By Brian Kakuk
Like so many of today’s cave divers and explorers, my first cave dives were influenced directly by a man who would eventually become not just a colleague but a great friend. In 1990, while perusing an old VHS tape of Sea Fan’s video magazine, I came upon a short video article on multiple lighting techniques in the underwater caves of Florida by some guy named Wes Skiles. In the video, Wes went on to explain in his distinct north Florida drawl, how multiple slave strobes could be used to create amazing images in underwater caves. The video article ended with a strong disclaimer that diving in such places required specialized training and equipment.
Being a young and slightly arrogant Navy hard hat diver as well as an avid underwater photographer, I figured that if the redneck in the video could create such stunning images, then I certainly should be able to accomplish the same results in the Bahamian blue holes scattered around Andros island where I was living at the time. I snatched up my cameras, strobes and dive gear and headed off to the closest blue hole I could think of.
Within minutes of entering the cave, I was in a complete silt out, by myself, and the only reason I got out alive was the fact that I had seen Wes using a guideline during his dives in the video, and fortunately for me, had done the same on this dive. The dive had scared me badly, but I also realized that if I had the training and equipment that Wes had described, I might return to finish the dive without fear of dying.
I decided to put away the cameras for at least a year and learn how to dive the caves safely. However, after recognizing that most the caves I was diving in were mostly virgin, and no other divers had ever seen what I was seeing, the exploration bug struck hard and I never really regained my passion for the underwater photography.
Fast forward 6 years.
My first dives with Wes would be in Wakulla Springs, during Bill Stone’s Wakulla 2 project in 1997. Wes and his team were being paid to document the digital mapping project for a National Geographic documentary.
On one mission, Paul Heinerth and I were to drop some emergency bail-out cylinders approximately 5,000 feet into the cave, while Wes and his team shot still images up until we reached an area called the Grand Canyon. As we approached the area that the photography team and the mapping teams were supposed to part ways, I heard Wes begin screaming through his regulator and pointing sharply at one of the other divers. Startled, I immediately went into rescue mode and started to deploy a regulator from my bail out cylinder, when I heard Wes yelling again. This time I could only hear “Hine! Hine!” When I turned to look at Wes I could see him waving me off as he realized I was trying to react to a non-existent emergency. This was my first introduction to the fine art of understanding Wes’ “scuba speak,” and afterwards found out from the rest of the team that this was his method of directing the lighting crew underwater, and “Hine” was actually “Brian” in this underwater language.
Fast forward another 13 years.
Over more than another decade, I would have the opportunity to work with Wes on at least four more projects including BBC and National Geographic documentaries as well as one feature film during which I would slowly become fluent in the team’s “scuba speak” language.
The last project I would work with Wes on would represent the culmination of 20 years of exploration and research cave diving for me. Wes and my good friend Kenny Broad would pitch a National Geographic documentary and magazine article that would take much of 2009 to shoot in the blue holes and underwater caves of the Bahamas. This project was a cave explorer’s dream. I would get to work with long-time friends Wes, Jill Heinerth, Tom Morris, Kenny Broad, Dr. Tom Iliffe, Nathan Skiles and Agnes Milowka, showing them some world class Bahamian caves and documenting the amazing research our Bahamas National Museum team had been conducting in blue holes across the Bahamian Archipelago. Although many of the images that would come from Wes’ camera during our time together were indeed world class and worthy of the National Geographic, one image in particular now has much more meaning to me than any of the others. The image, actually a mosaic of 3 images in the Cascade Room of Dan’s Cave would eventually grace the cover and a large pull-out image of the August 2010 National Geographic magazine. However, after learning of Wes’ death, the reason for the image’s significance would change drastically for me.
The Cascade Room image was one of the last ones shot during our time together on Abaco Island where I now live. During the two days that it took to shoot this image, Wes directed us in elaborate pre-dive briefings as to which diver would be positioned where, and what angle to aim strobes and movie lighting. During one of these dives, Wes would position me in the middle of the room, hovering motionless between floor and ceiling, while staring straight into a bright movie light held by Wes’ lead lighting diver, Tom Morris. At one point, Wes yells out in his scuba speak language to me: “ Hine, Hine, Hin warg mug hi! Hin warg mug hi!” To the un-initiated (as I was on the 1997 dive with him in Wakulla), most divers would have turned to Wes expecting some sort of emergency. However, I now knew exactly what was expected, and took two short fin kicks towards Tom’s movie light. My response was immediately met with rapid fire flashes from Wes’ camera, confirming that I had correctly understood the meaning of his underwater screams. “Hin warg mug hi!” simply meant “swim toward the light!!”
Dealing with the loss of a friend and colleague is as individual a process as any in life. For me, it was a matter of saying good bye in the environment that we shared. A few days after returning from Wes’ memorial at Ginnie Springs, I found myself in my favorite place on earth. The very place where Wes had shared his final underwater words with me. As I swam into the large blue void of the Cascade Room, festooned with massive pillars and a forest of cave formations, l could see the images of the team hanging in mid water and hear the echoes of Wes’ efforts. There I said good bye to my friend, reciting the exact words he had directed at me. “Hin warg mug hi” = “Swim toward the light.” Although the words now have a different meaning to me, they are nonetheless, words I will never forget.
“Swim toward the light, Wes.” I know I’ll find you there when the time comes.
Photo of Kenny Broad and Luis Lamar in Lothlorian, a blue hole located near the eastern end of Grand Bahama Island. The name comes from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and was named by Rob Palmer in the 1980’s. It has at least six entrances in a line that lead into this massive cavern. Photo by Wes Skiles courtesy of National Geographic Society.