Jug Hole

Bats turn left when exiting a cave. ~ Anonymous


Jug Hole, also known as Blue Hole, is a first magnitude spring located in Ichetucknee Springs State park. It is reached via a boardwalk and nature trail approximately a third of a mile long. That is the hype…. Truth is….its ten miles long and uphill….both ways……

I have never had the pleasure of diving this site and Forrest generously agreed to accompany me on this trip.

In memory of Tim Owen, a cart has been donated to help move gear from the parking lot to the spring. This is a wonderful and much appreciated gesture. Unfortunately, through wear, or more likely, overloading, the cart was in need of repair and we set about replacing the broken wheel. Let us just say this is a well built cart and not easily unassembled…. but once repaired we loaded up and were on our way.

The trail begins with an inviting boardwalk heading in a slightly downhill direction into the cool wooded canopy of the trail. Don’t be fooled by this leisurely jaunt. The boardwalk soon ends and a packed dirt path studded with roots and an uphill climb appears all too soon as you make your way to the spring run. Winding along you can catch glimpses of the north spring run which joins in forming the beginning of the Ichetucknee River.

My thanks to Forrest who took charge of the cart handle while I “pushed” and took in the sights along the way. I never really sat on the cart and rode while doing so…. not long at least…. honest.

At the end of the path is large wooden deck with benches overlooking the spring run and steps leading into the water. The boil from Jug Hole is visible from the deck and just a short swim through shallow waters thick with river grass and the occasional small fish.

Dumping all the air from my wing I hung in the crystal clear water as if in flight; enjoying the ride and taking a moment to realize that the flow is stronger than previously described and a little more effort was required if I was to see what secrets the cave held below. I made my way down and we began our way through the small opening next to the Reaper sign to a low bedding plane doted with rock and sand that lead to the first room.

The black of the walls eats your light while alternately reflecting where patches of limestone show through and the floor changes from sand to clay and back. Each restriction leads to a large room and the walls can be thick with silt or layers of clay can draw your attention.

The Diamond Restriction is named for the way the sand reflects your light, but is also shaped much like a diamond and as I turned to slide through the force of the water caught the regulator at my neck and started it to flow. Not an easy task to grab and adjust it while still making my way through, but as I emerged I was entranced with glimmer of the sand before me. Once again moving through the cave, Forrest pointed out a jump on the right side of the passage and upon entering I soon encountered a tight silty restriction where the flow of the spring streamed through. The source of the caves flow, this was not a place to continue on and I turned to make my way back to the line.

The line and the cave soon ended with a view of a small room and the end of the caves passage and we turned to make our way out. While a beautiful cave to see, it is a short dive, just 41 minutes, with a maximum depth of 90 feet although most of the cave is much shallower.

Emerging from the cave entrance into the cavern you are greeted with a large circle of light beaming through the entrance above onto the white sand floor like a spotlight on a stage, the black tree branches littering the cavern floor the center of attention. Exiting the cavern I once again floated above the entrance, and while bats may fly from a cave exiting left, I took flight to the right and the stairs of the deck and the long uphill trek back to the parking lot.

Somewhere In The Atlantic....Off The Coast Of Waretown, NJ............

My soul is full of longing

For the secret of the sea,

And the heart of the great ocean

Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow~

The Gulf of Mexico lies just outside my door….. but it isn’t the ocean, it isn’t the sea, it isn’t the same. I drove through the night and into the next day and then drove some more. My car packed high with the jumble of last minute packing. This was a last minute trip, very last minute, planned on a few hours notice; but the first things in the car were tanks and dive gear. I might not have planned this trip but I knew just what I was doing.

I still dive, but not the wrecks. There are no wrecks near my new house, not as I know them. I dive caves, with wet rocks and little blind critters. Tall rocks and tiny holes, fossils and clear blue waters, majestic rooms and surprising colors appearing at the turn of a corner…. It just isn’t the same. My first love is the cool green waters filled with wooden ribs jutting from the sand and hidey holes stuffed with treasures.

I contacted the good captain and asked if my spot was still available and his answer caused a large smile to cross my face. He said I could even choose our destination…. that made me chuckle. We all know the process of choosing the site with this crew; I couldn’t wait to see where “I chose”.

The morning started out in a blur. An early alarm and a frantic collection of gear scattered about a strange house where I had no spaces that were just my own. I begin my trek down the parkway and the marina is not in my GPS; my smart phone was stymied for an address, my address book having only home phones. Really? Really? And that black bag I passed as I ran out the door with my coffee….that was my regulator bag. I am now consigned to being mate for a day. But I will be on the ocean and they might even let me bring the boat around to pick up the buoy. No…. that wasn’t going to happen, I am pretty sure my last navigational attempt was still permanently imprinted in their brains. Oh well.

As I boarded carrying just doughnuts and coffee, four faces looked at me blankly. They took off for my car hauling tanks and gear. There was an extra regulator among them, I was diving.

We set out from the marina with swells and a bit of bump but I hardly noticed. Catching up on people and news, the salt smell and familiar sights, I was just soaking them in. We cleared the inlet and the seas began to calm and now the fun began.

We were five this morning. Captain Howard, Jack, John and a new face in the group, Jim. Where to go…. Hmmmm. A notebook opened and the little black book I remembered so fondly lay there tucked between the pages. Sites were bandied about, the Harry Rush? The West Ridge, south of the East Ridge and next to the North? The ridge that was actually a barge or the barge that was actually a ridge? A crane or half a crane, or maybe the submarine that was actually a barge or the barge that was 12 minutes from a wreck. Wood or metal, north or south, so many choices. I smiled and sat back and waited to hear where “I would choose”. I had no doubt I would choose well.

I can’t tell you where we went, if I told I would be made to walk the plank. Or worse…. But I can tell you, as usual with this crew, the names only makes sense to a scant few people in the world and I am not one of them.

I sat geared up on the gunwale, anticipating what was to come. It has been too long, and thoughts raced through my head like a child on Christmas morning. With a Jersey Roll and a big grin on my face I splashed and I laughed. So good to be back, so good; still laughing I rolled completely around before surfacing. A quick thumb and a purge and I slipped below the surface. The water was just as I had remembered it, cool and dark with bit of green haze. I kicked for the anchor line and savored my descent, slowly floating deeper. A light particulate dotted the water and a thermocline at 30 fsw quickly cooled things down; the haze thickened and I wasn’t sure how much farther I would need to drop when the relief of wooden ribs broke into sight.

I tied in a reel and wasn’t sure what to do first. Poking a fish was high on the list and I headed for a jumble of wreckage and began to terrorize some unsuspecting sea bass and black fish. Tails and fins flying, they quickly cleared out and I moved on. Small light blue starfish dotted the sand and large empty clam shells wedged along a row of timber jutting from sea floor. A lone moon snail shell lay in the sand off to the side and I slipped it in my pocket to add to my shell bucket. As I swam my eye caught a familiar mottling in the sand and I smiled. A large dinner plate outline began to appear and I swear…. It blinked! This one was too large to pass up and I do not spear. I finned on past as if nothing were amiss and headed for the blurry outline of a dive light ahead. With a quick flick of my own light beam I caught Jacks attention and… he waved. Jeesh, with a quick flick of my hand I called him over and he followed me to where my friend was still lying hidden among the grains of sand. One quick point down was all that was necessary and I swam off to explore some more as Jack pulled him from his spear.

Sea robbins scurried hovering close to the sea floor, fins spread on each side like airplane wings, and eel pouts gingerly emerged from their holes to see who was rummaging about. They don’t like to be poked. I followed the length of the wreckage and back before heading up the line.

As I passed from cool to warm water, I slowed and took my place on the line to hang for a few minutes in the warmth before surfacing.

As we moved off, the coolers were already beginning to fill and the sea layed flatter and a feeling of calm settled in.

Our next site was a new one for me. There are so many I haven’t seen it wasn’t hard. I planned on going off in the sand and digging, but even the best laid plans can be derailed.

It took some maneuvering for the anchor to catch and as the others played the anchor along the bottom looking to snag a piece of wreck, I sat with chin on arms staring dreamily over the side. It was different here. Dark and clear, I could see the line reaching down into the water at least 30 feet and I waited to splash in.

With a knee on the side I unceremoniously slipped into the water. Okay, I made a splash… just a little one, but I love that feeling when you leave the solid footing of the boat and fall through the air those few seconds before being engulfed by the water. And the water was warm, warmer than the first site and hundreds of small jellyfish paraded past on the currents. As I hit 30fsw I anticipated the cool water but it wasn’t there. Nor at 35 or 40…. Hmmmm. At 50 feet it hit and hit hard. Not quite the ice cream headache of a winter dive but the almost 20 degree drop in temperature got my attention and I stopped for a moment to orient.

The water took on a thick hazy hue and the jellyfish had disappeared, opting for the much warmer waters above and at about 80fsw the wreck came into view, growing larger as I slowly dropped down. A wall of ribs, the sides collapsed in giving the impression of decking, a row of hidey holes lined one after the other stretching out into the sand. Sea robbins gliding along the floor, eel pout slithering betwixt the timbers and ling cod bustling between them all (they don’t like to be poked either). Small white sand dollars lay scattered and I looked for the soft brown texture of live ones, but they were not to be found. A ball of 20 or so of those light blue starfish lay in the open with two or three more on the sand surrounding them, like they were waiting their turn to jump in and join their friends. I was about to help one of the stragglers join the gang when it occurred to me I should give them their privacy and moved along. Hundreds of empty skate egg casing carpeted sections of the wreckage and the relief ranged from a few inches to 8 or 9 feet.

The small holes called out and I looked in the first seeing a scrawny set of claws. To the left was some fallen planking and I tugged at it, sure it would give; but only a small piece, softened by the water and rotted by time broke off in my hand. I moved along and up over some timbers, about to catch hold of a passing fish tail when I again saw the outline take shape in the sand below. He gave the slightest of flutters and settled back in. Just past him was the slightest of movements and I peaked over the edge. Antennae…. Big antennae, attached to claws that looked like Popeye arms, arms so big they didn’t fit in the hole. And a mound of sand in the hole next to that and in the next one.... And me with no goody bag this time down.

I collected several shells and began marking the holes to return to before going up. One hand for a lobster, one for the line…. Works for me.

I turned and signaled an approaching diver, Jim, who was there with his camera. He waved and came over and took some footage of Popeye before moving on. I then swam out about 20 yards before running into Captain Howard. What the heck…. A few shakes of my light and he looks up and…… waves. Really? What is with the waving with these guys? I make the international sign for large fish and lobster which to anyone but a diver looks like I am describing a guy playing the accordion, wearing tiny finger cymbals and King Kong is behind him, but Howard knows what I mean and quickly follows. As we approach my row of shells laid neatly out I point down at my flat little friend who has not moved. He is quickly dispatched and the wiggling antennae beyond him and meaning of the shells does not go unnoticed.

I move towards the line, my job here is done and the surface is calling. Again at 50 fsw the water warms and the jelly fish return. The water is bath warm and I could hang here forever watching the show of soft white bodies slowly undulating past but too soon it is time.

On board the coolers are full with lobster and fish, a small dead eye soaks in the mask bucket and we debate whether we can see shore from where we are or if we are just seeing other boats anchored in the distance. The good humored banter of friends on the water, the gentle rocking of the boat and the tired ache of a good day in the water…. Life is good.

Unusual OOA

There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go.  ~ Richard Bach ~

I had an interesting discussion with someone about the merits of allowing training dives to extend to thirds or just planning shorter dives with specific skills and ending the dive when they are done. My feeling was there was a lot to be learned in regards to your gas management from continuing to thirds….IF you are paying attention. An unusual situation arose I thought I would share for discussion including both an OOA and if I was paying attention.

I dive a Nomad XT and broke a bungee; I was unable to get the same length one to replace it so ended up with 2 bungees the next length longer. Unsure how much this would affect where my tanks sat I joined two other divers, Forrest and Jeff on a test run down the Waterhole Tunnel at Peacock. I sidemount 85’s and my two team mates used larger tanks, I carry them valves pointed out and regulators and gauges up.

We started off with me in the middle and it didn’t take long to realize there was an issue with the tanks hanging too low. I found myself having to either lift them in the tighter areas or push the tanks back to inflate my wing and I corrected my buoyancy much more often because I was not used to having something hang lower than my chest during a dive. This was not really an issue just a PIA and I fiddled a bit with my butt plate attachment and pulling up the tank necks as I swam looking for better trim.

We reached the breakdown at the end of the Waterhole Tunnel, an area of silt bottom with the occasional rock sticking up, and turned the dive and I don’t think we were 2 minutes on our way back when an inhale brought me no air. Now your first thought is disbelief, that you made a mistake, another inhale and you will get air. When that doesn’t happen the string of words that run through your brain would make a sailor proud and I did not let them down.

I was lucky to have not one but two different instructors during my training that focused on two things. Managing an emergency and managing gas. I of course switched to my other regulator and in trying to manage my buoyancy I realized that my inflator was not working either. I got to the side where there was more rock than silt and made sure I had my team’s attention. This is where I now realize I owe thanks to these instructors as I had already assessed all my options without looking at my tank yet. From training and using my thirds, I knew how far I could go, what fiddling could cost me in gas and how far back I could get on what was left in my remaining tank. I also knew what should be in that wayward tank and that it didn’t just sneak out while I wasn’t looking. I was paying attention and it is a little unnerving to know how tight it was going to be getting out without help.

Now steadied, I started assessing my regulator and tank when I noted my gauge hose was limp meaning one of two things. My tank was really really really empty….. or the valve had rolled off. An unusual thing to happen sidemounting so therefore not my first thought. Roll off it was and it happened once more on my way out.

In constantly adjusting my tanks and pushing them back to use my wing and drysuit inflator I had slowly rolled the valve off on my left side….. and in swimming out I managed to do it again and much more quickly. The rub of my suit against the valve as I repeatedly pushed it back.

Knowing my gas management and use, and being able to put rough estimates in my head helped quickly assess the problem and not stress too much. Knowing my team had big tanks that were still flowing was even better. Staying calm and doing all this in under a minute I am appreciative of my teachers and mentors. Just sharing an unusual type of OOA for others to file away just in case and a reminder to others in training to make sure they take advantage of all you can learn in your courses.

Life is a grindstone. But whether it grinds us down or polishes us up depends on us.  ~ Thomas L. Holdcroft ~

It was a great dive; I always enjoy the Waterhole Tunnel and Peacock System, about a 2000 foot trip into the world of wet rocks. 

 

On the Peanut Line, at the first set of double arrows on the left, sits the Waterhole Tunnel.  This passage runs parallel to the  mainline and doubles back in a meandering tunnel of silt and limestone.  The variety offered on this offshoot begins with breakdown and low bedding planes.  It moves on to the ceiling; vaulting up and white ledges of limestone jutting out into the passage forming a shelf on each side.  You pass through looking up and your light plays along the light colors of the ceiling and dark recesses below the ledge. 

 

This opens up to wider arched passge and you move along closer to the ceilingn with  the feeling of the echo of foot steps in a long library hallway.  The passage once again lowers and the floor is gray with silt, the occaisional white rock bursting through the surface challenging the dark powdery floor to swallow it up and  the tunnel ends in a break dwon pile, floor to ceiling.  If you wend your way through it you can see the light of the surface throught a jumble of rock and branches and then you turn and follow these same passages back out to the goldline and return to the cavern entrance knowing... knowing that just off of your right shoulder....beyond the wall of rock.... lies another passage, the same, but different, echoing in its own right.

Assault On Hart Springs

It's not whether you get knocked down. It's whether
you get up again.  ~Vince Lombardi~

Hart Springs lies in Bell, Florida along the Suwannee River. The park sports one of the largest spring fed swimming areas in the state and family oriented campgrounds with boardwalks, nature trails, canoeing and fishing. 



From the Hart Springs website

 

The Department of Environmental Protection states, "There are two springs in the area. The one farthest south discharges from a large circular limestone cavity extending horizontally to the south. The pool is about 5O ft in diameter and about 27 ft deep near the cavity. The spring run exits northwest, constricting to 16 ft in width and 3 ft in depth, then widens to form a swimming area, about 30 ft downstream, about 100 ft wide at the diving board on the east bank. The run again constricts to about 25 ft, and flows under a wood foot bridge. The second spring enters the main run from the right, the water discharging from a V-shaped vent. The pool is about 25 ft in diameter, and 17 ft deep. A short distance downstream from the confluence of the two runs, an inlet 25 ft wide and about 250 ft long extends to the right (northeast); a small foot bridge crosses it near its junction with the main spring run. From here the run meanders about 850 ft NW. to the Suwannee River."


After many years of being banned, diving is now allowed in the springs and I was going to give it a whirl.


We met at the steps leading down into the spring run of Little Hart. Mike Long had shown pictures of the cave at the Winter Workshop the day before and Forrest had briefed me on the flow and entrance. The spring entrance was narrow and straight down to a small opening that then turned and headed down once again. Once in the cave the tunnel would be narrow and chute like and flow would be kicking for the first 400 feet or so and then open up into rooms and passages with reasonable amounts of flow going through them.


Dumping all my air I followed on down through the winding passage to the first turn and pinned myself against the wall to keep out of the flow. Once in the cave I pulled along the walls staying high on the ceiling but after the first hundred feet I felt myself breathing hard against the current. I had blown through almost the first third of my right tank. I knew I had to slow down my breathing work smarter not harder.


I slowed my pace and my breathing and worked at making each pull count. The cave is very narrow here but not quite narrow enough for me to reach both walls and get any really good leverage. As we passed the 300 foot arrow the flow seemed to increase and the wrong tip of the head would free flow my alternate regulator and a poor handhold would pull me back.


I was losing this battle and thumbed the dive. If I pushed on to the wider tunnel I would be at or past my thirds and have to turn anyway. It disappoints me that I lost to the caves flow. The trip back I was able to orient myself and keep control. I had been warned about not letting the flow tumble me on the passage out and held my position to the surface. But I hadn’t made it all the way into the cave.


Twenty minutes of struggle and I was thwarted. I consider this a loss on my part. I knew it would be a struggle but I thought I was up to the task and using the tricks of making way in the Gallery and Lips of Ginny, I had thought would carry me through. This was not to be and my finger and arm strength failed to carry me.  My team mates struggled also but not to the point that they over breathed their regulators. Instead of being among the best on gas usage; I used double theirs. This was eye opening and has been cause for thought. I am not one to give up easily. I will be back.


Before year’s end I will return. I will approach things a bit differently.... plan my way farther into the cave. The entrance was not my nemesis but I will continue to respect it. I will do things differently when I get to the narrow tunnel with the wicked flow. I will start out making sure I concentrate equally on my breathing rate and my hand holds. It will be at my pace and may be much slower this go. I will use the walls a bit differently to pull along and get a fin hold where possible; stay on the inside of corners to avoid the worst of the flow. Maybe I will get all the way past the 400 foot marker and maybe I won’t. But I won’t give up trying. I won’t push past my safety limits but I will do better….. each time. I will get there.

A New Dive Year

Quidquid latine dictum sit, altum videtur (anything said in Latin sounds profound) ~ Anonymous

Sidemount. The never ending battle. Maybe not, but it just seems that way as I slowly find my own special configuration.

Christmas is a family time for me, but with not much family about this year I find myself drawn to the land of dark holes and endless gear. The presents distributed, last of the dishes done and Grandma’s silver packed away…. I am off.

I am slowly discovering the variety of caves that dot the northern reaches of Florida. With new bungees on my rig and the learning curve of sidemount slowly easing its erratic ups and downs into a more gently flowing line, I listen to the dive plan for Ruth Springs.

Divecon Jeff and Forrest have invited me along on their little adventure and I follow along to the dive site. If I told you where it was, I would have to kill you. Well, maybe that is not entirely true but it is someplace I haven’t been before and with my “where am I in Florida” skillz, I can’t begin to explain.

Ruth Springs has a packed sand parking lot but no other facilities to assist in diving; so you gear up from the back of your truck, walk to the edge of the parking lot and down a short aging wooden staircase and approximately another 10 feet to the spring.

Gearing up I ripped the wrist seal of my dry suit and like any good Jersey diver, I duct taped the heck out of it and made my way down to the water.

With 3 divers we spread out along the limestone edge to give room for gearing up. The basin was a bit green and reminded me of NJ and I eased on into the cave as middle diver on the team.

This cave is fairly short, low and silty; culminating in a wiggle squiggle size restriction that leads to an open sinkhole. The line is run along PVC stakes sunk into the deep silt and while visibility was not forever, it was certainly enough to see the cave. We made our way past the section of line that suddenly runs straight up for a bit before leveling off and on to the restriction just before the sinkhole before turning the dive.

One wet arm, one good dive and now one trip to see Steve Gamble’s new shop. My suit will be ready by tomorrow afternoon and Cow is on the agenda.

There exists no politician in India daring enough to attempt to explain to the masses that cows can be eaten.  ~ Indira Gandhi

It is late afternoon by the time I am back with my suit and we head for Cow Spring. Having gotten poison ivy here last time, I cheat a bit getting close to the water and we again make our way on down. I am feeling more comfortable and managing my buoyancy without the constant head banging of my early sidemount dives; I can manage the loops and my tanks sit comfortably at my sides. The new bungees may be what I was looking for. We make our way to the ski rope and although I can feel some flow it is not necessary to use the rope to pull along. The cave does not disappoint and I swivel my head to take in the clay banks and changing features.

As we approach the large bank which Michael Angelo so beautifully repaired, I look to see if it is noticeable. Not wanting to do any damage myself I keep a respectful distance and admire his handi-work. Actually, I admire the fact that I only see clay bank from my perch mid water; good job.

We make our way through and head on down to the deeper sections, but it is getting late and we turn to exit before we hit any deco. On our way out, just before the area where the ski rope begins, the gold line runs up and the ski rope runs under the limestone, I wanted to follow the ski rope as I was curious but my buddy flashed a let’s not and I joined him on the gold line and out. It is dark by the time we are packed and locking the gate behind us; and my sleeve is wet yet again. I dangle it in front of the dashboard heating vent and call it a day.

I may not be sure if monsters exist, but I’d rather live my life in doubt than be persuaded by a real experience of one. ~ Gregory Maguire, Wicked : The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West

There is a monster in Telford. Really…. it must be true, I have a bumper sticker that says so.

It is morning and the best time to dive Telford, the monster is a late riser, he likes to sleep in and the river gators do too; it is the best time to go.

Just to make things interesting we will scooter our way up the river to the spring run. Having never ridden a scooter before, I will get my first lesson here in the river and then we are off. I question the logic of someone clipping a large machine to my crotch strap and saying “try not to hit anything”. Winn Dixie puts bumpers on their shopping carts when they see me coming. He is a brave man.

How was scootering? Let us just say…. I have a need… for speed. I am saving my pennies as we speak.

As we reach the telltale white sand of the spring, we stow the scooters on a submerged limb and make the climb out of the water, across the sand and over the waterfall and into the basin. Quite a lot of work just to get eaten by a monster if you ask me.

The monster is after me already. While gearing up, one of my tanks was short filled to only 2600psi and with the strong river current as we scootered upstream, my stowed regulator free flowed from the pressure (a lesson in scootering I have now learned) and now both of my tanks are short. One more swipe at me and I am going home.

We make our way in and as we fin along I notice that there is less silt than the first time I was here back in July. More traffic has come through here and more cave is showing itself. Or maybe the monster just vacuumed cause he knew I was coming…..

We make our way past the first sink and as Forrest ties in the jump I look up past the branches and leaves to see sunlight, no monster yet…..

We make our way along gray silt floors and the walls take on different shapes and move from dark to light to dark again. We follow the line as the ceiling begins to rise above us and the walls rise up from ledges and the floor and begin to narrow forming canyons. We follow along, some places rising square to the ceiling and others slowly moving in towards each other and narrowing above me like a peaked stone roof.

Rising up in the water column I take in the majesty of the formations, my light playing off the light colored walls and following the line from the floor below me to the ceiling above. I can almost hear the light beam echo as it bounces from the walls. The wider parts are like canyons rising up around me and the narrower like primitive stone cathedrals, simple but wondrous. I imagine these areas to be long hallways leading back to…..what else? Him.

Maybe I saw the monster and maybe my gauges said no further, but it was time to turn. As I led out (with my dive buddy as monster bait behind me) I could hear him. He was laughing, no… he was giggling…. giggling ever so faintly still farther down the line. Game on, he was after me all right but I was making tracks and I don’t think he had had his coffee yet and there was that little issue of that other diver between us.

I see the gold line end and the reel line lead to the cavern. I know that once again I got lucky. The monster didn’t get me, but he is in there….. Really.

Having lived to tell the tale and two wet arms this time, we head to Madison Blue to find yet another monster. We plan to dive the Godzilla Circuit with Sludge. Considering his new hat and hair, that according to another diver makes him look like a big chia pet, I am not sure which is scarier.

Contrary to popular belief, "Damn It" is not God's last name. (Construction wall, Philadelphia, 1969)

The stairs down to the platform are getting steeper. More sand has worn away and the stairs get taller as you climb up and down shuttling gear. On the platform most of the benches are gone and the short run left are quite rickety; the water level has dropped and the cavern has a fuzzy murky look to it that slowly clears as you move farther into the cave.

We tie into the first jump and begin our trek. I enjoy this swim and the cave changes from room to room. Godzilla is still there although I am not sure safe and sound is a good description. He is tied to the line where it dangles high above the floor and he looks a bit nervous to me.

We come about and meet the gold line once more and head back. I am signaled for a gas check and while I have plenty of gas left I feel water everywhere in my suit and am chilling fast. My diving is done and Dr. Gamble needs to take a closer look at this suit. Apparently seals are not its only malady.

As I climb the stairs the water in my boots is filled above my ankles, causing my chubby little legs to look chubbier and the weather wearied stairs with their rises and troughs to be formidable as climb back up.

We empty my suit out….. Twice…. and I am cold and wet and really need a cup of coffee….. I need coffee…. And I want it now…..

It matters not whether you win or lose; what matters is whether I win or lose.  ~ Darrin Weinberg~

I have no doubts that I will be occupied at the Ginny Springs Social even though I won’t be diving. There are so many faces to put names and forum monikers to. The food was plentiful and the grill master quite good at his job. Burgers and hot dogs, salads, chips and chili and soup….. to top it off, a cake and coconut crème pie……

Dive shops and businesses and the training organizations were most generous with door prizes. Books, DVD’s, clothing and dive gear were handed out to lucky winners.

As evening approached, the entire party was moved over to a pavilion near the Ballroom. The food flows once more and more prizes are dispersed. My luck so far this week has consisted of not quite being eaten by the Telford monster and so far becoming the proud owner of brandy new wrist and neck seals on a still leaky suit. As the last of the prizes are awarded I stand in the back talking with a friend and as they are about to pull the final and grand prize he wishes me luck and hopes I win.

No one is more surprised than I that, thanks to Cave Country Dive Shop, I am now also the proud owner of a new CO monitor. A piece of equipment that was high on my list. Thank you.

A grand bonfire is lit and everyone gathers round. Talking and watching the fire, as well as Russell’s new hair, we wait for the midnight hour to approach. As the minutes tick down people slowly make way to put on their gear and walk towards the stairs. I am hesitant as the evening is cool and the inside of my suit still wet but this is why I am here. My first Galaxy Dive. My indoctrination into the Chemical Light Society.

I swim down to the mouth of the cavern. I haven’t been here since my cavern course which seems so very long ago. I only have one tank and feel a bit light but kick down to the entrance and make my way in. I lay on the rocks just inside the entrance and take in all that is around me. Divers encircle the entire room, waiting patiently for New Year to arrive and there is an eerie glow lighting the room from a single plastic bag.

As the New Year arrived the bag opened and the contents of a gross of blue glow sticks caught in the current of the caverns water. First forming a wall of blue glow swirling through the room, slowly it stretched and separated into ribbons of light that flowed and broke apart once more. This time breaking into bubbles. Hundreds of bubbles which then broke into smaller bubbles that filled the room and washed over everyone there as they followed the currents to the mouth of the cavern.

I lay very still at my perch and watched the show before me and marveled at the glow of light filling the room and the rush of bubbles coming towards me. What an amazing sight and wondrous way to usher in the New Year. I emerged from the water to a new year. New hopes and dreams. New chances and changes. It certainly see

There's Gold In Orange Grove

I would rather lose a good earring than be caught without make-up. ~ Lana Turner

There… I did it. I went sidemount. I can’t imagine you didn’t see this coming.

I got the Nomad XT and it is very pretty. Coordinates well with my dry suit. And we all know you have to be coordinated to dive.

First, I purchased plates and webbing and several dive friends sent emails, pictures and videos on how to build my own rig. After viewing them all and remembering the adventures in grommeting of my last dry suit, I sent the plates off to a friend who needed a travel rig and went on to test dive the Armadillo, Nomad and Hollis rig.

After speaking with Nick Hollis, I really thought that was going to be the one for me. As it turned out, the webbing hit me just outside my shoulder and even with the chest strap, I could not pull the webbing in enough to allow me to reach my arms across my body. The Armadillo again felt awkward being stiff and still a bit wide for me and the wing had a really high profile when inflated.

I settled on the Nomad XT with several alterations. It sat just slightly narrower across my shoulders and with the alterations; it removed the crunch of gear my chest was prone to push up around my face. I also felt it carried some extra adjustment points in spots I needed them. The sizing is odd. The wing is the same size throughout and the different sizes come in the length of the webbing and where they are adjusted. The wing pulls in at the shoulder webbing and there is a bungee adjustment across the back on the inside of the wing.

First, I switched the inflator and dump valves. I know this is controversial with tight passage; but it took some bulk from my shoulders and moved it to my hips and that was important. I replaced the chest strap with cord and ran it under my dry suit chest valve. I then pulled my inflator up from the bottom and attached it to the cord. This put my dry suit and wing inflators both in the same spot center of my chest and made them available to both hands without any stretching. It also moved the point where the webbing is pulled in slightly lower and gave me more shoulder movement.

Now there is just the pull dump on my left shoulder, my two gauges coming up from under each arm and my regulators vying for space at my chest and shoulders.

I left one backup light on the right side lower D ring and butt mounted my light. My second backup light, arrows and cookies are in my dry suit left pocket. This takes the bulk of gear from around my face and neck and distributes it about my body in places I can easily reach. The twist switch on the canister of my light is a pain as i must use one hand to hold the canister and one to twist the switch, but luckily the cord has always been long for me and just extends enough for me to use mounted this way. Weight pockets at the back of my shoulders trimmed me out. They may be replaced with hard weights up front but that is to be decided still, but I am thinking …. not.

Two days of adjusting and readjusting gear, and it turns out, I still need two more days. Can’t find quite the right bungee to pull over my tank valves. I need just the right one, too stretchy and it is so short I can’t reach it. Too thick and it is so hard to pull I don’t have the finger strength to pull it around the valves. My beloved Jet fins are also being relegated to the backmount pile, they are just too heavy for this set up. I found the DiveRite fins to be a bit long for me and will be trying the SlipStreams next.

For my first dive we tried Orange Grove. With the low water levels being experienced there, it was difficult to find a good platform to learn to gear up from. The thick coating of duckweed just served to annoy and in the water the tanks pulled so far forward the gauges were leaning against my mask lens. Not good.

We moved from there to Cow Springs. Let’s just say…. There is poison ivy there. Trust me, I know.

Second dive and a change in bungees and the gauges were just at the back of my armpits and I hugged the valves with my arms and rode atop them as I adjusted and readjusted the air in my wing. This forced the valves down and my trim to be slightly out of whack.

Dive three the bungees were shortened and this moved the tanks back just a tad and the gauges were too far under my arm to read. Spent the dive yanking on them to pull them out to read. I will change to ¼ inch shock cord and pull the valves just a tad forward and should be set.

A few trial runs of valve drills and air shares and some practice changing depths and things were starting to feel right. A few grossly misjudged attempts at tight swim throughs drove home the fact that I am now flat and wide, and no longer cube shaped (just as high as wide). I am getting the hang of the sideways twist now.

Well….. if you are going to put all this to the test, might as well test it out right. A trip to Lower Orange Grove was in order.

Lower Orange Grove is a short cave, but encompasses all the trials you could ask for. Located in the cavern below Orange Grove at about 80 feet, the entrance immediately heads down to the gold line. First is some breakdown and then a narrow twisting corkscrew tunnel heading steeply down which then turns into a low wide tunnel at about 130 feet that slowly slopes down to the caves deepest point of about 170 feet. Past the beginning sandy bottom of the cavern and breakdown of the entrance, the cave floor and walls are coated in a thick layer of fine gray-brown silt, just waiting to let you know how good your positioning is and how careful your technique.

Maybe not so daunting on a regular day, but a pretty good test of a brand new dive technique.

With a three-man team, we descended. The plan was, using 25%, to go to 150 feet, swim around and turn. Minimum amount of deco and maximum amount of twisting, turning, silt and hovering, plus carrying and dropping a stage.

I am happy to announce that all was well.

Unfortunately, upon reaching the steps at the end of the dive, as I clipped my stage bottle to the rope, I caught my gold hoop earring and it now rests somewhere on the bottom ‘neath a blanket of emerald green duckweed.

I was informed by one of the locals, had it been brass and not gold, a group of his Jersey wreck diver friends would already have it salvaged, polished and sitting on the mantle. I just laughed….I know a real Jersey wreck diver would go for the gold too. So when one of you guys find it…. I WANT IT BACK!!!

The Roller Coaster

I loved the Little Lulu stories, where she would fantasize that her bedroom rug would turn into a pool of water, and she could dive down into the center of the world.

 ~ Lynn Johnson ~

One last dive and I am on the road. My car looks like a dive shop exploded in it and the non-ending wetness is beginning to take on a life of its own. I guess it is time and I am ready.

One last dive at Ginnie Springs and I will head back. Jack has offered to join me once more and I appreciate his patience and his advice. I will end the trip as I started it with a left post leak. This time it is caught before I get in the water and a new O ring puts things right again.

Our plan is to swim the main line to the Roller Coaster Tunnel and jump off there and travel up to the jump back to the main line. I have not been in this section of the cave yet and look forward to it.

Coming through the eye, I once more have spots of my line catching my tank. My practice was sans O2 bottle and I will need to change that. We make our way up to the ceiling in the Gallery and pass over the Catacombs and through the Lips. Past the Bone Room Jump and the Hill 400 and on by the Mud Tunnels.

The cave is slowly getting blacker, the farther back I go. I try to imagine it as it was before, layer after layer of black on black, limestone covered in the dark rich color of goethite and holes worn through from the waters flow making patterns that would play in the light. How quickly that all changed and how amazing the difference below the river from that that above it.

At the Roller Coaster I make the jump and lead into a tunnel that earns its name with the rolling floor and changing scenery. There is so much to see as I look about. I will need to come again to take it all in.

Jack did a tremendous job of describing the changes that would occur in the tunnel and how to recognize each jump and landmark. Progressive penetration, a wreck diving term we happened to discuss at dinner the night before is just as useful here in the caves. Each dive now I am making my way a little farther back, and each dive I am familiarizing myself with the cave more and more. Dump air here, stay high and left, right up ahead, go heavy, start tapping in, fins up, right to the Bone Room, left to the Hill 400, tall and narrow, low and wide and so it goes. On and on, to places I have not been and sights I have not seen.

Back out to the sandy floor with the lone rock center stage; there is some deco to be done and we spend the time rewinding my reel. Up to the river floor and the darting fish and the clear blue water.

A little bit gets added each time I come. People, places, experiences. Little Lulu was right. There are places where the river bottom opens up and you can dive down into the center of the world, a world filled with water and amazing sights to behold. Things to learn and stories to be told.

Where Is The Gold Line?

What is the difference between exploring and being lost? ~ Dan Eldon

Today we are at Peacock Springs, now known as Wes Skiles Peacock Springs Park. Jack Leeth has joined us and we plan on diving both Orange Grove and Peacock One before heading back for wings and beer. Not a bad dive plan at all.

I am trying to warm up to my new dry suit, but it is a struggle. I have not been dry in it yet and I am disappointed. I am also taking a new pair of fins on their maiden voyage and have high hopes.

Orange Grove has two of my most beloved things. Steps, not one, but two sets of them, and duckweed. There are no ducks, but there is more than enough duckweed. To the left of the steps is the cave entrance, with fallen trees, branches and rocks forming three holes; it sits about 50 feet below the duckweed canopy and at the top of the cavern, which extends down to about 100 feet. While I have been in Orange Grove before, it is not enough to recall the cave and upon being lucky enough to lead in once again, I get lost. Totally missed the monument; swam right past it in the passage to the right. Turning back I get a second chance at it and this time I bring us to gold line.

This cave does not have the cavernous feeling of the Devil System with high ceilings and wide berths. There is no flow to push us and the floor is quite silty; fossils dot the walls and rock out croppings. The tunnels move up and down, changing size and shape and I run my light along the walls and into the narrow edges of the cave, taking in the sights as we move along towards Challenge Sink.

My suit is leaking and I can’t decide whether the new fins are too long or too light. I feel as if they touch everything and stop often to realign myself and the fins. At dives end I have coating of duckweed over me and my gear, an inch of water in my boots and a lone patch just a few inches round that is not wet on my underoos. There is no justice.

After lunch at the Luraville Country Store (no slaw dog this time) we head back for a turn in Peacock One. Several groups are at various stages of entering the water and I make a huge mistake by sitting on the steps. I am using a set of rented double 85’s while my shorter 100’s are being rebuilt, and when I put on my fins and lean forward…. Nothing happens. The tanks are only slightly taller but just enough that I can’t lift them up from the steps while sitting as I can my 100's and I now have to shimmy down the last few steps before plummeting into the water, all to the amusement and good natured ribbing of the group before us.

As Barbara giant strides off the steps, I announce to the amused divers in the water, “go ahead, have your fun, take pictures of me struggling, and if you want to post them online, I am not embarrassed to tell you… My name is Barbara Dwyer.”  I know.... I'm bad, can't help it.

I have developed a fondness for Peacock One. The lack of flow makes the dive hard work, but the cave is growing on me. Biologists classify cave-life into three categories: troglobites (cave life), troglophiles (cave lovers), and trogloxenes (cave visitors that must return to the surface to breed or feed. They include salamanders, minnows, sunfish, and cave divers.)

Troglobites, in the form of white crayfish, rain down from the ceiling here, giving me an opportunity to poke if I am quick enough and catfish show up nestled among the different rocks at times you least expect them.

Taking the tunnel to the left, we are heading for the Waterhole jump. The gold line begins just inside the entrance but Grim Reaper sign lies about 100 feet inside. From there the Breakdown Room is just ahead beginning as a small slit in a ledge about half way up the wall and turning into a treasure hunt of fossils embedded in the walls and floor that  stretches the entire length of the room. Shells and sand dollars form a bread crumb trail to the next tunnel.

At the Waterhole jump, I again tie in and we begin down the passage as it changes shape and size. Our turn is before the end of the passage, dictated by time, as the park is closing and we must be out of the water. We pass through a short silt out on the way back and the experience reminds me of why we train for caves; in the failing visibility, I automatically move closer to the line and keep on moving toward the entrance and daylight.

We are the last group out of the water and as we make our way along the boardwalk and to our cars, I ponder where I can get me one of those there dive Sherpas, Cause one surely would be handy about now.

Making Progress

They say that nobody is perfect. Then they tell you practice makes perfect. I wish they'd make up their minds. ~Wilt Chamberlain

I am again meeting Jim Wyatt at Ginnie and hope to actually get a dive in this time. I will be diving wet as my dive yesterday resulted in 2 inches of water in my new dry suit. I just can’t win.

We gear up and move on down the steps into the water. Blue gills are abundant in the spring run and a lone turtle swims near the far steps, the water is clear and patches of blue in a plethora of shades dot the spring run as we set ourselves for the dive.

The dive plan is once again to enter the eye and jump off at the Hill 400; popular little plan apparently. This time I am running the reel and as Murphy loves his time with me, there is already a line going in taking the best points and course on the way in.

I find a small spot, smooth with wear and make several attempts to tie on before being rewarded with a good hold. My secondary is again slipping and sliding and as I move on it slides off once more. So frustrating. I try to make my way down not crossing or hindering the line already there but with my tanks above me and my O2 bottle below I am constantly catching on the rocks as I move slowly downward. Battling to squeeze my tanks and my butt through the narrowing rock spaces, the flow steadily does its best to push me back out. I struggle to find holds for the line and keep moving forward while and the line lets loose from several moorings and is caught in the waters flow and wraps itself around the regulator and gauge on my bottle. As I pull the line free, I loosen the gauge and regulator from their respective spots and this loosening seems to invite more line to tangle itself around. By the time I reach the Reaper sign I need to check my air, the idea that I may have hit thirds in my struggles does not seem so farfetched to me.

We head up and into the flow making our way back in the cave. I am doing better, this trip; I have only a small knick in my thumb from pulling on the limestone rock instead of the multi-finger carnage of previous trips, and I again glide on through the Lips, no longer my nemesis.

I tie in the jump at the Hill 400 and we make our way back once more marveling at the changing cave before us. With no training to distract me, I can take in the subtle changes of the cave and peek in places I previously passed up while locked in concentration.

We return along the same route we followed in and I begin to recognize the landscape and anticipate the twists and turns to come; the mental map of the gold line slowly taking hold in my mind. This is what I had been missing, the familiarity and mental image of the common parts of the cave that give perspective to where you are and where you are going. For all my frustration, there has been progress.

I pick up my bottle and reel at the sign and slowly start to wind my way out.

Once back on land, Jim packs up to leave and my phone has a message that Barbara isn’t feeling well. We will cancel our dive and meet for dinner. I feel badly for her but will use the free time to master my floating line, just laying line in and reeling it back out a few times before getting fills and readying for dives in the morning.

My last text to Jim….. “Where are you when I am laying line a girl can be proud of?”

There is progress to be made and I am making it.