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an awful lot of people,
YAZ the only way is down
text: Louise Trewavas
When Turkish freediver Yasemin Dalkilic plummeted to 105m in the Red Sea on a sled and swam back up unassisted in July of this year, she claimed a new
women's world record. Louise Trewavas was in Hurghada
during the build-up and witnessed the dive.
Karim, on the other hand, is dragging on a cigarette and looks severely stressed. Diver's Lodge is hosting Yasemin's world record attempt, and has the delightful task of satisfying a growing list of demands, not just from the freedivers, but from the international media covering the event. I say hi, and bye, and tactfully get the hell out of there. It's as close as I'll get to Yaz all week. Welcome to the circus I had been invited to come to Hurghada with the best of intentions: that the freedivers might want to have women safety divers involved in a women's world record. It became immediately apparent that this was not going to happen. Even though Diver's Lodge was hosting the event, the ringmasters were a trio of American men who surrounded Yaz. And they weren't happy people. They weren't happy with the site chosen, they weren't happy with the rigging of the sled, they weren't happy with the ocean currents. They weren't happy with anything that might distract from Yaz - and that included safety divers. They would pull interesting stunts; rolling into the office and announcing that Turkish television had decided that they wanted to make a live broadcast from Giftun island - a military installation - in three days' time. Without having obtained permits. In a country as slow moving and bureaucratic as Egypt, you can imagine how well that suggestion went down. The trouble with ears Throughout the week before the record attempt, Yaz practises freediving deeper and deeper. 80m, 90m, 95m... The problem is, she has managed to rupture an eardrum. Air is escaping as she equalises on descent, and when she leaves the sled she is dizzy and disorientated. The doctor that Karim arranges thinks she should stop and let the eardrum heal. Her trainer - who is also her boyfriend - thinks she should carry on. Karim is genuinely concerned for her safety, but Yaz is surrounded by a tight group of people who all have a stake, either personal or financial, in this dive taking place. And it is their advice which she follows. There's a timetable to observe, the TV cameras are coming, and there are sponsors to satisfy. Posters have been printed, VIPs have been invited. Burst eardrum or not, the show will go on. The rope trick
Strange bedfellows If you've never witnessed a freediving competition, I can sum it up in the following way. It involves an awful lot of people, a huge amount of preparation and buckets of posturing. If you're on the surface, there's not a whole lot to see - except the posturing, which is hilarious and irritating in equal measure. You actually get a much better idea watching the underwater video footage of the event afterwards. While it may take the freediver only a matter of minutes to make the dive, there will be safety divers positioned at intervals along the descent line who will have to spend much longer in the water with nothing but the sight of a manky bit of rope for entertainment. In Yasemin's case, Twiggs was the deep safety diver (she also acted as a judge) and she had to wait at 110m. Her job was to make sure Yaz was safely out of the sled, rescue her if she should pass out and pass her quickly up to the next safety diver. Needless to say, you have to be an accomplished trimix diver - and extremely patient - to carry out this role. As freedivers go deeper, they rely more and more upon technical divers for deep support. I couldn't help but be amused that people who espouse a philosophy of 'diving minimalism' should be inextricably caught up with the kit-dependent excesses of the technical diving world. Welcome to the spectacle The dive boat is crammed with people. Some of them are Yaz's team, some are media, and the rest..? A loose collection of VIPs, friends of friends and hangers-on - the unavoidable excess baggage of any media event. As a late arriver I'm let onto the boat grudgingly and have to pick my way through people who are guarding their viewpoint jealously. Yaz and Rudi are in the water, running through a series of pre-dive exercises that last for hours and are carried out with a seriousness that would put a strict religious order to shame. There's plenty of huffing and blowing, lots of floating face down, and some sitting on the side relaxing while Rudi scoops up water to pour over Yaz's head and shoulders to keep her cool. Mr Cowboy offers an occasional explanation but mostly barks orders at everyone around. There's a stiff breeze blowing and the sponsor's banners and flags are flapping noisily. This doesn't stop Mr Cowboy from demanding silence from the onlookers and castigating the safety divers for making too much splash when they jump in. Finally, the trainer indicates that Yaz is ready and she climbs onto her sled, eyes shut, breathing deeply. No-one makes a sound, or at least, not one that you could possibly hear above the din of the dancing plastic advertising. Then the countdown starts, and after all the faffing, everyone is genuinely transfixed. Wallop! The sled is released, and she's gone. The people nearest the edge of the boat lean forward. Everyone else looks slightly confused. The man standing on the bench in front of me scratches his arse. Is that it then? It begins to dawn on people that maybe Yaz only needed 20 minutes of the huffing stuff and the rest of the show may only be there to compensate for the fact that freediving, unfortunately, is a crap spectator sport. It's been only two minutes, but the crowd are getting bored and starting to search the icebox for Cokes when Mr Cowboy announces that Yaz is coming up. Her trainer freedives down to accompany her on the last, most perilous, 15 metres of the ascent - this is when she is most likely to black out. A black-out means not only that she'll have to be revived, but that the dive will be disqualified. The sponsors will be disappointed. The TV coverage will be cancelled. Rudi and Yaz break the surface together. They stare at each other for a moment, Yaz still looking deadly serious. Then Rudi flings his arms round her. Everybody relaxes, people start whooping and applauding; it's as if permission has been granted to celebrate. I'm still watching Yaz's face, because something seems to be missing. She might have broken a world record but the woman hasn't cracked a smile yet. In the entire week, I saw Yaz smile only once. It was about an hour after she completed her dive, and some well-wishers on a small boat had approached to congratulate her. Suddenly she became quite animated. "Do you know who won the Grand Prix?" she asked, and smiled. It was the most human that I'd seen her, and the one occasion when she wasn't flanked by one of her minders. Living the dream You have to admire Yaz for her courage, determination and self-discipline. Anyone who can freedive to 105m deserves respect for their achievement. But I was left wondering about the price of that achievement. Children often dream of running away to the circus. I don't know what Yasemin dreamt of when she was growing up in Turkey. Perhaps she has found it. I just hope that when she has had enough of the dream, she has the strength to run away from the circus. |
The Yaz team spent hours stretching a piece of rope out on land and poring over it with a measuring tape to confirm the length. "We don't use computers to calculate depth," explained Mr Cowboy, the judge, as I looked on at the unfolding farce with a mixture of wonderment and disbelief. "Oh, right," I say. But I can't help thinking - why would anyone prefer to trust a manky, stretchy bit of old rope that's being pulled at an angle by the current, as a measuring standard? Why not use a depth gauge that can be independently checked?
I had forgotten that I was now at the circus. The rope trick looks official. It gives the TV cameras something to film and it puts Mr Cowboy centre stage, which makes him happy.