So, I Married An Explorer

Note: Jill is in Australia for a diving conference and screenings of “Diving Into The Darkness” - her columns will continue when she returns to Canada.

Meanwhile, here is an article I wrote last year for publication in “Diver” magazine.

Robert

---

My new girlfriend drives a plumber’s truck. That was my impression as Jill pulled up to meet me for our first date. Little did I know, a nondescript white cargo van was the vehicle of choice among instructors of the North Florida cave diving community. I casually leaned against my little red non-air conditioned, manually shifting Toyota, trying with all my might to look like the coolest middle-aged, twice-divorced dude I told her to expect. She was unaware that I had driven furiously from my new job at the Lake City Veteran’s Hospital for the past hour, trying to find the entrance to Florida’s Ichetucknee State Park, where we had agreed to meet for an easy “get to know you” walk. I was unaware that Ichetucknee has two entrances, and for several minutes I sat sweating, my heart sinking as I thought I had been stood up. Finally, I asked a passing park ranger if this was the north entrance. In a syrupy southern drawl, she said,” Oh darlin’, you’re at the south gate - the north entrance is about nine miles up the road!” That little Toyota was on its last legs, but I managed to coax the last bit of NASCAR out of her and sped up Highway 27 like Richard Petty’s lost Yankee cousin.

I got there just in the nick of time, never revealing that I almost missed our fateful first meeting because my sense of direction and navigation skills leave a lot to be desired. In true Canadian fashion, Jill smiled and apologized for being a few minutes late, as she had to stop for air fills along the way. Her first smile melted me, and as she led me down the twisty path to the breathtakingly beautiful Ichetucknee Blue Hole Spring, it seemed we had known each other for a lifetime.

A year later, we were married.

I’m often asked what it is like to be married to Jill, a well-known and accomplished cave diver and explorer.

“Are you scared for her?”

“Does her job frighten you?”

“Do you miss her when she is away on expeditions?”

Yes, yes, and one-hundred times, yes.

I liken it to being married to a police officer, a firefighter, or someone else whose profession can be risky and, at times, places them in harm’s way. However, I remember that as a younger man, I was deployed around the world in a military combat unit, sometimes to pretty sketchy places. At the time, I had a spouse who was left behind at home and indeed fretted over my safe return. And, eventually, all that fretting and absence contributed to the breakdown of my first marriage.

Now the situation is reversed. As Jill travels the world, I am the one who endeavors to hold down the home front.

There are some occasions when I can accompany Jill on her adventures. Most recently, we participated together on the Great Island Expedition, an RCGS-sponsored project that took us with a team of divers to various sites in Newfoundland. Along the way, the team made some fascinating discoveries, including dives confirming the location of a lost World-War Two Liberator bomber in Gander Lake and exploring the remains of two U.S. Navy warships sunk by German U-Boats off the Burin peninsula. As we’ve trekked the world on various projects, from Australia to Antarctica, our mantra of “Never Be Boring” has proven to be the glue that binds us together.

Above: Jill is all smiles after locating the bomber in Gander Lake.

My illustrious diving career consists of about twenty easy open water dives with Jill over fifteen years, so I am in no way qualified or capable of the technical dives required on these expeditions. I try to be helpful beyond being a “Bubble Watcher.” My photojournalism experience and a rudimentary understanding of filmmaking and storytelling compliments Jill’s technical abilities. We have a fantastic working relationship. Jill says, “If I didn’t marry Robert, I’d have to hire him.”

I joke and tell her she can’t afford me.

Together we have produced a handful of documentary films, published dozens of books, and worked on podcasts and Youtube videos. Sometimes the line between co-creators and a married couple can get blurred. I find this far more challenging to navigate emotionally than the risks involved with Jill’s diving.

You see, Jill eliminates as much risk as possible before each dive. If you have ever trained with her, you know she is the “Checklist Queen.” Whether a shallow single tank excursion to a wreck at Tobermory or a record rebreather dive inside an iceberg, Jill does everything possible to increase her chances of coming home to see me at the end of the expedition. There are months of training and preparation. Years of life support gear development. Guides, algorithms, and protocols. All the tools she needs to complete the mission successfully are available. But marriage between two curious, creative people doesn’t come with a training agency’s instruction manual. We improvise and make adjustments to our relationship all the time. The main thing is we trust and respect each other, no matter what. Bailing out on our marriage is not an option. In its infinite wisdom and endless sense of humor, the Universe brought us together to challenge one another and make us better people than we were that first day at Ichetucknee.

One of the unexpected things I encountered early in our relationship was the loss of new friends and colleagues. A few months into our life together, Jill asked me to edit a eulogy she would deliver for a cave diver’s memorial service. It was awkward, as I only knew a few of Jill’s closest dive buddies at that point, but I helped plan and put together the service.

I thought it was a one-off occurrence.

I was wrong.

We lived across the road from Ginnie Springs in Florida, in the heart of cave diving country, and our big house was often full of divers and their families. We hosted music concerts for them on our huge back deck and often lodged entire teams who were training for extreme underwater expeditions. People stayed in our spare rooms, camped on our lawn and slept in a big yurt we built nestled in the ten acres of woods behind our house. The people I met were fascinating, intelligent, humorous, and usually trying to make a difference in the world. There were English, American, Spanish, Australian, German, Polish, Danish, Swiss, Mexican, Canadian, Finnish, Russian, Italian, and lord knows how many other nationalities of divers, constantly rotating in and out of our place. I became close to many of these people, some of whom are still among my greatest friends.

Despite my love and friendship, one by one, the caves held onto some of my new friends tighter than I could. Each fatality shattered me. I lost more people to cave diving than I lost in 15 years of hard-core military service.

So many losses have hardened my heart. Sorry. I love you but can’t bear to eulogize another of you.

Above: Wes and Jill with some Hollywood dudes.

The community’s grief landed on our door step when we lost Wes Skiles. The people he was diving with when he died stayed at our house. Many of you know how close Wes and Jill were, but you may not know that Wes and his beautiful family were our neighbors. Our properties met at a long-abandoned fence line, and we walked over to each other’s places so often there was a well-worn path through the woods between us. To Jill, Wes was a mentor, creative collaborator, and iconic cave diving pioneer. To me, he was my redneck brother, who rode up our dirt road on his big tractor to chat. Always publicly larger than life, on that tractor, sipping a cold drink with me, Wes was a private, sensitive man who loved his family, the Florida springs, and the friends in his life. His death hit me very, very hard.

As Wes’ memorial service wound down and divers from around the world began heading home, Jill and I had some deep, quiet, reflective time. For the first time, I asked Jill to consider quitting her diving career. If I were to lose Jill, I’d be devastated. There were oceans of tears as we worked our way through the new path she would take in her professional career.

One of the paths we were excited about was moving away from cave country and settling permanently in Canada. Jill agreed to be extremely discerning about the expeditions she went on, and the divers she would train and mentor. We decided to emphasize many “out-of the-water” avenues available to us. We’d write more books and magazine articles. We’d create and sell images and video footage. We’d create more training assets that divers could access online. Jill would do more TV and film work. Public speaking became important as Jill shared her inspirational message of exploration and water literacy with the world. To improve, we attended Toastmasters meetings and came to love the art of communication. Soon, Jill had Canada’s biggest speaking agency booking her at significant events. She acquired a literary agent who would help guide her publishing career. And perhaps most importantly, Jill was named the first Explorer-in-Residence of The Royal Canadian Geographical Society. This opened many new doors and presented a myriad of opportunities.

Above: Jill presenting at an Earth Day celebration.

I was coming to terms with the fact that Jill was a diver again. We made a deal: Jill would consult me about every dive she planned, and I was given veto power. After each dive, as soon as humanly possible, Jill would contact me and let me know that she was safely out of the water. I still worry. I spend a lot of time waiting for that email or phone call. It would be impossible not to be concerned about my life partner spending so much time in an unforgiving environment. Jill has tried to grow gills, but the science just isn’t there.

I’m fortunate to have married the smartest, kindest, most generous person I’ve ever met. Jill’s curiosity is as big as the world she explores as a technical diver. If that passion and curiosity were taken from her, she would not be the same person with whom I fell in love.

It can be a little weird when I’m walking through an airport with Jill, and someone is sitting there reading her “Into The Planet” book. Or, when Jill’s away, and I’m home alone surfing through the TV channels, and suddenly my wife’s face appears on-screen in an adventure documentary program. And, of course, at dive sites the world over, Jill is signing fins and taking selfies with fans. She is one of the world’s most authentic, humble, “Almost Famous” people.

To outsiders, she is an acclaimed explorer and role model. She is, and will always be, “My Jilly.”

And guess what? She drives a big honkin’ dive truck again.

---

Many young men are having a difficult time navigating our complex and confusing modern world. If you have a young person in your life, here are some books I recommend you gift to them:

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad

Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut

On The Road by Jack Kerouac

---

A nice article - interview published this week at “She Changes Climate.”

---

Jill and “Diving Into The Darkness” director Nays Baghai appeared on ABC Australia’s Breakfast Television.