Divemaster Reality: The Truth About The Dream Job

The Alarm Clock Does Not Care About Your Dream

It is 5:30 AM. The sun is not even up over Balayan Bay yet. My coffee is hot, black, no sugar. Just how I like it. But my knees? They are complaining. Hay naku.

You see these Instagram photos. The girl with the long hair, perfect makeup underwater. The guy with the six-pack abs standing on the bow of the boat looking at the horizon. They say hashtag "Living the Dream". They say hashtag "Divemaster Life".

I tell you the truth now.

That guy in the photo? He did not load the twenty tanks onto the boat. He did not scrub the toilet in the marine head. He did not fix the regulator that the guest dragged through the sand.

You want to be a Divemaster? You want to turn your hobby into a job? Good. But listen to Tatay Santiago. The distance between your dream of "diving for free" and the reality of my life is measured in heavy aluminum tanks and salty sweat.

You Are Not A Guide. You Are A Mule.

I have been diving in Batangas for forty years. Since before you were born. Since before they invented the split fin. Do not get me started on split fins. Useless. Like trying to swim with two wet noodles.

When young people come to the shop asking for DM internship, I ask them one thing. "Can you lift?"

They look at me confused. "But Santiago, I want to lead dives. I want to show people the nudibranch."

Sus. Before you show the nudibranch, you must bring the air.

A standard Aluminum 80 tank weighs nearly 16 kilos when full. On a busy Saturday, we have 16 guests. That is 32 tanks for the morning double dive. Plus the spares.

You think the tanks walk themselves to the banca boat? No. You carry them. The tide is low? Too bad. You walk over the slippery rocks. The path is muddy? Be careful.

My back is strong like a carabao because of this. Not because I go to the gym. The gym is the beach. The weights are the life support for the tourists.

If you think being a DM is just floating weightless, you are wrong. 90% of the job happens above the water. And it is heavy.

The Underwater Nanny Service

Okay. So the tanks are on the boat. We go to the site. Maybe Mainit Point or Kirby's Rock. The water is blue. The current is running a little bit. Just enough to wake you up.

I give the briefing. I speak loud. I look them in the eye. "Stay close. Check your air. Do not touch the coral."

They nod. They say "Yes Santiago."

Then we jump.

Hay naku.

Five minutes later, it is chaos.

Mr. Smith is chasing a turtle with his GoPro. He is at 25 meters but his certification is Open Water, limit 18 meters. I have to swim down, grab his BCD strap, and stop his descent. He looks at me angry. I don't care.

Ms. Chen has brand new equipment. Very expensive. But she has no buoyancy. She is kicking the coral fan. Crack. 50 years of growth, broken in one second. My heart breaks too.

Then there is the guy who bought the big computer watch. It beeps. He stares at it. He forgets to breathe. He forgets to swim. He is drifting into the blue water where the big current waits.

I am not diving for me. I haven't looked at a fish for my own enjoyment in ten years. I am looking at you. I am looking at your bubbles. Are you breathing too fast? Are your eyes wide with panic?

Being a Divemaster is not leading. It is herding cats. Cats that can drown.

I have to be the father. Sometimes the strict father. If you don't listen, I end the dive. You can complain to the shop manager. But you are alive. That is my job.

The "Free Diving" Trap

Many people calculate the money like this: "If I become a DM, I don't pay for dives! I get to dive every day for free!"

Let me show you the math of the real world.

You are not diving for free. You are paying with your labor. You are working underwater. It is a factory floor, but the factory is beautiful and sometimes cold.

The Art of The Rinse

You finish the day. The guests go to the resort bar. They order the mango shake. They laugh about the turtle.

Where is Santiago? Where is the DM?

We are at the wash tank.

The smell of the wash tank is special. It smells of neoprene cleaner, salt, and... let's be honest... other things. People pee in wetsuits. It is a fact of life. I do not judge. But I have to wash it.

You must wash the regulators carefully. Put the dust cap on tight. Do not let water inside the first stage. If you flood the regulator, the technician will scream at you, and rightly so.

You hang the wetsuits. Hundreds of them. Heavy, wet rubber. You organize the masks. You count the weights. If one kilo is missing, it comes out of your tips.

This is the meditation. It is boring. But it is discipline. If you do not respect the gear, the ocean will not respect you. A sandy regulator creates a free-flow at 30 meters. A broken fin strap causes panic.

I teach my DMs: "Wash the gear like you are washing your own baby." Because tomorrow, that gear keeps someone alive.

Navigation: The Lost Art

Now, let us talk about the water.

These new DMs, they have the compass on the wrist. They have the computer that tells them where is North.

I take away the compass.

"Santiago, how do we find the boat?"

I point. "Feel the current on your left cheek? It is getting colder. That means the tide is turning. The boat is that way."

Navigation is not about numbers. It is about knowing the neighborhood.

I know that the clownfish lives in the anemone by the big rock shaped like a potato. I know that when the sand ripples look like this, the shore is to the East.

You must learn the ocean. You cannot just look at the screen. The screen runs out of battery. The ocean never turns off.

The current in Batangas is tricky. It swirls. It pulls down. A good DM knows it before it happens. I watch the anthias fish (sea goldies). If they are all swimming hard against the reef, the current is strong. If they are hovering high, it is slack tide.

You want to be a pro? Stop looking at your watch. Look at the fish. They know more than you.

So... Why Do I Still Do It?

I am grumpy. I know this. I complain about the heavy tanks. I complain about the Split Fins (seriously, burn them).

But you ask me, "Tatay, why do you stay?"

Because of the moments in between.

It happens maybe once a week. The guests are good divers. They have good trim. They do not kick the sand. We are at 25 meters at Beatrice Rock.

The current stops. The water is clear like gin. The sunlight cuts through the surface like cathedral lights.

We see a school of Barracuda. Hundreds. Turning together like a silver river.

I look at the guest. I see his eyes in the mask. He is crying. Not panic. Joy.

He looks at me and makes the "OK" sign. But it means more than OK. It means "Thank you."

In that moment, I am not a mule. I am not a nanny. I am the gatekeeper. I opened the door to the other world for him.

And then we surface. He buys me a San Miguel. He tells me it was the best day of his life.

Hay naku. Maybe it is the best job in the world.

But tomorrow, you still have to carry the tanks.

Advice for the Young Ones

If you want to be a Divemaster, do it. But do not do it because you want to be cool. Do not do it to be lazy.

Do it because you love the ocean more than you love dry land. Do it because you are humble. The ocean kills the arrogant ones first.

• Get strong legs. You will need them.
• Learn to fix things. A wrench is as important as a snorkel.
• Have patience. Guests can be stupid. You cannot be angry underwater. You breathe too much air when you are angry.
• Respect the locals. We know the water.

Now, enough talking. The compressor is finished running. I need to analyze the oxygen mix in these Nitrox tanks.

Go wash the boat.

See you underwater.