Today, I’d like to share a story rather than something educational.
This dive happened on our latest liveaboard trip in Egypt at Big Brother Island. I’ve dived there before, but this time the experience was completely different — because the conditions were different.
The Brothers Islands are famous for sharks, barracudas, and other big predatory fish, beautiful dramatic coral walls with endless depth, and especially strong currents.
We decided to do a tech dive on one of the shipwrecks — Numidia — and planned a depth of around 55 meters. We got our instructions and briefing, and anyway, I had done this tech dive before, so I knew what to expect.
Except… I didn’t.
The Negative Entry Chaos
We geared up, prepared our rebreathers and bailouts, some people took scooters, I brought my big camera, and we were split into groups in different zodiacs.
The briefing was clear: the moment the zodiac skipper counts down 3, 2, 1… we all roll back at the same time and do a negative entry. Otherwise, we’re in trouble.
Negative entry, you say? Yeah… I’m not a fan of this technique — especially when diving tech, wearing a drysuit, using a rebreather, stages, and carrying a big camera. I honestly don’t even find it realistic with all that gas-trapping equipment (besides the wing, also the counterlung, and especially the drysuit), unless you dive overweighted. And I don’t dive overweighted. I always try to be as neutral as possible.
So we got on the zodiac. We were a group of four — me, Yehia, and two other tech divers. While on the zodiac, we were trying to clip our stages with the help of the skipper. I asked him to help me clip my camera to a D-ring because I was wearing dry gloves and it was a lot of hassle with all that gear. His English wasn’t good, and he clearly didn’t understand what I was asking. He took my camera and put it back on the floor.
In my head: oh no…
But I told him, okay, no problem, we’ll clip it before we jump in.
As we approached the end of the island — our drop-off point — I told him again, please help me clip the camera before we jump. He nodded, or at least I thought he did. We reached the drop-off point and, without a second to pause, the moment the zodiac stopped, I heard him counting:
3, 2, 1…
“NOOOO WAIT, MY CAMERA!” I shouted.
I saw everyone roll back. In my head: OH NO, OH NO. If I didn’t jump right now, we would be separated for good and I wouldn’t do the dive. So I grabbed the camera and rolled back without clipping it.
If you expect that I dropped the camera into the depths — no, that’s not what happened. Instead, I tried to sink quickly while gasping for air (or trimix, in my case), trying to empty the counterlung fully and descend. But that wasn’t so easy.
First, I went head down and trapped all the gas in my legs. Then I switched the position and tried going head up (the smarter way, if you ask 😅). But by the time I managed to sink one meter, I was already swept by the current toward the reef — into the shallows, where the current was the worst. This was exactly the zone the dive guide had warned us about:
“DO NOT GET THERE.” Because from that point — it’s over. No chance to fight it.
I started shouting for Yehia through my rebreather while I watched the other tech divers disappearing into the distance and the depth. I was at about two meters depth, trying to hold on to rocks, corals — whatever I could grab — for my dear life.
And don’t forget: I only had one hand available. The other was holding my big camera, which I was desperately trying to keep above my head and not to bang, scratch, or break while all this chaos was happening.
I couldn’t clip it off because I was holding on with my left hand, and letting go meant being swept away in seconds and disappearing into the blue. I couldn’t even lift my hand to release the gas from my drysuit, which was still trying to push me to the surface. And anyway, the gas was trapped in my legs again, so lifting one arm wouldn’t have helped much.
Even with one full hand gripping and violent kicking, it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t moving. I wasn’t even staying in place. The rocks slipped from my hands, and I was being swept further and further away.
At this point, I was yelling: “Yehia, help me with the camera! Help me with the camera!” But he had enough to deal with himself. I was desperate and my hands already hurt. I could not keep the camera lifted up anymore because the drag made it feel incredibly heavy.
And I started shouting even louder: “Please, Yehia! Help me!” But he didn’t hear me. I got swept further. Until something stopped me. My bailout stage regulator had gotten caught between the corals. Awesome! I had now moved to the stage of damaging equipment. I couldn’t retrieve it, so I started pulling myself toward the second stage. Something broke loose and the second stage came free.
Together with me.
I had no more strength to hold on. I couldn’t grab the hose properly because I had no free hand. So I held the hose with the same hand that was holding my camera, across my body.
Now my shouting sounded different: “I can’t… please help me, Yehia!”
And then I felt something worse coming.
Hyperventilation.
My breathing increased dramatically. I felt like I was starving for gas. I knew this was the last drop. And I knew that hypercapnia on a rebreather doesn’t end well. Exhausted and stressed, I let go. Yehia let go too.
We surfaced in open water, no longer protected by the reef — in the kind of place where curious sharks appear. Isn’t that what we wanted? Shark encounters…
Another incident followed immediately after, but I won’t speak about that in this blog.
Yehia inflated the SMB, and in the distance we saw a zodiac approaching. I was relieved that they had spotted us. But I also felt like I had failed. I’ve done strong current dives, high-flow cave dives, and drift dives before. But nothing ever felt so out of control.
Fighting a current or doing a negative entry with a single tank and a wetsuit is completely different from having drag three times your body size while only having one hand available for everything.
The remorse of a ruined dive was there.
But I was determined to try again — without the big camera. And I wanted Yehia to see the wreck, since he hadn’t seen it before.
Attempt Two
After lunch, we geared up again and asked the skipper to drop us at Numidia once more.
“This time, we’re doing it differently,” I said.
No negative entry.
We would descend fast, but without chaos and flapping fins, trying to kick ourselves down. We clipped everything properly and told the skipper to drop us slightly further away.
I started the countdown.
We rolled in.
At the surface, we signaled thumbs down — and we both started sinking. How wonderful.
We tried to shelter behind the corals, but the current was still strong. We had to hold onto rocks again. In my head: here we go again…
But this time we started much better. We didn’t drift to the shallows, and most importantly, I had both hands available. This time, Yehia was close to giving up. But we kept descending slowly, trying to shelter behind the wreck from the side.
Then finally — 50 meters. The engine room.
We went inside to catch our breath. There was no current inside. After about 10 minutes, we decided not to continue exploring further — neither inside nor outside — and we left, hoping the current would take us around the island back to the boat.
And it did. For a while.
We were flying toward the boat and it felt so relaxing. Until the current changed. For a moment, we experienced a downdraft. Then a mild current against us. This is what the Brothers Islands are famous for: changing currents.
The Sharks
We also encountered sharks — mostly Longimanus (Oceanic Whitetip sharks), but also a Thresher shark (which I don’t have video evidence of), and barracudas. I’ve seen sharks before — mostly harmless species or small ones. But these Longimanus were different.
They acted like predators. Curious. Actively checking. Opportunistic.
I’ve been told that some liveaboards feed these sharks in this location so divers can have closer encounters and tip the crew better afterward. That’s not right. That’s why the sharks were circling divers and boats, expecting food. Sometimes they got more than curious (not in a good way) — and we can thank those feeding them for that.
In the End
Overall, this experience was incredibly exciting for both of us. You can’t imagine everything we experienced there — some of which I haven’t even mentioned. I only took a few shots with a small action camera, but missed many more.
One more reason to come back!
