My buddy and I were feeling a bit under the weather, so we decided to take it easy on our dive the other day. We decided to dive "The Pit," a fairly easy local dive site only 3 or 4 miles off the local coast.
We arrived at the beach around 5am and checked out the conditions. Surf was only 8 or 9 feet, so we didn't think we'd have any difficulty.
We took our time gearing up. My drysuit was being repaired, and my dog completely shredded my 7 mm wetsuit. Fortunately, my 3mm tropical suit was in good condition (damn! I forgot the booties!), and besides, I had a great deal more flexibility in this configuration.
We planned our dive. It was only 320 feet to the bottom, and we figured that the 3 or 4 mile swim out to the site might make us a bit breathless given our drinking the night before, so we decided to be conservative with our air supply. We threw on the steel 104 independent quadruple tanks onto our backs and slung a couple bottles of deco gas under each arm and started jogging through the mild surf. I forgot my compass, but I figured I could always estimate our direction based on the direction of the surge.
As we neared the dive site, I realized that I only put 14% O2 into the back gas, and I didn't really want to use the deco gas for descent, so we gave each other an "ok" sign, took a deep breath, and held our breath until we touched the bottom moments later. After such a surface swim, the 28 degree water felt good through my tropical suit, and without a hood, I got a nice feeling of cool water circulating down my back.
I always liked diving independent quadruples. My buddy and I often make game of "hide the tank" where we hide or bury our buddy's tank to see if he can find it before the next gas switch.
Well, after a couple hours, our fun had to end. As we reached our safety margin of 200 psi, we decided to call it a day and head for the surface. Decompression was fairly routine, with the exception of feeling lightheaded while breathing the gas out of that crazy yellow bottle. My buddy told me later was something new called "ar-gon." I probably just need more practice breathing it.
At the surface, the surf had picked up a bit, making it much easier to ride the waves into shore. We tossed our gear into the truck and headed home.
Another easy dive to log. If only my shoulder didn't hurt so much...
We arrived at the beach around 5am and checked out the conditions. Surf was only 8 or 9 feet, so we didn't think we'd have any difficulty.
We took our time gearing up. My drysuit was being repaired, and my dog completely shredded my 7 mm wetsuit. Fortunately, my 3mm tropical suit was in good condition (damn! I forgot the booties!), and besides, I had a great deal more flexibility in this configuration.
We planned our dive. It was only 320 feet to the bottom, and we figured that the 3 or 4 mile swim out to the site might make us a bit breathless given our drinking the night before, so we decided to be conservative with our air supply. We threw on the steel 104 independent quadruple tanks onto our backs and slung a couple bottles of deco gas under each arm and started jogging through the mild surf. I forgot my compass, but I figured I could always estimate our direction based on the direction of the surge.
As we neared the dive site, I realized that I only put 14% O2 into the back gas, and I didn't really want to use the deco gas for descent, so we gave each other an "ok" sign, took a deep breath, and held our breath until we touched the bottom moments later. After such a surface swim, the 28 degree water felt good through my tropical suit, and without a hood, I got a nice feeling of cool water circulating down my back.
I always liked diving independent quadruples. My buddy and I often make game of "hide the tank" where we hide or bury our buddy's tank to see if he can find it before the next gas switch.
Well, after a couple hours, our fun had to end. As we reached our safety margin of 200 psi, we decided to call it a day and head for the surface. Decompression was fairly routine, with the exception of feeling lightheaded while breathing the gas out of that crazy yellow bottle. My buddy told me later was something new called "ar-gon." I probably just need more practice breathing it.
At the surface, the surf had picked up a bit, making it much easier to ride the waves into shore. We tossed our gear into the truck and headed home.
Another easy dive to log. If only my shoulder didn't hurt so much...
