A common mistake that many people make
when they ask me about what I do for a living is to assume that, just
because my job involves a fairly large amount of diving, I must have
lots of exciting stories to share. In fact, nothing could be further
from the truth. Surveying commercial fish populations is in reality
no less mundane than any office job, except that the office is a
under 15m of water and instead of a suit and tie I wear a BCD and
fins (although I would dive in a suit and tie if I had one).
However, from time to time, things do
get a bit hairy out there on the reef, and it is these moments that I
now wish to share, so that others can learn from my experiences.
These are real life diving adventures, and I will pull no punches in
my retelling of what are often dramatic and terrifying events,
although some names have been changed at the bequest of those
involved and their families.
Equipment Malfunction Peril!
It was a clear, sunny day as we headed
out into Chole Bay to conduct a routine reef health assessment. A
light breeze played about us as we kitted up on the deck of the dive
boat and the mood was relaxed and light hearted as we conducted our
gear and buddy checks. We were to be diving in three teams of two,
carrying out point counts of key fish species at a range of depths
across sheltered patch reef near the centre of the bay. The team were
all fairly experienced, having carried out similar survey work on the
reef for the past few months and nothing was out of the ordinary,
except that I was wearing a new long sleeved rash vest that I'd found
in a bin round the back of the dive equipment store. It smelt a bit
musty, but I'd been feeling the cold increasing towards the end of
our most recent dives, and a bit of a whiff seemed a small price to
pay for the warmth and comfort that this spandex top was certain to
provide. I wasn't sure if it belonged to anyone, but it was in the
bin anyway, so I assumed that no one would miss it.
We donned our gear and entered the
water, utilising the backwards roll technique. The team then split
into buddy pairs and spread out across the reef to carry out
underwater visual fish censuses at a variety of depths. My buddy and
I descended and reached our first survey point with no problems. We
then commenced a ten minute point count, recording the species and
size of individual fish from key species as they swam within our
field of vision. After ten minutes, the survey was complete, and we
moved onto the next site at the slightly shallower depth of 8 metres.
As we approached the site, I realised
that something was going very wrong with the dive. I attempted to
move my right arm, so as to unclip the dive slate on which I was to
record the next set of data from my Buoyancy Control Device (BCD), but
found that my movement was a little bit inhibited. I looked down to
my wrist and, to my horror, realised that the sleeve of my new rash
vest had caught on the zip of the pocket on the right hand side of my
BCD. Not only that, but the zip had jammed slightly, making it a bit
difficult to free my wrist
My first instinct was to try and tear
my arm free, but doing so would risk ripping the spandex of the rash
vest around the sleeve. Considering that this rash vest didn't even
belong to me, that just wasn't an option. I struggled to remain calm
and think rationally. Although I've been diving for a number of
years, I could feel fear building up inside me. I was well aware that
an equipment malfunction at depth, no matter how minor, could put not
only my life, but also that of my dive buddy at serious risk. In an
attempt to free the trapped vest sleeve, I tried pulling the BCD zip
open, but this just made things worse as the spandex sleeve became
further entangled in the zip mechanism.
I battled to remain calm and attempt to
figure out a way out of this situation. Immediately, I tried to
signal to my buddy that I was in trouble, but with my right arm a
little bit trapped by the BCD zip, this quickly proved to be
difficult. I tried to signal to my buddy, but I just couldn't get his
attention with my right arm pinned as it was. Fortunately, my dive
instructor had taught me how to give signals with both my left and
right hands, and with my left hand still free to move without
obstruction, I was able to warn my buddy that I was in trouble. I
gave the “Problem” signal, using my left hand, and then pointed
at the zip of my BCD.
I saw fear flash behind my buddy's eyes
as he registered the seriousness of our situation. My buddy was also
an experienced diver, but for a brief moment I feared that he too
would become overwhelmed by the enormity of my rash vest nightmare
and begin to panic.Fortunately for us both, he mastered his fear and
swam cautiously towards me, taking care not to allow my awful
situation to place him in any further danger.
Calmly, and without hesitation, he
reached out and pulled the zip shut a little bit. I couldn't believe
what I was seeing. Surely this was madness? Would closing the zip not
make the problem worse?! I signalled desperately to my buddy, trying
to stop him from potentially killing us both, but he ignored my
frantic gesturing. It was then that I looked down and realised that,
by closing the zip slightly, he had in fact realigned the two sides of
the zip, allowing it to open without problem and freeing the trapped
sleeve of my rash vest.
Tentatively, I moved my right arm.
Success! I was released from my temporary shackles and able to move
my arm about again. I sighed with relief and signalled thanks to my
buddy. His calm, quick action had saved both our lives. After such
drama, the only safe course of action was to abort the dive, and we
both made a controlled emergency swimming ascent, rising to the
surface whilst breathing out to avoid lung over expansion injury or
decompression illness.
We clambered back aboard the boat, both
overwhelmed by the desperate situation that we had found ourselves in
just minutes before. I was furious at myself for risking both our
lives with untested and unsafe equipment. That was certainly not a
mistake I'd make again. Upon return to the shore, I chucked the rash
vest back in the bin, a fitting place for such a dangerous piece of
kit.
My buddy and I both laughed it off
afterwards, but deep down we both knew how close to the end we'd come
during that dive. To look death in the eye as we both did that day
was a truly humbling experience, and one that I'd certainly not care
to repeat.
