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.

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.

 

Peacock with TMet

You have brains in yer heads, and feet in yer shoes.

You can steer yerself in any direction you choose.

Yer on yer own, and you know what you know.

You are the one who'll decide where to go"

~Dr. Seusss

It was dark out when I got up….. no fair! What is this all about……. Caves don’t have tides….. no assigned time slots….. it is the advantage to looking at wet rocks……. Where is my advantage? Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..

TMet is a slave driver….cracking the whip…… up before dawn …. Pack into the car….He didn’t even bring donuts!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………..

Enough of the whining……I smuggled a cup of coffee into the truck, along with my dog and my dive gear and we were off. We didn’t stop for gas, or a potty break, or donuts……. Sorry, back to the dive story.

We arrived at the Dive Outpost late-morning and unpacked the car…….no we weren’t staying…. We just put the tanks on the bottom, in the future we will reconsider this strategy….. anyway, it was quiet and while Ron put a cave fill in some and “topped off” the rest we stretched our legs and looked about. Grabbing a few supplies and hoses, and a Twix bar…..they had no donuts….. I know I know…. focus……. We collected what we need and packed back into the car.

Hobie found a soft piece of floor and opted to stay, knowing full well that anyone who entered the shop would fall for his sad eyes routine and give him a pet and a milkbone…… he is a fan of cave country.

We pulled into the park and headed for Peacock. There is a new trail running through the park and I told Terry about it as we drove. This project has been a few years in the making and is entirely designed, built and paid for by cave divers. We have been told it is one of the best in any of the States many parks and divers should take pride in this. Anyone who dives the springs and parks in north Florida should take a few moments and join and support the North Florida Springs Alliance. http://northfloridaspringsalliance.org/ This organization is a wonderful ambassador for the diving community providing things like this interpretive trail, promoting conservation of the springs and working to open more areas to divers. The trail is 1.05 mile long, beginning at the Peacock steps and ending there as well. It follows the same route as the caves below the ground with over a half dozen stations describing the caves below and trail above. These are located at places like the Breakdown Room, Crypt, Peanut Restriction and Olsen Sink. Olsen will also have a scenic overlook built there so you can walk out over the top of the sink and get a good look down into it. (no throwing rocks at the divers below…. They told me that….I don’t know why… really…) A few weeks ago I met some other divers here and we spent a few days clearing the trails, putting benches in along the trail and setting the signs in at each stop…they weighed in at over 250 lbs each, Tim the Toolman would be proud.

The park ranger remembered me, he introduced me to another ranger as the one who got their 4 wheel drive golf cart stuck between 2 trees, a story for another day…..

If you are in the area, be sure to take a few minutes to walk this trail and enjoy it.

Terry and I geared up and other divers made their way out of the water or into the park. Even on a Monday there is a steady stream of divers here enjoying the caves.

I am still working out the kinks on my new dry suit. Cannot say I am a fan yet, but I am working on it…. There is less water in this one than my last one, so that is a good thing.


Terry is practicing and getting ready to further his training. He is making his way to full cave and doing just fine. I think I have to keep a close eye on my double 85’s from here on in though, as he is a fan of them.

There were a few equipment glitches and after ironing them out we were on our way.

The walkway out to the Peacock steps is only a short distance in flipflops but extends, meanders and snakes its way along when you are carrying a100 lbs or so of dive gear. Like the march to Bataan we made our way to the water. I sat on the steps, pulled on my fins and plummeted face first into the water. It is an art and I am the master of it.

A quick bubble check and we are on our way. I have my new reel and I am about to give it a workout. There are 2 other teams already in the system and it takes several tries to find a good spot to tie in around them, they took all the good rocks!

Securely tied to the cavern entrance we make our way inside. Our first dive will be the right side and out to Pothole Sink.

A short distance into the cavern is an oval opening in the rock wall. As you slide into this opening you drop almost straight down 65 feet making your way to the floor and the beginning of the cave. I tie into the gold line and we make our way forward. I am struggling in my drysuit with about 3 feet more zipper than there is real estate across the front of me and am working on how to move the air about my suit though this excess as I adjust my buoyancy during the dive. My struggle seems to be in the beginning of the dive. Going from the surface to the cavern and getting rid of the bulk of air. I don’t believe I had any problems in the cave and Terry did not point out any bouncing about so I am good so far, although I do need to put a bit more air in the suit next dive.

Terry is moving about brilliantly, getting to enjoy the cave as a tourist and not a student.

Large rocks give way to lower passages with silty floors. The beams of our lights illuminate arched grotto like alcoves along the cave walls and the white of the walls contrast sharply with the dark floors and sand. The arches increase in size as we move along extending across the cave and providing openings large enough to swim through and explore. The cave begins to widen and several pure white crayfish scurry along the floors. These are troglobites. They live only in the pure dark of the caves and so have no eyes as there is no need to see and no color as they need not hide from an enemy nor attract a mate. They are especially fun when they float down from the ceiling and you catch them in your light like it’s raining creepy crawlers.

At Pothole Sink the dome of the cave opens up and rises over 50 feet into the air and as you look up you see a hazy patch of blue where the sunshine from the surface filters down into the water stretching its rays far as it can reach into the black of the cave. There is a T tied into the line pointing the way to the surface with a note stating “Emergency Exit Only” and halfway up the wall a small ledge. The cave narrows after this and the Nicholson Tunnel lies beyond.

We turn head on back seeing Mother Nature’s architecture from a whole new angle. Some of the dark grotto like indentures light up as small passageways with at least one tying into the left side of the system. There is no flow and the quiet and the dark lets your thoughts concentrate and wonder at what you are seeing. I pick up my reel and begin to crank in the excess as we slowly rise up the wall and towards the surface. The line tangles round the spool, but this is a wreck reel and I have used it before, I know it will keep going. It continues to tangle but still turn and as I reach my tie in I have a mess round the reel but no unspooled line. Yep, this will be my primary from now on.

At the surface I clip off my tangled reel to a stage clip at the steps and we float about resting and planning the second half of this dive. The left side and the Breakdown Room.

We sink back below the surface and I tie around another team’s line and we make our way back into the cavern. I tie into the gold line and we make our way to the start of the tunnel and the grim reaper sign proclaiming “there is nothing in this cave worth dying for”. This is true. When your light is out and there is no sound, and a dark so black that not a hint of the outside world pierces it. You need to touch your eyelids to see if they are open or closed but you cannot for there is a mask in the way and help or harm could be but an arms length away and you cannot see it…. You want to know what to do and how to do it.

I think of this each time I pass one of these signs and go over in my mind what I need to do. Then the cave is there and I swim on. Past rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes as you slowly go deeper and then there above is again a small slit, ledge like, and as you approach it you see it extends to the left in a low narrow like passage. Through the Chute and into the Breakdown Room we go.

As we pass along the rock encased tube of a tunnel you can see it is not just wet rocks. There are fossils, some lying on the bed of rocks, small perfect scallop shells permanently embalmed in stone and bits and pieces sticking up from the rock floor. You can scoot along through here pulling on the occasion and riding it like something at Disney or you can march on through eyes forward, finning perfectly not touching floor nor ceiling and making your way along looking for the end and anticipating the rooms farther back, or you can meander like a drunk down a hallway with no straight line and check along the floors and walls for the fossils. Little treasures, time capsules of a time gone by and long past. The sea was here, starfish and sand dollars dotted this floor. Maybe great sharks swam this same passage, maybe it was not always a cave. So many maybes, so much wonder.

This gives way to larger and larger spaces and once again boulders of rock line the floor and as we turn to make our way back I listen…. Can I hear footsteps…. Are there people walking, children running just above our heads? The silence is deafening. But they are up there, in some spots not more than 20 feet above…. There are squirrels scurrying and snakes slithering and maybe even people following the trail…. And reading those signs…. Planted 30 inches deep…. I know cause my arm is 29 inches and if I couldn’t touch the bottom of the hole than it was 30 inches and deep enough.

Ahhh, the surface. We are on our way.

Terry is in the lead now. Beams of light bouncing off white rock in every direction as we take one last look. Silvery pools pock the ceiling. They are pockets of trapped air waiting their turn to make their way slowly up to the surface through the porous limestone rock. And if you drag your finger through them they shimmer and tiny bubbles appear. Almost as good as poking fish…. Almost.

I pick up my reel and crank my way to the light, the haze of blue green marking the entrance to the cavern and the exit to the surface and home. I am a poker….. I hang for a few moments before surfacing and there are a few fish I now know…. On an intimate basis….. they will learn.

We stop to pay our bill and pick up the dog…. Another Twix….. STILL no donuts…. And we are on our way home…. A long day…. But sweet dives….

The Blackthorn

I shall go the way of the open sea, to the lands I knew before you came, and the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me the memory of your name.

~Adela Florence Nicolson ~

The 180 foot U.S. Coast Guard cutter Blackthorn, was built at Marine Iron & Shipbuilding Corp., Duluth, Minnesota, on May 21, 1943, launched in July of 1943, and commissioned in March of 1944. She served in the great lakes doing rescue, salvage and breaking ice, off the coast of California and finally at ports along the Gulf of Mexico. She had just been refitted in Tampa and was heading to Galveston, Texas on January 28, 1980 when she collided with the 605 foot freighter S.S. Capricorn just outside the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. The blending of lights from vessels, land and the bridge, inexperienced crew, lack of proper response, wrong side of the channel …… it doesn’t matter what the reason was, that doesn’t change the fact that 23 of the crew of 50 on the Blackthorn were lost that night in 40 foot of water due to an unbelievable chain of events. Such was the impact of this tragic loss that it prompted changes in the Coast Guard including special schooling of officers who would command ships and raised standards for emergency training and equipment. It also fore fronted the improvement of navigational aids in the shipping channel and systematic of tracking vessels in Tampa Bay.

The collision alone did not spell disaster for the Blackthorn, but one of the anchors of the Capricorn pierced their hull, at the crews showers, and dragged the coast Guard cutter along with the huge freighter until the Blackthorn pulled up aside the Capricorn causing slack in the anchor chain which folded under the cutter. Seconds later, when the chain went taunt again, like pulling the string on a top, it rolled the Blackthorn and she sunk in less than 3 minutes trapping 23 crew members inside.

In 2000, Seaman William Flores, was posthumously awarded the Coast Guard Medal for heroism. He had opened the life jacket locker as the Blackthorn capsized, and secured it open with his belt making sure that his shipmates were able to get to the life jackets as the vessel sank. His quick thinking and ingenuity and the time he took on a sinking vessel to complete this selfless act helped save many of the 27 survivors.

The ship was raised but so damaged that it was scuttled on January 28, 1980 just 300 feet from the Sheridan on Pinellas Reef #2. Today, the site remains a memorial to those Coasties who perished that night and a coast Guard flag “flies” at the wreckage and a yearly memorial service still takes place.

Topside, Dave is having computer troubles and opts to join another group for this dive. Mr. Bravo and I ready to dive and with a grace few others will ever know, I launch myself, like a big ole cannonball into the warm green swells.

We drift down onto the broken portions of the Blackthorn and begin our dive. She sits broken and turtled on the sea floor, covered in life from the sea bottom. There are not as many moon jellies here but swarms of bait fish still dart about and the ever watchful barracuda eye us like rent-a-cops at the mall.

A portion of the hull has given way and you can slide in and hover with the cool kids as they eye you with distrust. If you ask me, I think they hang in here and have a little toke outside of the prying eyes of ‘cuda gendarmes. That’s what I think…

We swim all about checking the nooks and crannies as fish swim freely all about. We head out into the sand to look and come across some oversized pipes. Shining my light inside all I see is Jens shining his light and waving from the other side. No one is home.

We head back to the anchor line where there are fish in need of petting and poking flitted in and about. Black sea urchins beckoned to be decorated with small shells. So much to do, so little time.

It is unfortunate that we missed the loggerhead turtle that was seen by other divers, but it was still a great dive and I mused as I made my way back to the boat how different yet the same this Florida diving could be.

As I surface I grab the tag line and as I pull my way over to the ladder, I remove one fin and place the spring strap over my hand and as I reach the ladder I pull back the spring on my second fin. Two large swells pass under the boat and the ladder bucks beneath me and I reach to hold my unsecured fin…. But I have a bad feeling….. a real bad feeling…… and before the next swell comes through I toss my spring strap and only my spring strap on the dive platform…… and then bang….. I am bounced on the ladder once more. Some days……..

The captain offers me a spare fin to go retrieve it but Tracy slips into her gear and steps off the back of the boat….. thank God for heavy fins….. straight down and in less than a minute she is back…. Fin in hand. Thank you Tracy, thanks.

The ride in is a pleasure. As all the men folk sit huddled beneath the canopy, trying to keep warm and dry, Tracy, Heidi and I sit near the transom drowned and drenched with the proliferation of waves and water clearing the gunwales of the boat. We make the best of it, laughing with each drenching. There is not much else you can do. We talked, and laughed, and rested and contemplated warm, dry land.

 

As we cleared the pass I looked back and it was like a crazy movie….. boats of every size, shape and color were heading in behind us. It looked like we were being chased….. boats going in and out, coming up port and starboard, huge cabin cruisers on our stern, jet skis zipping across our bow……. A traffic jam on the water. Expertly maneuvered through by our illustrious captain and safely tucked into our slip at the dock we unload and head home…..

There are more places like this out there…. There are….. I want to dive them…. I really do.