Headlong (part 1)

Diving Headlong - a collection of scuba diving misadventures

"Great, now whom am I supposed to follow?", I thought with exasperation.  Re-learning  the importance of proper dive planning sucks when you're already committed at 65 feet watching your two dive buddies fade into the green-brown in opposite directions.  Clearly there's a reason 'buddy' usually means only two.  While on a charter dive near San Diego with Chris Crawford another diver approached us as we were about to descend the buoy line attached to the hull of the Ruby E wreck.  Solo diving is frowned upon is most recreational diving circles, and we felt we couldn't say no to his request to join us and leave him on his own.  We are all similarly trained, right?  How problematic could it be?  Once at the wreck, Chris turned towards the bow and our dive-interloper kicked towards the stern, leaving me watching both tanks disappear and unable to signal to either; the only choice left was which one to follow.  A mere flick of a fin's worth of decision-making put each of them outside my range of visibility in the cold Pacific coastal surge.  Choosing to head for the bow it took a ridiculously long 4-5 minutes before I was able to rejoin Chris.  Later in the dive our 'thirddy' was found, engrossed in a photo-snapping daze and unaware of having played any role in the anxiety I still felt.  I suppose he just needed the security of keeping us in sight to get to the wreck and was happy on his own after that - we never asked and he never offered.  As if I needed a reminder, I will never again change a dive plan once agreed upon at the boat or shore.

Scuba diving has been an important part of my life since my early teens, and the early recreational origins of the sport.  While it has been one of the most wonderful things I have experienced, it hasn't been without a few spikes of uninvited drama.  Scuba is not for the physically compromised, the untrained or the fool.  At least the accepted death rate of 1/200,000 is far better than that of attempting Everest!  And over one third of deaths are from cardiac arrest due to poor fitness.  Unlike most other recreational pursuits, however, you are on the clock and your only escape is generally straight up; but that's what buddies are for, too, buying you and extra few minutes of breathing time to count life's meager blessings (but it's always nice to have a decoy when your self-preservation instinct kicks in as you feel the sandpapery drag of a Great White brushing past your leg).  There are a hundred different ways to die and it often starts with uncontrolled panic.  Although I enjoy rock climbing, flying, motorcycle racing and dirt riding, these may threaten to seriously maim while in scuba you simply can't breathe water.  True to all these activities, however, is a core necessity for training, skill derived through time and experience, and the knowledge and application of specific safety procedures.  These are not foolhardy death-wishes, or trusting in blind faith, but a choice to live life to the fullest extent possible with allowances for calculated risk. Each of us has a risk envelope - that lack-of-safety-net-no-fallback moment we are willing to accept for a given time, circumstance, activity and experience.  Some of us gravitate toward the Really Big envelope aisle at the risk-tolerance supply store.

Always a strong swimmer as a boy, especially in my bright orange 'carrot top' bathing suit, I was fascinated by sharks and undersea life too (after my obligatory dinosaur phase, of course).  I would further spend hours reading and thinking about the oceans and its inhabitants.  While I was drawn to the water, it could also invoked an irrational feeling of 'dun-dun-dun-daaaaah...'; fears of dark water, 'bottomlessness' and the unknown constantly pulled at me when around water.  Even pools!  This would happen frequently throughout my life and in a way I challenged those inner feelings each time by diving headlong into what I feared most.

At age 12 or 13 I was given a chance by an uncle to try out a set of scuba gear while on vacation in Nova Scotia.  The brief shore dive in heavy surf was not smooth or easy, but it definitely confirmed that I had to do this thing again.  Returning home I signed up with the YMCA for a NAUI scuba course and was introduced to Andy Barbacki.  The science and math content of the training course struck a chord and held my attention between pool training sessions.  At 13 I was amongst the youngest in Canada to pass all required course work, and was in fact too young to complete the open water certification.  At 14 I finally became certified.