A Dolphins Dream Read Online Free PDF Page A

basis.
    The boat was open for the most part and its forty-foot length easily accommodated the eight divers, who sat on aluminum benches as it skipped over the water pushed by twin Honda Nineties. Compton sat next to Ian who had become nervous and was twittering away in his anxiety. Seeking reassurances from Jason that although he would jump first, he would not leave him and they would descend down the anchor line together. Bernard and his wife sat across from Compton and were sharing a private joke that he believed was directed at him, for they both shot furtive glances through their giggles.
    The boat ran for nearly half an hour and as it began to slow, John Scott stood and spoke. “We’re diving the Flower Garden this morning, spectacular white sea anemone filling an entire deep wall. Have you all had some wall diving experience?” He looked for responses and everyone nodded except Compton who felt no need to extend his lies further into this fine morning. Scott’s eyes flicked over the group and came to rest on Compton, but he said nothing and Scott continued. 
    “This is the deep dive of the day, down to one hundred and twenty feet. Do we have anyone here who has a tendency to get narced at that depth?” Everyone but Compton shook his head. “Okay then,” continued Scott, “everybody check their gear and prepare their computers. We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
    Compton had already hooked up his regulator and buoyancy compensator to the tank. The regulator had been serviced before he left the States and was working fine. However, the BC had apparently corroded somewhat and though it filled easily under pressure, did not discharge the air in single burps, instead seeping out slowly in a telltale whistle. Its high pitched squeak caught the attention of Ian and Jason, forcing him to abandon his tinkering with the air release valve to sustain his deception of the all-knowing superior diver.
    The boat slowed and an Indian girl, Emily, the only crew member and a creature of singular beauty with large brown eyes, a full sensuous mouth and blue-black hair braided into a single strand that ran the length of her back, dropped anchor off the bow.  
    The divers slipped into their rigs and while last minute adjustments took place, Compton once again tried to release the remainder of air out of the partially inflated BC. But as the air trickled out and the valve began to whistle and draw stares, he turned his attention to putting on his mask and fins. Now the divers were standing and inching their way to the stern and jumping in under Scott’s instruction. “Swim to the anchor line. There’s a light current running. Drop down the line and we’ll meet on the anchor at the edge of the wall.” 
    Compton passed a box of weights and grabbed two of unknown poundage, placing them in his C pocket to compensate for the inflation, then jumped into the water and swam to the anchor line. He figured he could pull himself down until he hit neutral buoyancy and then the partially inflated BC would no longer be a factor. Also, at depth the additional pressure would discharge the remaining air and he could then dump the extra weight. He reached the anchor line with no difficulty and, along with everyone else, began to descend. The inflated BC was working directly against his descent. While others glided down with easy kicks, he was forced to pull himself down the line hand-over-hand. Halfway down to the forty-foot bottom he attempted to release the air from the still inflated BC, but it continued to dribble out in a slow stream of bubbles. The diver above, one of the Germans on her way to the anchor, passed him, giving a strange look, which seemed to fall somewhere between disbelief and disapproval.            Compton held onto the line to keep from rising and with his free hand attempted to work the BC, his movements beginning to slide into the frantic, jerky, gestures of the grossly incompetent. On the bottom, divers