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Most divers surface from the depths with a distinct imprint from their masks — dark red streaks on their faces where the water pressure has raised the blood cells to the surface of the skin. But their temporary brandings quickly fade as the dive boat heads toward dry land.

Nicky Wirawan, however, has the distinct curvature of a dive mask permanently etched in his tanned skin.

Born and bred in Bali, the 41-year-old inherited Bali Marine Sports, the oldest dive shop on the island, from his father, Ketut Wirajaya.

Nicky claims to be nearing his 15,000th dive some time in the next couple of weeks.

Considering that he was born in 1970, started diving at age eight and took up diving full-time in 1995, doing at least 600 dives a year, this figure is not so hard to believe.

But for Nicky, it’s not about how many dives you’ve done, it’s about how many dives you have left.

“I don’t know if I will ever retire,” he said, flashing pearl-white teeth tucked under a pirate’s smile. Nicky is built like a seaman — thick from stem to stern — but he’s more Peter Pan than Captain Hook.

As the owner and operator of BMS, it’s his job to take care of business, file tax forms and play nice with other business owners. But if you fly into town to dive with Nicky, all it takes is a bit of fawning for the big teddy bear of a guy to put business off and jump on the boat with you.

“A lot of shop owners just stop diving,” said Teja, one of Nicky’s veteran freelance dive masters. “Some shop owners sit there and enjoy the money and they stop going out. But Nicky’s still out there diving every day.”

Nicky has led a life more or less chosen for him — not that he would change a thing. His father opened BMS in 1978 and Nicky’s always been out in front of the shop.

While the other kids in the neighborhood spent the day playing badminton or kicking around a football, Nicky stood on the bow of his father’s boat ripping around Bali, memorizing the island’s most prized dive spots.

“Nicky’s father is a legendary diver and his shop is right there along the shore. Everybody knows Nicky,” said Avandy Djunaidi, the owner and managing director of Bali International Diving Professionals, just down the beach from BMS. “He’s looking out for the customers.”

Nicky said that when he was younger he wanted to be an architect. “Diving wasn’t the plan; architecture and engineering were all I cared about,” he said. “But in 1993, my father handed me the dive shop. He just fishes now.”

At a time when most of the dive shops in and around Bali are being bought up by foreigners, Nicky is building the sport his father introduced him to as a young boy into a thriving business.

“After I saw that all the dive instructors working for my dad were foreigners, I thought: Why are we paying these guys when I could be the one out there in the water making the money?” Nicky said.

He remembers when divers used to strap the harrowing old buoyancy control devices and air tanks to themselves before slipping underwater.

“Back then, it was just a vest and a bag,” he said. “We never even knew how much air we had. We just said, ‘We’re going to go down for 45 minutes and we’ll see what happens.’ ”

Nicky’s name is synonymous with diving in Indonesia — drop it in any dive shop across the archipelago and it’s met with a smile, a pat on the back and a nostalgic story.

“He’s like a mentor,” said Lia Marpaung, a monitor and evaluating officer for the Australia Indonesia Partnership for Economic Governance in Jakarta.

“I’ve been diving with him for three years. I feel safe and comfortable with him. He’s knowledgeable beyond just having dive skills and sensing the currents. He knows how to manage guests. We’re all divers, but we’re also individuals. Nicky knows how to handle our emotions and make us feel calm.”

Lia said that Nicky does not push divers into the water, but has the calming ability to make them feel comfortable in sketchier conditions.

“A while back we were diving around Nusa Penida and there were big waves in the area, so I immediately wanted to cancel the dive,” Lia said. “But Nicky could sense my fear. I feel safe diving with him. Now if I go diving with Bali Marine Sports I always ask, ‘Will Nicky be there?’ ”

Nicky and his crew know all the dive spots in Bali. His father found most of them back in the early 1970s — everything from the deep blue hammerhead shark havens on the west end of Nusa Penida to the wall dives in Menjangan and the wonders of Secret Bay and Jetty Point off the coast of Pemuteran, on the north side of the island.

“I still get excited,” Nicky said. “I like to listen to the guests when they get excited and tell the stories back on the boat. I mean, it’s my job, but it’s a great job.”

Ask any diver around the world about their bucket list and you’re bound to hear one word, twice: mola mola. Every diver headed to Bali this season will be gunning for a glimpse of the elusive sunfish.

Mola mola, the great sunfish that spend most of their lives at depths greater than 200 meters, tend to pop up every year around Nusa Penida’s famous Crystal Bay.

Everyone from diving novices to National Geographic filmmakers flock to see the giant fish during this time as it ascends to a depth of around 30 meters and enjoys a bit of a day spa, allowing reef fish to clean the parasites from its skin.

Sunfish have even been known to bask near the surface of the water and allow seabirds to graze on their nettlesome parasites.

“The season starts in July and runs until October, but in the last two years the mola mola have come earlier. Last year the season ended in September,” Nicky said.

“August has been cold, from 17 to 19 degrees Celsius, so the mola mola have stayed around. I expect them to run until October.”

Back at the shop after a long day of diving, guests gather in the last of the afternoon light outside BMS to share photos, scrawl down details in log books and swap stories from the day’s dives.

Nicky crosses his arms, sips papaya juice and flashes his famous Cheshire smile. His guests recant racing hearts and quickly emptying air tanks as they watched mola mola rise from the depths, or tell about how they forgot to breathe as manta rays gilded just inches above them.

The guests, just back from three dives around Nusa Penida, a 40-minute boat ride from the porch of Nicky’s dive shop, talk with their hands, unintentionally interrupting one another, narrowing their gaze and recounting every detail. Like witnesses to major bank heist, each diver delivers their account differently.

All Nicky can do is smile.

Like most people who wake up every morning and punch the clock at their dream jobs, Nicky never talks about retiring. But he’s aware that the time will come for him to stay on land.

“I’d like to think I’ll still be diving at 60, but I don’t know if I have 5,000 dives left in me,” he says, scratching at his dive-mask markings as he ponders the future.

“All I know is that if I leave this I will have to find something relaxing. Something just as enjoyable as diving.”