Ken Kurtis
Contributor
This is excerpted from the Roatan trip report but I think it underscores a valuable lesson and want to make sure you see it, so I’m copying it here as well.
We dove two wrecks over the course of the week, the El Aguila and the Odyssey. I like the El Aguila, although it’s somewhat deep bottoming out at a little over 100 feet. It’s got a decent amount of fish and sponges on it, plus it’s adjacent to a nice reef where you end the dive. The Odyssey is a big wreck (some 300+ feet long – that’s the length of a football field), also deep (around 115 feet), and was the site of an embarrassing personal experience when I lost the entire group. This was totally my fault but also can serve as a good lesson to those of you who are photographers.
The plan on this wreck was to drop down on the stern area and superstructure, go inside and then up the five interior decks (you can see out the entire time and there’s always an exit nearby), and then make our way down the length of the vessel to the bow. I don’t recall us saying exactly where we were going to end the dive, but there’s a reef perhaps 50 feet in front of the bow.
I didn’t want to penetrate the superstructure so I made my up the outside and could see the divers inside. John emerged and led everyone forward along the edge of the wreck, where we found a small halibut in the sand. We continued towards the bow, which was sort of bent and pointing upright. I ducked under and inside the pointy end to see if there was anything worthwhile and came across an interesting red sponge as well as a lionfish and shot them both.
According to my photo data, I spent no more than three minutes under the bow. And when I came out . . . uh-oh . . . there was no one in sight. I thought perhaps they had moved on ahead to the reef in front of us so that’s the way I headed. Nobody. I looked back and could see maybe 100 feet. Didn’t see anyone along the length of the ship. Where could they have gone? I looked up. Nope. I looked around again. Nada. So I figured I had somehow screwed this up and decided to abort the dive – we were about 20 minutes in to a planned 30-minute dive at this point – and ascend to 20 feet, trying to see if I could spot any bubbles as I rose.
I also now had to choose where to surface. I started my ascent around the reef but wasn’t too keen on coming up in an area that could have boat traffic. But then I noticed that there was a boat tied up to the mooring line at the bow of the wreck. I could clearly see the bottom of the boat and knew it wasn’t ours – it had two engines whereas we had one – but I also know it’s safer to surface near a boat, even if it’s not yours, than it is to surface in open water. I figured once I got to the surface, I’d be able to see where our boat was and swim over. No biggee.
I was about 4 minutes into my planned 5-minute safety stop when I glanced again down the length of the wreck and thought I saw a hint of yellow. As I looked that way, it was John, coming to look for me. (He wears a bright yellow rash guard and bright yellow pants to make himself more visible.) I gave him an OK sign, he returned same and motioned towards the stern of the boat which is where the group had gone. Everyone was now hanging on the stern mooring line doing their safety stop. I joined them and we finished the dive.
Once back on boat, I was obviously teased about what happened by took ownership of the situation. And there are valuable lessons to learn here for anyone.
As most of you know, I dive all the time, am comfortable diving by myself, and have plenty of dives under my weightbelt. (6,000+ if anyone’s curious.) But even an experienced diver can make a mistake and do something that separates them from the group. Even more so when you’re a photographer, since we tend to want to stop and take some shots, and the group won’t always – nor should they – feel like they have to stop while we get the proverbial perfect shot.
So ESPECIALLY if you’re a photog, you have an obligation and responsibility to know where the group is heading and, once you’re done shooting, head in that direction and catch up. There’s certainly an adage in diving that, when diving as a group, you want to move at the pace of the slowest diver. In other words, if someone is generally a slow kicker (or you’re a fast kicker), you match the speed of the slowest member. You don’t force them to go faster. But that’s under “normal” circumstances.
Being a photog throws “normal” out the window at times because we know the photog is going to stop frequently and deliberately. That doesn’t mean the group leader won’t take that into account at times. But it also means if you’re going to spend 10 minutes photoing a fascinating nudibranch – or in this case, three minutes shooting a sponge and lionfish – it’s not the group’s duty to wait for you.
The other interesting perspective that this brings up – and this is a discussion I’ve had over the years with many divers and guides and where there is no easy or “right” answer – is that everyone on the boat, even John, said some variation of, “We knew you were OK because we know you’re a good diver.” Well, yes but no.
Even “good” divers can get into trouble. And it can be dangerous to assume that everything’s OK. For all anyone knew, I’d had a heart attack and was lying on the bottom. Or maybe I’d gotten stuck in the bow and was slowly running out of air trying to free myself. Or perhaps I’d had serious leg cramps that made it impossible to kick and I needed someone to come assist.
When a diver goes missing, there’s no real way to know what the reason was. You hope it’s benign as it was in my case. But, especially if you’re a dive guide as well as if you’re “just” a dive buddy, assuming the worst can mean the difference between saving someone’s life or just getting a good scare. There’s no perfect answer. Do you look for them on the bottom, inside the wreck (in this case), or on the surface? Because, especially if it’s a case of someone unconscious underwater, you don’t have a lot of time (perhaps 4-6 minutes if a diver’s not breathing) to find them and help create a successful outcome.
There’s no easy answer in any of this nor any “perfect” methodology. In this case, I just gave everyone a scare (for which I was truly sorry and repentant). But it’s a good lesson for all divers of any skill level or experience, and that’s why I wanted to share it here.
We dove two wrecks over the course of the week, the El Aguila and the Odyssey. I like the El Aguila, although it’s somewhat deep bottoming out at a little over 100 feet. It’s got a decent amount of fish and sponges on it, plus it’s adjacent to a nice reef where you end the dive. The Odyssey is a big wreck (some 300+ feet long – that’s the length of a football field), also deep (around 115 feet), and was the site of an embarrassing personal experience when I lost the entire group. This was totally my fault but also can serve as a good lesson to those of you who are photographers.
The plan on this wreck was to drop down on the stern area and superstructure, go inside and then up the five interior decks (you can see out the entire time and there’s always an exit nearby), and then make our way down the length of the vessel to the bow. I don’t recall us saying exactly where we were going to end the dive, but there’s a reef perhaps 50 feet in front of the bow.
I didn’t want to penetrate the superstructure so I made my up the outside and could see the divers inside. John emerged and led everyone forward along the edge of the wreck, where we found a small halibut in the sand. We continued towards the bow, which was sort of bent and pointing upright. I ducked under and inside the pointy end to see if there was anything worthwhile and came across an interesting red sponge as well as a lionfish and shot them both.
According to my photo data, I spent no more than three minutes under the bow. And when I came out . . . uh-oh . . . there was no one in sight. I thought perhaps they had moved on ahead to the reef in front of us so that’s the way I headed. Nobody. I looked back and could see maybe 100 feet. Didn’t see anyone along the length of the ship. Where could they have gone? I looked up. Nope. I looked around again. Nada. So I figured I had somehow screwed this up and decided to abort the dive – we were about 20 minutes in to a planned 30-minute dive at this point – and ascend to 20 feet, trying to see if I could spot any bubbles as I rose.
I also now had to choose where to surface. I started my ascent around the reef but wasn’t too keen on coming up in an area that could have boat traffic. But then I noticed that there was a boat tied up to the mooring line at the bow of the wreck. I could clearly see the bottom of the boat and knew it wasn’t ours – it had two engines whereas we had one – but I also know it’s safer to surface near a boat, even if it’s not yours, than it is to surface in open water. I figured once I got to the surface, I’d be able to see where our boat was and swim over. No biggee.
I was about 4 minutes into my planned 5-minute safety stop when I glanced again down the length of the wreck and thought I saw a hint of yellow. As I looked that way, it was John, coming to look for me. (He wears a bright yellow rash guard and bright yellow pants to make himself more visible.) I gave him an OK sign, he returned same and motioned towards the stern of the boat which is where the group had gone. Everyone was now hanging on the stern mooring line doing their safety stop. I joined them and we finished the dive.
Once back on boat, I was obviously teased about what happened by took ownership of the situation. And there are valuable lessons to learn here for anyone.
As most of you know, I dive all the time, am comfortable diving by myself, and have plenty of dives under my weightbelt. (6,000+ if anyone’s curious.) But even an experienced diver can make a mistake and do something that separates them from the group. Even more so when you’re a photographer, since we tend to want to stop and take some shots, and the group won’t always – nor should they – feel like they have to stop while we get the proverbial perfect shot.
So ESPECIALLY if you’re a photog, you have an obligation and responsibility to know where the group is heading and, once you’re done shooting, head in that direction and catch up. There’s certainly an adage in diving that, when diving as a group, you want to move at the pace of the slowest diver. In other words, if someone is generally a slow kicker (or you’re a fast kicker), you match the speed of the slowest member. You don’t force them to go faster. But that’s under “normal” circumstances.
Being a photog throws “normal” out the window at times because we know the photog is going to stop frequently and deliberately. That doesn’t mean the group leader won’t take that into account at times. But it also means if you’re going to spend 10 minutes photoing a fascinating nudibranch – or in this case, three minutes shooting a sponge and lionfish – it’s not the group’s duty to wait for you.
The other interesting perspective that this brings up – and this is a discussion I’ve had over the years with many divers and guides and where there is no easy or “right” answer – is that everyone on the boat, even John, said some variation of, “We knew you were OK because we know you’re a good diver.” Well, yes but no.
Even “good” divers can get into trouble. And it can be dangerous to assume that everything’s OK. For all anyone knew, I’d had a heart attack and was lying on the bottom. Or maybe I’d gotten stuck in the bow and was slowly running out of air trying to free myself. Or perhaps I’d had serious leg cramps that made it impossible to kick and I needed someone to come assist.
When a diver goes missing, there’s no real way to know what the reason was. You hope it’s benign as it was in my case. But, especially if you’re a dive guide as well as if you’re “just” a dive buddy, assuming the worst can mean the difference between saving someone’s life or just getting a good scare. There’s no perfect answer. Do you look for them on the bottom, inside the wreck (in this case), or on the surface? Because, especially if it’s a case of someone unconscious underwater, you don’t have a lot of time (perhaps 4-6 minutes if a diver’s not breathing) to find them and help create a successful outcome.
There’s no easy answer in any of this nor any “perfect” methodology. In this case, I just gave everyone a scare (for which I was truly sorry and repentant). But it’s a good lesson for all divers of any skill level or experience, and that’s why I wanted to share it here.
