When I do good I feel good. When I don't do good I don't feel good. ~ Abraham Lincoln
It is New Years Day, a new year, new experiences, new adventures. One down....364 more to go.
I have doubles now. Not one set...but two. Woo Hoo! I am going to see all the sights everyone writes about. The Norness, the Empress of Ireland, the S-5, the Texas Towers. All I have to do is learn to use them. Hmmmmm.
After a hydro, viz and O2 cleaning, 2 sets of regulators, an interesting old school Dive Rite doubles wing, and the STRONG recommendation that I not paint them like I did my pony (that could be a whole nother report), I am ready to begin.
A group dive at L Street in Belmar for New Years Day seemed the perfect time to take them for a test spin. I loaded the dive mobile with everything I thought I might need and some redundant redundancy besides. It looked like I was making a pilgrimage to the Doria not a dive in the back bay, but I was prepared.
Arriving at the beach fashionably late, I prepared to ask questions of the more experienced doubles divers as to what to do next. It was a group effort with much discussion and debate as to the best approach to my first time out. Mark was gracious enough to assemble most of the gear with explanations as to the hows and whys.
As we suited up, the weather was changing to overcast skies and the wind had picked up bringing with it a bit of a chill. But the water was crystal clear and a bit of excitement was in the air. We geared up on the beach side wall and it seemed like I added much more than an extra tank to the mix as I clipped off my gear. Around my neck I wrapped my regulator on a hose so long I could share air through a restriction with a giraffe.
We walked down to the water and waded on in and we were off. I pulled on my fins and did a weight check. And.........nothing happened. I bobbed unceremoniously on the surface like a large neoprene duck. Bob suggested I lift my feet. Wise guy. I was in over my head. He clipped off 2 lbs to me and I tried again. Lets just say he clipped off 2 more lbs and then Mark dropped 3 lbs in my pocket. I was able to kick myself to the bottom and so we continued on out to the docks.
I was not the only one struggling as we unfortunately lost two divers to suit leakage before we headed on down. On my way down, I noted the 5-10 foot visibility which we don’t often get in this area and then arrived at the bottom in a cloud of silt, immediately bringing the viz to Zero.
I had been warned of the inevitable face plant issues and struggled to stay horizontal. My head was being pushed down and my feet were trying desperately to make a break for daylight. I struggled to keep from upending and single handedly depleted the water clarity for 3 nautical miles all around. Trying to maintain some semblance of trim by using breath holds I followed after Mark occasionally hitting patches of clarity which I immediately rectified by loosing trim and banging along the bottom. I still felt light, or maybe it was just the fear of being light, but hard as I tried I lost my way and started floating on up. Mark dropped another 3 lbs in my pocket, no easy feat at this point and we went down again.
Trying to keep the illusion of trim and searching desperately for that sweet spot in buoyancy, while trying to keep my dive buddy in sight, all the while enveloped in a never ending cloud of silt, I continued on. My waist strap was too loose and the tanks shifted slightly from side to side and I bounced off the bottom trying to recenter them on my back. The 7 foot anaconda I was using for a primary hose was having its way with me and I found myself pulling it from side to side like reins in order to turn my head. I was so fearful of being light I hated to pump any air in my wing and dreaded adding any to my suit for warmth. And my left fin must be larger than my right as I kept drifting to the right and Mark kept pushing me back on track. I was quickly becoming frustrated.
I seriously considered selling these tanks at the flea market next month and taking up bowling. My back ached from arching it to keep from burying my head up to my shoulders in the silt and I was getting cold from not adding any air to my suit. I almost gave it up right then and there. I took a deep breath and gave it one last try.
Then....all of a sudden the water would clear and for a few brief moments I could see the last of the sea urchins holding onto the scattered pieces of timber and occasional cinder block. The smallest of crabs were still scurrying about as if they had last minute shopping to do. These were Jersey crabs. You can tell by their attitude. As I bounced off of them they waived their little claws threatening me should I try that again. And at one point Mark tried to guide my hand to a small flounder I didnt see buried in the sand and asking to be poked. He took off just as my fingertips brushed him.
We headed on in after 28 minutes that seemed like a lifetime, they had to seem longer to Mark. I cant thank him enough for his patience although I can do without his new nickname thanks to all the silt I kicked up....Pigpen.
We broke down our gear and I even got my tanks in the truck by myself...it wasn’t pretty, but it was all on my own.
We headed out to Pete and Eldas for a hard earned dinner and beer. I am going to try again......I’ll get it....I hope.