Commentary

Remembering ‘Iggs

October 16, 2025   ·   0 Comments

By Constance Scrafield

There is a picture on my wall; left to right – Patrick, my wonderful horse and dearest friend for 32 years, myself, Patricia, age four, her pony Palmira, and her father, ‘Iggs. He and I opted not to marry, even though having our child, so as not to ruin our friendship.

Anyway, here we were on a cool day in late autumn, at the barn where Patrick lived, when we were in England. Patrick and I had just come back from a ride, while Patricia hung out with her father at the local little snack bar.

Fast forward to today, here in Canada, lots of years later. ‘Iggs died a year ago, today. So, on this sad day, let me tell you a happy day story.

He and I had travelled with friends to Tenerife over Easter for a week or so. We liked to stay in Los Cristianos, which at the time was not much more than a fishing village with enough visitors to keep an interesting air to it.

‘Iggs was a deep sea diver as a profession with many amazing stories to tell, and as there was a scuba club and school, there in Tenerife I was clear I wanted to learn.

It begins in the swimming pool – first was to learn to snorkel, proving that one can breathe through a mouthpiece which accesses air from a tube above the water’s surface, with a mask and fins.

Actually, at first it is a bit of a trick. However, our friends encouraged my progress from the poolside by declaring randomly, “Thar she blows!” Have a drink and then “Thar she blows!” until I could.

Still attending classes in the pool, learning the use of a regulator in one’s mouth, a considerably larger piece of equipment than the simple tube, and how to swim with a weight belt and a tank. Had to learn how to clear my mask, which otherwise mists up underwater. Took a lot less time, a few days, than I imagined.

In the morning, we were ready,off by boat to an appropriate spot, I, the novice, ‘Iggs the pro, and our delightful teacher, a German gentleman and leader, Hans. We geared up, tucking and checking, and splash, over we went!

It was love at first release. Like flying, like every dream I ever had about flying, and what a welcome met us. Likely, the population of underwater neighbours were accustomed to the divers coming and maybe bringing treats, for they did not zoom away – they hung out with us, one colourful crowd at a time.

Hans showed us various plants and rock formations, but there is a strict rule underwater – don’t touch, pet, or try to cuddle with anything, for there are spikes and other things that are best left alone.

With a very strange exception. There was a cliff of sorts, a wall that rose up and was pitted with many holes, like narrow tunnels. Hans swam over to it and gestured for us to join him. It felt as though another lesson was coming.

Not exactly.

He had with him a bag of treats and in a few moments, heads were peeking out of the holes – of moray eels…

I backed a little away, but trusting our man, we inched forward and handed one of the ugly things a treat which it accepted with the grace of a cat. There may even have been a moray version of a smile – bit hard to tell. Not done yet.

Having won a sort of trust with the eels, Hans scratched one under the chin, definitely as one might a cat, and the silly thing responded by lifting its head up to fully enjoy the attention.

Thus encouraged, I performed the same nonsense with another eel, and it responded to my well-practiced chin scratch with the same ridiculous pleasure as had the first.

Our scheduled time under such a depth of well over 60 feet was done, and it was the moment to raise cautiously up the rope, as ‘Iggs directed me, pausing and blowing out air as we went.

Finally, and with little longing for more, we breached the surface, and hands were all about lifting my tank and helping me with the last scramble into the boat.

Like true mariners, there were bottles on robes hung over the sides, and they were hauled in to release and enjoy champagne-like bubbles to cheer and congratulate each other on such a fine expedition.

While underwater, there had been a particularly splendid crowd of fish that swam around me and seemed to invite me to dash with them a bit, but a strong hand on my ankle – that was ‘Iggs with a worried look and a shaking “no” to remind me to stay with the gang.

Over the bubbles on board, he laughed at me and said he had not been surprised at my sense of adventure, but still…

Thank you, Iggs, for such adventures, for this was not the only one. Our daughter and I thank you for the memories.

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