Where did all your energy go? You burned it, but not in ways you’d notice–ways that work up a sweat.
Water at 80F feels warm, but it’s not. When water is in contact with your skin, especially when its flow can disrupt the boundary layer next to your skin, it is very effective at sucking away heat. Immersion in 80F water causes the same rate of heat loss as exposure to 42F air.
The loss of even two degrees of temperature in your body core brings on mild hypothermia. The chief symptoms of mild to moderate hypothermia are fatigue, mild confusion, impaired coordination and a reluctance to dive.
Heat lost is energy lost. Your body tries to cope by urging you to rest (you feel tired), by urging you to take on more fuel (your appetite increases) and by burning its fat stores. But your body’s ability to generate more heat is limited. Basically, you have a fixed “bank account” of heat, which declines gradually through a week of diving. You have to spend it slowly both in the water and out of it.
You can conserve body heat in tropical water without having to bulk up on neoprene:
It’s easy to lose more heat between dives than in the water. If you’ve ever rushed to get back in the water so you can “warm up,” you’ve been there.
Finning in scuba gear consumes more energy than you realize. In fact, you are a very poor shape for hydrodynamic efficiency. Compare yourself to a dolphin: with arms, legs and head attached to the torso instead of incorporated into it, you have a much higher surface-area-to-volume ratio. Your mask, BC, tank, hoses and various attached gadgets all stick out at odd angles, creating turbulence.
You can’t change nature and you can’t discard all your equipment. But you can become a more efficient swimmer:
Breathing at depth requires much more energy than at the surface. However efficient, every regulator presents some resistance to breathing. Denser air causes more friction. At two atmospheres, for example, there are twice as many molecules in a given volume of air, and twice as much friction. With every breath, your lungs have to drag this dense air through the regulator’s demand valve, through the mouthpiece, and down your trachea to thousands of lung alveoli, then force it all the way back out again past another valve. But you can minimize the extra energy cost:
You already know how heavy your dive bag is, but that’s only the beginning. Most of the stress of travel is hidden. Dry air and cramped seats on airplanes cause physical stress. So do unhealthy meals at irregular times, interrupted sleep patterns and changing time zones. Mental stress, over whether the wings will stay on the plane or the connection will be on time, may be even more significant.
Most of the stress-reducers are common knowledge for travelers: drink fluids, get up and stretch, minimize the alcohol, avoid tight connections. Some are especially important for divers:
Of course nobody is going to do a perfect job of energy conservation all week. You’re supposed to be on vacation, after all. But if you work it right you can enjoy almost every opportunity to dive.
The idea that you can lose weight by going on a tropical dive vacation is not entirely frivolous. Those who dive in paradise for a living frequently exhibit what’s called “Dive Guide Syndrome”: they’re chronically tired, cold and hungry despite eating huge amounts of food.
That’s because their constant exposure to diving robs them of energy faster than they can replace it. You don’t see many overweight dive guides at busy resorts, do you?
The idea that you can lose weight by going on a tropical dive vacation is not entirely frivolous. Those who dive in paradise for a living frequently exhibit what’s called “Dive Guide Syndrome”: they’re chronically tired, cold and hungry despite eating huge amounts of food.
That’s because their constant exposure to diving robs them of energy faster than they can replace it. You don’t see many overweight dive guides at busy resorts, do you?
The idea that you can lose weight by going on a tropical dive vacation is not entirely frivolous. Those who dive in paradise for a living frequently exhibit what’s called “Dive Guide Syndrome”: they’re chronically tired, cold and hungry despite eating huge amounts of food.
That’s because their constant exposure to diving robs them of energy faster than they can replace it. You don’t see many overweight dive guides at busy resorts, do you?
Losing body heat not only makes you tired, it can lead to hypothermia. More than comfort is at stake here–hypothermia is a safety issue.
Much research has demonstrated that even mild hypothermia causes a significant decline in your ability to think through problems. Your manual dexterity can be impaired. And your ability to form short-term memory–such as what your SPG reading was a minute ago–is degraded. None of that is good in a life-threatening situation.
Hypothermia can occur even in 80F water, water that feels warm. Here, heat loss is so gradual that your body’s defenses may not be triggered. You don’t feel cold, you don’t shiver, you don’t gasp. Constriction of near-surface blood vessels, your body’s main heat conservation mechanism, may not occur.
So-called “silent hypothermia” creeps up on you undetected. In fact, your feeling of fatigue and reluctance to dive may be your only warning of hypothermia. The cost can be a lot more than discomfort if you are faced with an underwater emergency requiring quick, precise action.
Nothing will sap your energy like stress, and nothing creates stress on a dive like having to deal with problems such as seasickness, leg cramps and ear pain. Here are six thieves waiting to abscond with diving energy, and the best ways to stop them.
Energy thief: Ear pain
Citizen’s arrest: Relax, ascend until you no longer feel any pain and then equalize. Resume your descent, slowly, making sure that you equalize continuously.
Energy thief: Leg cramp
Citizen’s arrest: Stay calm and breathe deeply. If the cramps are in your calves, grab your fin tip on the affected side, straightening your leg and pulling on your fin to stretch the cramping muscles. To prevent leg cramps, try to switch kicking styles when swimming a long distance or against a current.
Energy thief: Seasickness
Citizen’s arrest: Be one of the first divers in the water–most people feel better below the surface. If you’re being buffeted by waves or surge once you’re in the water, try to drop down to calmer, deeper water.
Energy thief: Nitrogen narcosis
Citizen’s arrest: Stay calm and concentrate on ascending slowly and cautiously. The effects of narcosis dissipate rapidly at shallower depths and you can resume diving once your head clears.
Energy thief: Jellyfish sting
Citizen’s arrest: Try to prevent stings by practicing good buoyancy skills and covering yourself with exposure protection. If you do get stung, try pouring vinegar on the affected area.
Energy thief: Jaw pain
Citizen’s arrest: If you suffer from jaw pain when you dive, try a different mouthpiece on your regulator. One of the most popular is SeaCure’s moldable mouthpiece, which allows you to customize it exactly to your bite.
A group of certified divers and student divers got together, through a dive store, to charter a dive boat. The dive store supplied two instructors to work with the students, and the boat had a crew of three, all of whom were instructors. One buddy pair–a man and a woman who were friends–had come on the trip for fun and to gain more experience toward upgrading their certifications. Both were medical professionals.
The trip to the dive site was rough, and several of the divers became seasick on the way. After anchoring, both the crew and the store instructors told the ailing divers that they did not have to dive and only to do so if they were feeling well enough. They also pointed out that divers often feel better under water, rather than on the surface, given the conditions.
All divers opted to make the dive. The man and woman buddy team dived around some small coral heads in 60 to 70 feet of water. Although they were not diving with the instructors, they were observed by both instructors during the course of the dive. During each of these observations they seemed to be doing fine and enjoying themselves.
Near the end of their planned dive time, the male diver indicated discomfort to his female buddy and they started their ascent a few minutes early. There was a surge near the bottom and it became rougher as they approached the surface, yet the ascent remained normal and under control until they were within five feet of the surface. At this point, the male buddy rejected his regulator, pointed with his finger into his mouth and bolted to the surface.
When he arrived on the surface, near the boat, closely followed by his buddy, he was in major distress. The store instructors and boat crew immediately went into action and brought the diver on board. They began full CPR while the Coast Guard was being called for an evacuation.
Before the helicopter transfer, the CPR had been successful, and the diver was breathing and circulating on his own, but was still unconscious. At the hospital, aggressive medical procedures were performed to no avail, and he died the next day.
Due to a complex legal action, extensive investigations were conducted by the several parties to the lawsuit. Based on past medical records, final hospital treatment, an autopsy, the conduct of the dive and rescue, plus information on the diver’s lifestyle, the following possible causes or contributing factors came to light:
The case was settled out of court, so the investigations were not carried to completion and no legal rulings were ever made.
Northeast Florida has always been the redheaded stepchild of Sunshine State diving. Locals love it, but out-of-towners either whiz by on I-95 headed for the Keys or turn west for the springs. If you’ve visited this part of the state, chances are it was to see St. Augustine, where you watched some of the nation’s oldest people slowly touring the nation’s oldest city. Maybe you practiced catch-and-release drinking on Daytona Beach during Spring Break or Speed Week, or caught a football game in Jacksonville.
You were here, but you didn’t dive. You should have.
The ocean floor of Northeast Florida is littered with myriad ships, fighter planes, concrete culverts, bridges, an entire dry dock, even the press boxes from a football stadium. At one time or another, anything that might attract fish has been dragged, dropped or blown to the sandy bottom.
The result: hundreds of artificial reef sites, each one a sweet spot crowded with swarms of silversides, packs of pelagic hunters like amberjack and cobia, and some truly big snapper, grouper, flounder and Atlantic spadefish. The place is silly with lobster, too.
“It’s the encounters with the open-range pelagics that makes it very special–the cobia, king mackerel, tarpon, ‘cuda. There’s so many large fish,” says Ned DeLoach, local boy, naturalist and author of Diving Guide to Underwater Florida. “You haven’t seen it all until you’ve been stampeded by big amberjacks that rush into view through a vortex of swirling baitfish, part around you and then form a spiral above in your bubbles.”
For those who enjoy seeking out unique and exciting marine life–then killing it–you’ll find kindred spirits in the Northeast Florida dive community. Bug hunting and spearfishing are favorite pastimes, and both artificial reefs and natural ledges provide plenty of prey for divers armed with sling-bands and tickle sticks.
If diving for your supper sounds like fun, you’ll have to abide by Florida’s regulations on bag limits, size restrictions, protected species and closed seasons, even though the fishing mainly takes place in federal waters.
For complete rules and regulations, visit the Florida Division of Environmental Regulation web site at: www.dep.state.fl.us/marine, or call the Jacksonville office of the Florida Marine Patrol at (904) 270-2500.
Jacksonville (motto: “Relax, You’re Not in Georgia Anymore”) promotes its Atlantic Coast beaches as “Florida’s First Coast.” A few years ago, the city was rated one of the best places in the country to live for its combination of weather, culture and health care. Judging by the traffic, a lot of people read the article. It’s the largest city in the country–measured by square miles–and during the NFL season, Jacksonville Jaguars football is the local religion (meetings held Sundays at Alltel Stadium; bring your own foam finger).
Jacksonville also has an artificial reef program that’s responsible for more put-downs than Don Rickles. The guidebook Jaxspots, published by the Jacksonville Reef Research Team, lists 230 sites. A few of the favorites:
Depth: 75 feet.
Skill Level: Novice to intermediate.
Ever since this 75-foot-long tug sank in 1988, it’s been under a cloud–of baitfish. “There’s no visibility on the wreck,” says Angelo Fiore of Meridian Divers, laughing. “You can’t see anything because there’s so many fish.” The shroud of silversides is a baitfish buffet for snapper, grouper, sea bass, cobia and barracuda. The wreck, located 22 miles offshore, is also crusty with sponges, tunicates and flowery bryozoans.
Depth: 120 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate to advanced.
Jacksonville’s mega-site covers an area 615 feet by 332 feet, and stands as tall as 60 feet off the bottom. Located 45 miles offshore, the reef is alive with big pelagics–integrated schools of amberjack and cobia.
Depth: 85 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate.
East Fourteen is a collection of several artificial reefs, including the old Gator Bowl press boxes. Many locals regret that the boxes were sent down unoccupied, but console themselves within the massive schools of Atlantic spadefish and amberjack that constantly do the wave around the site.
Depth: 75 feet.
Skill Level: Novice to intermediate.
Fuzzy bunnies are rare, but spiny lobsters are plentiful on this series of natural limestone ledges located 15 miles offshore. A similar site is Southeast 16-17, a broad expanse of natural structures with ledges and large sandy potholes cut out of flat rock bottom. Both sites are also popular with spearfishermen going out after grouper, flounder and snapper.
St. Augustine is old. Really old. Even by Old World standards. It was settled way back in 1565 by the Spanish and then fought over by the French, British, troops from Georgia and South Carolina, the U.S. Army and the Confederate Army. Finally, everyone decided to stop fighting and just retire here.
St. Augustine lies between Jacksonville and Daytona, about an hour’s drive from each, and makes a great base to dive the Northeast Florida coast. The town provides plenty to do for any age, diver and non-diver alike. It’s a busy tourist and college town with great architecture and a funky local population. It has wonderfully walkable streets filled with history (check out the oldest wooden schoolhouse held together with anchor chain), cool stores, bars (try Ann O’Malley’s Irish Pub, Scarlett O’Hara’s and Tradewinds), and restaurants aplenty.
Just outside town itself, the Alligator Farm is a big draw. The farm recently suffered a loss when its star attraction Gomek, the allegedly man-eating saltwater crocodile suddenly died (food poisoning?). The farm hit on a way to maintain Gomek’s box office appeal–they stuffed him. He remains on display in all his lifelike glory, just like Trigger and Lenin.
You have to go way out of town to find the best attractions–dive sites like:
Depth: 100 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate.
Located 22 miles offshore, this jumble of 33 A-6 Intruder attack jets is rather Truk Lagoonish, only these 45-foot-long jets are not relics. They were flown to Jacksonville a few years ago to be refurbished, but some gung-ho DOD guys decided they’d rather have bright shiny new planes instead. The Intruders were stripped down, decommissioned and given a new mission–attracting schools of baitfish and the jacks that eat them.
Depth: 80 feet.
Skill Level: Novice to intermediate.
Dorothy Louise–local divers affectionately call her “D.L.”–is a 175-foot-long steel barge with over 15 feet of relief off the bottom. Among Augustine sites, this is one of the largest artificial reefs and though it is heavily fished, attracts an unending flow of marine life. There is no penetration into the wreck but the amberjacks, resident jewfish and pterodactyl-sized stingrays down in the sand provide plenty of interest.
Daytona is the last Florida town to host Spring Break the old-fashioned way. Last year, Caligula was overheard saying, “This is really getting outta hand, folks.” Bike Week is more of the same madness, just with an older, hairier, Harley crowd. Speed Week is a family-oriented bash–kinda like a big ole Southern picnic complete with cars going 200 miles an hour around the yard and everyone wearing NASCAR caps.
“Diving off Daytona is primarily wreck diving. Volusia County has come on strong with their artificial reef program in the last four or five years,” says Jerry Berndt, whose Discover Diving shop has been there for 11. “They’ve dropped planes, ships–we’ve got them from 80 feet long to over 440.”
Two of the best wreck dives are part of the same artificial reef area about 11 miles out of Ponce de Leon Inlet called–quite poetically, I think, for a government job–Port Authority Reef Site #3.
Depth: 100 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate.
This 446-foot long Liberty ship was made diver-safe and set down more than 18 years ago. A violent storm broke the Mindanao in half three years ago but the two pieces remain on even keel and a debris field spans the 60-foot split making the dive site even larger. The break in the wreck is a good place to penetrate. Properly trained divers can follow a sunlit passage some 100 feet inside the wreck, then ascend through the cargo hatch. Outside, amberjack, barracuda and spadefish school around the wreck while summertime tropicals like angelfish hang low darting in and out of the structure.
Depth: 90 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate to advanced.
This 217-foot freighter was sunk four years ago and remains intact except for her bow, which was tweaked about 20 degrees off kilter by the explosive manner of her sinking. Wire bundles, hanging cables and stray lines inside the wreck make her a risky penetration dive, but one safe spot is the passageway that wraps around the aftercastle. Here you can swim the deck with open water alongside the entire time.
Depth: 70 feet.
Skill Level: Novice.
This natural reef, located 22 miles offshore, is popular with spearfishermen and bug hunters alike for its encrusted limestone ledges. The ledges rise to almost cavernous height, sheltering spiny lobster and plenty of snapper.
Depth: 75 feet.
Skill Level: Novice to intermediate.
Ever since this 75-foot-long tug sank in 1988, it’s been under a cloud–of baitfish. “There’s no visibility on the wreck,” says Angelo Fiore of Meridian Divers, laughing. “You can’t see anything because there’s so many fish.” The shroud of silversides is a baitfish buffet for snapper, grouper, sea bass, cobia and barracuda. The wreck, located 22 miles offshore, is also crusty with sponges, tunicates and flowery bryozoans.
Depth: 120 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate to advanced.
Jacksonville’s mega-site covers an area 615 feet by 332 feet, and stands as tall as 60 feet off the bottom. Located 45 miles offshore, the reef is alive with big pelagics–integrated schools of amberjack and cobia.
Depth: 85 feet.
Skill Level: Intermediate.
East Fourteen is a collection of several artificial reefs, including the old Gator Bowl press boxes. Many locals regret that the boxes were sent down unoccupied, but console themselves within the massive schools of Atlantic spadefish and amberjack that constantly do the wave around the site.
Depth: 75 feet.
Skill Level: Novice to intermediate.
Fuzzy bunnies are rare, but spiny lobsters are plentiful on this series of natural limestone ledges located 15 miles offshore. A similar site is Southeast 16-17, a broad expanse of natural structures with ledges and large sandy potholes cut out of flat rock bottom. Both sites are also popular with spearfishermen going out after grouper, flounder and snapper.
Upend your gear bag so a hodgepodge of worn-out, corroded and mismatched stuff cascades onto the deck in no apparent order. You can heighten the effect with carefree comments like, “Boy! Haven’t seen this in a long time!” and “Ugh! This sure stinks!” and “Anybody remember which side the reg goes on?” Meet any expression of concern with, “Don’t worry, it worked OK last time.”
For Style Points: Drop your console on the steel deck.
Message to Your Buddy: You will discover equipment problems the hard way.
How deep are we going? “To the bottom, ha ha!” What’s our objective? “To get wet, ha ha!” How much air do we keep in reserve? “I paid for all of it, I’m using all of it, ha ha!” Meet any expression of concern with, “Don’t worry, I haven’t drowned yet, ha ha!”
For Style Points: When checking your tank valve just prior to entering the water, become confused and ask, “Which way is off?”
Message to Your Buddy: You are in fact confused and nervous, and trying to cover your anxiety with humor.
The idea is that erratic behavior–delaying your descent, moving up and down in the water column, blowing hard with your nose pinched–without explanation to your buddy will make it seem as if you’re in trouble, inducing your buddy to take unnecessary risks to help you.
For Style Points: Blow so hard you cause a nosebleed. When a little blood has mixed with the water in your mask, turn to your buddy to show a mask full of … blood! Embolism! Brain explosion! Watch your buddy’s eyes go wide.
Message to Your Buddy: You take basic skills for granted, as well as being physically prepared to dive.
Swim off from the descent line at full speed, so your buddy has to huff and puff to keep up. Or, if you don’t have the stamina for this, put on a quick burst of speed when your buddy is looking the other way, then duck behind a stand of kelp or a coral head. Try to force your buddy to spend the entire dive trying to keep track of you.
For Style Points: Swim off downward, violating your agreed depth limit at the same time. Your buddy, if conscientious, will have to follow. Double points if you save this for the third dive of the day.
Message to Your Buddy: You have no interest in your buddy’s comfort and no regard for the buddy system.
This is, of course, a classic move. It forces your buddy to abandon any hope of enjoying the dive and go into full rescue mode. Your buddy instead must decide how long to search for you and in which direction, then surface in haste and report to the dive boat.
For Style Points: After returning to the boat, grin, slap your buddy on the back and say, “Great dive, huh? Didja see that ray?”
Message to Your Buddy: You have no interest in rescuing your buddy, either.
Break off live coral. Pry mollusks and sea stars from rocks. Hack your way through vegetation. Swim with your knife in your hand, using it to chop, probe, dig, turn over rocks and tap your buddy’s shoulder.
For Style Points: Kill something bloody and put its oozing corpse in your goody bag.
Message to Your Buddy: You know nothing about the damage you can do to marine life, nor the damage marine life can do to you.
Respond to all air supply inquiries with an OK sign until your pressure gauge reads below 200 psi. You’ll have the biggest impact on your buddy if you save this announcement for when you are below 80 feet or so.
For Style Points: Wild eyes and flailing arms simulate panic well.
Message to Your Buddy: You don’t understand the reasons for maintaining a reserve supply of air–regulator performance and the unforeseen.
By not venting your BC as it expands, you allow your ascent rate to accelerate to unsafe levels. Your buddy may feel compelled to keep pace while trying to slow you down, putting you both at risk of arterial gas embolism. At 15 feet, you will have reached such a speed that you will be unable to make a safety stop.
For Style Points: Assuming you reach the boat intact, tell your buddy, “Great dive! Say, are you looking for a dive buddy?”
Message to Your Buddy: You think Boyle’s Law is a TV series.
We’re joking to make a serious point. Probably most of us have been guilty of one or more of these screwups at one time or another. We knew we were OK, but what did our buddy think? What extra risks did we impose on our buddy? What enjoyment of the dive did our buddy forfeit?
Communication is difficult enough on the surface. Under water, we communicate largely through our actions, and our inaction. Our buddy has to respond to the messages they seem to convey, and our unintended signals can endanger others more than ourselves.
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Like rude in-laws, currents seem to show up unannounced at the most inopportune moments.
This is often a matter of perception. You hardly notice a current when it is at your back and helping you–until you turn around. If you swim at 1/2 mph with a 1-mph current at your back, you achieve 11/2 mph over the bottom. But when you turn around, you’d have to swim 21/2 mph–five times as fast–to make the same progress.
To make matters worse, currents may alter their force and direction significantly from hour to hour and, what’s more important, from one coral head to the next.
It can be. Currents are powerful forces, and your fins are not. Most divers cruise between 1/4 and 3/4 mph; only a few can maintain more than 1 mph over any distance. But a 1-mph ocean current is only moderate, and 2 mph is common. The current in places like Cozumel frequently exceeds 3 mph, and tidal flows through narrow passes can top 8 mph. By contrast, the fastest sprint over 300 feet ever recorded in ScubaLab fin tests was just under 4 mph, and at the end of that 300 feet, the exceptionally fit test diver was exhausted.
A little more perspective: a 2-mph current carries you 176 feet per minute. How many minutes will take you out of sight of the dive boat? Obviously, dealing with currents requires using your brain as well as your fins.
Not easily or consistently. You may have been told that large-scale ocean currents circulate clockwise in the northern hemisphere and counterclockwise in the southern hemisphere. So the prevailing current along the West Coast of the U.S. is north to south, and along the East Coast is south to north. But that’s only the background to the picture.
All these components combine, conflict and react to the shoreline and the bottom contour, skipping across bays, bouncing off headlands or eddying behind them, accelerating, slowing and even circling back on themselves. Sometimes, differences in temperature or salinity keep currents from blending. As a result, currents may lie side by side or on top of one another for many miles, with an easily visible line between them. That’s why it’s not uncommon to have, say, a northbound current at the surface and a southbound current 50 feet below it.
Yes. Any particular dive site has a fixed topography, therefore only a limited bag of tricks. So an experienced local diver, who knows the weather and the state of the tide, can predict pretty accurately what currents you’ll find there. When boat diving in an unfamiliar area, one of the most important reasons you should listen to and understand the pre-dive briefing is to get information about currents.
To do so with any degree of accuracy requires much experience. Normal clues can be deceiving.
More reliable current indicators:
Only if you have a stationary reference. One of the best references is the anchor line or descent line. Before you leave it, adjust for neutral buoyancy so you can hang without finning and see which way you drift.
Since it is rare for the current to remain consistent in force and direction for your entire dive (unless you stay in a small area), as you move through your dive, occasionally check on the current by stopping and watching your drift in reference to the bottom, a wall or kelp.
In general, currents will follow the bottom contour, but expect surprises where the topography changes radically, such as at reefs, outcrops, walls, pinnacles and the underwater extensions of points of land. It’s similar to the behavior of the wind in a breezeway or near the corner of a building.
Be especially alert for vertical currents: upwellings and downwellings caused when a current meets a vertical wall. When the water meets the wall face, it has to go somewhere, and it is likely to go up or down as well as to one side or the other. Or when it flows from a shallow area over the top of a wall: it may flow down the wall face causing a downward current, or it may flow out and eddy back, causing an upward current at the wall face. Either situation can quickly take you deeper or shallower, although you may have no sensation of moving through the water. If you are swimming along the face of the wall, it may not be apparent that you are also going down it. Remember, 2 mph is 176 feet per minute.
As always, it’s easier to avoid problems than to solve them. The apparent strength of the current should be one of the factors in the go/no-go decision you make before you even get wet. Remember that as a mere human, you will be among the least powerful swimmers in the ocean.
Again, when you’re hanging on the anchor line gauging the actual current at depth, you should make a conscious go/no-go decision.
Your next decision should be pretty obvious too: start your dive swimming against the current so it helps you on your return to your entry point. This is a good rule even when the current is very weak. No matter how weak, it will seem strong when you are tired and bucking into it. Also, a weak current may become much stronger when it reaches a point of land, creating a barrier that will be difficult to cross on your return.
Despite the best-laid plans, it may become necessary to fight a strong current. How can you minimize the current and maximize your effort?
1. Sidestep it. Instead of fighting the current head-on, move to where the current should be weaker. If the current is accelerating around a point, swim wide of the point. If it is flowing down the face of a wall, swim away from the wall. If a current “rip” (incorrectly called a “riptide”) is carrying you away from the beach, swim parallel to the beach. If the current appears suddenly as you descend below 60 feet, get shallow. But most of the time you’ll probably find less current close to the bottom or the shoreline, where friction slows the flow of water.
2. Fin efficiently. A short, rapid stroke with a full, nearly straight leg is most efficient. When you make large strokes or bend your knees, your legs and fins cause more drag. Resist the temptation to sprint, unless you only need to penetrate a short zone of high current. Instead, find a pace you can maintain for a distance. If you are on the surface, go down a few feet where your fins are far more efficient or swim on your back. Concentrate on steady breathing and a steady fin stroke.
3. Get neutral. Adjust your buoyancy carefully so all your energy is spent on propulsion, not maintaining your depth, and so that your legs are horizontal, not hanging down and increasing drag.
4. Streamline. Clip or hold accessories close to your body in the most streamlined position possible.
5. Orient yourself. Check your compass frequently so you don’t veer off course and increase the distance you have to swim.
6. Grab something. If you’re not making adequate progress, you may have to go to the bottom and hold onto something, despite the no-touch rule we are all taught. Be as friendly to the environment as you can–grab dead coral and rocks, for example–but in the last resort, your safety comes first. You can pull yourself from rock to rock along the bottom with far less energy than you would use finning.
7. Use surge. Sometimes you can use the rhythmic surge of wave action to help you through a zone of strong current, such as where it speeds around a point. When the surge coincides with the current, hang on to a rock. When the back-flow negates most of the current, sprint to the next rock.
8. Know when to say when. When all else fails and you just can’t make progress against the current, surface and signal for help. Don’t delay, because with every second the current is taking you farther from the dive boat. Visual signals are most effective when they are in motion, like an inflatable sausage you can wave.
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A land of horse pastures and live oaks dripping with Spanish moss, north-central Florida is that pretty countryside whizzing past the windshield as you speed toward Orlando’s plastic theme parks. But if it’s an alternate reality you seek, slow down, Bubba. You’re speeding past the best natural attractions in the state–north and west Florida’s freshwater springs and caverns.
More than eight billion gallons of water a day erupt from a labyrinth of caves, caverns and sinkholes. The local good ol’ boys will tell you that these passageways of porous limestone are off-limits to all but certified cave divers, but there are a number of springs where snorkelers and open-water divers are welcome.
These six commercial sites are scattered across the state from the Panhandle to Ocala. Chances are you’ll drive right by one or more en route to Orlando (it is a small world, after all), so why not pack a regulator and tell the kids you’re going to visit the Little Mermaid. These are magic kingdoms no diver should miss.
The town of Williston, in Levy County, is a pick-’em-up truck, horse-trailer, double-wide genuine ol’ Florida kinda town where the local KFC proudly displays a sign announcing “We Now Sell Gizzards!” Main Street here is shorter than that last sentence and if you ain’t here to see a man about a horse, or to score some fried chicken guts, you must be a diver.
Out on the edge of town, and only about a mile apart, are two of the best places in the state for anyone wanting to try open-water karst diving. The first is found off Alternate Route 27, just after the paved road ends, and it’s one hell of a dive site.
Devil’s Den is a large sink–an underground cave where part of the roof has collapsed. The cave-in created a circular window that allows sunlight to splash into the underground chamber and pool on the surface of the water 60 feet below. As if the site needed more atmosphere, a waterfall of vines spills through the skylight while towering above is a haunted forest of live oaks with Spanish moss melting from its gnarled branches.
Devil’s Den got its hellish handle when early Floridians first came upon the deep, dark hole in the forest. On cold winter mornings, the perpetually 72-degree water literally steams like a satanic cauldron. Long before humans discovered the site, prehistoric animals stumbled across it–mastodons, giant sloths, bears. Judging by the fossils collected from the cave, critters have been dropping in through the skylight since the Pleistocene Era.
You enter the water from a dive platform over top of the debris cone, a pyramid of rock from the initial collapse. As you descend, the walls flare outward from about 120 feet in diameter at the surface to 200 feet in diameter at the maximum depth of 60 feet. The debris cone prevents you from seeing or swimming directly across the site, so you dive in circles around the cavern, moving shallower to cover new ground.
The walls and bottom of the Den are filled with crags, crevices and outcrops, and there are several dramatic swim-through tunnels that are like voyaging through the earth’s marrow. “We let divers carry lights for fossil viewing and for their own safety,” says Ginnie McKnight, manager of Devil’s Den. “But unless they’re cave or cavern certified they can’t use them to enter any cavern zones. Open-water divers need to approach any dark entrance and then cover up their light–if they don’t see natural light coming in from the other end, it’s not a swim-through and they cannot enter.”
Besides the swim-throughs, the Den is riddled with caves, caverns and wormholes that are way beyond the pale for most divers. Metal grates close off some entrances while common sense takes care of the others. As a gentle warning, there are signs posted in several openings featuring the Grim Reaper reminding you “there is nothing in this cave worth your life.” For any brain-stemmer who would pass this point without fully redundant cave gear, lines and extensive training, there’s a very good chance the next sign will be a grinning Mr. Reaper saying: “Come to Papa.”
Just down Hwy. 27 apiece and off another dirt road that runs under a shady canopy of oaks is Blue Grotto. Naturalist William Bartram poetically described the incredibly clear water in Florida’s springs as “cerulean ether.” He must have been diving Blue Grotto. The spring’s four-million-gallon-a-day flow is turbocharged to 22 million gallons by auxiliary pumps, and the water here is dizzyingly, almost disturbingly, clear.
According to owner Ed Paradiso, Blue Grotto is Florida’s largest accessible cavern dive. From the surface though, the spring is deceptively small. As you gear up on the floating dock, you judge it’s maybe 10 times the size of Hef’s grotto at the Playboy mansion.
Swimming down from the dock, you’re in a gently sloping pond. Descent lines lead to three large open-water training platforms. You watch a softshell turtle paddle past and a school of sunfish comes up to beg for food. And then you enter the cavern. The bottom drops out from under you and your regulator drops out of your mouth. The water is so transparent, and the cavern so spectacular as it opens up around you, that it’s like flying off the balcony at Carnegie Hall.
At its entrance, the cavern is 30 feet high and 80 feet across. Once inside, it gapes open to 40 by 150 feet. Paradiso has installed a compressor-fed air bell on the ceiling of the cavern at a depth of 30 feet. While it can be used as an emergency air supply, it mainly serves as a place for you and your buddy to stick your heads into and yell “Cool!” The bell has Plexiglas windows and the view of your lower half floating in “air” 40 feet above the rocky bottom will have you reflexively reaching for the rip cord.
The dive shop has strung guidelines throughout the cavern and you can do the entire dive like a ride on a theme-park monorail. Lines take you down one side of the cavern, around the deepest part, which bottoms out at 100 feet, and then up the other side.
Divers finish off their visit in the shallow, sunlit section of the grotto where they can feed fish and search for turtles among the weeds. Actually, the visibility is so good that you can lie on the bottom and bird-watch if you like. Conditions are so routine at Blue Grotto, the dive shop’s answering machine is entrusted to give the unchanging good news: 72 degrees and 200 feet of visibility.
Everything about Vortex Spring, located outside the panhandle hamlet of Ponce De Leon, is huge. At 200 feet across, and better than 50 feet deep, the spring basin is a yawning blue chasm. Inside, schools of one- to two-foot Japanese goldfish, grass carp and largemouth bass flock to divers and snorkelers for food scrap handouts. The spring pumps out a healthy 25 million gallons of water per day, making it a big attraction for non-divers who flock here in summer to cool off in the 68-degree water.
The deep Vortex cavern is a dramatic threshold linking the dark subterranean world of caves with the sunny spring basin. A buoyed line leads from the center of the basin down to the cavern entrance at 60 feet. Just inside, there’s almost always a large bubble of trapped air you can poke your head into. Just don’t take a breath there; the “air bubbles” in Florida caverns often contain significant amounts of methane, and usually not much oxygen.
From the cavern entrance, a plastic-pipe “guideline” runs down the floor of a large, open, junction-free passage to a locked steel grate. Certified cave divers can get a key to this grate, but for openwater divers this barrier is a reminder that they should have turned around long ago–the grate is 300 feet from the surface, at a depth of 110 feet.
Although you may see open-water divers going up and down this passage, be aware that doing so without proper training is risky. Open-water divers should stop at the cavern entrance, and certified cavern divers should penetrate no deeper than 65 feet into the entrance or to the limit of natural light.
Ringed by cypress trees dripping with Spanish moss, Morrison Springs exudes an ambience of not just the Old South, but primordial Florida. Considered one of the finest freshwater dives in the state, the large open pool slopes gently to a limestone brink, where it drops off to depths of approximately 50 feet.
Morrison Springs actually has two caverns, a ledge-like cave at approximately 50 feet, and a deeper cavern with a small entrance at about 60 feet.
The shallower cavern is the more open of the two and a nice introduction for cavern students just getting their fins wet. The deeper cavern has a small entry fissure that gushes water with the force of a fire hydrant, but leads to a wide room at 90 feet. Open-water divers should not swim past ambient light in either opening.
Divers traveling any distance to Morrison should call first, especially in the spring when rains cause the Choctawhatchee River to swell and flood the spring with tannin-stained water that’s exactly the color of Coca-Cola. Once the river recedes, the spring quickly returns to normal and is re-opened to divers. Bonus: If the spring has flooded recently, check the floor of the deep cavern for squirming masses of cave eels.
Until 1993, Madison Blue was better known as a trash heap than a dive site. The exquisite turquoise pool was surrounded by discarded washing machines and a legion of beer bottles dropped off by the local Bubbas.
Since then, the area has been transformed into a beautiful commercial diving operation with a tidy paved parking lot, paths, steps down to the spring basin, a large entry platform, and campground.
Madison Blue is designated a first magnitude spring, and it spouts more than 100 million gallons per day. Madison has a huge cave aperture which slopes down into a large cavern area. Although “Grim Reaper” signs are posted to keep untrained divers out of the deeper cave, open-water divers shouldn’t venture more than a few linear feet past the cavern entrance. Curious divers can spend their dive in the open spring basin watching the spring-run’s waterfall from below and chasing skittish freshwater flounder (local biologist Tom Morris calls them southern hog chokers) across the rock-and-gravel bottom.
During wet weather, the spring can be flooded with dark water from the Suwannee River, which is only a stone’s throw away, so call before heading out.
Once known as Jenny Springs, the pure waters here have been referred to as “gin-clear” so many times that the name was modified to Ginnie Springs.
Spell it however you like, this is the spring that wowed Jacques Cousteau and is the centerpiece of the Ginnie Springs Resort, an old Florida natural water park that includes Devil’s Ear, Devil’s Eye and five other springs along the Santa Fe River. It’s the Disney World of Florida springs and caverns and it’s safe to say more divers (open-water and cave/cavern) earn their C-cards here than in any other spring.
Provided one uses common sense and the buddy system, the main Ginnie cavern is an excellent place in which to get a sense of cavern and cave diving. The shallow crater-like basin drops into a white sand bottom and is filled with sunfish. During daylight hours, open-water divers are permitted to take lights into the two cavern entrances. From the larger of the two, a rope guide line leads down into a large sloping room about 60 feet wide by 70 feet long. The room is filled with huge blocks of limestone; one cave entrance is sealed off with a steel grate.
A few minutes away on the resort grounds, three smaller springs–Little Devil, Devil’s Eye and Devil’s Ear–combine to create a short run to the river. The last of the three, Devil’s Ear, is actually on the river’s very edge; from the bottom of its narrow entry fissure, you can look up and see the dark, tannin-stained Santa Fe River water mixing and swirling around the crystal-clear spring outflow.
While open-water divers are allowed into these spring basins, divers must have a cavern or cave card, or be with a certified cavern or cave instructor, to carry lights.
At many of these popular springs, you may see certified cave divers gearing up with specialized dive gear and slipping past the warning signs and barriers to explore the deepest reaches of the karst terrain. Should you follow them?
Not on your life.
Florida springs typically have three interconnected features: a shallow open-water pool or basin, slanted caverns with some indirect opening to open water and sunlight, and flooded caves with no direct way to the surface and no natural light.
While diving in basins is no different from any open-water dive, moving into the overhead environments of caverns and caves dramatically increases the risk of a fatal accident.The most dangerous cave passageways are usually (but not always) marked with warning signs or blocked by grates, but each diver is responsible for making sure he stays within the limits of his training.
Ideally, divers should be minimally cavern certified before venturing beyond direct overhead light. While the rules may vary from site to site, a good rule of thumb for open-water divers at most locations is to leave all dive lights at the surface and dive only in ambient light.
Bottom line: If you’re tempted to “take a peek” past open water, take a class first. Cavern and cave courses are taught at all of these springs.
]]>Doctors never really get away from their work because people are always asking for medical advice. We’re happy to help, but most of the ailments our fellow divers ask us about can be self-treated. With that in mind, here’s a travel-ready guide to beating the most common ailments.
Traveling divers spend a lot of time in planes and boats, environments that challenge our sense of equilibrium. When the inner ears, eyes and various other sensors give conflicting messages to the brain–if the ears say right while the eyes say left–the brain revolts and the result is revolting. Other factors that can contribute to that queasy feeling are anxiety, fatigue, being overheated or any coexisting ailment.
If you’ve already “screamed at the submarines,” the good news is that you’re probably feeling better. For the rest of the ride:
So, your encounter with the local marine life was a little too close for comfort, eh? Here’s basic first aid for the most common diving scrapes.
The key to avoiding all these problems is a respect for the ocean environment. So:
Urchin spines are like hypodermic needles that break off once deep inside you, injecting their venom. The venom from stonefish spines is also delivered deep into the wound. Both cause excruciating pain, redness, swelling and bleeding. More severe complications can include infection, weakness, paralysis, breathing difficulty–even death if the victim has an anaphylactic reaction.
Stinging hydroids, fire coral (not a true coral) and jellyfish all have nematocysts, barb-shaped stinging cells filled with venom. Hydroids such as fire coral produce an immediate burning sensation followed within 30 minutes by an itchy rash that takes several days to heal. Jellyfish stings cause burning and leave a trail of bumps and welts. Serious jelly encounters can result in a severe burning sensation, muscle spasms, vomiting, shock, even collapse.
Although the nematocysts of the soft coral polyps can’t do much damage to humans, cuts and abrasions from the sharp points and razor edges of the stony skeleton can create burning pain and itchy welts. This “reef rash” (a form of coral poisoning) can take up to six weeks to heal completely.
Water is the traveling diver’s best friend. Without enough of it, you’ll become dehydrated, a condition that puts you at higher risk of DCS and causes fatigue. Perspiration, breathing dry air (such as in airplanes, air-conditioned hotel rooms and scuba tanks), urination, diuretic beverages (those that contain caffeine or alcohol) and medications, menstruation and traveler’s diarrhea all cause fluid loss.
Your body will tell you if you need more fluid. Common early-warning signs of dehydration include constant thirst, headache, fatigue, nausea and dark urine. If you experience these signs, get out of the sun and drink plenty of fluids. If they persist, leave the diving for another day.
Diving can trigger headaches in several different ways: neck and back strain from improperly adjusted or too-heavy gear, dehydration, sun glare, masks that are too tight, aspiration of salt water, and the mental strain of calculating repetitive dive tables. However, the four most serious dive-related headaches are:
Symptom: Dull, throbbing headache after diving that does not respond to analgesics or migraine medications.
Cause: Carbon dioxide buildup in the body, usually due to improper breathing, which triggers increased blood flow to the brain.
Symptoms: Pain in the back of neck and head.
Cause: Muscular tension in the neck and jaw caused by stress or anxiety over unfamiliar diving conditions.
Symptoms: Forehead or face pain on ascent or descent.
Cause: Inability to equalize pressure in the sinuses. Contributing factors include inflammation in the nose and sinuses, often caused by allergies or a cold.
Symptom: Headache with neurological deficit.
Cause: Type II decompression sickness or arterial gas embolism.
Hyperbaric oxygen therapy. If you have a headache and any symptom of DCS–pain in a joint or limb, itching, skin rash, localized swelling, nausea or vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, extreme exhaustion–call the Divers Alert Network and get to the nearest chamber. Headache, along with neurological deficit, can be symptomatic of arterial gas embolism or Type II DCS.
Traveler’s diarrhea is the most common ailment afflicting divers, and it’s caused by food and water containing bacteria different from those your gut is accustomed to. When you swallow these bacteria, they end up in hand-to-hand combat with your native bacteria–and you wind up the loser.
Almost everyone will recover from simple traveler’s diarrhea within three to five days, even without treatment. I recommend divers use Pepto-Bismol. It won’t speed recovery, but it will lessen the severity of the symptoms. Medications such as Imodium may delay recovery by trapping the offending bacteria in the intestines. If symptoms last for more than a few days, seek medical attention. If you experience any form of diarrhea, you’re losing enormous amounts of fluid, so stay well-hydrated.
]]>Amazing, isn’t it? How divers can make a supposedly relaxing, recreational activity so darn competitive. Who surfaced with the most air? Who bagged the most game? Who went deepest? Sometimes the contests are harmless: “You mean you didn’t see the 12-foot moray?” Sometimes motivational: “You mean you haven’t been to Palau?” And sometimes downright dangerous: “You mean you only did two dives a day?”
And if those phrases sound familiar, so will this one often heard at the back of the live-aboard: “You gotta do this night dive! Don’t be a wimp!”
One of the most important skills we learn as divers is to ignore peer pressure and make our own decisions, using good data from our instruments and good sense based on input from our bodies. When is it time to ignore peer pressure and say to your buddies, “Sorry to disappoint, guys, but tonight I’m staying dry. Enjoy your dive”? You might be surprised to learn that it’s not just a matter of how much nitrogen you’ve absorbed.
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A tiny, quaint French-Canadian village laid out along a half-moon of rocky seacoast, Les Escoumins might seem at first merely a hideout for honeymooners and thieves. But this diminutive settlement on the banks of the tidal St. Lawrence River is one of the Northeast’s best-kept diving secrets.
What draws divers in the know to Les Escoumins is spectacular beach diving, like the 40-foot rock wall appropriately called The Dock or The Wharf because it’s located adjacent to the town pier. The wall is a swaying palette of color: red, orange, yellow and white northern red anemone clusters extending their hungry tentacles into the constant current, which is strong enough to feed the anemones but not too strong to keep divers from enjoying a relaxed visit. Silver-spotted anemones join in the dance, reaching into the drift with delicate white tentacles. Wherever anemones have not settled, you can find a number of sponge species, most notably the bumpy yellow mounds of warty sponges and the gray-brown or purplish spikes of finger sponges.
Swimming, walking and crawling among these sessile creatures are brilliantly colored Greenland shrimp and the well-camouflaged Montague’s shrimp and polar shrimp. The most common nudibranchs in these waters are the red-gilled and salmon-gilled, both a little over an inch in length and graceful swimmers. Beyond the wall, in about 90 feet of water, you can explore the small nameless wreck of an old fishing boat. The ribs and frame are all that remain, but the dilapidated craft is home to Acadian redfish (or rosefish) and, in the winter, snow crabs boasting eight-inch carapaces and legs many times longer.
La Crique is a pleasant granite slope into the water where at 30 feet you can find foot-long scarlet soles, bright-red creatures straining the current for food with multi-tentacled arms, while sea stars and urchins cluster on the rocks. Thirty feet deeper, you can find vase-shaped chalice sponges, and a striking mix of northern red, red stomphia and knobby anemones.
The third easy-access site is L’Anse à La Barque, a small cove that is less than a five-minute walk from parking. Like La Crique, the rocks at L’Anse à La Barque slope slowly into deep water. Here, urchins, sea stars, shrimps, crabs and frilled anemones thrive. Look for the polar sea star, a voracious predator that can reach into the mucky substrate and extract clams from below the surface. L’Anse à La Barque is also an especially good place to find toothy Atlantic wolffish, staring at divers from rocky crevices.
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