When Diving or Riding Becomes Deadly

This article is about knowing your environment, including the people you ride with, and to some extent, that you may have to depend on at some point. Both motorcycling and diving can be hazardous. It pays to ensure that you have planned for the contingencies you think the particular environment that you’re encountering may pose. Situational awareness is, to my mind, a prerequisite for those who want to successfully navigate and survive the experience.

The second point is that fortunately or unfortunately, I have had a great deal of experience with events that have put me at risk during my 71 years of experimentation. I am, without reservation, an adrenaline junky, admittedly. I do, for the most part, enjoy circumstances where I can discover new settings and situations where risk is, usually at some minor level, a part of the equation. I can’t explain to you why this particular attribute of my personality gets so much attention, but I must admit that it is true.

Irrespective of your hobby choice, there are risks associated with them. Riding at altitude on narrow paths would be an example, or riding in a country where either the road conditions or rules of the road are new to you. Or if you ride with a new individual, someone you’ve never ridden with before, then it pays to take some extra precautions as their reaction to an emergency situation may take you entirely by surprise.

At the time the incident below occurred, I was a Dive Rescue Instructor, and probably should never have allowed myself to be put into the situation that I was ultimately faced with. It points to how fast a situation can go from control to out of control. And your responses to these situations will dictate whether the situation degrades to a life threatening event for yourself or another party.

This occurred in the mid-1980’s. Diving gear and the requirements surrounding diving gear was not as intrusive or requisite as it is today. Second stage octopus were not required and many divers did not possess a dive computer, which would enable them to know when they required to either end their dive or ascend and decompress, depending on the situation.

You can draw your own analogies from this story. I spent a great deal of time going over the situation trying to fathom how someone with very little knowledge or skill would be willing to take the chances that the man in question in this story did. It should never have occurred, simply because a mandatory pool session to check out this diver, for example, would have illustrated his many inabilities.

First, you should be aware that I had tried to avoid charter groups that often accompany dive companies, simply because you may be paired with an individual who is either poorly trained or ill equipped to handle an emergency, never mind my own safety and access to another air supply. On this particular day, the event that unfolded illustrated how dangerous such an action can actually be. If my dive accidents had not stopped my sport diving, this event would have.

My last dive excursion to the Caribbean that year proved to be the most impactful and tragic of my life. I had completed a couple of dives, out of the fourteen or so planned for the out islands of the Bahamas, having booked a package of dives for my two week stay.

I arrived at the dock where the dive boat was moored, early. I had brought my own gear and, as I usually do, inspected and tested each item prior to boarding the boat. I helped the dive master inspect and load tanks, and to then sort fins, snorkels and masks for those on the charter who would require them. The dive master and I exchanged pleasantries and he asked me about my experience and background. I gave him a brief overview and then he asked if I would be willing to help out, as there were a number of inexperienced divers on this day’s excursions. I told him, hesitantly, that I would, but I was unwilling to be responsible for anyone on the dive who had no open water experience, particularly in the ocean, offshore. He agreed and said he would pair me up with one of the divers who apparently had some experience in the open ocean. He then thanked me and headed topside of the 54 foot dive boat that contained compressors, dive tanks and equipment, a kitchen, bar, washrooms and two weather stations for operation of the boat.

I sat down and awaited the arrival of the charter group. Within about half an hour a group of people arrived, mostly couples without equipment, who had taken ‘pool’ lessons and just received their certification that week. I assumed that none of this group would be going on the deep dive to the wall, that I had booked. During this time several individuals and a couple with dive bags covered in destination stickers boarded who appeared to be more experienced.

One of the other dive instructors and three other dive assistants came aboard and quickly broke the gathering into two groups. Twelve people would dive with the instructor and his assistants, while four of us would be paired together with the dive master. The first, larger group would actually be dropped inside the reef, where a moored dive platform had been positioned. This group’s dive was to be less than 50 feet and would not expose them to water in excess of that depth.

My group would stay with the dive boat and move farther offshore diving a wall where large marine life could be found, and where the water’s depth was measured in the thousands of feet.

Once the groups were sorted out, a discussion of the dive plan was had that ensured everyone knew what was expected, maximum depth, emergency plan, decompression shot line location, hand signals, sound signals, etc. In this group, there was a couple and beside me, one younger fellow who apparently had the newest and most current dive gear I had ever seen. He also had an expensive dive camera, housing, lights, and flash rig that he would be taking with him to photograph his dive.

The dive master came over and stated, “You’ll be partnered with the fellow with all the fancy gear. Alright?” I nodded my assent and introduced myself to the man, who was from the East Coast of the US as I remember.

We got into a discussion of his dive equipment, camera, etc., and although he claimed that this gear was a replacement for other older dive gear that he possessed, he couldn’t articulate anything about the other equipment he had owned. I found it a bit unusual that he couldn’t provide any details of this previous equipment or previous dives he had taken, but I wasn’t particularly concerned. Who was I to care if this guy knew anything about dive gear other than that which he was using. His tank had a PADI Open Water sticker attached to it, which let me know that he was certified, so that was that.

The dive site was about an hour from the dock, so I went forward onto the boat’s bow area and sat down, straddling the bowsprit platform that extended about eight feet beyond the fiberglass hull. It was a bright, near cloudless day, the temperature in the 30 plus Celsius range and no storms in site. A few others joined me near the bow as we left the harbor and headed out to sea. There was about a six foot sea running, so the boat would plow into the waves sending sea spray over me on the way. I took up a conversation with the couple that would be diving with us and found out that the man was a former naval diver with the Dutch navy, while his girlfriend was a flight attendant for a European Airline.

After some non-alcoholic refreshments were distributed and consumed, I heard the engines change pitch and noticed that we had arrived at our intended destination, the first stop being the location of the dive for the larger group. The group were offloaded onto the fairly large swim platform along with tanks, BCD’s, weights, flippers, regulators, masks and snorkels. Their dive equipment had been reviewed by the instructor with the group while on the way out to the site.

Within a few minutes, the boat left the platform and we made out way farther out to sea through a break in the reef. The water color changed abruptly from light green to dark blue in a matter of seconds. The swells could now be felt as the boat undulated over them. I could see the waves breaking over the reef. The boat’s Captain was to remain aboard, keeping the boat stationary during the dive as anchoring would not be possible.

I quickly donned my shorty wet suit, prepared my regulator and tank, dropped and clamped my back-mounted BC and tested my regulator. I did not have a octopus rig on my tank, as it wasn’t required at the time. I then attached my regulator’s first stage to the tank, pressurized the system, checked the tank’s gauge and my regulator’s gauge to ensure they matched. It was a simple, but reliable system.

My partner’s equipment was state-of-the-art, with gleaming new aluminum 80 cubic foot tank, a vest-style BCD, dive computer, watch, multiple gauges and octopus rig. He was spending an inordinate amount of time playing with his camera, and seemed unconcerned with testing his regulator and gauges. While he was looking at his camera, lights and flash, I tested his regulator and checked his gauges. It all seemed fine.

Ready to go, I waited for the dive master to give us the thumb’s up. I sat on the edge of the leeward side of the boat, where I would be more protected from the waves -and got ready to make a backwards roll-entry into the water, my regulator in my mouth. My partner said he was ready to go and awkwardly backed over to a spot next to me, his camera equipment strapped onto what can only be called a large apparatus, was in his hands. I suggested that he have the camera gear passed down to him once he made entry and that once having entered the water, that he make his way over to the swim platform at the transom of the boat to then retrieve his gear. He thought that made sense and subsequently passed it to the Dutch fellow.

I waited for the boat to hit the trough of the swell while holding my mask onto my face, I rolled off, sank a few feet, took a breath on my regulator and inflated my BC to await my dive partner. I had what appeared to be, just the right amount of weights on. As I came back to the surface, I could see my partner fumbling with his snorkel, which he had placed in his mouth. Before I could yell to him, he rolled backwards off the boat. Unfortunately, rather than doing so when the boat was in the trough of the swell, and the drop being about four feet to the water, he rolled off when the boat was cresting the swell. He now fell 10 or 12 feet onto his back with a splash, which immediately ripped his mask off his face. He lost a piece of equipment in the process and tried to inhale through his snorkel, while five feet under water. I quickly replaced his mask, grabbed his second stage mouthpiece and shoved the regulator in his mouth. His eyes were wide and he was coughing and beginning to sink. Then I grabbed the inflator for his BC, inflated it, and he popped to the surface. I quickly grabbed the piece of equipment he was losing, which looked like a light meter, before it sank out of site.

We were approximately a hundred feet from the wall, which started at about 100 feet below us and disappeared to black on our side. I returned to the surface, sorted out his gear and asked him if he was okay. He said he was, and suggested that, “That was pretty stupid.” I said nothing in return, and just smiled. He then swam over to the swim platform and was passed his camera rig. I then said, clearly and emphatically to him,”Listen. Stay with me. I have a problem with equalizing so it will take me a few seconds longer to descend.” He mumbled that he understood and we awaited the other pair of divers and the dive master, who quickly did a stride jump entry off the rear platform into the water and joined us.

As a group we swam towards the wall on the surface. A dive buoy and rescue ring were trailed from the rear of the boat. This was the target point, some fifty feet from the wall, where we then descended. The dive master swam over to me and asked, “What the hell went on with this guy entering the water?” I said that I thought he either wasn’t experienced or that he had never dived in the open ocean before. The dive master shook his head and proceeded to swim to the floating rescue ring. I was already regretting having agreed to dive with my ‘partner’.

We all assembled at the buoy and began to bleed air out of our BC’s. As I slowly descended the first fifteen or twenty feet, I had to continuously equalize the pressure in my ears. My partner was not looking at me and was already a good 20 feet below me. I tapped my knife on my tank and gained his attention. I wrote on my slate attached to my BC, “Stay with me.” He gave me the thumbs up and for the moment, I thought he understood.

Ten seconds later, I noticed a larger Nassau grouper close to the wall. My partner saw it as well, and without so much as a thought, swam away from me at pace, his eyes fixed on the framing reticle of his camera. I saw his flash fire, the grouper dove down on the wall, and my partner followed. I was having trouble getting my right ear to equalize and by now had descended to about 120 feet, watching my partner continue chasing the grouper. We were already 20 feet deeper than we planned on for the dive.

In horror, I watched as my dive partner continued to descend down the wall, his camera flash lighting up the various targets of his interest. I was banging on my tank with my knife, trying to get his attention. I glanced at my depth gauge. I was now at 140 feet and my partner was still going down, headfirst following a fish.

My banging on the tank had grabbed that attention of the dive master who was now beside me, his facial expression, one of terror. I quickly wrote on my slate, “Ignored me. I think he’s Narced.” The two of us could not descend any further as my dive computer clearly indicated that I was already as deep as I could go. Worse, I could only stay at this depth for five minutes! I wasn’t altogether too worried at this point because we had a shot line with drop tanks on it for decompression. To give myself some latitude in relation to my impending decompression, I ascended about twenty feet and continued to bang on my tank. I estimate that my dive partner was probably at a depth of 175 feet when I apparently gained his attention. He looked up at me and waved, giving me a thumb’s up sign. It was then that I realized we were in really deep trouble.

The dive master had discontinued his dive and taken the other two divers to the surface. In a couple of minutes, that seemed like hours, I noticed the shot line being lowered farther down with its pair of tanks, and regulators attached. The dive master then re-entered the water and I ascended to his location at about 80 feet, still watching my dive partner moving along the wall. He appeared to have actually moved farther down, which was disconcerting.

I could hear his BC air inflator being operated down below. My partner was now ascending, which quickly seemed to be too rapid as the pressure decreased. Ascending too rapidly is dangerous, as all divers know Henry’s Law. I assume that he had suffered (AGE) or an arterial gas embolism on his way back up to us at the 80 foot mark. He had panicked and ascended too rapidly. As he approached, it was obvious he was in serious distress when we got to him, or rather, when he got to us. We both grabbed him and I dumped some air from his BC. It was obvious that he had the bends or worse, as he was semi-conscious and there was blood coming out the discharge of his regulator. I had to force his regulator back into his mouth as I continued to ascend to the shot line’s decompression tanks.

We, the dive master and I, realized that my dive partner could not remain at depth due to his medical condition and that we needed to ignore his decompression and get him to a medical facility as fast as possible if he was to survive. In any event, he wasn’t breathing properly and my first thought was that he would drown. My dive computer illustrated that now, I needed to decompress for 10 minutes or risk becoming bent as well. The other couple had descended to the shot line in order to help, which was pulled up to a point 30 feet below the boat. They took the man to the surface, while the dive master and I completed our decompression stop.

When we got to the surface, we heard screaming from the flight attendant who had the first aid kit out and had placed an O2 mask on the face of the unconscious diver. There was frothy pink blood on the deck, and while the diver was breathing, his breath came in what I can only describe as ‘rattles’. He was cyanotic and his lips were blue.

The Captain had immediately called a mayday and contacted the Bahamian Coastguard, which did not have a helicopter available. However, by nothing more than sheer luck, a United States Navy Diving tender ship was approximately 60 miles North East of our position. They were sending a helicopter and SAR technician. They would then transport him if needed, upon assessment by the SARTEC, or Search and Rescue Technician to the dive tender, where medical aid and a decompression chamber were located. As an EMR myself at the time, it was readily obvious to me that it would be necessary.

We continued the O2 therapy while awaiting the helicopter. The diver did not regain consciousness during this time. Within about 20 minutes we could hear the rotor of an incoming rescue helicopter. I continued to monitor my partner’s vitals, which were not good.

The Captain threw a smoke flare onto the water so that the pilot could determine wind speed and approach, and within minutes a SARTEC and rescue basket were being lowered to the deck, with the helicopter wash trying to blow everything off the boat. The SARTEC landed on the deck, took one look at the patient and shook his head. I asked him, “Do you think he’ll make it?”, over the roar of the helicopter. His response was, “I doubt it.” With that final comment, the patient was strapped into the rescue basket and with a signal to the pilot of the Dolphin helicopter, the two were winched back up. Once the basket was safely in the helicopter, it rapidly headed back in the direction from which it had come.

The Captain of the boat was on the radio during this whole time, frantically making notes, talking to the US Navy on the emergency radio channel.

Suddenly now quiet, I sat, stunned, looking at the dive master, who had his head in his hands. The frothy pink blood stain was running towards the gunnel of the boat. I picked up a small hose from the swim deck of the boat and washed it down, including what appeared to be a piece of lung tissue. I then washed the salt off myself. We returned to port, mostly in silence. Another boat had been sent to pick up those divers that had been left on the swim platform.

I never found out if my dive partner survived, as I left the islands to return home at the end of my trip. I also was never contacted by the police or any Bahamian government members to determine what had occurred, even though I left them with all my contact details. I don’t know why, and I truly didn’t want to know if the man survived. Normally I do. But because, of the circumstances, if he hadn’t, it would be one more thing for me to carry around. I never dove again with another person I didn’t know, well.

The lesson to take from this is of your own making. But it’s obvious that in situations where people have little or no experience and then place themselves in an environment where their skills, or lack of them, are tested, that the outcome can be dire.

https://prezi.com/5iqsidlc46yy/henrys-law-and-the-bends-in-scuba-diving/