“Call me Ishmael . . . ” Those celebrated opening lines from Moby-Dick are re-forming in my mind to “call me insane”, as I ready myself to slide into the ink-blue Caribbean and free-dive with a sperm whale.
The rasp of an aqualung can spook the whales, so I must rely on lung power, mask, snorkel, wetsuit and fins. Despite the fact I’ve spent the last couple of weeks practising holding my breath underwater at my local pool, I’m still only good for a descent of about 15 metres before I have to rise for breath.
Financial Times