Saturday morning, my watch quietly beeped that it was 6:00, and time to get up. I told Jay, my roomate ("Lackey Extraordinaire") that I would get up first, since I am typically so slow to wake.
After getting ready, and with my mind still abuzz with configurations, skills, understandings, and the like, we headed over to Waffle House to grab some b-fast. We sat in the smoking section for two reasons; so we could keep an eye out for the rest of the group, who was planning on meeting us in the parking lot, and so that I could enjoy a good ol' morning smoke. Those of you who smoke know what I mean about this. I hadn't had one since yesterday afternoon.
"Mind if I smoke?"
"Uh, yeah, I really do."
Hm. That's okay, I expected that anyway. He apologized, but I completely understood... No biggie, I'd wait 'til we were done so I could get one outside.
My order: Bacon, eggs, coffee, OJ, hash browns, big ol' glass of milk. I was diving today, and wanted to make sure that I was going to be plenty nourished.
His order: Waffle, jam, water.
Hm.
We met everyone in the parking lot afterwards, but there were still some people missing; namely, MHK, Jim, and Andrew. This was a perfect time to light up... Maybe I could even get it in before these guys showed up.
You know the story... I light, they show, and we take off. I never smoke in my car (I don't like the smell of stale smoke; isn't that ironic?), but that day I did. Last thing I wanted to be thinking about while doing these skills was jonesin' for a smoke.
...So there I was, following a line of cars to go diving, somewhere in Alabama, puffing on a cigar, listening very closely to the radio. It said, "Ladies and Gentlemen, our preliminary reports say that the smoke and explosion over Eastern Texas was likely the Space Shuttle Columbia, which was due to land here a half an hour ago. There is not much hope of survival for the astronauts."
Hm.
As an aquanaut, I felt a strong connection to the astronauts. From their outer space to my inner space, I felt my heart touched by the death of these explorers. I felt for the wives, husbands, and children, too. Equipment failure is a terrible thing... And the reason why I was here. My heart went out to all whose lives were touched by this tragedy. I held a "moment of silence" in my car for more than an hour, listening and feeling.
When we arrived at the quarry, nobody else had been listening to the radio. I had to break the news to them myself.
But we had diving to do... So we went to check out the water. In my "open water = open ocean" mentality, this was merely a hole in the ground with water in it, but hey, it was clean and clear, and there apparently were some cool things at the bottom of the quarry... A boat, a bus, a whole slew of cars and such. There were rumors of huge catfish. Cool.
...But we spent the next four hours doing "dry run" skills. While this was hardly my favorite part of the whole weekend, there is no question as to how invaluable these skills are underwater. We started by looking at some gear, and their pros and cons. I was going to be the only diver today diving a single rig (everyone else was diving double tanks), and only MHK and I were diving wet. Everyone else was in a drysuit. I have to admit, I was a bit jealous of the dry guys... That water was about 50 degrees! I had brought my wetsuit (3/2 mil O'Neill), which has served me well in the local subtropical waters, which rarely go below 65. It's also been really nice to have in the Florida springs, where the water's always 72 and my no-deco diving is more of a hinderance than water temperature.
So I rented a wetsuit. They only had 5 mil. It was looking like I might end up getting pretty chilled, but I had a hood and gloves with me, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Little did I know that this would be a problem for me later... But not because I would get cold.
We learned several kick styles, and these guys just supplied "new tool" after "new tool" for my "toolbox" of dive skills. We learned the proper way to frog kick, mod frog kick, backwards kick, mod flutter, and all the rest. We learned the correct position underwater, which involved, at least on land, a tremendous amount of lower back strength. In the water it proved much easier, and quite comfortable... When we were able to get it right. This is going to take some practice.
After being properly fit for gear (I was wearing a borrowed, plastic bp/wing combo with no crotch strap... Not the best, but hey, I thought it would do...), we headed into the water. Maaaaan, was that c-c-c-c-cold. I wasn't sure how to compensate for the additional thickness of the wetsuit, so I took a weight belt down with me with lots of weight... I'd simply remove weight until I was properly weighted.
Well, in fresh water (like this) I normally take between 6 and 8 pounds, depending on the brand name of the tanks, salinity of the water, different pieces of gear that I have, etc. I headed down with 16 pounds (!), and figured that I'd take weight off as I needed.
I knew right away that I'd have a problem the moment that I deflated my wing completely and still bobbed like a cork. Having dealt with this situation before, and not wanting to miss the class, I headed down anyway, knowing that I was going to be light and floaty the whole time, but that once that 5 mil of suit compressed, I probably wouldn't be too bad off.
My buddy and I immediately settled into the correct "prone" position, like we were taught. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it wasn't that far off from what I'd been doing anyway. I did have one problem, though... I had placed my tank a little high, and was whacking myself in the back of the head with the valve. Ouch. Having to keep my head cocked to one side or down a little was throwing my position out a bit.
I wasn't down there but for about thirty seconds (around 20') when I got a bit out of trim and was quickly upside-down and floating to the surface. I knew the problem... Not enough weight... And so I hardly resisted. I signalled to MHK that I'd be back in a second, but he came up to check on me anyway.
"You looked great there for a few seconds... What happened?"
Pretty embarrassed because of the silly-looking fin-first float, I said, "I didn't get enough weight to compensate for this thicker suit... I'll be right back."
I adjusted the belt from 16 to a whopping 20 pounds... It was a pain just trying to keep the thing on with all of that weight in there.
Ah, well... No matter. Back in the water. I'm sinking. Cool. Now maybe I won't look so goofy...
Okay... Down. Signal to MHK. Do a frog around a bit (hey, this works great! I
thought I had been doing the frog correctly before...) and then start to practice an OOA. *Pop.* I'm at the surface. What the heck?
Okay, down again. Good thing we were only in 20 feet of water. Do an OOA drill (what they call an "S drill.") My buddy and I approach each other... I am out of air... She hands me her reg, and we conk heads, stand up vertically, and while we're trying to get our reg situation correct, we bob to the surface. How embarrassing.
I couldn't do anything that they asked me to... And it's not like they asked me to do anything extraordinary... Simply show trim... Buoyancy... Do an "out of air." It was horrible. I was horrible.
I swear, I've never dived so badly in my whole life. And when I looked over after having all of these problems and saw Jay, our friendly neighborhood cameraman, filming my flailing limbs... Well, I just about lost it.
"Okay, stop," I thought. "Good. Now... Prone position. Good. Hey, howcome I'm bobbing at the surface AGAIN?" Just like that, I'd nailed my coffin shut like sixteen times in sixteen minutes. I was terrible.
That last time I popped to the surface, I didn't go back down. I had tried all of the obvious things... Dumping air, adding weight... Body position... But I just wasn't finding the right combination of things. I mean, I could see very clearly that I was seriously an accident waiting to happen.
And here's the part that really got my blood boiling... I'm a Rescue Diver. I'm supposed to be able to save people. Supposed to be able to drop from a helicopter into raging seas and save damsels in distress, right? I mean, it was bad. And I was really embarrassed. I was completely out of control.
My mind raced with thoughts of giving up and changing my name... Moving back to the desert where I belonged, away from water, which apparently was my enemy. I wondered how it had been that I hadn't killed myself yet, and then it dawned on me...
Must be the gear.
I can't be that terrible. I've never had these problems before...
While there may be some truth to the fact that I'd never dived this rig before, and that I was having some serious weighting issues... And while there might have been some truth to the fact that 5 mil was about twice what I was accustomed to, and that in only 20 feet of water, it was definitely working against me in the buoyancy-stability department... The problem wasn't the suit or the weight or the rig... The problem was that I couldn't handle it.
I made it to shallow water and took my rig off. Around the time that I was getting it clear of my shoulders, I heard a "ppppffffffttttt..."
Wait a minute. Something's leaking. Ohmygosh. So that's it. Something's leaking. Well, that would explain why I do fine and then all of a sudden I blow to the surface. Maybe the inflator valve is leaking into the bladder.
That's when MHK popped up. He could see in my face that I was really upset. I've never been so embarrassed in my whole life, and I started to think back about the things I could have said here on the board or in person, where I argued a point or talked to someone as if I had a clue about diving. My performance showed that clearly, I had no business anywhere near the water, much less giving advice on it.
"Goddam thing's leaking!" I said, angrily. "Shoots me up to the surface here and there... Listen."
He listened... "Yeah, I hear that, but it's leaking slightly OUT, not IN..."
I was so ticked, I couldn't even see straight. If he was right, then I really just sucked as a diver. And with my skills, training, and the hundred or so dives that I've done, if I am THAT bad, I need to get out of the water. Permenantly.
My tank had never been so light. It came off of me, and I think I actually threw it, from shallow water, onto the dock. It sailed nicely. Okay, that's an exaggeration... But the point is that I was at that point where the adrenaline was going, I was
really mad, and 40 pounds of gear felt like 5. You know that point.
I was steamed. Big time. Angry at the gear, angry at the situation. Angry that I'd been sucked into paying this kind of money for some stupid cult class. Angry at me, angry at my buddy, and angry at MHK. Angry at the bird in the tree. Angry at God. Angry at the stupid little fishie that had followed me around, looking for food. Certainly this was his fault. If HE hadn't been BUMMIN' FOR FOOD, then maybe I'd have been able to concentrate!
I'm not a stupid guy. I knew I wasn't handling this well. I needed to take a time-out before I really embarrassed myself.
"You okay?" MHK asked.
"No! Stupid diving. Maybe I just need to get the hell out of the water for good. I swear, Mike, I'm not this bad."
"I've seen worse."
"What?! Worse?!! I wanted you to come up and say, 'Hey, you're not far from being really good...' I can't believe this. Mike, I swear, I'm a really great diver. I live for this stuff, man. It's gotta be the gear..."
"You need a few minutes to cool off?"
"Yes I do, Goddammit!"
...And so I walked over to the edge of the dock, crossed my arms, and stared into the water for 45 minutes. I don't know what was more embarrassing... My lack of skill ("must be the equipment") or the fact that I was pouting like this. But maaaaan, was I ticked. I had to do this just so I wouldn't throw a tantrum.
After cooling off a bit, I grabbed my gear and headed back up with the rest of the group, who was discussing technique and such. All of the students had this look on their faces like they'd been totally defeated. Nobody thought they did well... And these were dive shop owners, University instructors, and well-educated cave divers. I found a little solace in that, but it wasn't much.
MHK was very cool about all of it. "Okay, now?"
"Yes, but I'm sure there really is something wrong with this rig. It's leaking IN, not OUT."
So we deflated the bladder completely and let it sit for 15 minutes. It did not inflate on it's own.
"See?" He said.
"Then YOU dive it. YOU check it out... I am SURE there's something wrong with it. I am diving with a jacket next time, like I was taught in my Open Water classes. This backplate crap is for the birds."
Ten minutes later, I was watching him maintain perfect balance, control, trim and buoyancy with my "stupid rig." Meanwhile, I floated like a cork, in a perfectly vertical position, with a rented jacket-style BC hanging around my ears. He looked up and me and shrugged. I could see him thinking, "Nothing wrong with this rig..."
Sheesh. So that meant that I really did suck as bad as I thought. I've never been so embarrassed in my life.
"It's not your fault," MHK said. "You're beating yourself up too much over this. You were never taught any of this stuff in PADI class. This is all completely new to you."
Well, that helped a bit, but I felt like I'd been hit with a sledgehammer in the gut. I thought I was pretty good in the realm of diving. Remember, I'm the one at the top of my "gene pool" in my local dive club. I'm the one that's always got to help, because I have my stuff together, but they don't. I'm the one frustrated at everyone else because of their lack of skill. I'm the Rescue Diver. I'm the President of the freakin' USCB Scuba Club. I'm the one doing the Guiness World Record in just a few months.
Later, while I was putting my stuff together, each person in the class came over to see if I was okay. It was no secret that I was so appalled. Yeah, I knew the class would be hard, but I feel like I lost something... Like I was the big fish in the little pond before, and very happy that way... Now, being around these guys, I was the little fish in the big pond. I'd "graduated" to a new level of skill sets... DIR... The problem was that I sucked at them.
It was very cool to see people coming over to me like that. Everyone was genuinely concerned... And they all said what they could to make me feel better. It was true that I wasn't nearly as bad off as I was thinking I was... But it didn't help my shock too much. Finally, Claudia, my dive buddy, came over to talk.
"You thinking about quitting?"
"Yes," I said, without looking up.
"Don't quit."
Having someone tell me not to quit really infuriated me. I don't quit. I'm not a quitter. And if she was telling me not to quit, then that meant that I was quitting.
That's when I hit my turning point. I said, "I didn't say I was going to quit, I said I was thinking about quitting. I don't quit. I'm not a quitter. I just said I was thinking about it, that's all. I ain't gonna quit." The truth is that I wasn't telling her that. I was telling ME that.
Thanks, Claudia.
Later, we ended up heading back to our rooms and getting dry. Then we shot over to MHK's and Andrew's room and watched the horrific video. Believe it or not, I had a couple of "dead on" moments where I looked great... Sure, there were other not-so-great moments, too... But the truth is that I didn't look nearly as bad as I thought I did. Maybe I just felt really bad. Maybe it was all of that pressure I'd put on myself. I can't say that I was pleased with my performance, but it wasn't as bad as I'd thought, and truly, not bad at all for a guy who's as new to this as I am.
We diagnosed every person's good skills and bad... And believe me, there were many more of the latter for everyone. MHK and Andrew did nothing but help... It was US that were so critical of ourselves. We all might have laughed and joked about it, but for the most part, it was US that were critical, with MHK and Andrew just doing what they do to help us improve.
Then we went out to dinner. My sourpuss look had begun to wane a little, and Andrew cracked a joke that was so funny that I just couldn't resist laughing. At that point MHK even said, "Hey, look... SeaJay's coming back."
Thanks, Mike. Seriously. From one yankee to another, I appreciate the caring and concern that you show. I'm gonna practice until one day you look at me and say, "Man, you're good." At least, I'm going to practice until
I say that about myself. (Again.)
Dinner was an interesting experience, too... When the waitress came around to me, I told her that I wanted the "16 ounce triple cheese burger... With bacon." Andrew just about fainted. He was sitting across the table from me.
Half because I was feeling cocky, and half because I was still mad at myself for the whole day's activities, I looked at her and said, "Do you cook your fries in animal lard? 'Cause if you do, I'd like an extra helping of lard fries, please. And some milk to drink. Good ol' wholesome milk from a cow. Yes, that would be great. Mmmmmmm..."
Andrew just shook his head. Poor guy.
He poked back, though, imitating me... "Uh, yes, I'll have the ass of a cow, ground up and burned, with the shoulder of a pig draped over it... And while you're in there, put some fungus on that as well... No, wait... THREE kinds of fungus..."
Hey, hey...
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