Surrendering to the sea
Free divers stay underwater for up to five minutes at a time on a single breath, said journalist Patrick Scott. These thrill seekers say descending to great depths delivers a profound euphoria and lasting inner peace.
T HE GUINNESS WORLD Record for holding one’s breath underwater is 24 minutes and 3 seconds. Most humans, however, can barely make it a minute and a half. For a diver, the degree of difficulty increases exponentially. Lungs shrink to half their size at a depth of 10 meters (33 feet). After about 30 seconds, blood vessels in the arms and legs constrict, redirecting red blood cells to vital organs, including the heart and brain, part of the “mammalian dive reflex.” After a minute or so, trapped carbon dioxide causes the diaphragm to spasm, signaling the brain to breathe. Keep going, and eventually the spleen will release stores of red blood cells to keep you alive for a while longer. Below 50 meters, capillaries around the alveoli in the lungs expand to create a cushion to protect the rib cage from collapse as pressure increases on the body. Most people will shortly lose consciousness. If you’re still underwater at that point—watch out. Free divers—a slightly mental group of thrill seekers who focus on holding their breath while descending into the open sea—have figured out how to stay underwater for three, four, or five minutes at a time. They say the key to the sport is to relax, that humans can override the urge to breathe underwater by learning to embody the energy that flows throughout the universe. They say you can stay underwater for minutes even after the first contractions of the diaphragm. Nine meters below the surface of the Red Sea, in my mask, wet suit, and fins, I’m trying my best to do just that. But my lungs feel squeezed, as if in a vise. My arms and legs turn heavy as the blood vessels constrict. Every few seconds, my diaphragm heaves more intensely as the carbon dioxide increases. My brain feels fuzzy as the pressure in my head builds. The payoff for this seemingly crazy stunt, I’m told, is a euphoria unlike any other. Free divers talk among themselves of being addicted to the sport. The body and mind are altered. Surface cares dissolve, replaced by a profound immersion in the present. It sounded great back on land, in the laidback Egyptian village of Dahab on the eastern shore of the Sinai Peninsula. My instructor, the world-record-setting free diver Sara Campbell, teaches Yoga for Freediving, a weeklong course that promises to unlock my potential. Our training begins with yoga and meditation in a sunspeckled hut. Campbell tells us that at a certain depth, gravity will pull you down into the dark stillness and squeeze you in a loving hug. “It’s the one you have been waiting for your entire life,” she says. Underwater, it feels more like strangulation. I’d already gotten tangled in the rope that extends from a buoy at the surface. At a depth of 9 meters, I reach neutral buoyancy—too light to sink, too heavy to rise—and I’m supposed to hang out and chill. But after a minute and 20 seconds, the convulsions are overwhelming. I stare at the white-and-red rope through my mask with only one thought: I have to get to the surface, or I’m going to die. I climb up hand over hand toward the light and emerge gasping for air. I N ANCIENT TIMES, people dove to these sorts of depths out of necessity, to harvest shellfish, sponges, and pearls. Only after the mid-1940s did divers start competing to sink deeper. Interest in free diving rose after the 1988 movie The Big Blue, a fictionalized rivalry between two real-life European free divers. Four years later, a group of enthusiasts formed a volunteer governing body—the International Association for the Development of Apnea, or AIDA—to organize competitions and set protocols. Since the ’90s the sport has attracted a dedicated and growing number of divers who want to go underwater as deep, as long, and as far as possible on one breath. Most everyone has a 30-meter dive and a four-minute breath hold inside them, says Grant Graves, head of USA Freediving. Russian free diver Alexey Molchanov set a men’s record for a fin-propelled free dive in October 2016, when he swam down to 129 meters and stayed under for 3 minutes and 50 seconds. “It’s like surrendering to the pressure of the ocean,” he says. “And that brings peace of mind and calmness and acceptance.” Still, it’s a risky proposition. The enormous water pressure can cause ruptured eardrums and create lung squeeze, which can result in internal bleeding. The lack of oxygen from an extended breath hold can lead to blackout, most often just before or after resurfacing. Molchanov’s mother, Natalia, also a champion free diver, drowned after giving a lesson in August 2015 near Ibiza. She was 53. But fatalities are rare. According to the association, there’s been only one death in an AIDA competition over 25 years and more than 40,000 dives. In the past decade the number of countries that participate in AIDA events has more than doubled, to 35, and more people join each year, says the association spokesman, Denys Rylov, by phone from his native Ukraine. The most popular competitions are held in places such as Kalamata in Greece, Roatán in Honduras, and what many consider the best location, Dean’s Blue Hole in the Bahamas. Despite little sponsorship or prize money, new contests keep coming. This September, the Authentic Big Blue will be