I Met a Freediving Legend at Vertical Blue. It Didn’t Go as Expected
- Anthony Feoutis
- May 6
- 5 min read
Updated: May 17
Freediving training on the legendary platform in the Bahamas.
AIDA & Molchanovs Instructor Trainer
He is the founder of The Depth Collector and VD Freediving Taiwan. With over a decade of experience, he focuses on solving real-world freediving problems, from equalization to depth adaptation, using practical, field-tested methods.
Meeting the giants you stand on the shoulders of is supposed to be special.
In freediving, it’s even more than that.
At the highest level, the athletes you look up to are not just performers. They represent the sport itself. The values. The mindset. The way things are supposed to be done.
In 2023, I met many of them. More than I ever expected.
Alexey Molchanov.
Arnaud Jerald.
Alenka Artnik.
Walid Boudhiaf.
And many more.
And of course, Huayang, Wenshiang, and Mia, the fantastic Taiwanese athletes who became my friends.
But I also met the one who built Vertical Blue. A living legend of the sport.
William Trubridge.
And with him, it didn’t go the way I expected.
Training at Vertical Blue: A Unique Freediving Experience
In 2023, my wife and I were at Vertical Blue to support the Taiwanese team during their preparation and the competition.
After a month in Roatán, we moved to Long Island, Bahamas, two weeks before the start to train at Dean’s Blue Hole.
You have to understand what this place means.
For any freediver, coming to Vertical Blue is special. Being part of it is an honor. You don’t just show up. You are invited.
Only the best in the world get that chance. And somehow, we were there, supporting the Taiwanese team.
So we took the job seriously.
Very seriously.
Our role was simple: do everything so the athletes could focus entirely on their dives.
We were chefs. Drivers. Coaches. Problem-solvers. Safety divers.
Freediving Safety: What Most People Don’t See
For one full week before the official VB safety team arrived, Jiayin and I handled safety.
At first, just for the Taiwanese team.
Spending a lot of time on the platform, I started to notice something.
Most athletes were relying on surface safety.
It’s easy to understand why. They dive to massive depths. And they want to keep everything for the dive.
So we started jumping in for anyone who asked.
And these were not casual dives.
These were deep dives.
Very deep.
People were going past 100 meters with nothing but surface safety and a counter ballast not even set.
I was the one who prepared the ballast, making sure it was ready in case things went south.
It is insane.
But that was the reality on that platform.
Every single day.
Meeting the World’s Best Freedivers
That part was incredible.
I met some of the best freedivers in the world. These people are a different species.
And I was ecstatic to spend time with them. They were all open. Friendly. Respectful.
It felt right.
It felt like the freediving I love.
When the Atmosphere Changed
Then one day, everything shifted.
A big 4x4 arrived at the beach.
William Trubridge stepped out, carrying a plastic bucket filled with his gear. He swam to the platform.
And suddenly, the atmosphere changed.
Silence.
Divers started whispering.
You could feel it immediately.
A Deep Dive Without Communication
He didn’t say hello.
Didn’t acknowledge anyone.
He lay down on one side of the platform and took a long nap.
Part of his preparation, sure. But it felt off.
A minute earlier, the platform was alive. People talking. Laughing. Then he showed up. And everything went quiet.
Silence took over Dean’s Blue Hole.
Then he got up without saying a word.
Got into the water.
No safety.
Preparing for a 100m+ free immersion dive.
Providing Safety for a 115m Freediving Dive
One of the athletes on the platform asked if Jiayin and I could do the safety.
I remember thinking:
Of course.
I get to safety William Trubridge.
What an honor.
We got in the water.
He was already in his own world. You know The Big Blue? That detached, almost obsessive focus you see in the movie. It felt like that.
No briefing.
No dive time.
No confirmation of depth.
Nothing.
Another diver told us: 115 meters. I’m still wondering to this day how he knew. Maybe Trubridge is telepathic.
Good enough. At least now we knew.
I calculated the timing and explained to Jiayin how we would handle the dive.
We were ready.
A Critical Safety Detail Revealed Too Late
He went down.
Disappeared into the blue.
Time passed.
One diver stayed on the line, feeling the rope.
Then he said:
“Touchdown.”
And started calling out the pulls.
“Pull… pull… pull…”
That’s not common.
I asked why.
He answered quickly:
Trubridge had experienced a deep blackout a few months earlier.
He was checking that the pulls didn’t stop.
If they stopped, it meant a blackout.
Deep.
Very deep.
Ballast launch.
Worst-case scenario.
It would have been useful to know that before the dive.
Not because it would have changed how I do safety.
I assume the worst case every time.
But in freediving, communication around safety is not optional.
You don’t keep critical information to yourself.
You share it.
The Dive, the Safety, and the Reaction
When the time came, I dove.
Went to 30 meters.
Waited.
Then he appeared.
I escorted him up, paying close attention.
We surfaced.
No sign.
No acknowledgment.
No word.
No “thanks.”
Nothing.
He climbed onto the platform, packed his gear, went to breathe oxygen, got into his 4x4…
And left.
Freediving Values: Expectation vs Reality
And I remember thinking:
That’s not freediving.
If I’m honest, my first reaction was harsher.
That’s not the values this sport claims to represent.
Especially from someone who positions himself as a defender of those values: quick to police others, even to the point of searching their luggage, yet unable to offer a basic hello or a simple thank-you to the safety divers.
Freediving is about:
Respect.
Connection.
Awareness.
And that day, none of it was there.
What Happens When You Meet Your Heroes
So yes.
I was disappointed.
Not because he wasn’t friendly. We all have bad days. And I understand that when you prepare for a deep dive, you go into the zone.
It was the attitude.
He didn’t say a word. Before his nap, he could have asked who would handle safety. He could have said he was going to 115 meters, shared his dive time, and mentioned the deep blackout he had a few months earlier. That the safety would need to be sharp.
I would have jumped in without hesitation.
Instead, it felt like we, the people on that tiny platform, owed him something.
No serious freediver watches another diver go deep without caring about their safety. That simply doesn’t happen in my world.
No acknowledgment.
No basic respect.
Especially in a situation where people are there to keep you alive.
They say never meet your heroes.
Now I understand why.
Because sometimes, the person doesn’t match the image you built.
And sometimes, the gap is bigger than you expect.
Comments