Monterey/Carmel wetsuit, boots and gloves advice

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Katz:
What would be you suggestions for boots, gloves and wetsuit?

I have been diving the MB area for many years in various wetsuits. Currently using Henderson hyperstretch 7 mm one-piece with an Xcel hooded vest. Works fine, but one of these days I will move to dry.

Re boots, I have several, including Henderson hyperstretch and Scubapro. Both work well.

Re gloves, the thickness depends on what you want to do UW. Since I am a photographer, I need the dexterity and go with the lighter 3mm gloves. When not taking my camera I use 5mm.
 
Katz:
I just checked in Wallins. Quad Density was $370 and Tri Density was $450. Quite expensive. How about Bare Alpine? I can be bought for $200.

I just checked with Anderson's in Pacifica and it's official: Quad density for $298. Hope that helps. Good luck!!
 
KelpCoasters:
I just checked with Anderson's in Pacifica and it's official: Quad density for $298. Hope that helps. Good luck!!
I checked the prices for Pinnacle. They are extremely expensive, and some dive shops won't disclose the prices over the phone. The cheapest one was in Captain's Aqua in Dublin. Extreme for $490 and Polar for 450.
I think I'll opt for Bare Alpine or Arctic or for Quad Density Xcel. Bare must know about cold water diving. When I was in Canada, almost everybody was diving Bare there in Great Lakes.
 
hank harris:
I have been diving the MB area for many years in various wetsuits. Currently using Henderson hyperstretch 7 mm one-piece with an Xcel hooded vest. Works fine, but one of these days I will move to dry.

I read these same sentiments over and over and over from people who dive Monterey on a regular basis.

So, my question is, why doesn't everyone who dives Monterey heed this info and buy a drysuit in the first place? Why waste money on an expensive wetsuit when the majority end up going dry in the end?

I've spent nearly a year reading these forums and I'm still confused over the 'wet vs dry' issue among Monterey divers. Seems that all end up in drysuits at some time or another.

Can anyone help shed some light on this for me? :06:
 
Yeah, because once the newness wears off you realize that you're freezing your *** off. I wouldn't waste more than a couple hundred bucks on a wetsuit AND hooded vest. I'd save my money and go to a drysuit instead.

Wetsuits aren't for people who dive Monterey every weekend. I'd say well over 90% of the dive-every-weekend-crowd use drysuits. The other <10% probably just do one dive instead of two or three (or more) per day. The occasional diver could use a wetsuit and be happy with it, but once s/he goes dry, they invariably find themselves diving more frequently.


LuvDaOcean:
...I've spent nearly a year reading these forums and I'm still confused over the 'wet vs dry' issue among Monterey divers. Seems that all end up in drysuits at some time or another.

Can anyone help shed some light on this for me? :06:
 
LuvDaOcean:
...why doesn't everyone who dives Monterey heed this info and buy a drysuit in the first place? Why waste money on an expensive wetsuit when the majority end up going dry in the end?

Well, the challenge for me has always been cost. When all the extras are factored in, I can dive wet for a fraction (25%) of what I will spend on the drysuit configuration I want. I am on a budget, and in the past have opted to spend my $ on underwater photography gear (a seriously expensive hobby) and endure the wetsuit. So it's been a tradeoff.

For me, it's never been a controversary; dry is better for the MB area. And for someone starting from scratch and planning to primarily dive here, the drysuit rec is a no-brainer.

But please understand, a wetsuit is far from a "waste of money." Having dove in many areas of the world, I can say that owning a wetsuit (even a 7 mm) makes sense. Especially for those of us who like to do long, multiple dives. Which is why many DM's in tropical waters opt for a 7mm wetsuit.

I'm headed to Coz in a month or so, and, given the dive profiles I am signed up for, would be fine in my 7mm (same thickness my DM there dives).
 
But I have to agree that dry is a much better way to go. My wetsuit is primarily for freediving not SCUBA.

My thermal protection for freediving in Monterey Bay is a 5mm, hood attached, no zipper jacket with a 5mm farmer john bottom, both made of skin-two-side Rubatex GN-231N by Polaris Drysuits in Santa Cruz (I don’t think Doug is doing that anymore, so Monterey Bay Wetsuits or Sea Otter should do as well). I also use 5mm 3-finger gloves and 5mm sock style boots.

I used a similar setup for SCUBA for many years, but in the dead of winter it was borderline. When I switched to 7mm things were much better.

BTW: More than adequate dexterity can be had with the three finger gloves, but they take PRACTICE. I can do more with that glove on a warm hand than I can with a 5 finger, thinner glove on a cold hand.

Which reminds me of a story that I write up and post later.
 
Here's the promised story:

When I was a student at Cal, it was considered my many to be the world's foremost representation of the impersonal megaversity. But within Research Diving Program I found an oasis of incredibly diverse, real people who truly loved and cared for each other. Our shared experiences had deeply profound effects on us all.

One unique aspect of the Diving Program at Cal (no, not free diving doff-and-don, not the doff-and-don buddy-breathe, not the circuit swim) is the hand signal test. It is as much a part of being a Berkeley Diver as the Edward's Field Crawl or black no-zipper wet suits or an instrument gauntlet. And unlike the sxties, if your were there you’d remember . . . nervously standing on the pool deck with John Osterello first gesticulating wildly at you and then complaining that you could not translate his arm and hand motions into, “Four score and seven years ago, our forefathers brought forth on this continent a new nation.” complete with three part harmony. Well, hand signals are important, but they don't always work the way you intend.

I rolled out of bed early on a Friday morning in 1973. We loaded our gear and the zodiac into a uni-van ... Lloyd Austin, Ken McKaye, Carole Kane and I. This was going to be a great day. I had finally had a properly fitting 3/8" inch wet suit from Harvey's (I'd only sent it back three times). Lloyd and Ken swore that now I'd be warm. The ride down was the usual drowsy morning, interrupted only by a stop for breakfast in Gilroy at the Busy Bee.

What can be more beautiful then Pt. Lobos at 9:00 A.M.? There was a flurry of activity getting the boat set up and gear together. While Lloyd and Carole took the Zodiac over to Children's Garden, Ken and I set out for Blue Fin Cove on our surf mats. After the dive we were all sitting on a picnic bench at Whaler's Cove and I remarked that my suit was so warm that for the first time I noticed that my hands were cold. Lloyd and Ken told me that what I needed now was a pair of three finger mitts. We drove into town to fill our tanks at the Aquarius Dive Shop and I sacrificed next week's food money to buy a pair of three finger mitts.

As I pulled my new mitts on for the afternoon dive, I considered the effects of only having three digits on each hand. I asked Lloyd and Ken what the hand signal for a shark would be, since when wearing these mitts I could no longer make the “peace sign” that was the traditional “dangerous fish” signal. They looked at each other, laughed, and said, “when was the last time you saw a shark?” We all agreed we'd never seen a shark at Pt. Lobos, so it just wasn't a problem. Lloyd piloted the Zodiac over to the far kelp bed in Blue Fin Cove. Ken and I rolled out backward, gave Lloyd and okay and watched as Lloyd and Carole motored away to their dive site at the cone shell wall.

This was one of those great days, bright sun and 60-foot visibility. On a day like this Blue Fin Cove is one of the most spectacular dive sites in the world. Let the tourists have Palancar Reef, the wall on Cayman Brac, Rosh Muhammad and Heron Island, all the frenetic neon of those underwater Times Squares. Give me the kelp forest, subtle greens broken by shafts of light that look like they came from a Sunday school painting, that's for me. We hovered above the reddish-purple encrusted rocks, Ken with his slate and me with my new gloves. Our objective was for me to learn the names of the fish found in this aqueous forest. Ken was patient enough to offer to teach me. He would point to a fish and write recondite Greek or Latin nomenclature on the slate. I'd read what he wrote and try to commit it to memory.

After about twenty minutes we'd worked our way up from sixty to forty feet. Ken pointed to a cabezon, in among the rocks on the bottom, and wrote, Scorpaenichthys marmoratus. I was looking at the slate and trying to wrap my tongue around the phrase when Ken tapped me on the shoulder. He held his right hand up. He clenched his last three fingers into his palm, and raised both his thumb and pointer finger. Exactly the gesture you'd make when you told someone, “it was small . . . you know about an inch . . . this big.” I started looking around the bottom for a little Scorpaenichthys marmoratus.

Ken smacked me on the shoulder insistently. He repeated the gesture. I was mildly annoyed. I knew what he was saying. I was trying to find the damn fish. Ken poked at me again. I held up a clenched fist to tell him to wait. Ken wrenched me around and made a gesture with his right hand with all five fingers repeatedly contracting into his palm and flexing out again. He pointed up at forty-five degrees. A large blue shark was coming right at him. Less then five feet away it pulled up, went over us and languidly disappeared at the limit of visibility.

Well ... now I knew what he meant. We knelt, back to back amongst the rocks on the bottom. I glanced quickly at my pressure gauge ... a thousand PSI ... about half a tank. It would last, maybe, thirty minutes at that depth. How long should we wait? I heard the rackety whine of an outboard motor. The noise stopped. We looked at each other, simultaneously shrugged, raised our thumbs and nodded our heads. Back-to-back we surfaced. Lloyd and Carole were right there in the boat. Ken shouted, “shark,” as we clamored into the boat. That was the first time I'd ever committed the heresy of entering the zodiac with my tank and weight belt in place. On the way back in I asked Lloyd and Ken what the “3-finger mitt” signal for “dangerous fish” was. They laughed and told me not to worry about it, I'd never see another.

Supper at Le Coc Dor was magnificent. Ling Cod only hours out of the water poached in wine. We drank a really good fume blanc and chuckled over the day's contretemps. Back at the motel we got a good night's rest since we had to teach class the next day.

(continued)
 
Part II

The morning class session went well. We were diving San Jose Creek. After the dive I raced my team of students into the beach on our surf mats. Louis Meyer almost beat me. Our deal was that the day he did beat me to the beach I'd buy the pizza on the way home. I just bought new mitts, so I couldn't afford to lose. While the students went into town to fill their tanks, Lloyd and Gay Little were going out to Gay's study site in the Zodiac. Ken and I, and a diver whom I'll call Frank, asked Lloyd for a lift so we could do some spearfishing. Frank had a full tank and Ken and I each had about half a tank.



Frank, Ken and I descended into fifty feet of water over the rocky canyons off San Jose Creek. It was Ling Cod city. I shot three. I just stacked them up on my spear. Ken tapped me on the shoulder and slashed his hand across his throat. He pointed to Frank, pointed to me and banged his fists together. He pointed to himself and raised his thumb. I gave him an okay. Ken started up and I went after Frank.



Frank was the only UC diver I knew (not Berkeley might I add, but Santa Barbara) who was not a great buddy, but he was a faculty member and a strong swimmer. We were at about fifty feet, he was out ahead and I was having trouble gaining on him. Over the next few minutes he managed to stay about twenty feet in front of me, just at the limit of visibility. As I almost caught him and I feel a tap on my shoulder. There’s Ken, snorkel in place, pointing to his mouth. I gave him my regulator. Two breaths, I took two, Ken took two. Ken's hand began to gyrate, I recognized the motions from the previous day.



To review ... were at fifty feet, we’re buddy breathing, Ken has an empty tank. I’ve got a spear with three dead Lings on it. Frank’s again disappearing at the limit of visibility. There is a shark in the area. I review my options and choke back an initial impulse to give Ken my spear with the dead fish, my tank, make a free ascent and tread air back to shore. Ken and I continue to buddy breathe. I give Ken the spear with the bloody fish, point to myself and then in the direction Frank had gone and bang my fists together. I point at Ken and raise my thumb. Ken nods, flashes the okay and starts up. I go after Frank.



It took me a few minutes to find Frank. When I did, I tapped him on the shoulder. He held up a fist ... “Wait!” I tapped him on the shoulder again, he started to swim away. I grabbed him by both upper arms and turned him toward me. Frank’s displeasure was clear, he thought I wanted him to carry my goody bag, and he wanted no part of that. I made Ken's “inch-long” gesture with my right hand. Frank look confused. I put both my palms together and make a motion like a clam opening and closing. Frank recognized this as “chomp.” And then he noticed the Ken was missing. Frank looked around for Ken. Sure enough ... Ken was not there. I could see Franks eyes expand to fill his Swimaster Wideview mask as he reached the conclusion that I had told him Ken was eaten by a shark.



We found a thick patch of kelp and surfaced, back to back. Lloyd, Ken and Gay were in the boat waiving to us. We flopped into the boat, a tangled mass of rubber, metal, flesh and Frank's still loaded spear gun.



Lloyd and Gay had seen a blue shark at her study site, maybe 100 yards away from where we were diving. They'd returned to the zodiac and motored over to our bubbles. As they arrived Ken surfaced. Lloyd yelled to him, “there's a shark, go get them.” Ken didn't mention that he was out of air, he free dove fifty feet, down my bubbles and from there we join the story as previously related.



It’s now thirty-three years later, and what I want to know now is do we have a workable hand signal for dangerous fish when you’re wearing three finger gloves? If we don't, don't worry about it. It's a hand signal you'll never need. When did you last see a shark at Pt. Lobos?
 
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