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.

Diving With Jim Fishback

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. ~ Joseph Campbell


It has been a while since I posted, not since I dove, just since I posted.  A good trip was in order.  I think I accomplished that..... I think.....

It was a Monday in May and I was driving leisurely up Rt 19 and heading for the land of caves and wet rocks. I was meeting Barbara Dwyer from California, but she was not to arrive until late, and so with errands to run I made the rounds dropping off comp. magazines at Cave East and Amigos and stopping at Ginnie Springs with seconds to spare and renewing my yearly pass.

I checked in at the High Springs Country Inn, dropped my bags and headed across the street to what is currently called the High Springs Diner, but will forever be known as “Floyds”.

Morning arrived with sunshine and a promise of things to come. I was meeting Jim Wyatt at Ginnie for an early dive while jet lagged Barb slept in. Jim was getting in some practice and tweaking time on his new rebreather and we caught up on things as we geared up. We dropped down into the clear water at the bottom of the stairs and as I clipped on my O2 bottle I could hear the distinct sound of bubbles. Not happy champagne bubbles or the excited warbling of the lil fishies….. but a rush of bubbles….. dive stopping, equipment failing, trip ruining bubbles. My left post was making Lawrence Welk proud and Jim, try as he might, could not get it to stop. He continued on solo as I made my way up the stairs.

Since Jim could not get any results with all his attempts at the regulators, I decided to try switching tanks. Marching back down to the water, I swam, fluttered and twisted with no sign of my previous bubbles. Satisfied, I sat on the stairs, hanging lazily from my tanks by my harness and passed the time talking shop with groups of divers as they came and went. Before I knew it Jim was back and wondering if I had moved yet.

For the afternoon dive we were meeting up with Jim Fishback, who I understand may have been around longer than even Forrest Wilson; and that’s a long time. He gave us some history and a few stories of the first dives At Ginnie as we geared up. Talk of running wreck reels through the woods in order to find their cars and how each passage opened up when they thought they were at the end.

We head for the eye, making our way over the lip of rock and on down to the sandy bottom. Here, a lone rock sits in the center of the sand and a tree trunk worn smooth by the waters flow marks the entrance to the cave. We wind our way through the zigzag tunnel over boulders and past gravel piles of limestone with three beams of light slowly scanning the darkness and guiding us along.

The Grim Reaper still stands sentry at the start of the gold line and we clip off our tanks and hit our inflators to get up to the ceiling and out of the worst of the flow. The Gallery Tunnel is massive and the ceiling rises and arches like a huge stone cathedral. Jim had explained when Ginnie was first discovered, the entire cave was covered in black with goethite (a reddish-brown to black iron oxide deposit). Through years of diver use and exhaust bubbles from their breathing, the Geothite has been dislodged and washed from the cave; the cave is now almost entirely white. As I make my way back I am more observant of where the black patches lie and his story.

As we pull our way along, I am also apprehensive. My last trip here, the Lips had its way with me; flying me like a flag in the current and keeping my next hand hold secreted from me in a vicious game of hide and seek. The more frustrated I became, the worse the short trip through this short passage became.

The Lips is a wide low opening in the limestone wall about mid-cave height approximately 200 feet into the cave. I release my air and drop heavy onto the smooth limestone shelf and feel the force of the spring’s current as I reach out and…… find a small hand hold to pull myself along. And then another and then just the smallest of bumps but I am almost there and with one last push I am through and preparing for the keyhole, a restriction shaped long and narrow….. like a keyhole. From here we turn at the park bench and through the cornflakes where I am sure to look off to the side where the last of the fragile cornflakes still lie, just as Jim described.

Our jump is at the Hill 400 and we meander along the line and I notice there is more black to the walls here. The limestone is still smoothed from the waters flow and dotted with holes and finger-like out croppings; but I can see more dark patches and long swaths of black appear as we make our way back.

My time has come and I signal my turn time and we slowly make our way back out. With the flow at our backs we move more easily returning around the bench and up through the keyhole and can feel the suction of the lips as we approach and the flow increases with the narrowing of the tunnel.

We make our way out and back to the sand where the light filters through the river water above and tubers frolic one last time before day’s end.

From here we will pack up and go to dinner and Jim will tell us stories, amazing stories, funny stories, stories that come from a lifetime of diving before roads and tank benches ever reached these Florida caves. I hope he tells me more and that he writes them down to be shared. I loved hearing them and would love to hear more.