Advanced Skills – PADI IDC Exam Revision and Theory

Operation No Fear: Diving with Oceanic Whitetips

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By the time I realize what’s happening, it’s too late.

Tunnel vision is instant: The last thing I remember is the blunt end of an oceanic whitetip shark scratching an itch against my fins — my yellow it-won’t-be-a-problem fins. Normally these fins are so dependable that they don’t warrant a second thought — it was only their bad-as-a-banana color that gave me pause a few days ago when I packed for Cat Island. I knew this Bahamas trip would be different. In places like Nassau and Grand Bahamas, Caribbean reef sharks have become habituated to systematic feedings. The sharks showing up are all regulars, where every handler knows their names — it’s like Cheers, except the cold ones are herring.

In open water, the rules are different. There aren’t any — only procedures based on predictability. Sharks here act more on instinct, less on habit. Pink, baby blue, yellow or other light-colored fins could be interpreted as fish.

Luckily, sharks’ body language is as subtle as a pickup artist. With these predators, a sleek pectoral fin angling downward signals that all bets are off — and the hunt is on. Those same fins slicing horizontally away from the body is good.

This is called polite feeding, and it’s the only behavior Stuart Cove’s allows guests to experience, whether at its Nassau hub or satellite Cat Island operation, run by Beto M. Barbosa and Charlotte Faulkner with boat captain and all-around chill guy Alvin Duncanson.

Earlier that morning, I was the opposite of anxious as White Bungi, the 46-foot-long custom-built Newton, carried us 13 miles offshore of Columbus Point, an idyllic white-sand crescent. It’s a spot favored by big-game fishermen for the same reason we’re here now, engines idling.

At 70 feet, the reef gives way to a 3,000-foot abyss where anything can appear — the closest on-ramp to a superhighway of life.

And it’s officially spring break: For a few magical weeks in April and May, it’s Tunas Gone Wild, a migration of epic proportions. Big-game fishermen score. And the oceanics, practiced hunters that are opportunistic by default, know how to take advantage. It’s little wonder these sharks have made headlines picking off shipwreck victims.

That same energy-saving instinct brings them to Columbus Point. Just as Caribbean reef sharks have learned what it takes to score a handout from a chain-mail-clad feeder, so too oceanics understand what happens when a big haul is on the line, snatching the marlin, sailfish or other prize just before it’s lifted from the salt water.

Anglers in the Billfish Blast tournament held here every May label them as pests. But it’s all that fin flapping and those pulsing hearts that attract the oceanics — and the reason that Stuart Cove’s has started tours here.

Dive teams intentionally replicate the actions of a fishing boat, including gunning the engine into reverse.

“All the cues are there, so the sharks are confused,” Faulkner says. “They’re like, ‘Where the frig is the line?’”

Trickle Down Theory

The process starts with a slick of menhaden oil — a fish-attractant that smells like wax and is as common here as white ice chests. Next comes chum.

Barbosa slides a glove on, and then secures a hunk of mahi against a cutting board while perching off the swim platform. Down comes the hatchet as he flings bloody bites of sushi into the flat sea. Sometimes the sharks appear right away — or, rarely, not at all. It’s the wild, not Disney World. Today it’s only 20 minutes before the first dorsal fin cracks the surface. We climb into our gear, and then plunge in behind Barbosa.

There is a system for the dive: An aluminum cube holds enough enticing scraps to persuade the predators to stick around. Tis is the worm on the hook — the bobber is a standard tagline buoy, which lets surface support know where the divers are at all times because the buoy is tethered to nothing. The whole show travels.

Barbosa keeps a light grip on the line connecting the bait box to the buoy. He stays at the center of the action, and can dole out fish bits if the sharks appear to lose interest — unlikely, given that it’s also raining chum. When Duncanson brings the boat near the group, Faulkner lobs tuna heads and skins into the mix, helping photographers get the open-jaw shots.

For me, the trickle-down of meat is just another obstacle to avoid. I keep it in mind when I first get in the water — when things are still quiet.

Swimming with oceanic whitetips requires mental gymnastics: Just as a juggler stays mindful of every brightly colored ball lobbed aloft, a diver must swivel one’s head about, keeping an eye on the ever-swimming sharks. As a species, they are known for nudging — then attacking — the unsuspecting. But they always knock first.

It’s polite feeding, remember?

In the water, tracking one shark is easy. Then it’s two. Three and four make me thankful for my second cup of coffee. Five and six make me wish I’d thought of a better system of staying aware of their positions. Photographer Elly Wray and I had considered diving with our backs up against one another so we wouldn’t be caught off-guard, bumped from behind. When the dive started, this seemed silly. Now I scan for her. Her hooded head is fixed behind the camera, strobes firing. She’s happy in her element.

That’s one of my first mistakes: I had been watching my buddy, not the sharks, when I first spotted the female whitetip who had me in her scope, pressing steadily forward. With each flick of her tail, my heart beats faster. And yet, this is why I’ve come. The primal rush of a shark approaching, unafraid, is a high that divers rarely encounter on a reef; most sharks keep their distance, darting away when spotted. Photographers call this head-on approach the Mercedes shot. Experience it, and it will be imprinted on your memory.

Right now, as this graceful powerhouse swims closer, it’s like watching target practice. I know it’s just a matter of seconds before it will veer away. Right? And just like that, doubt creeps in, quickly replaced by the sweet smell of panic — at least from the shark’s point of view.

She noses against my fins. I get the bright idea to use that soft plastic to swat her. That plastic is as deterring as a flopping fish, which, incidentally, is exactly what my fins must feel like.

If this were a movie, this is where there would be frames missing.

When I finally snap out of it, I realize I’m gripping Barbosa’s forearm. With his fingers tight against his chest, he makes the smallest OK sign. A question. I nod. With a flat hand, he gestures a reminder to slow my breathing.

Suddenly, the lessons come back. I have been diving with sharks a dozen times. I know the drill. Don’t show fear. Make yourself appear big. Yet I feel so small. The only positive thought flickering through my mind is that as long as I’m clinging to Barbosa, we must look like a giant fish. My other happy thought is that at the rate I am breathing, my tank will soon be low, even though we’re only at a depth of about 15 feet.

Strangely, this starts to relax me. With Barbosa as my personal bouncer, I’m free to admire these pack animals. Their fins are so long that they remind me of outrigger canoes. Oceanics have a cool, faux-aloof confidence — watching them in their natural habitat is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I suddenly realize how lucky I am. Fifty minutes into the dive, and the sharks still have demonstrated only curiosity, never aggression.

Scanning the group again, this time I see I’m not the only one who made a fashion faux pas. Another member of our group is sporting yellow fins, and he too has the unyielding attention of a shark that demonstrates all manner of pliability as it checks him out. But when the rest of the paparazzi approach this twosome of diver and shark, it’s too much stimuli, and the shark resumes swimming wider circles around us all.

When my air supply is sufficiently low, I signal to Barbosa. Once I’m safely back on the boat, I stop shaking. By the time I down a bottled water, the rest of the gang is aboard — it’s time for the halftime show.

Sharks are like houseguests: Once invited, they get cozy until the cupboards are bare. And right now, we’re packing two Rubbermaid coolers full of fish. The photographers ready their cameras, lowering the domes halfway into the water for over/under shots. The chum-slinging resumes, only this time, the chorus of oohs and ahs is audible.

Memory cards soon fill and residual nitrogen depletes. It’s time for dive two — only now jumping in requires trying not to land on a shark’s backside, their noses nearly pressed against the transom.

Other divers plop in, but I can’t bring myself to giant-stride smack into the middle of circling sharks that have been served only appetizers. While the others take advantage of round two, I join Faulkner on the bow. We’re mere feet from snapping jaws, but from this vantage point, I can re-collect my courage. It’s secondhand experience, but right now, it feels first rate.

Hours later, we make the 40-minute drive east from Hawk’s Nest Marina to Greenwood Beach Resort, a rustic, charming inn favored by Europeans. Dinner is served just after dusk, and I take solace stuffing my face: warm conch fritters, potato soup, lobster dinner and coconut-cream pie. Comfort food. I return to the room, belly bulging, and climb under the cool sheets, nodding off as Wray reviews her images and gives me a pep talk. She admits that she was surprised at how afraid I was, especially given how many years I have been strapping on fins and tanks.

As tiredness sets in and I think about tomorrow, part of me wants nothing more than to walk the white-sand beaches — the ones that Bahamas is famous for — and forget all about sharks.

But it’s not beaches I dream about. When I finally fall asleep, I’m picturing a fearless version of myself — in black fins.

I Am Not Bait

Take two. Morning at Hawk’s Nest Resort and Marina. The Stuart Cove’s crew has already set up our gear. As we embark on the hour-long boat ride, I take advantage of the fact that Andy Brandy Casagrande IV

is on board to shoot video. The GoPro-sponsored daredevil makes a living being fearless around sharks, including swimming outside the cage with great whites. Of course I hit him up for advice on how to be fearless around the sharks. Or for me, perhaps simply less fearful.

He says the biggest thing is to not think or act like bait. The sharks will pick up on that instantly. And with that, I find my mantra: I am not bait.

Faulkner answers another prayer: She hands me a pair of fins. Dark blue ones.

In the water, the first few passes the sharks make are a simple display of power — Lamborghinis doing warm-up laps. I work to make my buoyancy as perfect as possible. I want to avoid needless kicking, so I make like a statue and simply watch.

Sharks are funny. Anyone who has swum with them confidently likens them to dogs. Puppies even. Part of me understands. When interacting with us, they are harmless. They rub against divers to get a reaction.

I think they’re more like cats: curious and seemingly packing an agenda. They’re processing infinite amounts of complex data in any given moment. They scheme.

This occurs to me as I watch them twitch their freckled snouts. The movements are small, almost imperceptible. Te sharks are angling their noses and bodies into different positions, like rotating satellite dishes, to provide better positioning for their jelly-filled, cuplike receptors — the ampullae of Lorenzini. This is how they smell fear.

It’s this moment that I want to hold onto. I’m watching my fear swim around me, and it’s beautiful.

4 tips for shooting oceanic whitetips

1. Stay Shallow Oceanics are most territorial — i.e., more likely to come  in close — from zero to 10 feet. This is also the sweet spot for surface reflections, or dappled light on their backs.

2. Don’t Chase Pursuit will only scare the sharks away. The electrical field emitted by your strobes should attract their curiosity.

3. Body language showing too much confidence might prevent a close encounter. Break eye contact from time to time. Letting your guard down (just for show) should bring them in.

4. Strobe Strategy Your camera-to-shark distance can change instantly. Be prepared to reposition and change the output of your strobes from close to camera at low power for a dome-bumping pass to wide set at high power when they’re farther away.

NEED TO KNOW

When to go Oceanic whitetip sharks flock to Cat Island in April and May, coinciding with the tuna migration.

Diving Conditions April and May temps average 75 to 80 degrees F. Visibility extends 70 feet or greater.

Operator Stuart Cove’s Dive Bahamas (stuartcove.com) brings a custom-built, 36-foot Newton to Cat Island, running trips through  Hawk’s Nest Resort and Marina.

Price tag From $2,082 per person for 4 nights/3 dive days.

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How to Prepare for your First Night Dive

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Exploring the underwater world at night can be even more incredible than diving during the day.

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FIVE TIPS FOR YOUR FIRST NIGHT DIVE

Night diving is one of the most magical experiences you can have as a diver. But diving in the dark does require a little extra preparation to stay safe. Here are five tips to get you ready.

1. Be Gear Savvy

Night dives include equipment you might not use during the day, such as underwater flashlights and tank strobes. Be sure to install the batteries, check the bulbs and familiarize yourself with how these items work beforehand so you’re not fumbling in the dark.

2. Give Yourself A Hand

Hand signals are hard to see at night, so night divers use their flashlights for modified signals. For example, wave the beam of your flashlight on the bottom in front of your buddy (never in the eyes) to get her attention.

3. Dive It During The Day

The best way to prepare for a night dive is to explore the site during the day beforehand. You’ll know the layout of the reef, your entry and exit points, and exactly which sections of the dive site you want to see.

4. Brush Up On Compass Skills

During the day, it’s easy to navigate by underwater landmarks in good visibility. At night, you’ll only see the patch of reef illuminated by your flashlight, so your compass is the most reliable way to get around.

5. Practice Going Slowly

Slower is always better underwater. You breathe less air and see more when you take your time. That goes double for night diving. Not to mention that getting lost or having to make a long surface swim can quickly turn from frustrating to dangerous in the dark.

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Advanced Adventure: Fjord Diving in British Columbia

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Lords of the Fjords

Past the century mark now, and still we drop. Time slows but my heart rate quickens as we leave light far behind. Into the void, past pale, twisted, unrecognizable shapes. The darkness is visceral. I’m breathing in a blackness that seeps through me, painting even the insides of my eyelids black. One hundred and fifty feet, then 160. Finally, a burst of red, then another, and another deeper still. Gorgonian sea fans light up the night like flaming cotton candy. Extending from the wall in sprays and arcs, they are exquisite, and seemingly out of place in this cold, harsh nothingness. Also clinging to the vertical face are cloud sponges, huge masses of spiked, trumpet-shaped tubes glowing ghostly white and gold. My unfettered imagination sees gigantic melting candles in a macabre dungeon, or pearly flowstone formations oozing through a subterranean chamber. Spindly-legged crabs clamber about this convoluted kingdom where rockfish stare suspiciously at us and something else moves wraithlike along the wall. The scenery is mesmerizing, alien.

Then my computer’s depth alarm sounds, loudly breaking the spell. I had programmed it for a wake-up call at 180 feet. The pull to keep descending is seductive, but more beeping and blinking jangles my nerves and reminds me our time is up. We signal each other game over, and begin a long climb back to the surface.

Twenty minutes of deco later, we’re welcomed back by Kal Helyar, master and commander aboard Devilfish. “And how was it? Did you make it to the sea fans?”

Waddling back to the bench, I plonk down and spit out my reg, grateful to take a load off.

Haltingly, as if I’m struggling to recall the power of speech, I answer, “Awe … some. Yes.”

“Scary and beautiful,” my wife, Melissa, says. “And strange,” I add. I breathe deeply, inhaling the pure scent of rain on a brisk February wind, seasoned by the tang of salt air. Helyar gets some hot chocolate into us, and then a veritable novel comes pouring out, beginning and ending with “amazing.”

Deep in the Emerald Gloom

We’ve come to Canada’s rugged Sunshine Coast northwest of Vancouver for a midwinter escape from the rain and cold, and to push ourselves with challenging dives like the aforementioned descent into the Powerlines in Agamemnon Channel and — if the fates are kind and the tides align — Sechelt Rapids in Skookumchuck Narrows. This is fjord diving. There’s no better place to do it, and no one better than Helyar to point you in the right direction, which usually is down. He and his wife, Ann Beardsell, own Porpoise Bay Charters and Strong Water Retreat near the tiny town of Egmont on the Sechelt Peninsula. Having dived BC’s inland waters for 25 years, they know the current-swept passes and deep reaches intimately.

Over a hearty breakfast we reminisce on yesterday’s out-of-body experience and waves of terror among the eerie sponges, and how fear gave way to fascination. Helyar smiles and says, “We’ll get you back there for another splash, but today let’s do the Chaud and then shoot the Skook. Decent slack in the afternoon, so we’ll go deep first, then fast!”

The Chaud, officially the HMCS Chaudiere, is a 366-foot-long Canadian destroyer escort and a survivor of the post-WWII nuclear blast tests in Bikini. It’s currently stationed below the waves, precariously perched on a steep slope off Kunechin Point, where its bow hangs off a ledge at 140 feet.

I first dived the Chaud just a month after it was intentionally sunk in 1992 — 23 years later, it looks better than ever as we follow the ship’s starboard flank downward from 60 to 100 feet. The water temp is 45, and viz about the same. Orange and white plumose anemones sprout a foot tall from railings. Smaller anemones and glassy tunicates coat its svelte sides, shimmering and winking back the light from our roving LED cannons. Perch flitter out of our way; lingcod remain in loiter mode, unfazed by our intrusion.

We bank hard left at midships to descend another atmosphere in the superstructure’s oppressive shadow. My guts lurch, and equilibrium goes out the window. My internal gyroscope temporarily scrambles, knocked off its axis. Lying at 90 degrees on its port side, deep in the emerald gloom, the Chaudiere can be disorienting. I pull out of my off-kilter swan dive at 135 feet, just above the mud bottom, shake my head to clear the cobwebs and stare upward right into doom: the massive twin barrels of the front turret guns, with me directly in their sights. Daunting and dramatic, it makes a killer shot. But it’s not easy to work both brain and camera down here, and all too soon my 28 percent nitrox mix is running low. If only we were on rebreathers.

Helyar and Beardsell host advanced divers of all stripes — trimix techies, power lifters lugging chandeliers of stage bottles, scientists doing three-hour, 300-foot submersions to study fragile deepwater sponges and gorgonians — including many keen to drift the Skook, our next stop.

Shooting the Skook

Under a leaky, leaden sky, we wind our way back up Sechelt Inlet. We’re not in any particular hurry because we have to wait for the tide. Grateful for the boat’s covered (and heated) cabin, we watch ribbons of fog weave through moss-bearded cedar and fir. A bald eagle materializes out of a low bank of cloud just above the dead-calm black water. “No real movement down here right now, but it will still be cranking up at the rapids. Time to relax, enjoy the scenery,” our captain advises. It is stunning country, mountainous and wild, like the backdrop for a Viking movie.

Sechelt Rapids is also known as Skookumchuck Narrows, or the Skook for short. In the First Nations’ language, skookum means strong.

Famous among daredevil kayakers, infamous among boaters and alluring to at least some divers, these are strong waters and — make no mistake — potentially dangerous. A Coast Guard boat flipped here in 2012, killing two people. Divers also have met their end here. Standing waves, whirlpools, downdrafts, layers of water racing in opposite directions — the current can scream up to 16 knots here, making these the fastest navigable waters in North America.

To dive the Skook safely and enjoyably, lots of things have to come together. Skill, experience and fitness are mandatory, as is a live-boat pickup. A good slack window really helps too. Winter’s smaller tidal exchanges are generally best in this regard, giving you longer slack time between ebb and flood tides, when water movement is at a minimum. Slack might be five minutes or 20, and some days it’s zero, switching directions without a lull. One can usually go with the flow for a few moments before and after the change, but you absolutely need to know when it’s time to end the dive.

Helyar looks at his watch, consults a well-thumbed book with current tables and then throws an oyster shell overboard. We watch it sink, fluttering back and forth, but with an obvious sideways trajectory to its descent. The ebb current is still too strong along Observation Wall, probably the most popular Skook site within the Narrows. Melissa and I are ready to go, but the old shell trick tells us to wait.

A few minutes later we’re given the green light. Into the drink, with no dallying at the sur- face. We bomb straight down to 50 feet and press tight up against the wall. There’s just a hint of the dying ebb. With military precision, Helyar has dropped us in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. We smile, thanking the oyster that gave its life for our safety and enjoyment.

And so begins our swim through a kaleidoscope. It’s a living, tentacled mosaic of thousands of anemones in red, white, pink, yellow and green, stretching left and right, up and down. Sponges, urchins and sea stars compete for real estate. Life is stacked upon life, a common theme at BC’s best dive sites. I see kelp greenlings and rockfish nonchalantly dancing about in the water column — it will be a different story in half an hour when they have to hunker down like sponges once the maelstrom returns. We spy gobies and sculpins, nudibranchs and crabs, and a magnificent red Irish lord with bulging eyes speckled like a starlit sky. Twenty-five minutes drift by peacefully before someone grabs my fins and turns me around. A bit perturbed that my wife would play such a prank, I look back. But she’s beside me. An invisible, irresistible force begins pushing on my forehead, driving me back. Melissa makes an elaborate signal, two hands circling each other, spinning wildly, and then motions as if she’s sweeping plankton through the water. Impressive, but huh?

I realize I’m kicking now and just barely holding position along the wall. A kelp greenling zings past me to wedge itself snugly into a rock crevice packed with sponges and purple sea stars, their five arms gripping tight. The current has come calling. Our time is up.

Back on board, Helyar’s grin matches ours. “And how was it?” Melissa’s answer says it all: “Can we do that again?”

I blurt out, “And Powerlines too?”

“Sounds like a plan for tomorrow,” Helyar says. “Forecast is even calling for sun.”

Sun on the Sunshine Coast? Maybe, but I look forward to leaving the light far, far behind, deep beneath the sea.

WHAT IT TAKES

Part of being an advanced diver is being able to avoid damaging marine life. The fragile, delicate nature of many of the creatures found in this area makes operators hesitant to take careless divers to some of these sites — good buoyancy and spatial awareness are key. There’s plenty of current and depth in these inlets; the author cannot stress strongly enough the wisdom in diving with those who know these skookum waters. (Though this article focuses on advanced sites, the region also has many wonderful sites for novices and intermediates.)

NEED TO KNOW

When to Go British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast offers year-round diving. In general, fall and winter months have the best visibility (50 to 150 feet). Plankton blooms (more common in spring and summer) can reduce visibility, but it’s often still clear below a green surface layer. Topside weather runs the full gamut from cool and rainy to warm and sunny.

Dive Conditions The fjords are well-protected from open-ocean storms and swells. Water temperatures hover around 45 degrees at depth. Drysuits are a must, especially for wintertime multiday diving trips and the long bottom times often realized in technical diving.

Operator Porpoise Bay Charters (porpoisebaycharters.com) has unmatched expertise in these waters. It caters to divers of all skill levels, rec and tec, and is well-equipped to facilitate advanced diving. Cozy waterfront accommodations and savory home-cooked meals at Strong Water Retreat will satisfy all your needs above the waterline.

Price Tag Complete packages (diving, accommodations and meals) cost $250 Canadian per day.

FOUR TIPS FOR SHOOTING THE FJORDS

1 Be wary of the unique, rare and very fragile marine life at sites like Powerlines. Cloud sponges and gorgonians are easily killed by careless kicks, grasping hands, flopping gauges and flailing gear. Respect and protect to ensure these deepwater denizens will be there for the next shooter.

2 Balance your rig with foam floats or buoyant strobe arms. At sites subject to current, you’ll appreciate a neutrally balanced rig you can shoot with one hand — your other might be needed to hold onto bare rock or dead barnacles to keep you in position.

3 On the Chaudiere, keep your shot list simple and do your homework. Disorientation and frustration can snowball into trouble. Study a drawing of the ship. Take a slate with you on which you’ve sketched the wreck, your intended path, photo targets, and depths and locations of the fixed buoy lines.

4 Know your photo gear well. Practice on easier dives (or in a dark closet while wearing your gloves) so knowing which buttons to push becomes second nature. There’s no time to waste fiddling around when the slack-tide window is closing fast.

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The Magic of Cave Diving: Five Training Courses You Need to Take

BARE Sports, Caribbean And Atlantic, Featured Travel, Rebreathers, Regulators, Scuba Training, Scuba_News, standards, Teach First Aid/CPR, Tec, Tec Diving, Technology, TecRec, TecRec IT Crossover, United States And Canada, UW Photography, Wrecks / Scuba Admin

These Five Courses Will Help You Discover a Deeper Self — Literally

Shining a light into the unknown — there’s nothing that feels more like exploration. But that’s not the only reason divers who enter caves become hooked. It’s a sport where record-breaking discoveries happen every year, and there’s no shortage of boundaries yet to be crossed. But underground glory isn’t the real reason to consider cave train- ing. Even if you never venture much farther than the sun shines, these courses will give you a degree of physical and mental confidence you never thought you could muster.

CAVERN DIVER

“I’ve had students who have recently finished open water training and have just 25 dives under their belt up to advanced trimix open water instructors,” says Johnny Richards of those who enroll in his cavern diver courses.

Zach Stovall

Gear Essentials: Cave Diving Light

“You’ll need a cave diving light, and you’ll get a lot out of it for other types of diving. Also, ditch the console computer and get a multigas wrist-model computer.” — Karl Shreeves

Contact: diverite.com

All must relearn buoyancy, given that the jump from open water to overhead environments can be jarring.

“Open water is very forgiving,” says Richards. “Vary 3 to 5 feet and it’s no big deal — but in a cave, that can put you on the floor or ceiling.” To help divers cement a new buoyancy foundation, focusing on fine-tuning trim and breathing, Richards instructs in north Florida’s cave systems. These caves better prepare students for one reason: They have flow. On entry, divers power against a current measured in millions of gallons per day. “Flow affects everything — trim, buoyancy, propulsion,” Richards says.

Richards’ favorite classroom is Devil’s Den in Williston, Florida, about 100 miles northwest of Orlando. This cave extends 35,000 feet and flows at 42 million gallons per day.

“Train in complex environments and you’ll easily go anywhere that’s not as challenging,” says Richards. “If you know what Devil’s feels like, you can get a sense of other places.”

Environments like Devil’s Den also help divers shed another nasty habit: the instinct to kick more than necessary.

On the return route, these caves present yet another challenge. “With flow behind you, you have to anticipate buoyancy-control changes before they’re needed,” says Richards. “As I approach the exit at Devil’s Ear, it’s imperative
I make buoyancy changes before that change in depth — otherwise, if I’m neutral, with flow behind me, I’ll have a sudden rapid ascent.”

But even this situation is one that students build up to, starting at Ginnie Springs, 80 miles west of Jacksonville, or an hour north of Devil’s Den. Ginnie, another high-flow cave, is even better suited to beginners thanks to its flow of 35 million gallons per day and a coarse-sand bottom.

“Generally speaking, high-flow cave means low silt potential,” says Richards.

For new cave divers, almost always guilty of kicking too much, this means their zealotry won’t result in a fog of silt and lost visibility for too long. But causing a silt-out is part of the process; divers gain an understanding of what it feels like to have successes and failures. Says Richards, “This isn’t a course where I expect divers to come in and know what they should be doing — it’s a time where a lot of mistakes can happen.”

Go Now: cavediving.com

INTRO TO CAVE DIVING

One of the first things aspiring cave divers must get used to is starting expeditions in the middle of nowhere — often a field or forgotten forest, reachable only by two-track dirt roads. To access Mermaid’s Lair, one of cave diving instructor Cristina Zenato’s favorite classrooms, start by heading to the eastern side of Grand Bahama.

ScubaPro MK25 EVO/G260 Scuba Diving Regulator

Gear Essentials: High-End Regulators

“At this level, you start using an H-valve with two independent regulators. You want robust life support that is dependable, with high performance. You should also look for an oxygen regulator, deco cylinder and backup computer.” — Karl Shreeves

Contact: scubapro.com

“Old Freetown Road is abandoned,” says Zenato. “It used to connect the two sides of the island, and now it’s just a very nice, scenic drive that adds to the adventurous feel.”

Mermaid’s Lair is worth the trek due to how well it suits the needs of beginners. For starters, Zenato rerigged the ropes running through the cave.

“I changed the line, so it’s continuous, with no navigational changes — you can’t take jumps or turns.” Neither of which is allowed in the intro course.

In other words, getting lost would be pretty hard. Nor is depth an issue: Mermaid’s Lair dips to roughly 70 feet, giving divers ample time to practice buoyancy and what Zenato considers the key skill to begin developing at this level: global awareness.

“When you’re cave diving, you can’t think about just one thing,” she says. “You have to be like a little computer, calculating all these things at once, like the line, the light, the cave — and your buddy.”

Part of global awareness is taking in the environment — and that can mean appreciating the scenery.

“In Mermaid’s Lair, the formations change from a rusty orange to a sheen of black to yellowish-white crystals — and then, all of a sudden, everything is covered in black crystals. You don’t expect it to be so different in such a short environment,” says Zenato.

It’s something she’s reminded of nearly every time she shares the cave with someone new. She can hear the “ooh” through the regulator. And afterward, reactions vary wildly.

“Some people talk nonstop, and some are silent, and I can tell their hearts are so full with what they just experienced,” says Zenato. “Either way, I know when they’re hooked.”

Go Now: unexso.com

FULL CAVE DIVER

For Alessandra Figari, graduating a full cave diver is like set- ting a tourist loose in a Venice glass shop. If divers meet her standards for the course, she knows they’re skilled enough to closely approach formations as delicate and unique as hand-blown curios.

Zach Stovall

Gear Essentials: Drysuit

“As you go deeper into caves, your dives get longer and a drysuit becomes necessary, especially for the cooler waters found in north Florida cave diving. In warmer waters, such as in Mexico’s Yucatan cave systems, a full 7 mm wetsuit with a hood will usually suffice up to about three hours — beyond that, you might want to wear a drysuit even there.” — Karl Shreeves

Contact: baresports.com

Before she turns them free, she guides them through the blanker slates of Riviera Maya’s underground realm — the caves with fewest decorations. But even those are not without beauty. Chikin Ha is one of her top picks for training full cave divers. Divers first pass through two cenotes lit by thick bands of sunlight. From there, darkness.

“Then it’s two big blocks of rock, and you can’t help but have that feeling of being under the earth,” says Figari. “It’s like being in a Gothic cathedral with all these different pieces of art.”

Inside, trainees work toward following a line in no visibility, handling a lost-diver scenario and sharing air in an overhead environment.

“I make students share air from the deepest point in the cave,” says Figari. “It’s meant to help them work on stress levels.”

When the way in and out is the same, and something happens after 40 minutes in, you have to swim out 40 minutes.

“The only thing that determines whether or not you come out is how you handle yourself,” she says. “The full cave course teaches you how to handle emotion and control the mind in these situations.”

The basics of that control are the same as with any dive course. It comes down to breathing. “If we breathe incorrectly, we cannot control the mind, and that is when we get into big trouble,” she says.

Once they prove themselves, divers are handed the keys to rooms holding even more fascinations, places like the cave Nohoch. Inside, tight passageways are lined with white formations.

“Everything is so small that you feel you should freeze, that just your presence could compromise this environment,” she says. But worry not. “No, of course it won’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t take anyone there.”

Go Now: cavetrainingmexico.com

DPV CAVE DIVER

Now you’re going places — or, at least, you will be after the diver propulsion vehicle cave course.

Courtesy Hollis

Gear Essentials: Diver Propulsion Vehicle

“Using a DPV to explore caves is a technical challenge that demands you to be entirely in the moment — you need to be self-disciplined and detailed, and show you can follow the rules and stay within your limits. You should also have lots of prior cave experience — otherwise, you can get yourself into trouble in a hurry.” —Karl Shreeves

Contact: hollis.com

The main motivation for divers to commit to the DPV course might appear to be the intense pleasure of zipping through extended cave systems — a roller-coaster ride past exponentially more formations and decorations than with fins alone.

But there’s a much more practical reason as well: DPVs buy you time.

“You get decent bottom time while keeping reasonable decompression times,” says cave diving instructor Johnny Richards.

This is an understatement. Instead of draining your gas supply on stretches you’ve seen hundreds of times, you zip past the familiar and start your dive with the new.

Exploration 101.

As for the course itself, says Richards, “It’s fairly arduous —lots and lots of skills and drills, such as dead-scooter swims and dead-scooter tows.”

There’s not much on-scooter time during the course, but afterward, it’s free rein. For Richards, use of a DPV opens up places like the Super Room inside Eagle’s Nest, a cave in the town of Weeki Wachee, roughly an hour north of Tampa.
“It’s a big monster of a room with a lot of features and fossils — mostly shells; this was all ocean floor at one time,” says Richards.

In the Little River Spring system, about 90 minutes west of Jacksonville, Richards likes to tar- get the Florida Room before continuing on by fin.

“There’s a point where you must drop the scooter,” says Richards. “The cave becomes like a roller coaster in places — then it becomes tight, with high amounts of silt. From there, you can swim 3,400 feet to the end of the line.”
He’s quick to point out that divers should never actively pursue that marker as a goal.

Says Richards, “It’s something that will naturally occur at some point given time and experience.”

Go Now: cavediving.com

STAGE DIVER

“Cave Diving is all about expanding your comfort zone, step by step,” says Patrick Widmann, an advanced cave diving instructor in the Dominican Republic. The full cave diver course allows finishers to explore a cave using one-third of their tanks; stage cave diver teaches students how to safely add a cylinder to explore even farther.

Zach Stovall

Gear Essentials: Stage Rigging and Sidemount BC

“When you start using stage cylinders, you’ll need more regulators with submersible pressure gauges, and rigging for each. At all levels, sidemount has become a popular option. There’s no reason to be a backmount cave diver if you know you want to dive sidemount — get certified as a PADI tec sidemount diver.” — Karl Shreeves

Contact: hollis.com

Skills taught include team protocols and how to stage and retrieve tanks blind, which simulates a silt-out caused by a tank dropped atop sediment.

This course also aims to strengthen confidence, especially with distance stress — “your mind telling you that you are a long way from home,” Widmann says. “Distance stress never leaves you, even after thousands
of dives. It just becomes a question of when it will set in.”

And it happens farther in after more training dives. For the stage cave diver course, Widmann teaches primarily in two caves. Cueva Taina and El Dudu. Cueva Taina, near the Santo Domingo airport, presents students with a halocline followed by rooms of white walls, stalactites and columns. El Dudu lies near the town of Cabrera, two hours east of Puerto Plata on the northern coast. Past its giant sinkhole opening, the cave’s route, 20 feet deep, winds past unusual water colors, walls stained with tannins and rooms filled with dark-dwelling critters such as bats, scorpions and tarantulas.

When students complete the course, Widmann takes them to Manantial El Toro, a cave outside Punta Cana that is the country’s longest, requiring stages to explore.

Distance stress can be heightened from the start thanks to the cave’s dramatic entry. It’s a 30-minute hike from the car park, then you descend 130 feet by foot. “The entrance is mind-blowing,” says Widmann. “It’s a ginormous dry cave with tree roots hanging from the roof.”

El Toro’s warren unspools to a variety of rooms and terrain, all serving as mental practice for future cave settings. With each new hurdle, divers are tasked with monitoring distance stress.

“There’s a tunnel filled with really rare bacteria that stain the water an opal green,” says Widmann. “It’s studied by NASA scientists.”

Like Alice in Wonderland, divers must be prepared to feel small in a large room, or huge in a small space.

“Going through a room a plane could fly through is much different from a tunnel the size of a computer screen,” says Widmann.

Either way, he reminds divers that it’s not so much about the conditions, but how you handle them.

“If I perceive something as dangerous, my body will react that way with increased breathing rate and risk of accident,” says Widmann. “Rather, we’re training ourselves to perceive our environment as safe so our bodies stay relaxed.”

Go Now: dr-ss.com

What It’s Like To Be A Cave Diver

Courtesy Jill Heinerth

“A privilege,” says filmmaker, photographer and Scuba Diving contributor Jill Heinerth. You can read why caving is so addictive in the November/December “What It’s Like” column from this caver, who is a member of the Explorers Club and Women Divers Hall of Fame, recipient of the Wyland ICON Award for making a difference for our water planet and the Sir Christopher Ondaatje Medal for Exploration from the Royal Canadian Geographical Society, and Scuba Diving‘s Sea Hero of the Year in 2012.

The Magic of Cave Diving: Five Training Courses You Need to Take Read More »

Dive Hacks: Tips for Wreck Diving

Marine Life, Rebreathers, Scuba_News, standards, Teach First Aid/CPR, Tec, Tec Diving, Technology, TecRec, TecRec IT Crossover, UW Photography, Wrecks / Scuba Admin

Diver near wrecks in Morehead City, North Carolina

Tanya Burnett

Shipwreck fanatic (aka metal head) Robert Purifoy talks wreck diving.

Shipwrecks are magnetic to divers. Mysterious, poignant and sometimes haunting, sunken ships have compelled humankind since we first figured out a way to breathe underwater. There’s something seductive about the hidden treasures they harbor in their rusty bellies, and some of the world’s most popular dive destinations owe their fame to wrecks.

From the historic warships of Chuuk Lagoon, Palau, Bikini Atoll and the Scapa Flow to the man-made attractions of the Florida Keys, New Zealand, Grand Cayman and Australia, the draw of artificial reefs is global. But sunken ships pose unique challenges to divers, including the potential for entanglement in fishing line, laceration by sharp metal or becoming lost deep in their bowels. Specific training and equipment are prudent when attempting any wreck dive, and there’s no quick and easy substitute for experience.

Robert Purifoy of Olympus Dive Center in Morehead City, North Carolina, has been intrigued by shipwrecks since before he was old enough to become certified. As the son of North Carolina pioneer George Purifoy, who was instrumental in discovering such famous regional sites as the U-352 and the USS Schurz, he started working on dive boats at age 10, earned his instructor rating in 1990, and now runs charters as captain of the 65-foot Olympus.

“The older shipwrecks that were true warships and have a history are fascinating to me,” says Purifoy. “Other wrecks I like for the marine life that congregates around them. Artificial or historic — every wreck has its own unique appeal.”

His backyard on the fabled Outer Banks of North Carolina boasts wrecks sunk on purpose and by tragic events, and offers a variety of challenges, from depth to size, condition and beyond.

“The U-352 is my favorite wreck, for sure. It’s easy to navigate and one of those bucket-list dives because of the history,” Purifoy says. “Another favorite is one of the newer ships that was sunk as an artificial reef, the USCGC Spar, because it’s got a lot of relief, sits close to the Gulf Stream for consistent good visibility, and is usually inhabited by quite a few sand tiger sharks.”

It’s a world-class training ground for wreck divers— here are four choice lessons from Purifoy’s logbook.

PREPARE FOR ACTION

Wreck diving can become complicated and strenuous. Before your next expedition (or local artificial reef ) consider the added benefit of taking a specialty course, having your gear serviced and increasing your normal workout.

“A little preparation goes a long way, and training is the first step,” Purifoy says. “We always recommend that people come out early and do a shallow warm-up dive to make sure they have their weight right, their computer is working properly, and there’s nothing else that might cause them to miss the dive. There’s nothing more disappointing than making it to that bucket-list wreck dive and everything goes as planned except for you.”

LEARN THE HISTORY

Finding out the layout and back story of a sunken ship can aid in navigation, clue you in to cool features and create a deeper appreciation for what you’re experiencing. Purifoy says your best source for information is always the local dive professionals, who have likely explored most every inch of the wrecks in their region.

“Knowing the history of the ship makes it come alive,” says Purifoy. “Beyond that, it helps you to set goals or objectives for your dive. Otherwise, you might surface and hear everyone else on the boat saying, ‘Wow, did you see that big propeller?’ And you’re thinking, ‘What propeller?’”

CONSERVE THE KICKS

Although there’s no substitute for proper buoyancy (which should be perfected before attempting a penetration), inside a wreck (after the proper training), limiting the amount of kicking you do will decrease the risk of a siltout or debris falling from an overhead environment.

“When penetrating a wreck that has a good water flow and visibility, I use a pull-and-glide technique as opposed to kicking,” says Purifoy. “It’s a technique that cave divers often use where you reach out and carefully take a handhold to give yourself a pull and just glide. If it’s a tight space where there’s not a lot of water moving, I use a very careful frog kick.”

TAKE THE RIGHT TOOLS

The rigors of wreck diving require specialized gear to solve specific problems. Packing along a bright light to illuminate the dark corners, a clean slate to diagram structural features, a reel and line to mark your path through winding corridors, and a sharp cutting tool to shred potential entanglements can increase your safety and enjoyment.

“With the proper training, I recommend a stage bottle, especially for penetration,” Purifoy says. “In addition, I recommend a dual-outlet-valve system where you have two first stages, so if you were to have a hose get cut or break, you could turn one of those valves off and still have a fully independent scuba unit to complete your dive.” His redundancy strategy can be carried over into other accessories as well, from dive computers to torches. “I always dive with at least two computers, or at least a computer and a secondary timing device,” says Purifoy. “And keep in mind that your backup light needs to be as good as your primary light because it may become your primary light.”

GEAR SOLUTIONS

The right tools — including a multipurpose cutting tool—increase your safety when wreck diving.

CRESSI ALLIGATOR

Courtesy Cressi

This clever unit combines the strength of a knife with the utility of scissors in a single compact package (6.5 inches in length) that can fit comfortably inside most BC pockets. For added function, the blade is serrated to increase its bite and the shears are spring-loaded for easy use with gloves. Plus, it’s built from corrosion-resistant stainless steel, offers rubber handle inserts to ensure a positive grip, and stows neatly into a low-profile molded sheath.

MSRP $74.95; INFO cressiusa.com

Dive Hacks: Tips for Wreck Diving Read More »