"Gasping for Air" by Lord Yeoman

I was not overly fond of the water as a youngster. I’d spent little time swimming and as a result found it hard work. Combined with a nasty experience whilst surfing a foam board, my father laughing and watching on as I got dumped repeatedly, this had me more content to duck dive around near the shore than do any marathon attempts at braving the deep. But one day I glimpsed the beauty of the depths below.
It was a loathsomely hot day in the small town I grew up in and the only relief was the river side. It was a week day and I was playing truant, hanging out at the river with my father. He was medicating his lungs with some Drum tobacco while I amused my self diving just off shore at the local boat ramp picnic area.

I had my equipment; a length of bright green nylon rope and an old orange bottle to act as my buoy. I was performing important missions moving rocks and branches around on the bottom, using a rock as a weight so I could stay submerged without using too much energy. The rope and buoy letting my father know I was still active, or at least where to find me if I wasn’t.
Then I saw it. Difficult because I didn’t even have a face mask back then but this object was not what I was used to on the river bottom. It was bright, long with dark webbing attached. It only took a microsecond for me to realize that I’d come across a scuba tank.
This was my first real underwater find. I was ecstatic. Of course I had no idea whether it was lost or abandoned but I was enthralled with having discovered something I was sure no one else would have found. Loathe to leave my find for fear of never finding it again in the murky river water I was eventually forced, gasping, to the surface to inhale again. I immediately alarmed my father by making all frantic and calling him down to the waters edge. I told him what I had found and recruited his labour, I would tie my rope to the tank then he could drag it out for me.
This was fantastic! I had a true mission with a tangible reward. I was diving at the end of the rainbow and I almost had my pot of gold on the river bank where I could count it.
It nearly went bad. I dove down but missed it and nearly drowned in my determined affort to find it but after surfacing I got my bearings and this time found the tank. I began attaching my rope but had to surface for more air but on the third dive down I secured the rope and hit the surface with my thumbs up. Pah started hauling away.
Standing there on the shore with my silt covered worn booty I was proud and gleaming. Pah and I checked it over, found there was air inside and so, after cleaning out the mouthpiece, I set about going on my first SCUBA dive.
Pah had to move the tank into position for me as it was too heavy for me to move myself. I sat down in the waters edge with the tank strapped to my back I inched my way into the water. The effort of moving the tank had me breathing heavily so the air came easily but as I relaxed I was startled to find the air stopped! I panicked, thinking the tank had run out I started scrabbling for the strap buckles to release myself from my new doom. But the panic made me drag hard on the mouthpiece and the air came back.
My little chest under the added water pressure found it hard to inflate. I continued my dive but eventually it was over. My Pah took the tank and stored it. I never saw it again but I will never forget the joy of being able to stay underwater, not needing to surface for life giving air. To this day diving is one of my favourite recreations.