Brighton Green
In an effort to prove myself as a diver, and to catch up with lost dives, I went to Brighton in February. B and I rented the bits and pieces; he was missing only a weight belt, whereas I needed everything. Before we left the dive shop a tall man pointed out I needed fins. I picked up a pair and off we went.
On the pontoon, in the marina, we stripped down and kitted up. Neoprene clung to goosed-up skin and soon we were stiff, rubbery mannequins.
During our buddy check I noticed two family groups watching us. We tasted our air, looked at pressure gauges and showed releases. Ready. Fins on. Ready. The families were silent, but distracting.
I dived in first with a giant stride. As biting as the air had been before the dry wetsuit went on, the water was a first in sudden cold. The words "It's fucking cold" followed my "diver OK" arm gesture. B laughed and jumped in. He agreed; it was cold. If my face had a thermometer reading it would have said six degrees celsius. That's one degree higher than the inside of fridge.
Of course once we dropped under everything was OK. Silt walls blocked us. we got lost, but in the marina's enclosure getting lost means you hit a wall a few fin-strokes earlier than planned. It's a playground for kiddy divers, divers with water wings.
We dropped down a six-metre concrete shaft sunk into the dusty icecream goo of the marina floor. ears OK. mask flooding slightly. no problem.
In the end I grabbed B's hand. through 14 mm of neoprene i felt his grip. He was dragging behind/I was surging ahead, and that's no way for a buddy team to operate. this is one lesson I must learn and practice: buddy awareness. It's too easy to nose out and kick off, and when three metres is the boundary of vision a couple of fin-kicks could lose you your buddy.
It happened; we got separated, but I waited and B morphed out of the wall of yellow suspended particles.
The other part of the buddy system is choosing your buddy. but sometimes your buddy chooses you, and only a fool would spurn the chance of buddying up with an earnest, honest, reliable diver.
After thirty minutes we swam into a shaded pocket of water. Only three metres down by the needle on the SPG; but the lack of sunlight had created a paralysing slow spot. We had to get out. I rapped on B's tank, made the shivery "I'm cold" arm-rub and he OK'd me. Luckily we were near the pontoon ladder.
Up top the air bit into all exposed parts, which were now wet with icy Channel water. In my mind's body map my legs ended in too warm, numb stumps themselves planted into blocks of wood. Those blocks, not part of me, unfeeling, were my frozen feet. It was an hour later that the tingles started and my feet came back.
Oh, and while peeling away his neoprene suit, B knocked his mask off into the water. He was standing on the edge of the pontoon. I heard and saw nothing, but B was spinning around and when he stopped said "My mask. it's fallen in. I think i'll go and get it." i was out of neoprene; my feet were dead and my muscles flagging under the assault of the cold. We were out of our jackets, both tired and freezing. Now B was going to jump in with no buoyancy control, no air, and no buddy.
I said "No" in a frozen mutter. I was too cold. I didn't want him going in alone with no kit and a useless lump of meat for a buddy.
We told the dive club to look out for a mask in the silt under the pontoon. Nobody ever found it, or if they did we weren't told.
That was our first dive of 2004. The next one was in a heated swimming pool.
On the pontoon, in the marina, we stripped down and kitted up. Neoprene clung to goosed-up skin and soon we were stiff, rubbery mannequins.
During our buddy check I noticed two family groups watching us. We tasted our air, looked at pressure gauges and showed releases. Ready. Fins on. Ready. The families were silent, but distracting.
I dived in first with a giant stride. As biting as the air had been before the dry wetsuit went on, the water was a first in sudden cold. The words "It's fucking cold" followed my "diver OK" arm gesture. B laughed and jumped in. He agreed; it was cold. If my face had a thermometer reading it would have said six degrees celsius. That's one degree higher than the inside of fridge.
Of course once we dropped under everything was OK. Silt walls blocked us. we got lost, but in the marina's enclosure getting lost means you hit a wall a few fin-strokes earlier than planned. It's a playground for kiddy divers, divers with water wings.
We dropped down a six-metre concrete shaft sunk into the dusty icecream goo of the marina floor. ears OK. mask flooding slightly. no problem.
In the end I grabbed B's hand. through 14 mm of neoprene i felt his grip. He was dragging behind/I was surging ahead, and that's no way for a buddy team to operate. this is one lesson I must learn and practice: buddy awareness. It's too easy to nose out and kick off, and when three metres is the boundary of vision a couple of fin-kicks could lose you your buddy.
It happened; we got separated, but I waited and B morphed out of the wall of yellow suspended particles.
The other part of the buddy system is choosing your buddy. but sometimes your buddy chooses you, and only a fool would spurn the chance of buddying up with an earnest, honest, reliable diver.
After thirty minutes we swam into a shaded pocket of water. Only three metres down by the needle on the SPG; but the lack of sunlight had created a paralysing slow spot. We had to get out. I rapped on B's tank, made the shivery "I'm cold" arm-rub and he OK'd me. Luckily we were near the pontoon ladder.
Up top the air bit into all exposed parts, which were now wet with icy Channel water. In my mind's body map my legs ended in too warm, numb stumps themselves planted into blocks of wood. Those blocks, not part of me, unfeeling, were my frozen feet. It was an hour later that the tingles started and my feet came back.
Oh, and while peeling away his neoprene suit, B knocked his mask off into the water. He was standing on the edge of the pontoon. I heard and saw nothing, but B was spinning around and when he stopped said "My mask. it's fallen in. I think i'll go and get it." i was out of neoprene; my feet were dead and my muscles flagging under the assault of the cold. We were out of our jackets, both tired and freezing. Now B was going to jump in with no buoyancy control, no air, and no buddy.
I said "No" in a frozen mutter. I was too cold. I didn't want him going in alone with no kit and a useless lump of meat for a buddy.
We told the dive club to look out for a mask in the silt under the pontoon. Nobody ever found it, or if they did we weren't told.
That was our first dive of 2004. The next one was in a heated swimming pool.
posted by El Rev at
9:01 am
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