12. Get the Sample and Get Out
Get the Sample and Get Out
LILLIAN
The second I plunge into the water, I realize Matt wasn’t exaggerating. The water is mind-numbingly cold, so much so it takes me a second to get my bearings. It doesn’t help that the current cuts through my middle from time to time, setting me off balance.
You’ve done this a million times, Lillian.
Except I’ve never been quite as uneasy as I am right now. I faced aggressive seals off the California coast, nearly been lost in the clouded, sunless waters of the Amazon estuary while studying pink dolphins, and, as a younger, inexperienced diver, suffered from decompression sickness.
But Bristol Bay is a triple threat. Cold, cloudy, and dangerously full of strong currents.
The water is a murky haze of fine particles and floating debris. My vision is limited to a few feet.
I breathe slowly, taking in the moment. I need to remain calm, so as not to lose my composure. That way, I can get my sample and be done with it, before I go numb.
I touch the rope around my waist, and my heartbeat settles the tiniest bit. Matt’s up above, intent on keeping me safe. And Tuma. And I guess Jesse too. He wouldn’t go so far as to try and get rid of me like this, would he?
Focus, Lillian. Get the sample and get out.
With new resolve, I swim like a frog until I reach the seafloor, my head tightening with the change in pressure. The cold bites through my gloves, numbing my fingers as I adjust my grip on the sediment corer, careful not to stir the silt too much as I sink it into the seafloor.
I firmly push it down to achieve maximum depth.
The current shifts, pulling so hard I nearly lose my grip on the corer. I steel every muscle in my body until the current weakens enough for me to pull the corer up.
I take a deep breath, allowing the oxygen from my mouthpiece to flood my lungs. I’ve been taking such shallow breaths I forgot how good it feels to actually breathe.
The current returns and tugs my oxygen apparatus free, sending a rush of salt water into my mouth.
Panic courses through me as I reach for the mask, but the cloudy water and shock make it impossible to find.
My initial panic at losing the mask escalates to full-blown terror as I struggle to breathe, and though I could probably hold my breath for a minute or two, my chest feels ready to explode.
I need to get to the surface now.
I need to breathe.