It would seem to me that, as we gain experience and go through some minor glitches on dives, we should increase our capacity to tolerate issues underwater. I'm wondering what could cause an experienced (say, more than 200 lifetime dives) diver to become distressed enough to lose rational thought. Has anyone here (who meets those criteria) been through a panic event? What caused it, and what did you do?
Question Panic in the experienced diver?
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Alaskan Scuba Dude
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You had failed to purge the donor regulator for a diver in distress.
Pat Regan
Registered
Panic? Only once while diving. And if I didn’t fully panic, I started to.
I build and dive functional replicas of the hybrid diving gear seen in Walt Disney’s 1954 motion picture version of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. It’s not a safe rig by modern standards; one can’t easily free-ascend in an emergency and if you’re operating autonomously and lose visibility you’re in trouble. For those reasons, we always operate in controlled conditions with safety divers present. But establishing those procedures involved a learning curve.
My wife Lynn has been my best diving buddy since 1981, test-dove my experimental rebreathers back in 1985, and was my #1 safety diver while testing the Nautilus Minisub and all three variants of our 20,000 Leagues rigs from 1991 to the present. We’ve done many test dives where I wore the Leagues rig and she followed on SCUBA with a camera. Lynn knows what she’s doing and I trust her with my life.
So one day we loaded a Crowntop rig into the back of the truck and drove down to Four Mile in Hilo; a picnic area at the water’s edge near Pui Bay. It has rock “stairs” that make it easy to launch and recover a Leagues diver. The water’s usually pretty calm, clear, and no more than 10 to 20 feet deep in most places.
Now, there wasn’t anybody in the water near the stairs when we arrived but when I started donning that Leagues rig, it drew the interest of two local women and four kids. I was suited, booted, and sitting on the step chest deep in water; strapped into the tanks and waiting for Lynn to hat me and hook up my air; when those folks just had to go swimming. They jumped into the water right where I was planning to do my photo shoot and started splashing around energetically.
Nevertheless, once sealed up and ready for sea, I stepped off the stairs, took a few strides, and was quickly in about ten feet of water that suddenly turned a deep and impenetrable shade of dark brownish-green. The locals had stirred up the bottom and I was lost in a silt-out.
I knew Lynn was up there somewhere but didn’t know exactly where; or if she could see me. Our method of comm is simple: I shout and she hears me. It works fine when we can see each other; but it’s something else when I’m working in the blind.
I didn’t know which way led back to the steps or out to sea. The bottom is a cluster of lava rocks and sand; you need to be able to see where you’re walking. I was lost and alone in the dark; underwater in a rig that weighs hundreds of pounds with no umbilical or life line. That’s when I felt a wave of fear grip me: like ice water rushing through my veins. I’d have to say I started to panic because I suddenly felt like I wanted to go berserk and just RUN; tear the suit off and escape somehow.
But there was no way I could do that so I took a deep breath and forced myself to think.
Lynn had to be up there somewhere. I didn’t know exactly how deep the water was but I jumped up from the bottom with my arm reaching for the sky and waived. After a couple of those, Lynn grabbed my arm.
“Take me out!” I shouted.
We bounced to the surface momentarily and she was able to ask “Do you want me to take you out into deeper water?”
I shouted “NO! Take me back to the stairs! Get me out of the water!”
Lynn then understood and guided me out. But it was scary for a moment there: a very deep feeling; intensely disturbing on a primal level. If I didn’t fully panic, I sure felt it coming on.
As a result, now when operating with minimal support crew (even for short, shallow photo dives near the entry / exit point) we provide a safety line so the diver can’t get lost if visibility falls. But the dive that led us to start doing that was spooky, for sure. I’ve never forgotten what it felt like. Very unpleasant.
In comparison, I also felt something similar when my Para-Commander bag-locked on my 100th jump over Antioch DZ. I jumped from 12-5, did some RW, and dumped about 2-5. For a few seconds I was upright and looking up at that ball of nylon; wondering if it was going to open. When I finally accepted that it wasn't, I felt that scared, "lost little boy" feeling. But then the adrenalin, my training, and the instinct to survive took over and I cutaway and deployed my reserve so fast that Lee Wilcox asked me if I was using a Stevens Static Line on the handle. (I wasn’t.)
In contrast, a first jump student named Gilda Martinez made a bad exit from a C-206: turned on exit and the static line went under her arm. The static line had a Velcro pilot chute assist strap so when the pack opened the pilot chute got trapped between her arm and her body before the velcro let go. Gilda fell from the plane in a fetal position and held it until impact. All she had to do to save her own life was let go of the pilot chute. But she froze. Panic can do that to you, too.
For another example, I got ambushed in an open area of sand at the Song Vu Gia river across from the Arizona Territory near Dai Loc in the Republic of South Viet Nam back when we were in conflict with those folks.
Corporal Lee Hinson and I had deployed our squad defensively and were walking down to the water's edge to examine apparent signs the enemy had been coming across the river in boats during the night; when the air was suddenly filled with screaming steel bees. I was straining with every fiber of my being as I turned and ran for cover. It seemed like time slowed down as I zig-zagged through the sand and I was thinking “Any second now I’m going to get blown out of this body and be onto whatever comes next.”
But I made it back to the log without getting hit and several seconds later so did Corporal Hinson.
Lee had recently joined Mike 3/1 from the Philippines, this was his first combat, and he was visibly scared; screaming about how we were pinned down with all that open sand behind us and no cover. "We're all gonna die!" he said.
Funny thing was, at that moment my mouth was dry so I took out my John Wayne can opener and the can of C-ration peaches I’d been carrying in my cargo pocket.
Hinson said, “Are you crazy? This ain’t no time for chow!”
But I felt like if I didn’t eat those peaches right then and there, I might not get another chance. So, while we returned fire; I took a big drink of peach juice, took the map, gave the radioman our 6-digit grid coordinates, and also identified where the enemy was to the artillery fire base on Hill 55.
They fired two spotter rounds with the 155 and almost hit us with Willie Peter both times; second round landing closer.
I sounded off and Lieutenant Bob Harman cut in telling them "Check fire! You're dropping it on my people!"
I asked Harman for an airplane and got an OV-10 out of Danang with the call sign “Hostage Fang.”
At first, he saw us in the sand and thought we were the target. I explained the target was on the other side of the river; and marked it with white smoke by (1) taking the parachute out of an M79 illumination round; and then (2) having our blooper man fire that reassembled round over the river and into the Arizona Territory. It produced a pitifully small stream of white smoke but it was all we had and fortunately (for us) Hostage Fang saw it.
“Put your heads down, gents!” he said. “This stuff bounces!”
And then the OV-10 made several passes; working the designated area over with guns, rockets, and a super-blooper
After that, we were able to stand up and continue our patrol route back around to Hill 55 without further incident.
I think the scariest part was when I was running back to the cover of that log. I don’t know if you’d call that a “panic” but it was like I was operating on a different level; literally running for my life.
Does that count?
I build and dive functional replicas of the hybrid diving gear seen in Walt Disney’s 1954 motion picture version of Jules Verne’s 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. It’s not a safe rig by modern standards; one can’t easily free-ascend in an emergency and if you’re operating autonomously and lose visibility you’re in trouble. For those reasons, we always operate in controlled conditions with safety divers present. But establishing those procedures involved a learning curve.
My wife Lynn has been my best diving buddy since 1981, test-dove my experimental rebreathers back in 1985, and was my #1 safety diver while testing the Nautilus Minisub and all three variants of our 20,000 Leagues rigs from 1991 to the present. We’ve done many test dives where I wore the Leagues rig and she followed on SCUBA with a camera. Lynn knows what she’s doing and I trust her with my life.
So one day we loaded a Crowntop rig into the back of the truck and drove down to Four Mile in Hilo; a picnic area at the water’s edge near Pui Bay. It has rock “stairs” that make it easy to launch and recover a Leagues diver. The water’s usually pretty calm, clear, and no more than 10 to 20 feet deep in most places.
Now, there wasn’t anybody in the water near the stairs when we arrived but when I started donning that Leagues rig, it drew the interest of two local women and four kids. I was suited, booted, and sitting on the step chest deep in water; strapped into the tanks and waiting for Lynn to hat me and hook up my air; when those folks just had to go swimming. They jumped into the water right where I was planning to do my photo shoot and started splashing around energetically.
Nevertheless, once sealed up and ready for sea, I stepped off the stairs, took a few strides, and was quickly in about ten feet of water that suddenly turned a deep and impenetrable shade of dark brownish-green. The locals had stirred up the bottom and I was lost in a silt-out.
I knew Lynn was up there somewhere but didn’t know exactly where; or if she could see me. Our method of comm is simple: I shout and she hears me. It works fine when we can see each other; but it’s something else when I’m working in the blind.
I didn’t know which way led back to the steps or out to sea. The bottom is a cluster of lava rocks and sand; you need to be able to see where you’re walking. I was lost and alone in the dark; underwater in a rig that weighs hundreds of pounds with no umbilical or life line. That’s when I felt a wave of fear grip me: like ice water rushing through my veins. I’d have to say I started to panic because I suddenly felt like I wanted to go berserk and just RUN; tear the suit off and escape somehow.
But there was no way I could do that so I took a deep breath and forced myself to think.
Lynn had to be up there somewhere. I didn’t know exactly how deep the water was but I jumped up from the bottom with my arm reaching for the sky and waived. After a couple of those, Lynn grabbed my arm.
“Take me out!” I shouted.
We bounced to the surface momentarily and she was able to ask “Do you want me to take you out into deeper water?”
I shouted “NO! Take me back to the stairs! Get me out of the water!”
Lynn then understood and guided me out. But it was scary for a moment there: a very deep feeling; intensely disturbing on a primal level. If I didn’t fully panic, I sure felt it coming on.
As a result, now when operating with minimal support crew (even for short, shallow photo dives near the entry / exit point) we provide a safety line so the diver can’t get lost if visibility falls. But the dive that led us to start doing that was spooky, for sure. I’ve never forgotten what it felt like. Very unpleasant.
In comparison, I also felt something similar when my Para-Commander bag-locked on my 100th jump over Antioch DZ. I jumped from 12-5, did some RW, and dumped about 2-5. For a few seconds I was upright and looking up at that ball of nylon; wondering if it was going to open. When I finally accepted that it wasn't, I felt that scared, "lost little boy" feeling. But then the adrenalin, my training, and the instinct to survive took over and I cutaway and deployed my reserve so fast that Lee Wilcox asked me if I was using a Stevens Static Line on the handle. (I wasn’t.)
In contrast, a first jump student named Gilda Martinez made a bad exit from a C-206: turned on exit and the static line went under her arm. The static line had a Velcro pilot chute assist strap so when the pack opened the pilot chute got trapped between her arm and her body before the velcro let go. Gilda fell from the plane in a fetal position and held it until impact. All she had to do to save her own life was let go of the pilot chute. But she froze. Panic can do that to you, too.
For another example, I got ambushed in an open area of sand at the Song Vu Gia river across from the Arizona Territory near Dai Loc in the Republic of South Viet Nam back when we were in conflict with those folks.
Corporal Lee Hinson and I had deployed our squad defensively and were walking down to the water's edge to examine apparent signs the enemy had been coming across the river in boats during the night; when the air was suddenly filled with screaming steel bees. I was straining with every fiber of my being as I turned and ran for cover. It seemed like time slowed down as I zig-zagged through the sand and I was thinking “Any second now I’m going to get blown out of this body and be onto whatever comes next.”
But I made it back to the log without getting hit and several seconds later so did Corporal Hinson.
Lee had recently joined Mike 3/1 from the Philippines, this was his first combat, and he was visibly scared; screaming about how we were pinned down with all that open sand behind us and no cover. "We're all gonna die!" he said.
Funny thing was, at that moment my mouth was dry so I took out my John Wayne can opener and the can of C-ration peaches I’d been carrying in my cargo pocket.
Hinson said, “Are you crazy? This ain’t no time for chow!”
But I felt like if I didn’t eat those peaches right then and there, I might not get another chance. So, while we returned fire; I took a big drink of peach juice, took the map, gave the radioman our 6-digit grid coordinates, and also identified where the enemy was to the artillery fire base on Hill 55.
They fired two spotter rounds with the 155 and almost hit us with Willie Peter both times; second round landing closer.
I sounded off and Lieutenant Bob Harman cut in telling them "Check fire! You're dropping it on my people!"
I asked Harman for an airplane and got an OV-10 out of Danang with the call sign “Hostage Fang.”
At first, he saw us in the sand and thought we were the target. I explained the target was on the other side of the river; and marked it with white smoke by (1) taking the parachute out of an M79 illumination round; and then (2) having our blooper man fire that reassembled round over the river and into the Arizona Territory. It produced a pitifully small stream of white smoke but it was all we had and fortunately (for us) Hostage Fang saw it.
“Put your heads down, gents!” he said. “This stuff bounces!”
And then the OV-10 made several passes; working the designated area over with guns, rockets, and a super-blooper
After that, we were able to stand up and continue our patrol route back around to Hill 55 without further incident.
I think the scariest part was when I was running back to the cover of that log. I don’t know if you’d call that a “panic” but it was like I was operating on a different level; literally running for my life.
Does that count?
pauldw
Contributor
Where are the pictures?
Pat Regan
Registered
pauldw, here's my website URL; there's some pictures there. I used to do Facebook but not much anymore.
I notice you're in the State of Jefferson. Did you by any chance know Tom "Doc" Rowe; Jefferson resident and inventor of the Bionic Dolphin semi-submersible watercraft? He was a big Jefferson advocate. There's a few pages about Doc at my website, too.
The link takes you to my Index page; scroll down and all the titles are clickable links to pages on-site. Enjoy!
VBR
Pat
I notice you're in the State of Jefferson. Did you by any chance know Tom "Doc" Rowe; Jefferson resident and inventor of the Bionic Dolphin semi-submersible watercraft? He was a big Jefferson advocate. There's a few pages about Doc at my website, too.
The link takes you to my Index page; scroll down and all the titles are clickable links to pages on-site. Enjoy!
VBR
Pat
Disney Nautilus: A 1/10 Disney Nautilus homebuilt submarine
Disney Nautilus: A 1/10 Disney Nautilus homebuilt submarine, Disney's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, personal submersibles, submarines, Nautilus models, diving helmets, SCUBA, at Pat Regan's Vulcania Submarine.
www.vulcaniasubmarine.com
pauldw
Contributor
Wow! Nice. I don't know how you're going to fit an organ in the mini Nautilus, though.pauldw, here's my website URL; there's some pictures there. I used to do Facebook but not much anymore.
I notice you're in the State of Jefferson. Did you by any chance know Tom "Doc" Rowe; Jefferson resident and inventor of the Bionic Dolphin semi-submersible watercraft? He was a big Jefferson advocate. There's a few pages about Doc at my website, too.
The link takes you to my Index page; scroll down and all the titles are clickable links to pages on-site. Enjoy!
VBR
Pat
Disney Nautilus: A 1/10 Disney Nautilus homebuilt submarine
Disney Nautilus: A 1/10 Disney Nautilus homebuilt submarine, Disney's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, personal submersibles, submarines, Nautilus models, diving helmets, SCUBA, at Pat Regan's Vulcania Submarine.www.vulcaniasubmarine.com
I don't know Doc, I'm afraid. It looks like he has exactly the correct approach to engineering.
Pat Regan
Registered
Thanks! No keyboard but we've got submersible external audio for hailing and to project a recorded version of the "turbine whine" sound of the screen Nautilus. Could pipe some tunes out through that for the music fans. Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, anyone? Or maybe Mister Crowley?
GiraffeMarineSalvage
Contributor
I've only dealt with a strong panic reaction personally twice while diving:
First about 20 years ago I felt extremely panicked when I lost my orientation diving in a close confined zero vis overhead environment way above my abilities and experience (very memorable still to this day, but definitely not the safe or sane way to learn..). I was fortunate my instinctive reaction to feeling be very panicked was pausing to think through what I should do instead of reacting irrationally in that moment of panic...
The other time was my first time learning CCR because of too tight of a dry suit neck seal on a hot day while learning something totally foreign despite decades of diving experience. Largely because I was focused on trying a CCR (combined with freediving making me relatively used to low O2 and high CO2) it took the keen observation of the instructors to recognize the issue...
Probably the most important thing about both instances of panic is timely problem solving so a single issue doesn't compound into multiple issues multiplied together.
First about 20 years ago I felt extremely panicked when I lost my orientation diving in a close confined zero vis overhead environment way above my abilities and experience (very memorable still to this day, but definitely not the safe or sane way to learn..). I was fortunate my instinctive reaction to feeling be very panicked was pausing to think through what I should do instead of reacting irrationally in that moment of panic...
The other time was my first time learning CCR because of too tight of a dry suit neck seal on a hot day while learning something totally foreign despite decades of diving experience. Largely because I was focused on trying a CCR (combined with freediving making me relatively used to low O2 and high CO2) it took the keen observation of the instructors to recognize the issue...
Probably the most important thing about both instances of panic is timely problem solving so a single issue doesn't compound into multiple issues multiplied together.
SlugLife
Contributor
I had a hose come partially unscrewed from the 2nd stage, and all the bubbles in my face made it very difficult to see or do much. A failed 1st stage would probably be that much worse. I also couldn't find my octo (quickly) and decided the surface was the safest place to sort out whatever the problem was.
Dee Fulton
Registered
I had a TIA which was likely induced by sinus barotrauma. My right leg and right arm were suddenly paralyzed. I was already at the surface and had positive buoyancy, preparing to ascend the ladder, when the TIA struck. I did not panic. I announced calmly (way too calmly!) to the boat captain, "I think I'm having a stroke". When it seemed he didn't understand, I said more emphatically, "Call 911!"
I have over 1,000 dives and it's my nature to go into resourceful mode in crisis.
I have over 1,000 dives and it's my nature to go into resourceful mode in crisis.
Dee Fulton
Registered
Had a second stage blow out and go into free flow at 90'. Curtain of bubbles impeded visual cues on the controlled ascent.
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