There’s something about that first controlled breath underwater that’s hard to put into words. It feels unnatural and completely normal at the same time. Your brain tells you this shouldn’t be possible, but your body settles into it anyway. You inhale, you exhale, and suddenly you’re part of a world most people only ever see from above.
Four years ago, shortly after moving to Vancouver Island, I made an offhand comment to my incredibly supportive wife about how cool it would be to learn to scuba dive. Being the thoughtful person she is, she surprised me that year with an open water course for my birthday. At the time, I had no idea how much that gift would change the way I experience this island we now call home.
I was born and raised in Toronto—a true city kid. I’ve been living on Vancouver Island, in the Oceanside community, for about five years now. In that time, I’ve tried to take full advantage of what this magical place has to offer. I’ve travelled the island from top to bottom, summited mountains, and pushed through multi-day coastal hikes that leave you feeling equal parts exhausted and accomplished.
But, for me, nothing quite compares to diving beneath the Salish Sea.
“Other hobbies quickly took a back seat, and I took every opportunity I could to get back in the water, sometimes diving a dozen times in a week”
As a kid, I remember watching my uncle and cousins test their scuba gear in their backyard swimming pool. They were Great Lakes divers and, at the time, it seemed like something from a different world—breathing underwater. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen.
Fast forward many years later, standing in a dive shop in Nanaimo about to start my open water course, and those memories came flooding back. Am I really doing this? Am I actually about to become a scuba diver?
Needless to say, after my first dive, I was hooked. I went all in—buying my own gear so I wouldn’t have to rely on rentals. I wanted access to the ocean without barriers. Other hobbies quickly took a back seat, and I took every opportunity I could to get back in the water, sometimes diving a dozen times in a week.
Early on, one trip to the dive shop changed how I saw where I lived. I was chatting with the shop owner, and she asked where I lived.
“Wait—you live in Nanoose Bay? That’s some of the best shore diving on the island!”
She was right, the best shore diving was minutes away from my house. People travel from all over the world to dive here, and it was practically in my backyard.
Diving off the shores of Vancouver Island—especially along the central east coast—doesn’t hit you all at once. It’s not like tropical diving, where everything is bright and immediately obvious. Here, it’s quieter. Slower. More subtle.
You descend into the green.
At first, it can feel disorienting. The water isn’t crystal clear, and the light filters down in a way that makes things feel muted. But then your eyes adjust. Shapes begin to form. Movement reveals itself. What looked empty at first becomes something entirely different.
Rock walls come alive with plumose anemones, stretching out like soft, pale flowers. Rockfish dart in and out of crevices. Puget Sound king crabs sit with quiet purpose on the ocean floor. And if you’re lucky, you might catch a glimpse of something larger—something that reminds you how alive this place really is.
All the while, the only sound you hear is your own breathing.
Inhale. Exhale.
“Your world shrinks to your breath, your movement, and the space around you”
A steady rhythm that becomes almost meditative. That’s the part that’s hardest to describe. People often ask what it’s like, and the truth is, there isn’t a perfect answer. How do you put into words the feeling of shaking hands with a giant Pacific octopus, having your head nibbled on by a sea lion, or being surrounded by massive shimmering schools of tube-snout?
It’s not just what you see, it’s how it makes you feel.
There’s a calm that comes with it. A kind of quiet focus that’s hard to replicate. Up on land, there’s always noise, but underwater, everything simplifies. Your world shrinks to your breath, your movement, and the space around you.
And somehow, that feels like more, not less.
Living in the Oceanside area, it’s easy to take the ocean for granted. It’s always there, part of the background. But scuba diving changes that.
For me, it’s been one of the most rewarding ways to connect with Vancouver Island. Not by looking at it, or hiking across it, but by descending beneath the surface and seeing what most people never get the chance to see. An entire new world to discover.
