I hate to report that my first cold-water diving trip ended up with a whopping zero logged dives. I was so looking forward to diving the kelp forests off Point Loma, but alas, I've learned the hard lesson of never trust size charts.
My son and I drove out to San Diego on Wednesday afternoon, getting into town around 7 in the evening. I stopped at Sport Chalet to rent the 7mm wetsuit (only place I had found that was open that late, and none would be open before the Marissa sailed on Thursday morning).
I arrived at the boat plenty early, and felt great all the way out to the first dive site.
Then I suited up.
Before I got my weighting adjusted to a suitable level for the gear, I was feeling strangled by the wetsuit. It wasn't just snug; it was like constriction bands around the chest. It didn't just have me feeling like I couldn't breathe; I was actually getting nauseous from the pressure on my stomach.
No, it wasn't seasickness. I've never been seasick or any other motion sickness in my life, despite having been on similar sized boats in heavier seas (the Pacific off La Jolla was actually pretty calm on Thursday morning).
This was no way to start a dive, so I scrubbed this one. By the time I climbed back aboard, and before I could get the wetsuit off, I lost breakfast over the side.
I didn't even make it into the water for the second dive site. I tried, but as before, the moment I zipped up the wetsuit, the squeeze and the queasy feelings returned. I felt like I couldn't get enough air sitting on the boat, without even using the regulator yet. I don't imagine the feeling would have gotten better forty or fifty feet underwater.
I know wetsuits are supposed to be snug. I know they're supposed to hold close enough to the skin to create a restricted boundary layer of water, rather than a free-flowing current against the skin. I can't imagine, though, that they're supposed to feel like an instrument of the Inquisition, or a Reticulated Python wrapping around my torso.
The crew of the Marissa was terrific. They were helpful and understanding, and didn't push one way or the other. The boat was nice, and the trip itself pretty cool (saw dolphins before we even got out of Mission Bay, and no matter how many I see, I still find dolphins a highlight of any time around the ocean). It sure wasn't their fault I didn't get to dive, and if I get another chance to come out for a trip, I'll certainly look at their schedule first.
But lesson learned. Next time, I'll get into town early enough to not only rent the wetsuit if needed, but to also suit up with it and make sure it feels right BEFORE getting on the boat (and before the store closes). With needing to get my son to Comic Con that evening to pick up his exhibitor passes and to check out the table, I didn't have a lot of extra time for much more than the quick stop to rent the suit.
My son and I drove out to San Diego on Wednesday afternoon, getting into town around 7 in the evening. I stopped at Sport Chalet to rent the 7mm wetsuit (only place I had found that was open that late, and none would be open before the Marissa sailed on Thursday morning).
I arrived at the boat plenty early, and felt great all the way out to the first dive site.
Then I suited up.
Before I got my weighting adjusted to a suitable level for the gear, I was feeling strangled by the wetsuit. It wasn't just snug; it was like constriction bands around the chest. It didn't just have me feeling like I couldn't breathe; I was actually getting nauseous from the pressure on my stomach.
No, it wasn't seasickness. I've never been seasick or any other motion sickness in my life, despite having been on similar sized boats in heavier seas (the Pacific off La Jolla was actually pretty calm on Thursday morning).
This was no way to start a dive, so I scrubbed this one. By the time I climbed back aboard, and before I could get the wetsuit off, I lost breakfast over the side.
I didn't even make it into the water for the second dive site. I tried, but as before, the moment I zipped up the wetsuit, the squeeze and the queasy feelings returned. I felt like I couldn't get enough air sitting on the boat, without even using the regulator yet. I don't imagine the feeling would have gotten better forty or fifty feet underwater.
I know wetsuits are supposed to be snug. I know they're supposed to hold close enough to the skin to create a restricted boundary layer of water, rather than a free-flowing current against the skin. I can't imagine, though, that they're supposed to feel like an instrument of the Inquisition, or a Reticulated Python wrapping around my torso.
The crew of the Marissa was terrific. They were helpful and understanding, and didn't push one way or the other. The boat was nice, and the trip itself pretty cool (saw dolphins before we even got out of Mission Bay, and no matter how many I see, I still find dolphins a highlight of any time around the ocean). It sure wasn't their fault I didn't get to dive, and if I get another chance to come out for a trip, I'll certainly look at their schedule first.
But lesson learned. Next time, I'll get into town early enough to not only rent the wetsuit if needed, but to also suit up with it and make sure it feels right BEFORE getting on the boat (and before the store closes). With needing to get my son to Comic Con that evening to pick up his exhibitor passes and to check out the table, I didn't have a lot of extra time for much more than the quick stop to rent the suit.