On one of our checkout dives out of Panama City Beach, FL, we had a Rescue diver checking out. He did a giant stride and immediately surfaced and headed to the back of the boat. Seems he lost *both* his mask and his weight belt on that entry. One of the crew bounced for it, which saved his dive, if not his pride.
Obviously, as he was doing a Rescue checkout, we had to give him plenty of good-natured ribbing. While he certainly took it well (and turned several shades of red), he was not to suffer alone. Later that same weekend, his dad (who was really enjoying teasing him) surfaced on the wrong boat. When he broke the surface and saw the wrong name on the back of the boat, he knew his turn had come. (They're both great guys, by the way, and I'd dive with them without a second thought.)
As for me, I've done the walk back to the car a couple times. At one quarry, I was all the way down from the rim to the entry point, when I realized I'd left my fins at the table. Someone offered to retrieve them for me, but I declined and said that climbing the stairs back to the bench was reasonable penance and should help ensure it doesn't happen again. :biggrin:
The best "Aw, nuts..." moment I've had recently was in our first DM pool session. I'd washed and dried all my "pool" gear so I'd be in prime condition for the night. I even tossed *both* sets of booties into my boat bag, just in case I'd want to use the older pair. Then I meticulously loaded the gear bin in the back of my car. When we got to the LSU Nat that evening, I went to toss everything into the boat bag while we waited for the swimmers and divers to finish.
I'm sure everyone sees where this is going.
Yes, indeedy. The boat bag was not present. It was, in point of fact, sitting quite despondently in the carport, having missed the first real opportunity to be useful it had seen in some time. Thankfully, while it was certainly despondent, it was not lonely. Both pairs of booties were there to keep it company.
With rising trepidation, I scoured the back of my vehicle to see what I might bodge together to fill in for the missing booties. I checked my fins to see if they'd work on bare feet. (They would not.) My flip-flop-style sandals were also of little, if any, utility. For the first time in memory, my spring straps became a curse instead of a blessing, as they were not short enough to hold my fins on without foot coverings of some sort or other. If there had been time, I would have dashed home to grab what I had forgotten, but alas, it was about that moment when the doors began to open to release the night's former swimmers.
With time rapidly spilling into a puddle of frustration, I redoubled my efforts to find a solution. Finally, just as the big red LED clock was about to hit all zeroes and blow the night to smithereens, eureka! I had found it! The solution to my woes. Yes, there in the back of my car were a smashed and torn up old pair of $7 Walmart slippers!
I accepted without complaint the cold feet. I did not spite the fins for being somewhat floppy. I did not cry for the blisters and raw spots I would certainly have by the end of the night. No, I exulted in the fact that I had, by virtue of not having tossed the things out last camping trip, saved my dive night in perhaps the most outlandish manner possible.
The slippers worked, and we accomplished all we had to do that night, but I dare say I may be remembered for some time as the diver who saved his night by diving in a pair of shabby old brown corduroy slippers.
Obviously, as he was doing a Rescue checkout, we had to give him plenty of good-natured ribbing. While he certainly took it well (and turned several shades of red), he was not to suffer alone. Later that same weekend, his dad (who was really enjoying teasing him) surfaced on the wrong boat. When he broke the surface and saw the wrong name on the back of the boat, he knew his turn had come. (They're both great guys, by the way, and I'd dive with them without a second thought.)
As for me, I've done the walk back to the car a couple times. At one quarry, I was all the way down from the rim to the entry point, when I realized I'd left my fins at the table. Someone offered to retrieve them for me, but I declined and said that climbing the stairs back to the bench was reasonable penance and should help ensure it doesn't happen again. :biggrin:
The best "Aw, nuts..." moment I've had recently was in our first DM pool session. I'd washed and dried all my "pool" gear so I'd be in prime condition for the night. I even tossed *both* sets of booties into my boat bag, just in case I'd want to use the older pair. Then I meticulously loaded the gear bin in the back of my car. When we got to the LSU Nat that evening, I went to toss everything into the boat bag while we waited for the swimmers and divers to finish.
I'm sure everyone sees where this is going.
Yes, indeedy. The boat bag was not present. It was, in point of fact, sitting quite despondently in the carport, having missed the first real opportunity to be useful it had seen in some time. Thankfully, while it was certainly despondent, it was not lonely. Both pairs of booties were there to keep it company.
With rising trepidation, I scoured the back of my vehicle to see what I might bodge together to fill in for the missing booties. I checked my fins to see if they'd work on bare feet. (They would not.) My flip-flop-style sandals were also of little, if any, utility. For the first time in memory, my spring straps became a curse instead of a blessing, as they were not short enough to hold my fins on without foot coverings of some sort or other. If there had been time, I would have dashed home to grab what I had forgotten, but alas, it was about that moment when the doors began to open to release the night's former swimmers.
With time rapidly spilling into a puddle of frustration, I redoubled my efforts to find a solution. Finally, just as the big red LED clock was about to hit all zeroes and blow the night to smithereens, eureka! I had found it! The solution to my woes. Yes, there in the back of my car were a smashed and torn up old pair of $7 Walmart slippers!
I accepted without complaint the cold feet. I did not spite the fins for being somewhat floppy. I did not cry for the blisters and raw spots I would certainly have by the end of the night. No, I exulted in the fact that I had, by virtue of not having tossed the things out last camping trip, saved my dive night in perhaps the most outlandish manner possible.
The slippers worked, and we accomplished all we had to do that night, but I dare say I may be remembered for some time as the diver who saved his night by diving in a pair of shabby old brown corduroy slippers.
But since this was at 100 fin cycles, by the time that I got back the rest had given up on me and left to do the rest of the exercises! They reckoned I had gone to infiltrate the navy (who have a base right next door to the dive site)!
