I am an ocean-loving gal with a genuine curiosity for the underwater world. I’ve been snorkelling all over the globe, from Mexico and Thailand to Florida and Sicily, and seen hundreds of species of aquatic life, from angelfish to catfish and jellyfish. I grew up by the sea and love tangling my toes in a bit of wayward algae. I’ve boogie-boarded up and down the East Coast of America, and there’s nothing I enjoy more than munching on a mixed sea-food platter at a beachside bar.

However, the extent of my deep-sea experience involves nothing more than watching countless Jacques Cousteau reruns from the comfort of my sofa. I have never had the chance to don a self-contained underwater breathing apparatus and take the plunge myself.

Salty tales of diving underwater wrecks, floating past fabulous coral, and avoiding imminent shark activity excite me. But the Calypso sank in 1996, and as far as I know Hollywood’s not casting a leading lady for the remake of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. I had to take matters into my own flippered feet. So I bade farewell to my goldfish, gave him a holiday food pellet and boarded a flight to the Caribbean island of Grenada. I had one week to qualify as an open-water diver, and was determined to demist my mask with flair and finesse by journey’s end.

As I flew into Grenada, a patchwork of colourful roofs came into view. As we drew nearer, it was clear that they were all new. The past few years have seen a building boom, unfortunately born of tragedy. In September 2004 Hurricane Ivan did its best to destroy the island; 85 per cent of Grenada was devastated, including most of its lucrative spice crop. Thirty-nine people lost their lives and, more than two years on, the islanders are still rebuilding — cement mixers and perspiring labourers dot the lush landscape.

One couple experienced the devastating eye of the storm first-hand, and have been reconstructing their lives — and business — ever since. Russ and Magdalena Fielden sailed with their children to Grenada from Devon almost a decade ago as tourists, and never sailed back. They own and run True Blue Bay, a charming candy-hued guest-house resort. It is a refreshing antidote to the all-inclusive enclaves that are unjustly popular in this part of the world. True Blue Bay is ideal for divers and nondivers alike, with swimming, sailing, mountain trekking and market shopping on its doorstep.

The resort is especially convenient for first-time divers such as me; a languid stroll along the yachting marina leads to Aquanauts, a five-star accredited diving centre. Partners in life and in diving, Peter and Gerlinde Seupel organise every level of diving, from junior classes for preteens to advanced instructor certification. PADI, the Professional Association of Diving Instructors, is a globally recognised certification course.

With a local team of dedicated instructors, boatmen and women, the Seupels help hundreds to achieve PADI qualifications every year. Here, beginners can learn the ropes, while the more experienced can descend 120ft (40m) to explore the Bianca C, a cruise ship that sank off the island in 1961.

No sooner had I checked in to my sea-view room and poured myself a rum punch than Peter turned up with a portable DVD player and PADI instruction film. So much for the cocktail and sunset. My attention was turned instead to buoyancy and equalisation, fins and valves. I nervously anticipated my diving debut the next day.

My first lesson was an intense four-hour, one-on-one session with Paul Ward, Aquanaut’s top instructor. In the hotel’s shallow pool, I slowly learnt how to operate the necessary buttons, levers, gauges, weights, inflators and deflators to enable me to breathe underwater and float weightlessly. Diving seems to be a gadget-lover’s dream; unfortunately, I can’t even programme my video on dry land. Eventually I emerged a wrinkly mess, exhausted, hungry, and not sure if I’d be able to complete the course. With my first open-water dive set for the following morning, I peeled off my wetsuit and made a dash to catch a few rays. After all, nobody ever got a suntan from scuba diving.

We met at the marina at 9am the next day. Lenny and Roger, our captains, gave us a boat-safety briefing and Paul loaded our diving gear. A former supermarket manager from Essex, Paul quit Colchester for the breezy balm of Grenada eight years ago. A near-fatal accident on the M25 as a teenager has given him a deep appreciation for the life he nearly lost. He approaches his pupils, no matter how reticent, with patience and enthusiasm. With more than 10,000 dives under his weight belt, his motto is relax. At least that is what he repeated to me as I refused to jump off the back of the boat wearing what felt like two tonnes of paraphernalia. I wasn’t convinced I’d be able to breathe under water, and who can blame me? After much coaxing from Roger, I overcame the fear factor and went flippers first into the sea.

Bobbing, panic-stricken, on the surface, I wanted to give up right there. I was paired with the serene and lithe Sabrina from Zurich as my dive buddy, which served only to aggravate me. She was charming, beautiful and supremely calm. Together, with Paul, we descended 12m to the sea bed. Those first few breaths under water were the scariest, most exhilarating I’ve ever taken, despite sounding like Darth Vader and looking like a mad manatee. Thrilling, frightening and transcendental, scuba diving is a supreme act of faith... in science.

We soon started learning our first underwater skills — taking our masks off and signalling for help. Unfortunately, my buoyancy was uncontrollable and the lesson was cut short as I rapidly ascended to the surface. Luckily Paul pulled me down to safety; it was to be the first of his many floataway rescues. Once I was able to relax and stay in control, I did see amazing things. A baby stingray, a spider crab, sea centipedes and snakes, and beautiful coral. But did spotting them make up for the trauma, trials and tribulations? Without a doubt, though I couldn’t help but have some reservations. The environmental impact of diving concerned me. With one wrong flip of my fin I destroyed two decades of coral growth, which I guess cancels out my commitment to Fairtrade coffee. Most divers and instructors are dedicated to ocean conservation, but it is all too easy to harm the fragile underwater environment. There is a delicate balance to be struck, and it was definitely upset by my subaqua clumsiness.

After a few more fraught open-water dives I was ready to pass my theory test at the satellite Aquanauts centre on glorious Gran Anse beach. Thanks to Paul’s unfailing patience (and extensive revision on my part), I passed. We cracked open a few celebratory ice-cold Carib beers and dug in to a takeaway of stewed fish, rice and peas from Mr Green Jeans café.

I am now a qualified PADI open-water diver. But until I can control my rogue fin flips and overcome my inner-fear factor, I’m happy to have a seaside fish supper rather than a deep-sea fish surprise.

Need to know

Amy Lamé travelled with Regaldive Holidays (0870 2201777, www.regaldive. co.uk). Seven nights including flights, transfers and B&B at True Blue Bay Resort & Villas in Grenada cost from £779pp. The PADI open-water course (about five days) is £195.

Further information: Grenada Board of Tourism (020-8877 4516, www.grenadagrenadines.com).

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