Authors note ~ One of my recent posts to this blog was an earlier penned short story titled The Encounter. I had found the writing tucked away in my filing cabinet. There was another such offering, but it wasn’t as well written to simply transcribe. The following is the 2026 cleaned and tweaked version…..

Shark Dive

My second wife, girlfriend at the time of this story, signed up to receive a vacation prize to Florida and the Grand Bahamas. Even with the trip being a “time share tactic,” we had a wonderful time in Fort Lauderdale, and a three-day stay in the Bahamas in which we cruised to the Island. The vacation concluded in Orlando.

Even being a certified SCUBA diver, I didn’t totally anticipate an opportunity to get wet. This was during the beginning of our relationship. my girlfriend wasn’t a diver nor enthused to become one. I was naïve enough to believe I didn’t need to pack any dive gear. Supposedly, my certification card was all I needed. I could rent gear. My dive mask was prescription; it wouldn’t take up too much space. It was packed, just in case.

We boarded the cruise ship in Fort Lauderdale for the Bahama leg at 6:00 am. The first item on the agenda was to feed us breakfast before we even left port. Maybe it was a distraction on how long it took to depart, but the grand buffet was also a blessing. It helped absorb all the free alcohol. The staff made it their primary purpose to see their guests had a drink in their hands.

90 miles in 4 hours doesn’t seem productive, but once at sea, it didn’t matter. Frankly, being aboard the ship was memorable. I avoided as much alcohol as I could while my lady found a deck chair to relax. I explored. Setting the stage, we were on vacation; we ate, we drank, and we were merry.

On the second day, in the Bahamas, I thumbed through the yellow pages. I was in luck! There was a dive shop that had a trip planned for that very afternoon. A courtesy van fetched me from the resort where we stayed. As advertised, my PADI card was literally and figuratively golden. I was outfitted promptly after entering the dive shop.

Maybe beggars can’t be choosy, but my wetsuit and buoyancy vest seemed a little large for me. I could deal with that. I wasn’t at all impressed with the swim fins. I was used to my longer tips. These rentals were rather stubby. I seriously considered being able to propel more efficiently with my bare feet. Nevertheless, I was herded out onto the dock and then onto a waiting boat. The whole time, there was a building hype that we were embarking on two dives, one being a shark dive.

I had a little over 100 dives logged by this time. All of the dives were black water; this day would be my first saltwater experience. That was enough of a crowning achievement for me. I was a little hesitant to be diving with a capable man-eating fish. I’ve watched documentaries, and I’ve seen Jaws. Minus my experience in The Encounter, I tended to be the biggest fish in a smaller pond. Freshwater fish don’t tend to be huge. Bluegill are small but do bite; that’s more of a pinch; they don’t devour you with very little effort.

Although I’m proud of my time logged as a black water diver, that didn’t hold much merit with the other divers. They saw no joy in diving “mud puddles.” They all assured me that I wouldn’t want to after this dive.

Saltwater is different; the visibility is better, the water is warmer and deeper. The sea life is vastly different, BUT the divers were wrong. I never gave up the black water of home.

I mentioned earlier, how much I enjoyed the cruise ship. The dive boat was no different. I felt right at home when the diesel engine roared to life. I recognized the brand, but still inquired the captain. The vessel was powered by a Caterpillar. This one was a marine edition, similar to many that had powered trucks I had driven. Even powering propellers, a Cat has a distinctive sound and exhaust smell.

The dive master paired everyone up I wasn’t the only single in the party, so I was paired with a fellow that didn’t like to be partnered with a “mud puddle jumper” Considering I never saw him anywhere in the water, it was well evident his attitude was same buddy same ocean. I was okay with that. One thing these clowns didn’t realize about black water divers is they don’t get to freaked and can be self efficient. Later thoughts made me wish he was closer during the shark dive. Maybe the beasts would have found him more tasty and left me alone. Seriously, I didn’t really think that. I’m more cynical now as I write this.

Despite, being uncomfortable with unfamiliar and ill fitting gear, my first salt water dive was a pleasant adventure. The dive master apologized about the poor visibility. I had to scoff. 50 to 60 feet was extremely good in my thinking.

The boat was relocated during our surface interval. During the time, I listened to the dive plan breifing, which was more excited hype on how wonderful the dive would be. I wasn’t paying complete attention, I was distracted looking for chain mail.

Maybe there was a cage to protect us underwater? Nope! The plan was for the divers to kneel on the bottom and face outward. We were warned ro keep our hands close to our bodies. Heaven forbid we didn’t want a confused shark to swim off with a detached hand or arm!

I’m no prude, in fact I was hung over. During the surface interval some divers fired up for a few tokes. Good idea! Be mellow while we were swiming with the man eaters. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad plan, maybe the sharks would be mellow with a contact high. Oh yeah, the sharks may get the munchies… Where was the chain mail?

The divers arrived at “shark juntion,” which turned out to be a sandy spot at about 50 foot depth. There was no safety cage. The only notable man made deposit was a propane looking tank with no openings. We circled the tank kneeled facing out and waited.

There were no sharks. Maybe they hadn’t got the memo for a meet up.

Out of the murky shadows they began to appear. The hazard of the 50 foot low vis. I guess they were just running late of schedule. Probably coming from other meet ups.

The beasts were huge! They approuched and circled us getting ever closer. I could reach out and touch them. I could but I didn’t. I think I peed myself. It was salt water, who would know?

There was a problem of our earlier arrival.We needed to leave first, before the sharks were on their way. Air supply was limited.

As they circled we swan as a group. Remember the stubby fins I complained about? I didn’t find it prudent to be in the tail end of our ascent to the surface.

Obviously, all ended well. I lived to descibe the tale. I was ready to get back to my girlfriend and a drink or two.

Despite misgivings the dive was quite a rush!

.

Editors note As intro, I wrote this short story so many years ago. I honestly can not recall exactly when. This may be the first time it’s been available for public view. I came across this story while cleaning out my filing cabinet.

I was active as a SCUBA diver , back in the 90s. My late mother and her second husband were both certified. We dove as a family and had a close friendship circle. This story may better explain how my novels were created.

With a little rewritten editing, I present The Encounter

The lake was tranquil. Visibility about twenty feet, which was above average for black water. The temperate water was momentarily disturbed by three divers moving at a leisurely pace. Although the lake’s maximum depth was 30 feet, The divers traveled at a depth of 15 foot,, line abreast. The left diver was arms length, While the right diver stretched the formation, being 6 feet distant from the center. The visibility allowed the three to be within sight of each other.

As they propelled along, it was obvious by the minimum air bubbles, that escaped their regulators and by their posture the three were relaxed. The diving rigs were well squared away to defuse any drag. They all displayed experience. The depth they maintained was good placement from the bottom. They had good sight lines and less possibility of silting out their return trip.

The water held no thermocline, a sudden change of temperature as depth changes. Fish of various sizes could be seen, ranging from small blue gill to a good sized bass every now and then. Blue gill were as annoying as flies, being curious, with little fear of the divers. The bass were more shy eluding the strange large noisy apparitions.

This environment had become more natural for the divers Hues of grey, brown and tan, competed with darker shadows. The divers had trained and learned from experience about this hostile world. It was no longer as alien

Suddenly,, from the murk, a sailboat looking shadow emerged. It was odd looking, with a snout shaped like an upside down spade. The fish moved effortlessly and gracefully, mouth agape as it fed on plankton. This was the elusive fish the divers were prizing to see. The spoonbill! With great luck, there were more than one. There were several. More appeared everywhere.

The size of the fish were in the same size range as the divers. Average length seemed to measure at least eight feet. One fish came within feet of the right diver, opening its mouth to feed. The diver noted how big around the fish was, thinking a railroad tie could easily be swallowed.

As sudden as the fish appeared, the next instant they were gone. Leaving behind smiling faces and pleasant memories. The diving three would hold cherished memories as they returned to their exit. This foreign exciting world was in a sense, right in their own back yard.

Author’s note. I was the right diver. My mom was center and Ron, her husband was left. The lake is in Logansport IN. This had been our third venture to that particular lake It was an annual trip. Divers tend to navigate close to the bottom for easier reference. Our gained experience taught us to stay at a depth further from the bottom when visibility allowed. It’s safe to assume we never saw spoonbills because they aren’t bottom feeders. The first two years we ,more than likely, were underneath them. None of us thought to look up!

The water color was painted by my aunt Penny Kessler.