Dive professionals adrift: A test of Tangaroa

Growing up, I was no stranger to the sea. My knowledge was superficial, but my connection to it had run deep within my soul for as long as I could remember.

Motuihe Island in the Hauraki Gulf was my playground. My Koro worked as a ranger for the Department of Conservation (DOC), so we frequently took trips across the harbour on the ferries. Armed with butter knives and teaspoons, we spent endless days gathering kai from rock pools—first filling our pukus and then a bowl to take home for nan.

To the Coromandel, and first time SCUBA

I was never destined to be a typical weekend warrior, working a 9-5 job, sitting at a desk under fluorescent lights. I firmly believed that life was meant to be lived, and I embraced it wholeheartedly. When I turned 17, an opportunity arose to move to the Coromandel, and without a second thought, I left school behind and headed straight for the beach.

My dreams were slowly turning into reality, and before long, I received an invitation to go on a dive in the Te Whanganui O Hei Marine Reserve. A friend of mine knew how to dive and had extra gear that I could use. Perhaps some of you have found yourselves in a similar situation. Despite having no prior scuba diving experience, I exuded the classic "she'll be right" Kiwi attitude and jumped in without hesitation.

The rush I felt underwater was indescribable. From the very first breath, I was hooked. The sheer excitement and serenity I experienced were unlike anything else—I had found my calling. Convinced of my path, I made the bold decision to quit my job the following day and enrolled in a year-long Diploma program at The Academy of Diving, where I studied at Dive Zone Whitianga. My goal was to become a professional dive instructor.

Professional diver training

Under the guidance of one of the most knowledgeable instructors, I deepened my understanding of the Moana and developed my skills to become the best instructor I could be. It was during this time that I became acutely aware of the dangers and risks associated with diving. Safety aspects were continuously emphasised.

Time flew by, and in what seemed like no time at all, I had achieved the status of a Master Scuba Diver Trainer. Equipped with a wealth of knowledge and a shiny new certification card, I believed I knew it all. However, I soon realised that no amount of training could have prepared me for the series of events that unfolded during my ten years at sea.

Experience matters

You can read countless books on a subject, and while knowledge is undeniably crucial, practical application is paramount. You can describe the intricacies of an oceanic current, but until you've experienced its pull and power first-hand, true comprehension eludes you. I quickly learned that the ocean does not discriminate—it holds sway even over the most experienced divers.

After working as an instructor for a couple of weeks, I embarked on my first private charter with an open water class and an experienced dive master, who was on vacation and joining us for a leisure dive. As the sole instructor on board that day, logistics were tight. The plan was for me to embark on a one-on-one guided dive with the dive master, and then return to the boat to retrieve my students.

We arrived at Ohinau Island, a place I was already familiar with, but unfamiliar with this specific dive site. The skipper had some knowledge of the area and mentioned the abundance of marine life near the point where we anchored.

Seeking shelter from the large oceanic swell hitting the island's eastern side, we nestled inside a small cove. After setting our dive plan and parameters for a 30-meter/40-minute dive, we informed the skipper and eagerly plunged into the water for what we thought would be a "quick" dive.
The skipper's prediction proved accurate—the marine life was breath-taking. Large schools of kahawai, koheru, silver drummers, and Mao Mao encircled us. While we had planned for a scenic dive, we couldn't resist the temptation of the crayfish hiding in their nests. With visibility around 10-15 meters and a visibly healthy reef, everything seemed perfect.

My dive buddy had explored dive sites all over the world and possessed considerable experience. I felt confident venturing into this new area with him. About 30 minutes into the dive, he signalled "low air," and we began heading back to the boat. Midway through, he gestured for me to surface. He was done diving for the day. I knew we still had to perform a safety stop, but I assumed we were close enough to the boat to commence the ascent from there.

Suddenly lost

I had learned about oceanic currents and the risks of surfacing in open water without a visual reference, but I thought, "she'll be right—the boat is right there." We positioned ourselves at the appropriate depth for our safety stop (5 meters/3 minutes), and I attempted to use my compass to find our bearings and swim back to the boat. However, to my dismay, my compass began spinning in circles, refusing to provide a reliable heading. I had always been told to "always trust your compass," yet here I was, doubting its accuracy. I attributed the issue to a malfunctioning instrument, completely unaware that we were caught in a strong current that was pulling us away from the boat and the island. The compass wasn't spinning—it was me.

Shortly after surfacing, we realised the boat was nowhere in sight. It hadn't moved—it was us who had been swept around the corner and into the swell. We had drifted far enough away that the swell was no longer our primary concern; it was the increasing distance between us and the boat. We strained our eyes, desperately searching for any sign of the boat, but it was nowhere to be seen. Meanwhile, the boat crew couldn't spot us either. We tried swimming towards it, but it became evident that we were being pulled further and further away.

Realising the gravity of the situation, I initiated the emergency procedures, recalling everything my instructor had taught me. First, I deployed my safety sausage—an orange plastic sleeve that I had frequently used during training. Unfortunately, salt crystals had accumulated between dives, causing the plastic to split along the folds. It deflated within minutes. I brushed it off, thinking we would laugh about it later.

Time crept by as our eyes darted frantically, desperately searching for the boat. The farther we drifted, the deeper the troughs between the swells became. We could only catch a glimpse of the island when we rose with the waves. By that point, the boat should have been actively searching for us. Hours had passed, and panic began to set in. We had been in the water for five hours. I wore a 5mm suit without a hood or gloves, while my buddy, an older gentleman, was fortunate to have a dry suit, although he still felt the chill. I mentally assessed our gear, discarded our weights, and depleted our air tanks to inflate the safety sausage. Finally, we made the decision to tether ourselves together, just in case.

Beneath us, large schools of Haku (kingfish) gathered, but I averted my gaze, refusing to look down. We were far offshore, suspended above deep water. It was late afternoon, and the dread of what lay beneath intensified. With numb legs and ceased shivering, we made do with the limited resources we had, fully aware that we were at the mercy of the sea. Exhaustion and intrusive thoughts weighed us down as the prospect of spending a night adrift became increasingly real.

I had never fully comprehended my fear of death until it stared me in the face. The overwhelming sense of insignificance washed over us—we were two individuals adrift in a vast ocean. By then, we had shed many tears, and in preparation for the worst, we even wrote notes to our families on a dive slate, which my buddy attached to his gear—just in case.

Coastguard to the rescue

Around 5 p.m., a faint hum of an engine reached our ears. We had fallen silent; there was nothing left to say. We were ready—for what, I couldn't be sure.
Before I knew it, I was hoisted out of the water by my tank and gently lowered onto the deck of a local Coast Guard vessel. They had found us. Overwhelmed, exhausted, emotional, and in shock, I watched as they removed our gear, wrapped us in blankets, and bombarded us with a million questions. They had just saved our lives.

It's challenging to put into words the depth of my gratitude to the Coast Guard, my instructor, and my dive buddy for what I experienced that day. Tangaroa, the god of the sea, had humbled me, and we had narrowly escaped becoming another tragic statistic. Following this incident, the dive shop invested in Nautilus Life Lines—personal locator beacons—as a poignant reminder that even trained professionals can find themselves in precarious situations.

But this was just the beginning. Over the next ten years, I embarked on countless dives across the Pacific, finding myself in various circumstances. However, that is a story for another day.

The majority of diver deaths in New Zealand are preventable. The ocean shows no mercy, regardless of who you are. Proper training and fundamental knowledge are absolutely essential. Our "she'll be right" attitude is costing lives, and we have a responsibility to look out for one another. If you're considering scuba diving, reach out to your local dive shop. Starting with a basic Open Water Course is an excellent first step. If you're unsure, inquire about an introductory dive to ensure your first experience is a safe one.

Lessons I learned

• Check the conditions.
• Verify your safety gear.
• Inspect your dive gear.
• Training is vital—even experienced divers can find themselves in trouble.
• Regularly check and rinse your gear with fresh water.
• Always trust your compass.
• Support the Coast Guard—they are true heroes.
• Nautilus Life Lines work anywhere in the world.
• Create a detailed dive plan for before, during, and after your dive.

About Shona Whittaker

A proud wahine SCUBA professional, Shona and her partner Ash, own and operate Sea Cave Adventures out of Whitianga in the Coromandel Peninsular.
Sea Cave Adventure operates on a custom-built vessels with guided tours of iconic sea caves, lava tubes and the towering archways of the Mercury Bay region including the world famous Cathedral Cave.

Visit Sea Cave Adventures!