In Which I write a Novella about a Weekend of Dives
I've been away and busy. Apologies. So many stories to tell, but I'll start with the one about diving. A month ago Ryan and I had our certification dives at Gilboa Quarry. 8 and 9 August (a Saturday and a Sunday), to be precise.
Saturday saw us packing in a hurry. The quarry only took cash and it was a conscious decision on my part not go the extra miles to stop at my bank by US-23. It was 7:00 as we got on the entrance ramp and we had to be in Gilboa at 8:45. Ohio has plenty of ATMs. It slipped out minds. Somewhere between Findlay and Gilboa, the iPhone no longer had service. Nonetheless the directions were easy, but it became clear our destination had neither bank nor ATM. Time was running out. From the map, Gilboa was closer to Ottawa than to Findlay, so we gambled. A man at a tiny gas station directed us to one and we were in business.
Late, but not too late we met everyone and suited up. I fumbled slightly putting the BCD on the tank and hooking up the reg set. Fins already on the dock and masks defogged, the class was instructed to go down some steep stairs fully loaded to perform the final buddy check.
We had tried on suits in anticipation of this weekend. Walking around the dive shop in a 7mm wetsuit is one thing, quite comical. Doing this with a BCD, weight belt, air cylinder, 22 lbs of lead, and an empty stomach was quite another.
Everything became a challenge. I felt hot and vaguely claustrophobic in my hood as I gripped the handrail for dear life. I didn't know what was expected of us, other than to swim out to a pinkish-orange sphere. I felt perilously close to falling over putting on my fins, even with Ryan's shoulder for stability. The mask was nearly as difficult, what with gloves and the hood. We saw catfish swimming around the dock and finally we took our giant strides.
The water was such a relief. Out by the coral ball we descended. At the time I didn't see the cable. All I knew was we'd have to go down to the platforms 20 feet below somehow. In the pool if I had trouble equalizing my ears, the slope to the deep end made an acceptable handhold. Letting out some air from my BCD, and then a little more, I sank. My ears hurt a little. I couldn't stop. I swallowed. Little to no result. Helpless and scared, I alternated screaming through my regulator and trying my best to equalize. My fins touched our destination and I was relieved. Then sheepish once solidly kneeling on the wooden platform.
With some help from one of the divemasters or Barb (our instructor Joe's wife) I found Ryan. I still wasn't sure what was going on. We held hands and swam off toward the left with everyone else. Fish were swimming between the last platform and an airplane. The joy on Ryan's face was the best thing about that dive. I ran into Joe over there and he raised his hands, palms up, again and again. I was briefly confused and thought he meant rise a little when he actually meant inhale (which, by the way, can pretty much mean the same thing once you're better about using your lungs to control your buoyancy). I was doing a good hover, but then took a deep breath and shot up.
It was a completely confounding dive. Ryan and I spent some time at the surface, again trying to figure out what was going on. With every descent I screamed in terror. It's all a blur, but it was finally over after some unremembered time.
Back on the shore I had some water and numbly tried to fill out my dive log, figuratively cudgeling the computer for information. When our surface interval (the time between dives to ensure a low nitrogen level in the body) was over, I felt shaken at the prospect of putting on my jacket and hood--let alone returning to the water.
"Do you want to do this?" Ryan asked.
"I don't know." Maybe the second dive would be better. I didn't want to let him down. He just wanted me to make up my mind. Tears welling, I tried to get the second cylinder strapped to the BCD. Joe stopped me.
"When I see someone taking an hour to do something that should take two minutes, I see someone who really doesn't want to do it. Go ahead and sit this one out."
I talked with Barb for a little bit. She talked about her own anxieties when she and Joe first started diving. I confessed that I never seemed to move in the water the way I wanted, rolling this way and that. This would be remedied by tightening my BCD straps, she assured me. I cried. She joined the group after making sure I was okay. I ate half a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich--breakfast--and waited, wondering if this was really for me. Now that I'd blown it, what could I do?
I didn't dare change out of my suit. Sitting around in my farmer jane (imagine neoprene overalls with very short straps, which I soon undid for comfort) was not fun. It itched and water sloshed disconcertingly. The woods were lovely and the quarry was pretty in its own way. Not ostentatious, nor the sort of place one would choose for a picnic unless already there for another purpose. I saw a turtle swimming along the shore and a duck sitting on one of the submerged dock steps.
To try and catch up was going to take some herculean feat of scheduling. Joe was our only certified instructor, so there was no one who could go down with me. We'd try dive two after everyone else was done with the third dive, their last for the day.
As instructed, I was suited up and ready to go when everyone emerged from the water. I was overzealous, since Joe and the divemasters would have to definitely need a little time before this last dive.
I was nervous, but optimistic. This time I found the cable (soon after realizing I lost a fin on the way--how embarrassing), which made things easier. The first dive was supposed to be a tour without skills to perform, which was one source of previous confusion, since we had waited for instruction. The skills here were easy: fin pivot; ascend using a buddy's octopus/second stage (simulating what to do if you run out of air); flood and clear the mask; take the regulator out of my mouth, take it arm's length away, drop it, and find it again. On the second descent (right after the secondary source exercise) I only needed to grab the cable once near the platform to help me equalize. Gary had given me an obvious piece of advice: kick a little if I was descending a little too fast.
Then for the tour. There was an old vending machine and Joe mimed looking in his pockets for change. We went up near the school bus and passed a motor boat with an odd pale lump on the antenna. Gary, I think, turned it to face me. It was a gnome complete with mask, snorkel, and fins! I put my hands in front of my regulator and nodded, miming laughter.
From there we headed to a larger airplane (around here experienced my coldest temperature: 59ºF). I was having a really hard time controlling my buoyancy. I couldn't find my other air release at first (if you're no longer straight up and down, pulling on the BC hose is useless to let out air). I hit bottom a few times (I wasn't going to visit any coral reefs anytime soon!). I still had trouble equalizing while falling. I'm pretty sure I screamed two or three times on this dive. A little trouble with rolling, too.
We ascended, I was a little disappointed, but enchanted by all the neat things beneath the surface of this unprepossessing body of water. The last tasks dealt with towing a tired diver, and I got to crookedly push Gary back to the dock. I crawled up the stairs to the dock, stopping halfway to turn and sit as best I could with a tank and remove my fins and mask. The submerged steps were, of course, slippery. And, of course, as expected when emerging from the water, the tank and weights feel much heavier than anticipated. I think I would have fallen back into the water if not for one of the ubiquitous handrails.
Ryan helped me remove my gear and it was discovered why I had the rolling trouble. One of the pockets in my BCD had a frayed hole and one of the weights must have fallen out, leaving me unbalanced.
We caravanned to the hotel (in Findlay) and from there met up for dinner at a grill place next door. I was satisfied with my portabello burger, but was even happier with all of the anecdotes and stories and getting to know the people in the my group--even if I didn't get to interact with them underwater.
It was revealed then that I'd had a bloody nose as a result of dive 2. Made sense. During my small terrifying descents, I grabbed my nose and blew in frantic attempts to pop my ears. Remember, I prefer to equalize by swallowing, but will sometimes use the more common method if prompted (equivalent to retaining eye contact with someone to let them know you're listening) or resort to that if I feel it warranted. I didn't even know my discomfort was so visible. They'd tactfully kept that to themselves at the time.
We agreed to meet up early for breakfast and then head over to the quarry and do my third dive before everyone else would do their final dive. Fruit, cereal, juice, and a sweetly weak dawn all contributed to a mixture of excitement and nerves on the journey dominated by cornfields and a giant statue of a steer that marked the village of Gilboa.
This time, they had me switch between reg and snorkel during the swim to the buoy. It was a serene descent and though I had the back of my right hand inches from the cable in case, but I didn't need it. On the platform, I performed slightly harder skills: simulate a free-flowing regulator (press the purge button and hold the mouthpiece halfway out my mouth), fully remove the mask and replace it, perform a CESA (I felt like I was singing, this was so much easier to do swimming up than across a pool!). The second part of the CESA's a little harder to do. Since you're completely out of air (you evacuate what's in the BCD on the ascent, but act as though tank is empty), so you can't inflate it the usual way to stay on the surface. You have to manually inflate bobbing via kicks, blowing into the BC hose underwater and inhaling above the surface.
We descended for the tour. I had trouble getting the mask back on because of the hood and it hadn't properly sealed, so I had to periodically stop and clear it of leaks. It was getting really annoying. We had just swum off the school bus when my mask suddenly and completely flooded. I think if I had still been on the bus, with something beneath me, I could have stopped and cleared it. I didn't have that luxury. I didn't know where I was, I couldn't see and was thus completely without a reference point. When I have water on my nose it tickles and I have to concentrate a little to breathe. I began to panic and I don't remember what happened next.
Ryan heard about this later from the guys who were down with me and said that it sounded like I had become an active drowning victim: conscious, panicked, and a potential danger to a rescuer. I had spit out my regulator and was refusing to have it put back in my mouth. I remember not thinking clearly; I was under the impression that the regulator in my mouth was Gary's secondary, who was nearest to me, so I kept circling my right arm and groping for my right shoulder to find the hose to "mine" and retrieve it. This was probably seen as thrashing during the ascent. I'm not sure. Or this is an attempt to piece inherently irrational actions into a greater picture that makes sense.
I felt vaguely safe and cleared my mask perhaps six feet below and wasn't sure what I was feeling. We broke the surface and once it was established I was alright, they sent me ahead to get to the dock. I felt a little numb, but became gradually more aware as I swam. I was aware this swim was the pause between two events and was at peace. I was inexplicably happy crawling up the slippery stairs from the solitary swim. I didn't acknowledge my blind terror; it was a little mistake, plain and simple. If I'd been on the bus, I would have been fine. Just fine. Ryan confirms this was a little cavalier of me. I didn't see it as such, it was merely a continuation of the brave face and peace I had given myself during the swim.
It was clear this was to be my last dive on this trip and that I wouldn't join the rest of the group for our fourth dive. As Joe put it I didn't have it in me yet to be a good buddy. The group practiced compass skills with our reg sets and a towel. For the first time since that confusing first dive I was Ryan's buddy. And even though all I did was hold onto his shoulder and ensure he didn't run into any parked cars while he had a towel draped over his head, it felt good.
Everyone else went for the fourth dive, including 10-year-old Ten Wei, which didn't help me feel any better. I became Ryan's shore support. Chatted with Mrs. Chen (Ten Wei's mom, who was the best shore support a group could ask for), changed into normal clothes, had a sandwich, read a little of Sailing to Sarantium. I was resigned and relieved. Barb noted how much calmer I was this morning. Bought some fish food for Ryan.
Fishing isn't permitted at the quarry, so the fish aren't afraid of people and little bags of fish food (which resembles dog food) are sold in the office beside a sign, "Each bag lasts approximately 15-20 seconds." He got to sit on the bus and feed the fish, which makes it sound like a rather sedate affair. Hardly. He tells me it was a frenzy. They nearly knocked out his reg and flooded his mask. One of them tried to make off with his still half-full bag. I'd love to join him for that.
Where to go from here? We'll just have to see. I'm tired and reliving dive 3 is never pleasant, so with that I call it a night.
Saturday saw us packing in a hurry. The quarry only took cash and it was a conscious decision on my part not go the extra miles to stop at my bank by US-23. It was 7:00 as we got on the entrance ramp and we had to be in Gilboa at 8:45. Ohio has plenty of ATMs. It slipped out minds. Somewhere between Findlay and Gilboa, the iPhone no longer had service. Nonetheless the directions were easy, but it became clear our destination had neither bank nor ATM. Time was running out. From the map, Gilboa was closer to Ottawa than to Findlay, so we gambled. A man at a tiny gas station directed us to one and we were in business.
Late, but not too late we met everyone and suited up. I fumbled slightly putting the BCD on the tank and hooking up the reg set. Fins already on the dock and masks defogged, the class was instructed to go down some steep stairs fully loaded to perform the final buddy check.
We had tried on suits in anticipation of this weekend. Walking around the dive shop in a 7mm wetsuit is one thing, quite comical. Doing this with a BCD, weight belt, air cylinder, 22 lbs of lead, and an empty stomach was quite another.
Everything became a challenge. I felt hot and vaguely claustrophobic in my hood as I gripped the handrail for dear life. I didn't know what was expected of us, other than to swim out to a pinkish-orange sphere. I felt perilously close to falling over putting on my fins, even with Ryan's shoulder for stability. The mask was nearly as difficult, what with gloves and the hood. We saw catfish swimming around the dock and finally we took our giant strides.
The water was such a relief. Out by the coral ball we descended. At the time I didn't see the cable. All I knew was we'd have to go down to the platforms 20 feet below somehow. In the pool if I had trouble equalizing my ears, the slope to the deep end made an acceptable handhold. Letting out some air from my BCD, and then a little more, I sank. My ears hurt a little. I couldn't stop. I swallowed. Little to no result. Helpless and scared, I alternated screaming through my regulator and trying my best to equalize. My fins touched our destination and I was relieved. Then sheepish once solidly kneeling on the wooden platform.
With some help from one of the divemasters or Barb (our instructor Joe's wife) I found Ryan. I still wasn't sure what was going on. We held hands and swam off toward the left with everyone else. Fish were swimming between the last platform and an airplane. The joy on Ryan's face was the best thing about that dive. I ran into Joe over there and he raised his hands, palms up, again and again. I was briefly confused and thought he meant rise a little when he actually meant inhale (which, by the way, can pretty much mean the same thing once you're better about using your lungs to control your buoyancy). I was doing a good hover, but then took a deep breath and shot up.
It was a completely confounding dive. Ryan and I spent some time at the surface, again trying to figure out what was going on. With every descent I screamed in terror. It's all a blur, but it was finally over after some unremembered time.
Back on the shore I had some water and numbly tried to fill out my dive log, figuratively cudgeling the computer for information. When our surface interval (the time between dives to ensure a low nitrogen level in the body) was over, I felt shaken at the prospect of putting on my jacket and hood--let alone returning to the water.
"Do you want to do this?" Ryan asked.
"I don't know." Maybe the second dive would be better. I didn't want to let him down. He just wanted me to make up my mind. Tears welling, I tried to get the second cylinder strapped to the BCD. Joe stopped me.
"When I see someone taking an hour to do something that should take two minutes, I see someone who really doesn't want to do it. Go ahead and sit this one out."
I talked with Barb for a little bit. She talked about her own anxieties when she and Joe first started diving. I confessed that I never seemed to move in the water the way I wanted, rolling this way and that. This would be remedied by tightening my BCD straps, she assured me. I cried. She joined the group after making sure I was okay. I ate half a peanut butter and marmalade sandwich--breakfast--and waited, wondering if this was really for me. Now that I'd blown it, what could I do?
I didn't dare change out of my suit. Sitting around in my farmer jane (imagine neoprene overalls with very short straps, which I soon undid for comfort) was not fun. It itched and water sloshed disconcertingly. The woods were lovely and the quarry was pretty in its own way. Not ostentatious, nor the sort of place one would choose for a picnic unless already there for another purpose. I saw a turtle swimming along the shore and a duck sitting on one of the submerged dock steps.
To try and catch up was going to take some herculean feat of scheduling. Joe was our only certified instructor, so there was no one who could go down with me. We'd try dive two after everyone else was done with the third dive, their last for the day.
As instructed, I was suited up and ready to go when everyone emerged from the water. I was overzealous, since Joe and the divemasters would have to definitely need a little time before this last dive.
I was nervous, but optimistic. This time I found the cable (soon after realizing I lost a fin on the way--how embarrassing), which made things easier. The first dive was supposed to be a tour without skills to perform, which was one source of previous confusion, since we had waited for instruction. The skills here were easy: fin pivot; ascend using a buddy's octopus/second stage (simulating what to do if you run out of air); flood and clear the mask; take the regulator out of my mouth, take it arm's length away, drop it, and find it again. On the second descent (right after the secondary source exercise) I only needed to grab the cable once near the platform to help me equalize. Gary had given me an obvious piece of advice: kick a little if I was descending a little too fast.
Then for the tour. There was an old vending machine and Joe mimed looking in his pockets for change. We went up near the school bus and passed a motor boat with an odd pale lump on the antenna. Gary, I think, turned it to face me. It was a gnome complete with mask, snorkel, and fins! I put my hands in front of my regulator and nodded, miming laughter.
From there we headed to a larger airplane (around here experienced my coldest temperature: 59ºF). I was having a really hard time controlling my buoyancy. I couldn't find my other air release at first (if you're no longer straight up and down, pulling on the BC hose is useless to let out air). I hit bottom a few times (I wasn't going to visit any coral reefs anytime soon!). I still had trouble equalizing while falling. I'm pretty sure I screamed two or three times on this dive. A little trouble with rolling, too.
We ascended, I was a little disappointed, but enchanted by all the neat things beneath the surface of this unprepossessing body of water. The last tasks dealt with towing a tired diver, and I got to crookedly push Gary back to the dock. I crawled up the stairs to the dock, stopping halfway to turn and sit as best I could with a tank and remove my fins and mask. The submerged steps were, of course, slippery. And, of course, as expected when emerging from the water, the tank and weights feel much heavier than anticipated. I think I would have fallen back into the water if not for one of the ubiquitous handrails.
Ryan helped me remove my gear and it was discovered why I had the rolling trouble. One of the pockets in my BCD had a frayed hole and one of the weights must have fallen out, leaving me unbalanced.
We caravanned to the hotel (in Findlay) and from there met up for dinner at a grill place next door. I was satisfied with my portabello burger, but was even happier with all of the anecdotes and stories and getting to know the people in the my group--even if I didn't get to interact with them underwater.
It was revealed then that I'd had a bloody nose as a result of dive 2. Made sense. During my small terrifying descents, I grabbed my nose and blew in frantic attempts to pop my ears. Remember, I prefer to equalize by swallowing, but will sometimes use the more common method if prompted (equivalent to retaining eye contact with someone to let them know you're listening) or resort to that if I feel it warranted. I didn't even know my discomfort was so visible. They'd tactfully kept that to themselves at the time.
We agreed to meet up early for breakfast and then head over to the quarry and do my third dive before everyone else would do their final dive. Fruit, cereal, juice, and a sweetly weak dawn all contributed to a mixture of excitement and nerves on the journey dominated by cornfields and a giant statue of a steer that marked the village of Gilboa.
This time, they had me switch between reg and snorkel during the swim to the buoy. It was a serene descent and though I had the back of my right hand inches from the cable in case, but I didn't need it. On the platform, I performed slightly harder skills: simulate a free-flowing regulator (press the purge button and hold the mouthpiece halfway out my mouth), fully remove the mask and replace it, perform a CESA (I felt like I was singing, this was so much easier to do swimming up than across a pool!). The second part of the CESA's a little harder to do. Since you're completely out of air (you evacuate what's in the BCD on the ascent, but act as though tank is empty), so you can't inflate it the usual way to stay on the surface. You have to manually inflate bobbing via kicks, blowing into the BC hose underwater and inhaling above the surface.
We descended for the tour. I had trouble getting the mask back on because of the hood and it hadn't properly sealed, so I had to periodically stop and clear it of leaks. It was getting really annoying. We had just swum off the school bus when my mask suddenly and completely flooded. I think if I had still been on the bus, with something beneath me, I could have stopped and cleared it. I didn't have that luxury. I didn't know where I was, I couldn't see and was thus completely without a reference point. When I have water on my nose it tickles and I have to concentrate a little to breathe. I began to panic and I don't remember what happened next.
Ryan heard about this later from the guys who were down with me and said that it sounded like I had become an active drowning victim: conscious, panicked, and a potential danger to a rescuer. I had spit out my regulator and was refusing to have it put back in my mouth. I remember not thinking clearly; I was under the impression that the regulator in my mouth was Gary's secondary, who was nearest to me, so I kept circling my right arm and groping for my right shoulder to find the hose to "mine" and retrieve it. This was probably seen as thrashing during the ascent. I'm not sure. Or this is an attempt to piece inherently irrational actions into a greater picture that makes sense.
I felt vaguely safe and cleared my mask perhaps six feet below and wasn't sure what I was feeling. We broke the surface and once it was established I was alright, they sent me ahead to get to the dock. I felt a little numb, but became gradually more aware as I swam. I was aware this swim was the pause between two events and was at peace. I was inexplicably happy crawling up the slippery stairs from the solitary swim. I didn't acknowledge my blind terror; it was a little mistake, plain and simple. If I'd been on the bus, I would have been fine. Just fine. Ryan confirms this was a little cavalier of me. I didn't see it as such, it was merely a continuation of the brave face and peace I had given myself during the swim.
It was clear this was to be my last dive on this trip and that I wouldn't join the rest of the group for our fourth dive. As Joe put it I didn't have it in me yet to be a good buddy. The group practiced compass skills with our reg sets and a towel. For the first time since that confusing first dive I was Ryan's buddy. And even though all I did was hold onto his shoulder and ensure he didn't run into any parked cars while he had a towel draped over his head, it felt good.
Everyone else went for the fourth dive, including 10-year-old Ten Wei, which didn't help me feel any better. I became Ryan's shore support. Chatted with Mrs. Chen (Ten Wei's mom, who was the best shore support a group could ask for), changed into normal clothes, had a sandwich, read a little of Sailing to Sarantium. I was resigned and relieved. Barb noted how much calmer I was this morning. Bought some fish food for Ryan.
Fishing isn't permitted at the quarry, so the fish aren't afraid of people and little bags of fish food (which resembles dog food) are sold in the office beside a sign, "Each bag lasts approximately 15-20 seconds." He got to sit on the bus and feed the fish, which makes it sound like a rather sedate affair. Hardly. He tells me it was a frenzy. They nearly knocked out his reg and flooded his mask. One of them tried to make off with his still half-full bag. I'd love to join him for that.
Where to go from here? We'll just have to see. I'm tired and reliving dive 3 is never pleasant, so with that I call it a night.