confusing place. There is a bewildering variety of fishes, corals, sponges and other forms of life. But the best way to understand it is to take an example from dry land: the safari. Think of the smaller fish hanging around the reef walls as the antelopes grazing on the plains. The larger fish waiting in the deep are the lions and leopards. Then wait and watch. You will soon see familiar patterns of behaviour emerge, as gliding jackfish and barracuda - or even sharks - attack the reef's shoals in search of food. It is easy to get lost in the drama being played out in front of your eyes. And behind it all remains that impassive, infinite wall of blue.
Paul Harris
Every dive has its own story. The best dive site in the world can be a disappointment, or what should be a mundane dive turns into magic when you're below the surface. Here are some of my most magical moments.
The intact submarine, near Melbourne, Australia. Cold water, fairly deep and I was in a bad mood. Then this sun-dappled World War I-vintage submarine shimmied into view, covered in bright yellow anemones. It was a Beatles song at 35 metres.
The Garden of Roses off Moorea in French Polynesia. Everything about this dive was perfect. Even carrying the gear down the pier was good, stepping delicately over topless sunbathers. There were only three of us, but five sharks were circling in the gin-clear water directly below the boat. 'They are nothing, only blacktip reef sharks,' our divemaster said, and nonchalantly jumped in.
The San Francisco Maru, Chuuk Lagoon, Micronesia. At 50 metres the deepest I'd been, with that dropping-forever feeling as we spiralled down to a sunken Japanese World War II supply ship. There on the deck sat three tanks. As we rose back up, my dive computer beeped 'deco, deco, deco' - for decompression - just to remind me how deep we had been.
Atauro, off Dili in East Timor. Sometimes just going to or from the dive site is magic. Coming back from a dive, our boat was surrounded by pilot whales, gently harrumphing and misting us with spray.
Tony Wheeler is managing director of Lonely Planet
