This week's session, the third in my Open Water Diver course, finished with a bit of an epiphany. I think it is safe to say that up until this week, my scuba experience has been endured rather than enjoyed. I've made no secret of the fact that I was learning to scuba-dive mainly due to morbid curiosity and coercion.
Whilst the instructors and the PADI course itself do their best to make it an entertaining experience, the truth is that there is an unavoidable amount of academic work and technical drills to trudge through in order to minimise the chances of a watery death. As a result, classrooms and swimming pools are the venues of choice and both are renowned for their safety and their dullness. However, this did not prevent a deep sense of foreboding from being the theme at the beginning of the session.
A Special Place in Hell
So it was for week three, when after a more concerted effort to study, I got some questions wrong in my mini-exam. It was nothing too much to be concerned about; one I was guilty of over-thinking and the other was basically the fault of the PADI question researchers - one question went beyond mere pedantry and into the realms being fundamentally misleading. When two answers are equally right but only one answer is accepted as correct, 50% of people will be marked as wrong when they're not. There's a special place in hell reserved for exam question writers, crossword compilers and people who steal jigsaw pieces from old people's homes.
The PADI video was as nauseatingly jaunty as usual, with the attempts at humour ranging from the cringeworthy to the obnoxious, although I did laugh out loud at a comical moment involving a shark glove puppet and a clever perspective shot. However, I think that very moment encapsulated the reason for this week's rising sense of dread. Repeated shots of things that can kill you aside, the video did it's best to make light of the procedures we would be learning which largely involved not using any of the equipment we've painstakingly been familiarising ourselves with. Whilst I totally understand the need to learn how to cope with not having any oxygen and not having a mask on, that doesn't really sell it to me and there's nothing funny about it. Fluffy shark or no.
But We Really Aren't Fish
En-route to the swimming pool, fellow student Darren and I agreed that there was something slightly more ominous about this week. Neither of us were particularly looking forward to getting into the pool. After assembling our equipment (again under supervision - I wouldn't be happy if I was expected to trust breathing apparatus I'd assembled alone), we went through the 'buddy check system' using the BWRAF (BCD, Weights, Releases, Air, Final Okay) acronym to ensure relevant equipment is checked. There seem to be a number of mnemonics in circulation to assist in memorising this procedure from the official (and weak) PADI "Begin With Review And Friend", to the more memorable "Burger With Relish And Fries". There was suggestion of a more amusing mnemonic involving Bangkok Women, but the presence of minors prevented it's utterance.
Preparation and checking over, we were shown how to get into the water using the 'giant step entry' method. Essentially this is something straight out of Monty Python's Ministry of Silly Walks, but is a technique designed to ensure you clear the side of the platform from which you enter the water. It has become quite clear to me that looking silly really isn't something that divers are really bothered by
Once everyone was wet, we engaged in some drills involving changing from snorkel to regulator and back without lifting one's face out of the water, before descending into the four-metre pool. My ears failed to equalise properly on the first attempt, but I calmly communicated the issue to the dive instructor then ascended until I was able to rectify the problem. I quietly congratulated myself on my professionalism.
Like a Jedi Space Bird
Darren's ongoing mask versus face issues manifested again and he struggled for some time with ongoing leakage, resulting in myself and Chloe being left under the supervision of some other divers to swim around at our leisure whilst it was resolved. It was at this point that the aforementioned epiphany occurred.
My ongoing frustrations with buoyancy and breathing melted away as I was allowed to swim around. Suddenly I was free and I discovered that whilst in motion, minor corrections can easily be made to compensate for the rise-and-fall caused by lung ventilation. Like a true geek I found myself comparing my movement through the water to a spaceship firing maneouvering thrusters to maintain control. I felt almost like I was flying as I swooped and dive-bombed the tile-fields and pubic-hair roads below. Now this was fun, give me kelp forests and coral skyscrapers now!
Darren's issues over, we were gathered together to practice changing from main regulator to our alternative air supplies. Thankfully time constraints meant that we did not get a chance to experience having our oxygen supply switched off and we returned to the surface. I was again pleased with my performance as I managed to successfully control my ascent, and was complimented later on the fact that I managed to level out in the shallow end without breaking the surface, controlling my buoyancy to swim along in the comparatively narrow shallow end of the pool.
It was just like bulls-eyeing womp-rats back home!
Saturday, 18 June 2011
Thursday, 9 June 2011
People Are Not Fish
The title may seem like a ridiculously obvious statement, but I think it's one with hidden depths (ha ha, geddit? Fish? Depths? Oh, never mind.) It was certainly a recurring thought during the continuation of my Open Water Diver course that took place this week. But I'm skipping ahead, I'll get to that later.
Can I Back Out?
As if the challenges of learning to dive with an ingrained fear of water were not enough, this week would prove to be increasingly challenging. Early last week, due to a mishap involving gravity and a hospital trolleycot with dodgy brakes, I injured my already weak back by (stupidly) catching a falling twenty-stone man. The good news was that the man was unhurt in the incident, the bad news was that I was now in increasing discomfort. After consultation with my physiotherapist, we agreed that although heavy lifting was unwise for a few days, it was important to continue to move it as much as possible and scuba lessons would be beneficial providing I wasn't lugging kit around.
Is it wrong that I was almost disappointed I couldn't even get a sick-note to get me out of my next near-drowning episode?
Why Isn't Underwater Purple?
I arrived at the Fin Divers unit for the start of my lesson, having only just completed the knowledge review required for the impending lesson. I had hurriedly swotted up on the surprisingly in-depth chapter on basic equipment and diving principles. Fortunately I was familiar with many of the fundamental concepts as part of my paramedic training.
Despite my prior knowledge, I was a little concerned that I had not prepared enough and I suspect that Matt, my Dive Instructor, thought the same. He was quite uncompromising in testing my knowledge, both by looking over our knowledge reviews and in the subsequent mini-exam. Fortunately I aced both, but I know I need to study harder and I have made a mental note to read through the chapter again.
With the examinations over, we were then subjected to another PADI training video with the trademark excruciating 'comedy' attempts. This one included more details about the diving environment and other equipment relevant to dealing with the conditions. I was intrigued to note the staged colour loss effect of increasing water depth, with the lower frequency reds disappearing first. I suppose this explains why everything is blue underwater, but I can't help wondering why it's not violet since that's the last colour of the visible spectrum.
The video also covered twenty-five gestures to aid communication underwater, all of which seemed very sensible. I did notice that there was neither a gesture for 'thank you' nor 'I don't understand'. I can only assume that the gesture system was invented by impolite smart-arses.
Frustrating Progress
When the time came for us to alight to the pool, my dive instructor was kind enough to make arrangements so that I would not be required to lift any of the equipment. I was both grateful and mildly embarrassed by this as I felt a bit like an invalid, but it was the sensible option. At least I assembled and checked my Buoyancy Control Device and air cylinder myself (under supervision) before others moved it for me to don in the water.
Once submerged, I acclimatised myself to the strangely isolating environment. I found it to be relaxing and peaceful whilst at the same time restrictive and claustrophobic. Once again the poolscape was filled with divers bobbing and floating about their business, but they were blurry figures due to my lack of contact lenses. However, as it was a lesson where instruction can only be given visually, I thought it wise to return my attention to my dive instructor.
After he gave a quick demonstration of a mask clearance, we students were each directed to perform the same task in turn. This is something I had practiced previously so I had little trouble, although I suspect that Darren would probably be the class expert given the number of enforced mask clearances his angular cheekbones had caused during the previous lesson. Chloe performed her task effortlessly too and then we familiarised ourselves with our alternate air sources (often referred to as an “octopus”).
Soon we were swimming around in the shallow end, some of us with more grace than others. Watching our dive instructor, he was able to drift along effortlessly with barely a variation in depth. On the other hand, I was still bouncing from pool floor to surface with every breath, despite the addition of a weight-belt which I thought was meant to reduce this effect. After a period of mild frustration it occurred to me that shallower breaths would minimise my buoyancy bounce. This technique worked to a degree, but it flew in the face of course information that stated long slow breaths were optimal in diving as they would compensate the anatomical dead-spaces of the human respiratory system. I considered holding my breath, but that is apparently the big no-no of diving, due to the possibility of internalised gas doing horrible things to our innards.
As Much as a Fish Needs a Bicycle
It was at this point that the “people are not fish” thought occurred to me. Fish have got moving around underwater sorted. They draw their oxygen from the surrounding water rather than canned air, so they naturally maintain neutral buoyancy. They've got a separate organ called a swim bladder to control their buoyancy. This makes perfect sense as they have evolved to perform well in the aquatic environment. On the other hand, fish are rubbish at walking whilst people are really good at it. These are simple, obvious truths. Who the hell are we to attempt to subvert the course of evolution? The old adage involving fish and bicycles can just as easily be reversed to apply to humans and fins.
Nonetheless I persevered, after all I wouldn't have much to write about if I just sat at the poolside watching the bubbles. Soon we were heading for the deep end where yet another of my physical deficiencies was about to be exposed; as a child I had often suffered from ear problems due to having narrow ear canals. To compound this I had suffered an ear injury whilst snorkelling a year ago, so I knew adulthood hadn't resolved the issue.
Blowing Chunks
Having seen my previous pathetic attempts to equalise my ears whilst simultaneously managing my buoyancy, the dive instructor took control of my BCD to allow me to concentrate on one thing. I was oddly elated to feel the air move through my ear canals without hindrance and I slowly sank without discomfort. Once at the bottom of the four-metre pool, for a while I was able to relax enough to get dangerously close to enjoying myself. We were directed to go for another swim where we could admire the human detritus that decorated the bottom of the pool. Sometimes being short-sighted has it's advantages.
This time I was less aware of my buoyancy bounce. Whether this was due to improving technique or simply because of more space, I couldn't be sure. One thing I did become aware of was the dryness of my throat and the increasing need to shift accumulating phlegm. Another concession the dive instructor had made for my back injury was to allow me to use his more padded BCD. It seemed impolite to hawk up a grolley in another man's breathing apparatus and I was confident of my regulator removal technique, so I took it out, cleared my throat and returned the regulator. This resulted in an emphatic finger-waggle from the dive instructor, so emphatic that it continued long after my repeated “okay” sign. I think I upset him. Oops.
Soon after, we were summoned together for another short 'charades' session, where we were required to report the air pressure reading on our Submersible Pressure Gauge via a series of hand-signals. This went swimmingly (ahem) then we were off on another circuit of the pool floor. This time I drifted upward a tad and on returning I started to get some discomfort in my left ear. As per our training, I swam up again and attempted to equalise, but nothing was moving. I communicated this to the dive instructor and we returned to the shallow end.
We gathered together at the dive instructor's behest and there was a brief period where some complicated gesticulations from him completely confused me, until I later found out that he was trying to draw my attention to Chloe who had taken to doing somersaults behind me. I suspect she's a ringer and has actually been diving for years, she seems far too comfortable down there. During my confusion I at least discovered the signal for “I don't understand”. It's pretty obvious really.
On arriving back on the surface, I was gently scolded for removing my regulator at depth. When I explained my reasons, Matt shrugged and stated he wasn't concerned about a bit of phlegm going through his regulator, after all he had vomited through it in the past!
So that was another session survived and, despite my frustrations, I have to admit finding some satisfaction in the brief moments where I felt in control. I can imagine if that was a constant state, floating around at the bottom of an exotic tropical sea might be quite magical.
But I am still not a fish.
Can I Back Out?
As if the challenges of learning to dive with an ingrained fear of water were not enough, this week would prove to be increasingly challenging. Early last week, due to a mishap involving gravity and a hospital trolleycot with dodgy brakes, I injured my already weak back by (stupidly) catching a falling twenty-stone man. The good news was that the man was unhurt in the incident, the bad news was that I was now in increasing discomfort. After consultation with my physiotherapist, we agreed that although heavy lifting was unwise for a few days, it was important to continue to move it as much as possible and scuba lessons would be beneficial providing I wasn't lugging kit around.
Is it wrong that I was almost disappointed I couldn't even get a sick-note to get me out of my next near-drowning episode?
Why Isn't Underwater Purple?
I arrived at the Fin Divers unit for the start of my lesson, having only just completed the knowledge review required for the impending lesson. I had hurriedly swotted up on the surprisingly in-depth chapter on basic equipment and diving principles. Fortunately I was familiar with many of the fundamental concepts as part of my paramedic training.
Despite my prior knowledge, I was a little concerned that I had not prepared enough and I suspect that Matt, my Dive Instructor, thought the same. He was quite uncompromising in testing my knowledge, both by looking over our knowledge reviews and in the subsequent mini-exam. Fortunately I aced both, but I know I need to study harder and I have made a mental note to read through the chapter again.
With the examinations over, we were then subjected to another PADI training video with the trademark excruciating 'comedy' attempts. This one included more details about the diving environment and other equipment relevant to dealing with the conditions. I was intrigued to note the staged colour loss effect of increasing water depth, with the lower frequency reds disappearing first. I suppose this explains why everything is blue underwater, but I can't help wondering why it's not violet since that's the last colour of the visible spectrum.
The video also covered twenty-five gestures to aid communication underwater, all of which seemed very sensible. I did notice that there was neither a gesture for 'thank you' nor 'I don't understand'. I can only assume that the gesture system was invented by impolite smart-arses.
Frustrating Progress
When the time came for us to alight to the pool, my dive instructor was kind enough to make arrangements so that I would not be required to lift any of the equipment. I was both grateful and mildly embarrassed by this as I felt a bit like an invalid, but it was the sensible option. At least I assembled and checked my Buoyancy Control Device and air cylinder myself (under supervision) before others moved it for me to don in the water.
Once submerged, I acclimatised myself to the strangely isolating environment. I found it to be relaxing and peaceful whilst at the same time restrictive and claustrophobic. Once again the poolscape was filled with divers bobbing and floating about their business, but they were blurry figures due to my lack of contact lenses. However, as it was a lesson where instruction can only be given visually, I thought it wise to return my attention to my dive instructor.
After he gave a quick demonstration of a mask clearance, we students were each directed to perform the same task in turn. This is something I had practiced previously so I had little trouble, although I suspect that Darren would probably be the class expert given the number of enforced mask clearances his angular cheekbones had caused during the previous lesson. Chloe performed her task effortlessly too and then we familiarised ourselves with our alternate air sources (often referred to as an “octopus”).
Soon we were swimming around in the shallow end, some of us with more grace than others. Watching our dive instructor, he was able to drift along effortlessly with barely a variation in depth. On the other hand, I was still bouncing from pool floor to surface with every breath, despite the addition of a weight-belt which I thought was meant to reduce this effect. After a period of mild frustration it occurred to me that shallower breaths would minimise my buoyancy bounce. This technique worked to a degree, but it flew in the face of course information that stated long slow breaths were optimal in diving as they would compensate the anatomical dead-spaces of the human respiratory system. I considered holding my breath, but that is apparently the big no-no of diving, due to the possibility of internalised gas doing horrible things to our innards.
As Much as a Fish Needs a Bicycle
It was at this point that the “people are not fish” thought occurred to me. Fish have got moving around underwater sorted. They draw their oxygen from the surrounding water rather than canned air, so they naturally maintain neutral buoyancy. They've got a separate organ called a swim bladder to control their buoyancy. This makes perfect sense as they have evolved to perform well in the aquatic environment. On the other hand, fish are rubbish at walking whilst people are really good at it. These are simple, obvious truths. Who the hell are we to attempt to subvert the course of evolution? The old adage involving fish and bicycles can just as easily be reversed to apply to humans and fins.
Nonetheless I persevered, after all I wouldn't have much to write about if I just sat at the poolside watching the bubbles. Soon we were heading for the deep end where yet another of my physical deficiencies was about to be exposed; as a child I had often suffered from ear problems due to having narrow ear canals. To compound this I had suffered an ear injury whilst snorkelling a year ago, so I knew adulthood hadn't resolved the issue.
Blowing Chunks
Having seen my previous pathetic attempts to equalise my ears whilst simultaneously managing my buoyancy, the dive instructor took control of my BCD to allow me to concentrate on one thing. I was oddly elated to feel the air move through my ear canals without hindrance and I slowly sank without discomfort. Once at the bottom of the four-metre pool, for a while I was able to relax enough to get dangerously close to enjoying myself. We were directed to go for another swim where we could admire the human detritus that decorated the bottom of the pool. Sometimes being short-sighted has it's advantages.
This time I was less aware of my buoyancy bounce. Whether this was due to improving technique or simply because of more space, I couldn't be sure. One thing I did become aware of was the dryness of my throat and the increasing need to shift accumulating phlegm. Another concession the dive instructor had made for my back injury was to allow me to use his more padded BCD. It seemed impolite to hawk up a grolley in another man's breathing apparatus and I was confident of my regulator removal technique, so I took it out, cleared my throat and returned the regulator. This resulted in an emphatic finger-waggle from the dive instructor, so emphatic that it continued long after my repeated “okay” sign. I think I upset him. Oops.
Soon after, we were summoned together for another short 'charades' session, where we were required to report the air pressure reading on our Submersible Pressure Gauge via a series of hand-signals. This went swimmingly (ahem) then we were off on another circuit of the pool floor. This time I drifted upward a tad and on returning I started to get some discomfort in my left ear. As per our training, I swam up again and attempted to equalise, but nothing was moving. I communicated this to the dive instructor and we returned to the shallow end.
We gathered together at the dive instructor's behest and there was a brief period where some complicated gesticulations from him completely confused me, until I later found out that he was trying to draw my attention to Chloe who had taken to doing somersaults behind me. I suspect she's a ringer and has actually been diving for years, she seems far too comfortable down there. During my confusion I at least discovered the signal for “I don't understand”. It's pretty obvious really.
On arriving back on the surface, I was gently scolded for removing my regulator at depth. When I explained my reasons, Matt shrugged and stated he wasn't concerned about a bit of phlegm going through his regulator, after all he had vomited through it in the past!
So that was another session survived and, despite my frustrations, I have to admit finding some satisfaction in the brief moments where I felt in control. I can imagine if that was a constant state, floating around at the bottom of an exotic tropical sea might be quite magical.
But I am still not a fish.
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
What Inspires You to Dive?
I had no scuba lesson this week due to the bank holiday, so instead I've been giving some thought to the general concept of diving.
What really is the allure? I ask this mainly for myself as I seek the motivation to press on with my learning; I realise that there are millions of keen divers out there, so there must be something to it, but the bug hasn't quite bitten me yet.
I have heard stories of stunningly beautiful underwater landscapes populated by a myriad of strange and colourful creatures and I have seen evidence of this in photos and television documentaries. I have literally skimmed the surface of these worlds myself on a number of snorkelling excursions and I wholeheartedly agree that beneath the waves are countless fascinating spectacles that are undoubtedly a joy to learn about and behold.
But I am still grasping for a good, solid reason to strap lots of heavy equipment to my back and sit amongst it all whilst constantly clock-watching to ensure I don't lose track of time and accidentally drown myself.
Perhaps it's a human nature thing – we climb the mountain “because it's there” – although that strikes me as the reasoning of the insane. After all, George Mallory, the mountaineer who uttered those pioneer-inspiring words, froze to death on the north face of Everest at the age of thirty-seven. When faced with the kind of risks that can result in death, suddenly the quality of the view seems somehow less important. If we could ask George Mallory why he decided to sit down and freeze to death, a trite "Because I could." wouldn't really be the answer I'd be hoping for.
So I suppose what I'm asking for is inspiration. As I prepare myself for next week's scuba lesson I'd like to read something to make me feel that risking a watery death is worthwhile in pursuit of scuba excellence. Please leave an inspiring pearl of diving wisdom in the comments below.
In short; why do you lot do it?
What really is the allure? I ask this mainly for myself as I seek the motivation to press on with my learning; I realise that there are millions of keen divers out there, so there must be something to it, but the bug hasn't quite bitten me yet.
I have heard stories of stunningly beautiful underwater landscapes populated by a myriad of strange and colourful creatures and I have seen evidence of this in photos and television documentaries. I have literally skimmed the surface of these worlds myself on a number of snorkelling excursions and I wholeheartedly agree that beneath the waves are countless fascinating spectacles that are undoubtedly a joy to learn about and behold.
But I am still grasping for a good, solid reason to strap lots of heavy equipment to my back and sit amongst it all whilst constantly clock-watching to ensure I don't lose track of time and accidentally drown myself.
Perhaps it's a human nature thing – we climb the mountain “because it's there” – although that strikes me as the reasoning of the insane. After all, George Mallory, the mountaineer who uttered those pioneer-inspiring words, froze to death on the north face of Everest at the age of thirty-seven. When faced with the kind of risks that can result in death, suddenly the quality of the view seems somehow less important. If we could ask George Mallory why he decided to sit down and freeze to death, a trite "Because I could." wouldn't really be the answer I'd be hoping for.
So I suppose what I'm asking for is inspiration. As I prepare myself for next week's scuba lesson I'd like to read something to make me feel that risking a watery death is worthwhile in pursuit of scuba excellence. Please leave an inspiring pearl of diving wisdom in the comments below.
In short; why do you lot do it?
Tuesday, 24 May 2011
Open Mind, Open Water Course (Lesson One)
Trepidation for my impending scuba lesson grew over the course of my shift and as the end of my working day approached I found myself hoping for a late 999 call. I'm such a coward – I was almost willing someone to be ill so I would finish work too late to attend the lesson. However, I only managed to delay my shift-end for half-an-hour, which meant I made it to the Fin Divers HQ in Stevenage just in the nick of time.
Learning Not to Drown
On arrival, I made my half-baked apologies and hurried past the racks of diving equipment into the classroom where they were about to begin. Matt Bacon, our dive instructor, handed me a registration form to fill out and continued to address the other diving rookies. After reading through the medical questionnaire, I couldn't help thinking of it as a list of things that could lead to my underwater demise. Fortunately, the only thing that gave me pause was a question about pre-existing back problems. But I have consulted my GP and physiotherapist and they think that with care, SCUBA diving might actually help my condition. Severe allergies were also mentioned, but I answered 'no' because mild hayfever surely wouldn't be a problem underwater, would it?
After a short introduction we settled in to watch a PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) training video featuring some tanned, hard-bodied divers and some mildly cringe-worthy attempts at humour. I suppose these were necessary distractions from the otherwise relentless referencing of equipment, procedures and scientific principles. I got the gist, but I was hoping there wouldn't be an exam at the end; I was never going to be able to tell my buoyancy control devices from my curvacous bikini-clad diving actresses after one viewing.
The content of the video described the basic scientific principles of diving and the fundamentals of diving safety. I was grateful for this but at the same time I couldn't help but notice that the necessity of these safety points underlined the reality that human beings aren't designed to be underwater. Worryingly, congestion and allergies were highlighted as a concern, so my earlier assumption about my hayfever seems to be wrong - I'll have to bear that in mind. Although sugar-coated with repeated references to how fun diving is, the unspoken subtext was "look after your kit and learn how to use it because if you don't, YOU WILL DIE!". I wasn't reassured by the actors' attempts to dance underwater, I was just concerned one of them might get tangled up in the myriad of tubes strapped to their back and meet a grisly end.
During our lesson, the main shop area of the Fin Divers office had filled with people, presumably the more experienced divers that would be attending the pool session. Sadly, I didn't have a chance to chat to them, with our lesson over we needed to relocate to the nearby municipal swimming pool for our first "confined water" session so I had to dash home to grab my swimming gear.
All the Gear...No Idea
Surprisingly, despite my detour, I got to Stevenage swimming pool shortly before most of the Fin Divers entourage. The reason for their delay soon became clear as they arrived and began to haul a multitude of equipment boxes and gas cylinders inside. It seems that SCUBA divers don't travel light.
Once all the kit was indoors, I was instructed to go get changed into my swimming gear whilst the divers made their pool-side preparations. Having previously snorkelled, I had my own mask, snorkel and body glove rash-vest. However, in my rush to grab everything together, I had made two critical omissions; I'd forgotten the rash-vest and my contact lenses – I was going to have to dive partially-blind and semi-naked!
Arriving back poolside, I watched the twenty-strong group of wetsuit-clad divers assembling and checking their equipment. I tried not to be disappointed by the lack of sun-kissed athletic bikini-wearers and accepted that many divers appear to be shaven-headed girthsome men. At least I wouldn't have to worry so much about sucking my stomach in all evening.
I gravitated toward my fellow rookies; a young man called Darren and a younger teenage girl named Chloe. I couldn't help wondering if I was too old for this? We were issued with fins (with express instructions not to refer to them as 'flippers' – apparently a hanging offence in diving circles), BCDs and air cylinders which we were shown how to assemble, although thankfully our instructor and a fellow 'DM' (dive master) did ours for us. I certainly wouldn't have been comfortable trusting any breathing equipment assembled by myself.
After some further instruction, it became clear that we would be re-enacting the same drills that we'd seen in the video earlier. I hoped I wouldn't be asked to dance underwater. One thing that was certainly going to be a challenge was underwater communication; our instructor showed us some basic hand-signals that would be critical to continuing our lessons whilst submerged. I've always been pretty good at Charades, but some of the signals are going to take some getting used to. A “thumbs-up” sign means “ascend”, not as I would interpret it; “okay, isn't this fun?”.
Tiny Leaps of Faith
Into the water we slid and we were shown how to don and secure our equipment. Whilst quite heavy on land, the bulky flak-vest-like BCD and cylinder felt much less cumbersome in the water and once we were shown how to fill it with air, it was like wearing an inflatable dinghy. At this point I was very happy, I couldn't drown even if someone had their foot on my head.
Following instruction on using the regulator (the mouthpiece at the end of the airline), the inevitable moment of submergence came. Thankfully we were in the shallow end of the pool so the surface wouldn't be that far away. I let the air out of my BCD and sank quickly to my knees, attempting to equalise the air in my ears as instructed. It was a strange moment; my eyes and my body were telling me I was underwater, but my lungs disagreed. I found myself at the bottom of the pool, relatively relaxed and looking around at the small circle of equipment-smothered divers. Beyond were other similar groups of submerged figures, all practicing various diving procedures. It was surprisingly crowded down there.
Happy that none of us were thrashing around and panicking, our instructor gave us each an “okay” signal to which we were expected to respond in kind. It occurred to me that there is a distinct lack of punctuation in underwater communications and there should probably be a way of distinguishing between a question and a statement. He then gave us a “thumbs-up”. Yes this is fun isn't it... Oh hang on, that means we go up.
For me, the next part of our lesson contained a slight hint of terror. Now comfortable with the idea of being able to breathe underwater, he expected us to remove our breathing apparatus, allow it to fill with water and then purge it and put it back in our mouths. A quick practice on the surface did little to quell my concerns; if I did this wrong, I would be willingly inhaling water. Nonetheless, with my fellow students being a testosterone-filled youth and a child, I had to 'man-up' and give it a go. I resigned myself to death by drowning rather than an embarrassing loss of face.
We re-submerged and Chloe went first, fearlessly and quickly performing the necessary task. The instructor turned to me, mimed the actions and cued me up. Time for a leap of faith. I removed the regulator, placed my tongue at the front of my mouth as expected and replaced the regulator, purging it as I did so. It worked. I didn't inadvertently fill my lungs with water, hurrah! My next attempt didn't go quite so well though, the second technique involved blowing the water out of the regulator manually. However, I over-thought things and for some reason breathed out before removing the mouthpiece. On replacing it I found I had very little puff and had to strain to clear it. I managed, but hardly with grace. It was difficult to tell through his mask and regulator, but I'm sure my instructor laughed as he swam away to focus on the next student.
The final few minutes of my first dive went reasonably well, with a few issues. We had a brief exercise in recovering your breathing tube in the event that it floats off behind you, then a short swim around. Darren had some issues with his club-issue mask due to the fact he had an unusually narrow and angular face and my left ear refused to equalise when we went into the deep end, causing some mild pain. Chloe seemed effortless and at ease throughout - oh to be young and fearless. One other problem I encountered was that I seemed hyper-buoyant, bouncing from surface to floor with every breath, but perhaps that is something I will master with time.
All in all, it was not an entirely unpleasant experience and most importantly; I live to swim another day. Now to hit the books, there are things I want to know.
Learning Not to Drown
On arrival, I made my half-baked apologies and hurried past the racks of diving equipment into the classroom where they were about to begin. Matt Bacon, our dive instructor, handed me a registration form to fill out and continued to address the other diving rookies. After reading through the medical questionnaire, I couldn't help thinking of it as a list of things that could lead to my underwater demise. Fortunately, the only thing that gave me pause was a question about pre-existing back problems. But I have consulted my GP and physiotherapist and they think that with care, SCUBA diving might actually help my condition. Severe allergies were also mentioned, but I answered 'no' because mild hayfever surely wouldn't be a problem underwater, would it?
After a short introduction we settled in to watch a PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) training video featuring some tanned, hard-bodied divers and some mildly cringe-worthy attempts at humour. I suppose these were necessary distractions from the otherwise relentless referencing of equipment, procedures and scientific principles. I got the gist, but I was hoping there wouldn't be an exam at the end; I was never going to be able to tell my buoyancy control devices from my curvacous bikini-clad diving actresses after one viewing.
The content of the video described the basic scientific principles of diving and the fundamentals of diving safety. I was grateful for this but at the same time I couldn't help but notice that the necessity of these safety points underlined the reality that human beings aren't designed to be underwater. Worryingly, congestion and allergies were highlighted as a concern, so my earlier assumption about my hayfever seems to be wrong - I'll have to bear that in mind. Although sugar-coated with repeated references to how fun diving is, the unspoken subtext was "look after your kit and learn how to use it because if you don't, YOU WILL DIE!". I wasn't reassured by the actors' attempts to dance underwater, I was just concerned one of them might get tangled up in the myriad of tubes strapped to their back and meet a grisly end.
During our lesson, the main shop area of the Fin Divers office had filled with people, presumably the more experienced divers that would be attending the pool session. Sadly, I didn't have a chance to chat to them, with our lesson over we needed to relocate to the nearby municipal swimming pool for our first "confined water" session so I had to dash home to grab my swimming gear.
All the Gear...No Idea
Surprisingly, despite my detour, I got to Stevenage swimming pool shortly before most of the Fin Divers entourage. The reason for their delay soon became clear as they arrived and began to haul a multitude of equipment boxes and gas cylinders inside. It seems that SCUBA divers don't travel light.
Once all the kit was indoors, I was instructed to go get changed into my swimming gear whilst the divers made their pool-side preparations. Having previously snorkelled, I had my own mask, snorkel and body glove rash-vest. However, in my rush to grab everything together, I had made two critical omissions; I'd forgotten the rash-vest and my contact lenses – I was going to have to dive partially-blind and semi-naked!
Arriving back poolside, I watched the twenty-strong group of wetsuit-clad divers assembling and checking their equipment. I tried not to be disappointed by the lack of sun-kissed athletic bikini-wearers and accepted that many divers appear to be shaven-headed girthsome men. At least I wouldn't have to worry so much about sucking my stomach in all evening.
I gravitated toward my fellow rookies; a young man called Darren and a younger teenage girl named Chloe. I couldn't help wondering if I was too old for this? We were issued with fins (with express instructions not to refer to them as 'flippers' – apparently a hanging offence in diving circles), BCDs and air cylinders which we were shown how to assemble, although thankfully our instructor and a fellow 'DM' (dive master) did ours for us. I certainly wouldn't have been comfortable trusting any breathing equipment assembled by myself.
After some further instruction, it became clear that we would be re-enacting the same drills that we'd seen in the video earlier. I hoped I wouldn't be asked to dance underwater. One thing that was certainly going to be a challenge was underwater communication; our instructor showed us some basic hand-signals that would be critical to continuing our lessons whilst submerged. I've always been pretty good at Charades, but some of the signals are going to take some getting used to. A “thumbs-up” sign means “ascend”, not as I would interpret it; “okay, isn't this fun?”.
Tiny Leaps of Faith
Into the water we slid and we were shown how to don and secure our equipment. Whilst quite heavy on land, the bulky flak-vest-like BCD and cylinder felt much less cumbersome in the water and once we were shown how to fill it with air, it was like wearing an inflatable dinghy. At this point I was very happy, I couldn't drown even if someone had their foot on my head.
Following instruction on using the regulator (the mouthpiece at the end of the airline), the inevitable moment of submergence came. Thankfully we were in the shallow end of the pool so the surface wouldn't be that far away. I let the air out of my BCD and sank quickly to my knees, attempting to equalise the air in my ears as instructed. It was a strange moment; my eyes and my body were telling me I was underwater, but my lungs disagreed. I found myself at the bottom of the pool, relatively relaxed and looking around at the small circle of equipment-smothered divers. Beyond were other similar groups of submerged figures, all practicing various diving procedures. It was surprisingly crowded down there.
Happy that none of us were thrashing around and panicking, our instructor gave us each an “okay” signal to which we were expected to respond in kind. It occurred to me that there is a distinct lack of punctuation in underwater communications and there should probably be a way of distinguishing between a question and a statement. He then gave us a “thumbs-up”. Yes this is fun isn't it... Oh hang on, that means we go up.
For me, the next part of our lesson contained a slight hint of terror. Now comfortable with the idea of being able to breathe underwater, he expected us to remove our breathing apparatus, allow it to fill with water and then purge it and put it back in our mouths. A quick practice on the surface did little to quell my concerns; if I did this wrong, I would be willingly inhaling water. Nonetheless, with my fellow students being a testosterone-filled youth and a child, I had to 'man-up' and give it a go. I resigned myself to death by drowning rather than an embarrassing loss of face.
We re-submerged and Chloe went first, fearlessly and quickly performing the necessary task. The instructor turned to me, mimed the actions and cued me up. Time for a leap of faith. I removed the regulator, placed my tongue at the front of my mouth as expected and replaced the regulator, purging it as I did so. It worked. I didn't inadvertently fill my lungs with water, hurrah! My next attempt didn't go quite so well though, the second technique involved blowing the water out of the regulator manually. However, I over-thought things and for some reason breathed out before removing the mouthpiece. On replacing it I found I had very little puff and had to strain to clear it. I managed, but hardly with grace. It was difficult to tell through his mask and regulator, but I'm sure my instructor laughed as he swam away to focus on the next student.
The final few minutes of my first dive went reasonably well, with a few issues. We had a brief exercise in recovering your breathing tube in the event that it floats off behind you, then a short swim around. Darren had some issues with his club-issue mask due to the fact he had an unusually narrow and angular face and my left ear refused to equalise when we went into the deep end, causing some mild pain. Chloe seemed effortless and at ease throughout - oh to be young and fearless. One other problem I encountered was that I seemed hyper-buoyant, bouncing from surface to floor with every breath, but perhaps that is something I will master with time.
All in all, it was not an entirely unpleasant experience and most importantly; I live to swim another day. Now to hit the books, there are things I want to know.
Saturday, 21 May 2011
An Introduction
I am a 36-year-old Paramedic who has been quite comfortable on dry land for my entire life. Although I can swim, it is not my favourite past-time and just looking at a body of deep water fills me with dread (even the background to this blog makes me feel slightly uncomfortable).
Perhaps somewhere deep in my subconscious is the memory of an incident that my Mother has previously recounted to me when, at the age of three, I threw myself into a water-filled quarry and sank, requiring her to dive in to save me. I have no recollection of the incident.
Despite this, I have been invited by a friend to attempt SCUBA diving. He assures me that it is a rewarding and safe hobby. I remain unconvinced but I have pledged to give it a go. This blog aims to document my journey.
My first SCUBA lesson is in two days. Feel free to talk me out of it.
Please.
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