Winter Pause

This is my first winter as a scuba diver.

But other than flicking through the pages of Dive magazine and looking at the pile of second-hand gear that I've acquired, nothing else is happening in my diving world.

I've not even made contact with the local BSAC group. They meet every Thursday evening and as attempts to engage online have failed, I need to get along to one of their gatherings. Unfortunately, Thursday isn't a great evening for me to be out so it hasn't happened yet.

I am looking forward to doing more diving next year. Before I do, I need to have my recent acquisitions tested. I have two large cylinders, a BC, regs, a drysuit and associated bits and pieces. Most of it has sat unused for a few years and needs checking by a professional before going back into use.

Even this blog has been neglected of late. Hence this post, which is really just to flag that I'm still here and I'm planning to be back in the water next year.

Death of Andy Holmes Highlights Hidden Danger of Watersport

When I saw the message on Twitter the name rang a distant bell. Where had I heard that name: Andy Holmes?

Clicking through to the Telegraph.co.uk article told me immediately - Holmes and Redgrave, gold medal winners in the rowing at the Seoul Olympics.

What then caught me eye was the probably cause - leptospirosis, or Weil's disease. Again, a name I half recognise but an issue I've heard about before - a rare and sometimes fatal infection caught in fresh water rivers and lakes.

During my diving at inland sites I've had thoughts of this in the back of my mind. The BSAC training prepares you for all sorts of eventualities underwater, but not once was this particular risk mentioned.

To be fair, it is highly unusual, but according the Leptospirosis Information Center commercial divers are required to take specific precautions against it.

Anyone who practices watersport in fresh water risks potential infection. Swimmers, canoeists, divers and even anglers could fall victim to it. The risk doesn't just come from swallowing water - any area of broken skin, such as cut or graze, can allow the bacteria into the body.

The point of this post isn't to scare. Thousands of people practice watersports every day in the UK and we allow our children to play in streams and beside rivers. I don't know the numbers, but I'm sure more people die of drowning than of this disease. Many more are killed on the roads every day, but that doesn't stop us getting into our cars.

The death of Andy Holmes at 51, when he was still a fit and active sportsman, is a reminder of one particular risk that we take when we go into fresh water.

Condolences to his family at what must be a very difficult time.

High and Dry in Weymouth Museum

Every time I've been out of the water for a while, I wonder whether I'll ever go back.

After all, getting ready for a dive is a lot of hassle. There's all that equipment to sort out, travel to organise, and it's not as if I don't have enough other things to fill my time. Being in a new area doesn't help - I need to make new contacts and find new dive buddies.

But just as I'm getting used to the idea of not getting back into a wetsuit for a long time, something rekindles my desire to strap on a BC and get back under the water. This time it was a visit to Weymouth Museum.

An Underwhelming Presentation

As tourist attractions go, the museum is not very inspiring. Something of a random collection of artifacts grouped loosely by theme. The quality of the information panels is inconsistent and the entire collection is presented incoherently.

That said, we should be glad there's a museum at all and who knows whether it will have a future in the impending 'age of austerity'. Its neglected state is also due in part, perhaps, to the entire building being under threat of imminent redevelopment.

Despite all this, my attention was grabbed by the finds brought up by divers. Elephant tusks, pieces of a P40 Tomahawk aircraft and brass work from HMS Hood were all on display, having been liberated from the seabed over the last 40 years.

By the way, HMS Hood is not the one infamously sunk by the Bismark in the Second World War, but its predecessor. This Hood lies across the southern entrance to Portland Harbour, where it was scuttled during the First World War to block one of three gaps in the huge harbour wall.

Underwater Treasure Trove

I'm easily entranced by the historic, and quickly lured into the hands-on nature of archeology, recovering the past from the soil. Underwater archaeology, even in the primitive form of liberating brass portholes from wrecks, is an exciting new dimension.

I do feel a pang of regret at the thought of ripping old ships to pieces rather than leaving them as relics for divers to enjoy in situ, and I've blogged about it before in 'Scuba Divers are Destroyers'.

But responsible recovery of artifacts has an appeal, as does the experience of simply visiting wreck sites and taking nothing away. Historic sites have a particular resonance and those underwater are even more special simply because they're visited less often.

So while I've left Weymouth Museum disappointed at its representation of hundreds of years of human life, I'm inspired once again to find opportunities to dive in the local seas and start exploring some of the mysteries beneath the waves.

Counting the Cost of Scuba Diver Training

How much did it cost me to train as a scuba diver?

When I first mooted the idea experienced diver friends told me to get my training from BSAC, not PADI. Newcomers to diving will soon discover the friendly rivalry between the two organisations.

Other than the advice, another attraction of the BSAC training was that it was 'free'. The trainers are volunteers, giving up their time to help new divers simply for the love of the sport. (But don't let the term 'volunteer' put you off - they take their responsibilities very seriously).

The reality, of course, is that the training costs money. And to be fair, no one from BSAC tried to sell me their training on the basis of cost. I just made the assumption that because there was no cost for the course, it wouldn't burn too deep a hole in my pocket. But I hadn't thought it through.

With the benefit of hindsight I thought I'd do a quick comparison between the costs my BSAC training and an equivalent PADI course.

The Price of PADI Training

Let's start with PADI because it's easy. My local dive centre's website says their Open Water course of 8 sessions costs £379. That includes hire of almost all equipment, air refills for the tanks and pool fees. It doesn't cover the entrance costs for open water dive sites, which it says are typically £16. Given that there are two sessions in open water, that's £32 on top of the £379, or £411 in total.

The equipment that PADI don't supply are fins, boots, mask and snorkel. Think £100 for that lot, which pushes the costs up to £511.

Calculating the BSAC Training Costs

BSAC is more complicated. First there's the fee the join BSAC itself and to become a member of the local club. This includes the cost of the training booklets and comes to £175.

The first few diving sessions were in the swimming pool and the club covered the entrance fees and provided the equipment. I was able to borrow a wet suit from a club member. So far, BSAC's a lot cheaper.

But when it came to open water diving the costs shot up. The club provided the air tanks and a member lent me some fins. But I had to hire a wet suit, BC and regs (the inflatable jacket and the air hoses). That cost me £45 a day. Then there was the cost of getting into dive sites - £9 for Wraysbury and £15 for Vobster.

On top of that I had to pay for air refills. The club supplied a full tank but it needed filling after the first of two dives on each day. Another £3 or so.

Our day out to Swanage wasn't really part of the course, it was a bonus dive thrown in to help boost my confidence. It was a fantastic day but again, there was a cost, this time about £15 as a contribution to running the club's RIB, and an air refill.

All in all training with BSAC has cost me about £410.

I bought my own mask, snorkle, boots and gloves, which cost about £70. Add that to the £410 and it comes to £480.

So in the final analysis - my training with PADI would have cost £511 but with BSAC it cost £480.

In reality, the price is virtually identical. I've including the cost of fins in the PADI workings and gloves in the BSAC costs; take them both out and it pretty much evens up.

I've also ignored the 'hidden' costs of travel to and from the various training sites, as it would have been almost identical.

Which is Cheaper - PADI or BSAC?

There's no real difference in cost between PADI and BSAC, at least from my experience.

However, BSAC lets me dive to 20m, PADI would restrict me to 18m. So I'm getting an extra 2m for my money!

But diving isn't about the money. It's an incredible experience and I'm extremely grateful to the team at Alton BSAC who introduced me to the other world that's under the water.

Scuba Diving With a Purpose

A leaflet entitled "Dive into conservation" caught my eye at the recent Dorset Country Show.

I picked it up from the Dorset Wildlife Trust stand because I liked the idea of turning my new hobby into something useful.

Apparently divers are invited to volunteer for a scheme called Seasearch. It's a huge survey of the UK's underwater landscape, putting together a record of the huge variety of creatures and habitats off our shores.

Britain is blessed with an enormously long and diverse coastline. While many recreational divers prefer the warm waters of the tropics, or the Red Sea, there's a massive abundance of wildlife just metres off our own beaches. I've only had two sea dives, off Swanage, but they were much more rewarding than quarry dives because I glimpsed life in another world.

I have no idea how much diving I'll be doing in the future, but I know that the simple novelty of being underwater will wear off soon enough. I'm looking forward to exploring wrecks and reefs, but it would be great to bring some structure and purpose to my finning about the place.

So at first glance Seasearch looks like a great programme to get involved with. There appears to be some training involved, and organised dive trips. Realistically nothing's likely to happen between now and next Spring, but I can make some enquiries.

BSAC, PADI and a host of other organisations all support Seasearch, which is coordinated by The Marine Conservation Society.

One of the other groups associated with the programme is the Nautical Archaeology Society. Now that's another underwater activity I'd like to know more about!

A Giant Stride for Man

I've made no secret of my dislike for water.

Okay, let's call it what it is. Fear of water. Which is why I've struggled with the 'giant stride' form of getting into the stuff.

Scuba divers employ a variety of methods for entering the water, depending on the setting. Weighed down with our gear, including heavy tanks of air, and wearing large fins on our feet, our mobility is impeded. Simply 'diving in' isn't as easy as it sounds.

As I mentioned in my very first post, I'd never jumped into water before taking up scuba diving. Which made my first practical lesson even more daunting, because I was asked to perform a giant stride to get into the swimming pool.

My preferred approach has always been to climb down a ladder or walk down a gently shelving beach. Or simply to stay away from the wet stuff. That way I remain in control.

The giant stride is exactly what it sounds like. You stand on the side, facing the water. You put one hand on your face to hold your mask and regulator in place, face straight ahead, and take a huge step forward. The result is a fall, feet first, into the water.

You crash through the surface and drop beneath it. I make a point of not closing my eyes and for a couple of seconds my vision is filled with a seething mass of bubbles. Then buoyancy takes over and, having filled your jacket with air before stepping out, you bob to the surface and raise a hand to signal that you're okay. Assuming that you are, of course!

I'd got used to the giant stride at the swimming pool, although I didn't enjoy it. But when we went diving at Vobster Quay it reached a new level of challenge, with the entry point a few metres above the water's surface. It looked a very long way down.

There wasn't a lot of time to consider the options. My dive buddy, much more experienced than I, was soon in the water and waiting for me. There were two extremely inviting ladders from the entry point into the water but they're almost impossible to negotiate in fins. No, my choices were to pull out or step in.

A fundamental of scuba diving is having faith in your equipment. For me the giant stride tests that trust from the very start, because only my artificial buoyancy is going to compensate for the huge weight I'm carrying.

And it does the job admirably, every time.

BSAC Ocean Diver!

It's all over, bar the final stamp in my training log book.

I've successfully completed BSAC's Ocean Diver training course. Which means I'm qualified to dive to a depth of 20m, under the watchful eye of a qualified dive master.

As I've blogged before, there's nothing to stop me donning my kit and jumping into nearby Portland Harbour on my own. But common sense and good practice says I should always dive in the company of a buddy. And if I want to dive with a club I need to demonstrate that I know what I'm doing - hence the qualification.

The BSAC approach to scuba diver training is to use volunteer instructors. So we (I trained alongside my daughter) owe a huge debt of thanks to Geoff, Perrin and Simon from Alton BSAC. They've given up hours of their time to deliver lessons in the classroom, local swimming pool and open water sites. Their unwavering commitment and enthusiasm is to be commended. Thank you!

So what now? The next level of training is Sports Diver, which would allow me to drop to 35m underwater. A quick scan down a list of wrecks local to my Dorset home shows that those extra 15 metres would allow me to visit a much broader range of sites.

Then there's the change from wet suit to dry suit diving. Having picked up a second-hand dry suit it makes sense to get some training in how to use it.

And I ought to hook up with the local BSAC club. I've finally worked out where they meet and when; next step is to be there when they are!

What I still find incredible is that when 2010 opened, I had no intention of getting involved in scuba diving. Nine months later I've completed the course and, more significantly, I'll never look at deep water in the same way again.

Snorkelling in Portland Harbour

I couldn't resist it.

I've just bought a second-hand drysuit. Despite never having had drysuit training, I was keen to try it out. I've also just moved into a rented house within a minute's walk of Portland Harbour - a huge lagoon of blue water that shimmers in the sun every morning.

The combination generated an unbearable urge to get in the sea as soon as possible. So I did. I snorkelled in Portland Harbour wearing a drysuit.

And if you're thinking that I was courting with danger, be assured that I assessed the risks and stayed safe. Firstly, I took someone with me to observe from the beach and we had a quick chat about protocol - if I waved, I was in trouble. Not that it was very likely, but it's always wise to agree your hand signals in advance.

Secondly, I remained in shallow water at all times. By shallow I mean that when I lay on the surface I could reach down to the bottom with my hands. In Portland Harbour, at low tide, there's a huge expanse of shallow water that's less than a metre deep.

I had a great time. I've never snorkelled before and this was a very basic outing. Beneath me were shoals of tiny fish, probably some sort of goby, and numerous hermit crabs scuttling about their business. That was all I saw, but it was enough for one outing.

I also proved that the drysuit was, as far as I could tell, watertight, at least on the surface. I'll need proper training before I take it deeper. And I discovered that a drysuit is not ideal for snorkelling. It kept me warm and dry, but it was, predictably, extremely buoyant.

If I want to continue my snorkelling adventures it looks like a wetsuit will need to go on the shopping list.

Why Buy New Scuba Diving Gear?

"Don't buy new equipment because there's plenty of almost-new gear out there."

That's the advice I've been given over and over by more experienced scuba divers. Most of them seem to dive with equipment they've sourced through eBay or picked up elsewhere, having already been used by someone else.

Whatever you call it: second-hand, pre-owned or used - there's apparently no shortage of it and it represents great value for money, if you know what you're looking for.

The main source of this strong supply is over-enthusiastic novices, apparently. There's a fair crop who pour a large amount of cash into a complete set of new dive gear during their training, only to find that the sport isn't for them.

Some realise the error of their ways fairly quickly and try to recover a reasonable proportion of their investment through a quick sale. Others are slower to acknowledge their mistake, or simply need time to pass before they conclude that they'll not putting the shiny kit to good use. They pay a higher price when they sell up, simply because their equipment has spent years under the stairs.

As predicted by my instructors, I've benefited from the enthusiastic purchases of a trainee diver. I've never met the chap, but a contact heard he was selling off all his gear and immediately thought of me. Geography was a slight problem, as we lived at opposite ends of the country, but last week I got to see what was on offer.

I'm no expert and at first I was sceptical. When you're being asked to part with hundreds of pounds it's easy to be reluctant, particularly when what's on offer isn't new and shiny. But when you look at the list prices of new equivalents it becomes easier to take a bit of a risk and agree to take the lot.

So I'm now the proud owner of a dry suit, BC, regs, at least one cylinder and sundry other stuff. It hasn't seen service for a few years and while a visual inspection revealed no issues, that's no replacement for a professional assessment. I won't be diving with it until it's been signed off as being in working order.

But it proved the point. If you keep your ear to the ground you can pick up scuba gear for a good price.

Scuba Divers are Destroyers

I just read the BBC News story of divers who've discovered what may be the oldest surviving champagne in the world.

It came from a wreck in the Baltic. The world's seas are littered with sunken ships, many of them in shallow coastal waters because that's where the majority of people sail, within sight of land.

As a history lover, I'm looking forward to diving on wrecks. There's something special about getting close of old artefacts of any sort, and swimming around an old ship that relatively few people have seen for decades must be particularly exciting. Especially if you're one of the first to be there following its discovery.

But, sadly, it appears that not all divers respect the historic significance or integrity of a wreck. They're more interested in taking away souvenirs, and damaging the remains in the process. I've already heard plenty of stories of divers who've lifted objects from wrecks in British waters, and I've only been diving for a few months.

I can understand the magpie urge to take away bright, shiny stuff. And I would not be immune to temptation myself. Until I've had the opportunity myself, and made the decision about what to do, I'm not going to judge the behaviour of my fellow divers.  After all, if I find something that's interesting and portable, but leave it behind, the next diver who comes along is unlikely to do the same. So why shouldn't I take it?

Unless active measures are taken to protect a wreck, the reality is that it'll soon be stripped of anything that's easy to lift. And I'm sure not all of it is taken for personal pleasure, but is quickly sold on for a profit. The law says anything removed from the UK's seabed should be reported to the Receiver of Wreck, as it's someone else's property. I wonder how many calls they get from divers?

Removing items from wrecks is one thing - wanton destruction is another. I recently read posts on a scuba diving discussion forum about the destruction of items placed underwater in a quarry, as landmarks for divers.

It seems that some divers can't resist the urge to smash objects simply because they can, without any regard for the inconvenience and annoyance it causes to others. These are the sort who shouldn't be allowed near wrecks at all, because they'd simply break things up for the the sake of it. Not only would they spoil the submerged historic landscape for other divers, they'd also be at risk of wasting vintage champagne!

If you want to read the BBC News article about the discovery of champagne in the Baltic, click here.

Testing Times for Scuba Diving

It's a long time since I sat an exam.

But I had to take one yesterday. Learning to be a scuba diver involves plenty of practical work, in the pool and open water, but there's also a stack of theory to take on board. And your knowledge is tested with an exam.

Our training has covered diverse subjects including human respiration, how to plan a dive, the organisational structure of BSAC, how to dive a wreck responsibly, and more. We've mastered the BSAC dive tables and how to discipher the markings inscribed into compressed air cylinders.

If taking an exam isn't challenging enough, the pass mark is 80%. That's high, but it's all stuff that a diver needs to know.

Before the exam we had a revision session where we went through an example paper. A reasonable number of questions could be answered from common sense and general diving knowledge, while some required an understanding of how to use dive tables or remember technical terms.

There's always a slight nervousness before any exam. Do I know enough? Should I spend a bit more time reviewing my notes? The BSAC exams are marked on the spot, meaning you find out whether you've passed, or failed, there and then.

We were handed the paper and given 30 minutes to complete a multiple choice answer grid. Within moments I spotted questions that I would struggle to answer. Help! Turning the page I began to wish I'd spent more time reading the BSAC manual earlier that morning. My approach was to answer the easy questions and go back to the more difficult ones, and I was skipping too many to be comfortable.

So I was relieved when, moments later, it was discovered we'd been given a more advanced paper by mistake. No wonder I was having difficulty - we hadn't been taught most of this stuff!

We started again with the correct paper and it took me 15 minutes to complete a test for which I'd been given 30. Fortunately this wasn't school and we weren't forced to spend the remaining time in bored silence, waiting for the minutes to tick by.

The good news is that I passed, as did my daughter. But neither scored 100% and we spent time talking through the questions we got wrong. One or two technical terms had escaped me, and some points of procedure were open to interpretation, to me at least.

I have one lesson to complete and that's it, I should become a fully-fledged BSAC Ocean Diver. Which sounds grand, but it's the lowest level of qualification. I'll then have to decide whether to move on to the next level, Sports Diver.

At least I now have a better idea of what that involves, having had a sneak peek at the exam!

Vobster Quay is a Dump

Don't get me wrong - Vobster Quay Inland Dive Centre is a well-equipped dive location.

But there's no getting away from the fact it's a dump. Not that it's very different from other dive centres I've been to or heard about. They're all dumps.

It's curious how an old car, disused aeroplane or a boat that's past it's sell-by date suddenly become more interesting when it's sunk in an equally redundant quarry. Every weekend a fair proportion of the UK's diving community head for one of these holes in the ground, spending their precious recreation time swimming around flooded junk yards.

Today was my first dive in Vobster. During my hour underwater (two 30 minute dives) I encountered several sunken boats, a sliced-up aeroplane, the bridge section from a ship and a garden gnome with a fishing rod, complete with fish. According to their website and map I missed out on various other features including submerged cars and an industrial tumble drier.

The only aquatic life I encountered were hordes of trainee divers, mainly clustered around the many underwater platforms.

I didn't take up diving to see everyday objects in a slightly unusual environment. A disused boat or car isn't any more interesting, to me, for having been sunk.

To be fair, the main function of inland dive centres is to provide an opportunity for diver training and practice. They tend to be old quarries, filled with water, and without the various pieces of discarded machinery they'd be featureless pools where divers would quickly become either bored or lost. Or both.

The apparently random assortment of random rubbish is in fact a collection of carefully placed landmarks, allowing divers to navigate their way around underwater while giving them something to look at. It's also a great way of re-using old stuff, although I don't know how environmentally friendly it is. I assume the stuff is cleaned of toxins, such as oil, before it's tossed in.

I'll probably have to go to Vobster at least one more time to complete my training, and if I keep diving I might dip into an inland site once in a while. But I'm much more interested in diving in places where there's lots of marine life to look at, or interesting underwater features to explore.

That said, our seas have also been used as dumps for hundreds, if not thousands of years!

Scuba Mask Clearing is Easy

If you're struggling with mask clearing, take a break from it.

The other night I spent an hour and a half in the local swimming pool with the sole objective of overcoming this obstacle on my road to becoming a BSAC Ocean Diver.

I went along slight nervous. It's been a few week since my last dive, at Swanage, so I was feeling a little out of practice. I turned up to discover the club's monthly pool dive session was packed with novices on try-dives, getting their first scuba experience.

This was good news because it meant I didn't have an instructor to look after me. They each had a novice to care for and I was left pretty much to do what I wanted. The only thing required was that I completed the mask clearing exercises under supervision.

I've documented my mask clearing problems before. This time, with two sea dives behind me, I felt more confident. While diving off Swanage I'd had to do some minor mask clearing 'for real' when water leaked in. I also just felt more confident being underwater.

Climbing into the pool I found a quiet corner and ducked under. I tried to kneel on the floor of the 1.2m pool and after struggling to stay down I spotted the first problem of the evening - I'd forgotten to pick up a weight belt.

Moments later, with a borrowed 2kg of ankle weights around my waist (yes, it's possible and not because I'm particularly thin) I tried again.

I spent a minute or two kneeling on the pool floor, watching the novices as they were being shown the basics. I was still a little concerned about the mask clearing but it had to be done, so I allowed a small amount of the water in and then cleared it.

No problem. Okay, let some more in and clear. Again, no problem. I encountered none of the issues I'd had before - an inability to blow hard through my nose and subsequent inhalation of water, which had led to anxiety.

Something's either very wrong, I thought, or very right. So let's do the big test - I pulled my mask off completely and then put it back on my face, blowing air out through my nose all the time and clearing it in seconds.

I did it again. And again. It was ridiculously easy. One of the instructors came across to observe me do it and he added a new test, pulling the mask off my face while I looked the other way, and putting it in my hands. Again, I put it back on and cleared it in a moment. I went to the 3m pool, sank to the bottom and again, removing, replacing and clearing the mask presented no problem. I was even enjoying it!

I also witnessed the novice divers being introduced to mask clearing during their try dives. They too appeared to be finding it easy. It was a reminder that not everyone struggles with that particular exercise.

My advice to anyone struggling with mask clearing is to take a break from it and spend more time learning to be comfortable underwater. That worked for me. My two sea dives in Swanage didn't involve any training exercises - we just enjoyed the diving experience. But it gave me the confidence boost I needed to overcome mask clearing.

Some trainee divers, like me, aren't big fans of water. That meant I found it hard to relaxed in the stuff, which in turn made mask clearing a struggle. Those precious extra minutes of dive time have enabled me to become more comfortable, which in turn allowed me to conquer this particular challenge.

I mustn't become over-confident, because that brings its own problems. But I am almost looking forward to my final mask clearing exercise, in open water, this weekend.

Beware Scuba Diver - Hand Signals Only

I forgot something really important the last time I dived.

Hand signals. It's bugged me that during my first dive in the sea I neglected one to follow one of the most basic procedures in scuba diving. When you enter enter the water and when you surface after a dive the first thing you should do is indicate to the boat crew that you're okay, using a recognised hand signal. I forgot.

My neglect was sort of excusable. Learning to dive is a bit lit learning to drive. There's so much to remember that you wonder how anyone manages to appear relaxed while doing it. I forgot to use hand signals because I had too much to think about.

While it's a great excuse, it's not something I want to repeat. Failing to signal your intentions when driving could lead to difficulties. Failing to signal when diving isn't quite as risky, as no one's likely to run into you as you perform an unexpected manoeuvre. But it's good practice to let the dive team on the boat, and your buddy, know that you're okay.

Successful diving relies on use of hand signals. They're the main form of communication what you're underwater. I was taught early on about the importance of the 'I'm okay' signal, which isn't a thumbs up, as you might expect.

The 'I'm okay' signal is both a question and a statement. When you give the sign to your buddy you're saying 'I'm okay, how about you?' and it prompts a response - usually 'I'm okay'.

This isn't the place to go into a list of hand signals, and it appears that they vary between the different diving groups. Suffice to say, a good grasp of the basic signals is important and they should be discussed with your buddy in advance, to reduce the risk of potential misunderstanding later.

It's Always Safety First in Scuba Diving

Scuba diver training can be very frustrating.

No one learns to dive because they want to lurk at the bottom of public swimming pools, where the only 'marine life' are the spiders and other insects who've fallen in. But for the first few weeks that's where we spent our time and I suspect most other divers do the same.

In this bland, tiled environment I was put through a series of exercises and drills that weren't what I signed up for. My ambitions for scuba diving were swimming along the seabed watching the antics of fish, crabs and other creatures in their own habitat. I wasn't terribly interested in learning how to recover a buddy who's in trouble, switch to using my buddy's emergency regulator or, my least favourite, clear a mask full of water.

But tiresome though they may be, familiarity with dealing with these situations is vital. For all the fun and wonder to be had in scuba diving, you mustn't forget that you're in a potentially hostile environment. Humans weren't designed to live underwater and when something goes wrong it's easy for a minor problem to escalate into a very serious issue with potentially deadly consequences.

I discovered this for real during a recent dive off Swanage. It was only my second dive in the sea and my first to a depth of 12 metres and I was still feeling very reliant on my buddy for guidance.

So I was surprised to turn around and find he'd vanished. We'd been drifting along the seabed and I'd got slightly ahead of him. Visibility wasn't too bad - probably about 5 metres, perhaps a little more, and we were reaching the end of our agreed time underwater.

Every minute or so during the dive I'd checked that he was nearby. This can be harder than it sounds when you're diving - your field of vision is restricted so it can take a moment to do a full 360 degree sweep. It was a good few seconds before I accepted that he really wasn't nearby.

A train of thoughts rushed through my head. I was alone at the bottom of the sea, being pushed along by the current. The dive boat could track my buddy's position because he had an SMB (surface marker buoy) but I didn't. If I moved too far from them when I surfaced I'd simply be a tiny black speck in the sea, difficult to spot from a distance. These were unhelpful thoughts which, if left unchecked, could lead to anxiety and panic.

Common sense kicked in. I still had a plenty of air and the first thing to do was the separation drill. I was already satisfied that I couldn't see my buddy from the seabed, so I rose a couple of metres and checked again. He still wasn't in sight. My training said I should now surface.

This is where I faced a dilemma. Rising from a depth of 12 metres I should have performed a safety stop at 6 metres, floating for 3 minutes to help ensure correct decompression. It's not a mandatory requirement but it's recommended best practice. I'd have needed to be at that depth for a lot longer before a stop became an absolute requirement.

I decided that my concern about drifting away from the boat overrode my need to do a stop. Another principle I'd picked up from training was that in an emergency the most important thing is to get to the surface - other issues can be dealt with after that. Okay, this wasn't exactly an emergency, but it was a 'situation'.

The good news, as it were, was that I was able to surface without injecting any air into my BC (jacket). Another valuable lesson from this dive had been about controlling buoyancy with minimal use of the BC inflation controls. That can be the subject of another blog post and suffice to say I was able to float to the surface easily.

When I got there the boat, and my buddy, were nearby.

In hindsight I wish I'd done a stop. Not only would it have taken away lingering concerns about decompression, but it would have allowed me to stay observe the surface from under the water. While the vis at 12 metres wasn't bad, as I approached the surface my vision became a blur of bubbles and light. For the last few seconds I couldn't see where I was going and no longer felt in control. I raised my arm to protect myself from an encounter with the boat, just in case.

It turned out that my buddy, a much more experienced diver, had suffered a free-flow which had caused him to surface suddenly. So I hadn't simply moved too far from him underwater; he'd run into difficulties and been forced to surface immediately, at a moment when I hadn't been watching him.

To be honest, if I'd seen him suddenly shooting upwards I would probably have been even more concerned.

Learning to dive is a bit like learning to drive. When you start there's so much to think about you wonder how anyone manages to make it look effortless. But over time more and more becomes second-nature. This is why all those safety drills in the pool become so important - if the unexpected happens you need to know what to do and have the confidence to make decisions for yourself.

Diving instructors can't deliberately put trainees into mildly challenging situations, but if they happen it's a powerful learning experience. It's made me think through a number of issues, including what I'd do differently next time and whether I should carry my own SMB in future, just in case.

As we went through all those frustrating drills in the swimming pool our instructor kept telling us that it's unusual for something to go wrong during a dive. But as my experience in Swanage proved, it does happen, and that's when you realise the value of all that preparation and practise. It might be frustrating, but it's not a waste of time.

Ocean Diver (Almost)

I'm taking the BSAC Ocean Diver course.

So it's appropriate that yesterday's diving was in the ocean. Or to be more precise, the English Channel. Or to be even more precise, Swanage Bay.

During my various visits to Swanage I've watched the dive boats coming in and out with mild curiousity. Where do they go? What do they do? So there was some satisfaction in being part of the team loading a boat on the beach, watched by casual observers on the promenade. How many of them harboured a latent desire to be joining us, as I always had?

The Alton BSAC club is fortunate enough to own its own RIB (rigid-hulled inflatable boat) courtesy of a National Lottery grant. It was large enough to carry the six in our party to our two dive sites, the first of which was just off Swanage's west beach.

Diving in the sea brings it's own challenges. First there's buoyancy - a novice diver needs to carry more weight because it's harder to sink in salt water. Secondly, the suface is constantly moving because of wave action. In a busy harbour there's also plenty of surface disturbance from other boat users.

Performing my first backwards roll entry into the sea was relatively easy - I've got used to the idea of falling into water and assuming that I'll eventually surface. I just concentrate on breathing and natural buoyancy sorts out everything else.

My main problem was overcoming this buoyancy and getting below the surface. On the first dive I was carrying 10kg in weight and could not get down. My buddy added another 2kg to my pocket and at the same time I remembered what my instructor had said about tension creating buoyancy problems. As I floated on the surface I told myself to relax and allowed the waves to wash over me. It did the trick and moments later I was 6m down, on the seabed.

I learned a huge amount from my two ocean dives and it's given me plenty to blog about in the coming days. I had my first encounter with marine life, my first dive to a wreck, my first drift dive and my first underwater incident that proved the importance of all our safety training.

It's also left me with some important decisions to make. Do I buy a wetsuit or a drysuit? Should I invest in an SMB (surface marker buoy)? Is this the right time to buy a dive computer?

Lots to think about and lots to write about. I'm not a qualified Ocean Diver yet, but at least I've now dived in the ocean!

Scuba Diver's Log

17 May 2010. Wraysbury Dive Centre, Middlesex.

First dive was for 15 minutes, achieving a depth of 7.2m. Water temperature 12 degrees celcius.

Wore a hired 5mm full length BodyGlove suit and a 5mm shortie and carryied 12kg in weight. Hired from Ocean Turtle in Basingstoke, along with a hood, regs and buoyancy control device.

Entered water from ramp and followed instructor, Simon, into deeper water. Saw nothing except some pond grass, shingle and other divers. Visibility poor – around 3m.

Performed some mask clearing and regulator retrieval exercises at the end of the dive, in shallow water.

That’s it – the log of my first dive. Like aircraft pilots, divers meticulously record the number of hours they’ve spent going about their business. For pilots it’s flying time, for divers, dive time. You can buy specially prepared diving log books, complete with smiling and frowning faces to tick as a record of your overall impression of the dive.

Logging time is important because hours equate to experience. Recording other information is equally valuable because you’d soon forget exactly what equipment you were carrying and what issues you encountered. Writing a log soon after the dive creates a record you can refer back to and will probably come in useful in the future. When you return to a dive site you can use the log to remind yourself of potential problems or sights to look out for.

I haven’t bought a log book yet but I probably should. I’m certainly not logging every dive on this blog although I’m tempted to log it electronically, perhaps online using Google Docs, but that will make it less accessible offline. A physical log book is a useful paper record but it's something else to carry around and, in my case, something else to misplace.

If you have any novel tips for a diving log, or ideas for other things it's useful to record in it, why not leave a comment on this post?

Don't Panic - You're A Scuba Diver

When you’re under water it’s important to stay in control.

To complete the scuba diver training you need to keep a firm grip on your emotions. You’re in an unnatural environment, entirely dependent on your equipment to keep breathing, and sometimes fear threatens to get the better of you.

In one of my early pool dives I unexpectedly had an almost uncontrollable desire to breathe through my nose. This is impossible when you’re wearing a mask, and unnecessary because I was being fed air through the regulator in my mouth.

Nevertheless, the sudden urge to breathe through my nose was almost overwhelming and for a moment it seemed it would only be satisfied by a swift rise to the surface. I didn’t give in, telling myself it was ridiculous. After a few moments the mood passed and I was fine.

Panic is when you act in an uncontrolled and often irrational way, driven by fear. It can be triggered by tiny things, such as my need to breathe nasally or suddenly having your mask fill with cold water. Different sparks effect different people. Simply contemplating how much water is between you and the fresh air might be enough to tip you into a panicked trip to the surface.

I can only write from my own experience but I’d be surprised if other divers don’t have moments when they need to get a grip of themselves. In my first open water dive, last weekend, the visibility was poor and at one point I was descending into gathering darkness unable to see anything but my dive buddy.

Don’t worry, I told myself when I sensed the first pangs of anxiety. You’re in a relatively shallow training lake and there’s nothing between you and the surface. Don’t let irrational fears get the better of you.

I didn’t let the anxiety take root and I went on to enjoy the dive. I also meet the BSAC requirement to have dived in a low visibility environment. It doesn’t get much worse than that, my buddy and instructor informed me.

So diving is a test of character. Do you have what it takes to deal with irrational fears, a momentary lack of air or a mask filled with water? If you don’t, scuba diving probably isn’t for you. On the other hand, you might be suprised at how easy it is to cope with these challenges if you think through the scenario logically before you do it, and simply focus on achieving each step in order.

And at the end of the day, consider what's the worst that can happen? Even in a basic pool dive there are multiple layers of safety and as long as you're sensible, you're very unlikely to come to any harm.

Open Water

Wraysbury Dive Centre is a hole.

I mean literally: a man-made depression in the Earth's surface, a short distance west of Heathrow Airport and the M25 motorway that circles London.

Once one of many gravel pits that pock-mark the area, it's now full of water and, at the weekends, full of divers.

We visited Wraysbury Dive Centre on Sunday for our first open water excursion. That is, our first dive outside of a swimming pool and our initiation into the wider world of scuba diving in the UK. After weeks of being stared at by casual swimmers in the local pool and feeling slightly out of place, we were suddenly surrounded by divers - lots of them - squeezing into wetsuits and swinging air tanks onto their backs. "It's going to be diver soup", said Geoff, our instructor.

As a relatively shallow man-made lake near to London, Wraysbury is almost an ideal site for diver training. You have to try very hard to dip below 10 metres because in most places the water's simply not that deep. It's also relatively warm, for a lake, because it's so shallow. They've even sunk a few vehicles to add variety to the underwater landscape.

But it's also very silty and when filled with trainees struggling to control their buoyancy it doesn't take long for the water to cloud with muck kicked up by fins and crash-landings on the lake bed. The result is poor visibility (or 'vis' in diver-speak). At its best on Sunday you could see about 3-4 metres. At its worst you knew you'd come across a sunken taxi or bus because you literally swam into it.

One good thing about poor vis was it rendered the other divers in the water invisible. Judging by the numbers on the shore when we arrived there must have been plenty underwater by the time we dived, but once down we didn't encounter very many. What wasn't so good about the vis was trying to stay in touch with our instructors, who were liable to vanish from sight with just a couple of fin kicks. But they did a great job of looking after us novices.

One of them brought along a camera and snapped the picture of me at the top of this post.

I don't know if I'll go back to Wraysbury Dive Centre. It provided a great introduction to diving outside of a pool environment and the poor vis and crowded water created new challenges. One of the pleasures of diving, I'm told, is to encounter marine life in its natural habitat. The only living things we saw in the water on Sunday were neoprene-clad figures with masks and fins.

How I (Almost) Mastered Mask Clearing

A problem shared is a problem halved.

Don't you just hate irritating little sayings like that? Patronisingly pithy words of wisdom, wrapped sweetly and succinctly for delivery just when you don't want to hear them.

They're made all the more annoying by encapsulating a truth that you know even before you're reminded of it.

This time I decided to get ahead of the game and share my mask clearing frustrations. I blogged about them here and had one or two useful comments, but I also asked for advice on the UKDivers.com forum which I've recently joined.

The response to my posting on this scuba diving discussion site was immediate. I received lots of friendly feedback from divers who agreed that mask clearing was the one thing that almost everyone struggled with. Some shared tips from their own experience and many offered encouragement that I'd eventually conquer it. Practice and persistence were the key, apparently.

"It was the skill I most struggled with" wrote PuddleFish. "The least enjoyable part of my OW" (Open Water) said Major Clanger. "I too had a lot of problems with mask clearing" concurred Steppenwolf.

I immediately felt better about my inability to blow air through my nose to push the water out of my mask. The gasping, choking embarrassment was not my unique problem; I was facing a barrier that many others had encountered and eventually overcome.

In addition to this reassurance came advice. How about clearing the mask before putting on the strap, suggested Jenkins. "I also find it easier to clear the mask before putting the strap on", agreed Toria82.

Now there's a thought. I'd already been encouraged to practise breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose when diving, which worked fine. The exhaled air pushed its way out from under my mask and no water came in.

So when it came to the next mask clearing session I removed the mask completely and breathed out through my nose. I started to put the mask on, under the water, and exhaled through my nose as I did so. In a moment the mask was half-empty and I'd barely put it on my face.

I tilted my head back and exhaled again and the mask was cleared. I was then able to put the strap around my head and the job was done.

To prove this wasn't a lucky one-off I did it again, at my instructor's request. I was then asked to remove the mask once more, led on a circuit of the diving pool at 3m depth (with my eyes closed because the water stung) and then replaced the mask using the same technique. It worked!

With the help of my virtual dive buddies I seem to have got to grips with mask clearing. It wasn't as easy as I've made it sound, and this technique I've adopted only works when I remove the mask completely. I'm still not entirely happy clearing a mask that's half-full of water and strapped to my head, but I can do it without inhaling much water.

What this proved to me was that the problem could be overcome and, perhaps more importantly, that there's a great community of divers out there who are willing to help. I'll probably never meet Puddle Fish, Major Clanger or the others I've mentioned here, and I might never even learn their real names. But I appreciate their input into my diving education.

Thanks, guys!

BSAC versus PADI

Is it just a friendly rivalry?

I went to a dive shop today which offers training the PADI way. The owner, a Professional Association of Diving Instructor, asked me who I was training with and snorted distainfully when I said BSAC. He suggested that it wasn't too late to change, joining one of his courses.

When I first mentioned the possibility of diving to a friend, a few months ago, they immediately recommended that I train with BSAC. The British Sub Aqua Club training, they assured me, is for proper divers, not just the fair weather sort who'll only go into warm tropical waters.

Not surprisingly, they'd been BSAC trained themselves. I received the same advice from a member of Scot SAC, the Scottish Sub Aqua Club (who are different from the British version, apparently).

On their website PADI describe themselves as "the world's leading scuba diving training organisation", with over 135,000 professionals world-wide.

BSAC are "the UK's leading dive club and the sport's national governing body".

PADI have hundreds of training centres around the world, where you can sign up for a course. According to their website my local centre would charge me £299 for basic training, plus £100 if I wanted to do open water dives (that is, in a lake or the sea). The course fee includes supply of the necessary equipment.

BSAC, on the other hand, have lots of clubs around the UK, some of whom offer training. Their charges are much less, under £200, but they may not be able to supply all the gear you need for open water diving. My group supply everything that I need for training in the swimming pool but that's it.

PADI instructors make money from training people whereas BSAC don't - they're all volunteers and their charges simply cover costs, such as club membership and access to pools and open water for diving.

I'm sure that as I encounter more divers I'll discover more about this evident rivalry between BSAC and PADI. At the moment it feels as if PADI position themselves as the up-to-date professionals and regard BSAC as the well-meaning but slightly backward amateurs. From the other side of the pool, BSAC think of the themselves as the guardians of true diving and see PADI as focusing on deep dives into your wallet.

There is, I think, a healthy mutual respect between members of both organisations and they often dive together. At the end of the day, when you're under water you want the confidence that your dive buddy is going to look after you, regardless of whether they're BSAC or PADI trained.

The shop owner that I met today was definately pro-PADI and scorned much of the advice I'd received from my BSAC colleagues. But interestly, when he was out of earshot, his shop assistant, himself a regular under the water, confided that he envied BSAC because they did what he called "real diving".

Lesson Two

I don't really like water.

It's one thing to be downing a glass, putting it inside me, but I'm not so keen when I'm inside it. Particularly when I'm three metres down and being asked to take out my regulator (the thing I breathe through) and throw it to one side.

There are bits of this training that I'm not looking forward to. Jumping in was one, mask clearing is another. Then there's removing and clearing the regulator underwater, swimming without a mask, air-sharing, jumping into cold water, diving in zero visibility and... Actually, there's quite a lot that I'm not looking forward to!

It was a pleasant surprise to discover that removing and clearing the regulator wasn't as difficult as I'd feared. We practised on the surface, where I managed to swallow a mouthful of tasty chlorinated pool water. But three metres down, on the floor of the diving pool, it felt remarkably easy.

I took out the regulator, threw it casually to one side, then swung my arm to find it again and back in my mouth. A firm blow to push out the water and there I was, breathing again. I quite enjoyed the practice and even made a point of pausing for a few seconds between tossing it aside and trying to get hold of it again. Hey - I'm a scuba diver!

Mask clearing wasn't so pleasant and I can't claim to have mastered it. Divers wear masks that grasp their faces like limpets and which keep the water out. But we have to learn how to clear a mask in the unlikely event that water gets in.

I put my face under water, let some of the stuff trickle into my mask, then put my head back and tried to clear it. My nose stung as I inhaled chlorine filled water. I splutter and coughed and gave up. A second attempt was equally unsuccessful.

In hindsight I think I know where I went wrong. Divers learn to breath through their mouth because that's where you put the regulator. The nose is covered by the mask and becomes useless for breathing. But during mask clearing you blow out through the nose to push water out and the natural next step is to breathe in - through the nose.

I think that's where I went wrong and I'll test it out next week. Apparently I'll also be learning how to remove and replace the mask, including clearing it, when underwater. That sounds like fun.

So next on the tick list of challenges to overcome is mask clearing and handling the pressure in my ears. But I'm sure my instructors have plenty more in store for me!

Under Pressure

Have you ever lifted a bucket full of water?

Heavy, isn't it? Imagine what's required to lift a diving pool full of the stuff, or what it would feel like to lie underneath it.

Because that's exactly what happens when you dive. Gravity pushes the weight of the water downwards onto you. What's odd is that you're not aware of it. This is where it gets all scientific and beyond my limited comprehension - somehow the interplay of forces on your body prevents you from feeling the weight, or from being crushed by it.

At least, it seems that way. In fact the air inside your body does get squashed as you dive, and you don't need to go very deep before you feel the effects. If you've ever dived into a pool and swum down to about three metres (or ten feet) you'll probably have experienced pain in your ears. That's caused by the air inside you being squashed - or by the change in pressure, to be more technical.

Even when you're not beneath the water your body is under pressure from the air. The invisible stuff around you, that you breathe in and out, has a weight. It's not very much, but when you're standing on the beach you're underneath about 35 kilometre of air (that's around 21 miles). That's a lot of air and it weighs about 2kg per square centimetre. All that weight is pushing down on your body all of the time - but you don't notice because you're designed to live in it.

Because water is a lot heavier than air, you don't have to go very deep before it begins to affect you - remember that pain in your ears when you dived to three metres? In fact, the pressure on your body doubles when you reach about 10 metres. Which means all the air in your body is squashed into half the space it usually takes up when you're on the surface.

Those first 10 metres are where you get the most dramatic change, as pressure doubles (or increases by 100%) from sea-level. At 20 metres the pressure is triple the pressure at sea-level, but it's only 50% more than the pressure at 10 metres. And so on downwards. Eventually, of course, it becomes unsustainable our bodies to cope, but by then we'd also be dealing with lots of other problems.

These changes have all sorts of implications for divers which is why training and practise is so important. At about three metres you might have a pain in your ears because of the change in pressure, but at 10 metres it could get much more serious.

For me, dealing with the pressure changes in my ears is the next serious hurdle to overcome. My first was being able to jump into the water and now I need to find a way to equalise the air pressure in my head as I dive. During both of my lesson my ears have hurt at the bottom of the diving pool (3 metres) and this week I still had minor ear problems over 24 hours after coming out. They've cleared now.

You're probably used to handling changes in air pressure - it happens when you come down from a hill or if you're in a descending aeroplane. I usually find that yawning or swallowing hard helps my ears to 'pop' or equalise. But you can't yawn under water and even swallowing is tricky. So I need to find another way.

I'm sure I'll find a way of dealing with it, and I'll have to if I want to dive deeper. But for the moment I do feel under a little more pressure than usual!

Following the Frogman

I blame Jacques Cousteau.

My memories of television in the 70’s are a mixed bag. Eurovision, Morecombe and Wise, Doctor Who and Star Trek all spring immediately to mind, along with those curious programme intermissions about a piston engine and a strange exhibition featuring odd noises and lots of lights.

The latter, I later discovered, was filmed at the Philips hands-on science exhibition at Evoluon, in Eindhoven, the Netherlands. I’ve been there and literally got the tee-shirt (although it’s a bit small now; I was about 8 at the time).

Another memorable highlight of early 70’s viewing were the underwater adventures of Jacques Cousteau. I watched enthralled as our small screen TV took me, in glorious black and white, into a mysterious world beneath the waves.

I was a little too young to appreciate the Apollo missions to the moon. I have dim recollections of joining my father for the occasional early morning viewing of something to do with rockets and space travel. But these giant leaps for mankind did not leave me with any enduring memories.

No, it was Monsieur Cousteau who grabbed my attention back then. He was also exploring the unknown but with the advantage that it was much more exciting visually. I remember watching as wetsuited figures with a tank of air strapped to their backs poked around in reefs and on the seabed. They encountered exotic creatures, natural wonders and, another fascination of mine, historic wrecks.

Of course they made it look easy. There was no talk of dive tables, pressure changes, safety checks or dive planning. At least, if there was I don’t remember it. My recollection is that scuba diving was about going places and seeing things that most ordinary people would never go to or see.

My drive to follow in Cousteau’s footsteps was never strong enough for me to do much about it. At University I dabbled in pot-holing, which doesn’t involve much water but was another experience that I wanted to collect. I don’t recall ever actively choosing not to pursue scuba diving – it simply remained on my ‘to do one day’ list, along with golf and visiting Peru.

Last year one of my daughters acquired a game for the Wii which is effectively a scuba diving simulation although, along with Cousteau, it overlooks all the technical issues associated with the sport. Inspired, she booked herself onto a diving course with the local sub aqua club. I went to watch her first dive, in 1.25 metres of chlorinated water at the local pool, and that was enough to whet my appetite.

I was faced with the prospect of accompanying her to more dives as a spectator, in the pool and later in open water. The alternative was to literally take the plunge (poor pun intended) and join her. When the other four on the course dropped out after the first lesson I decided that I’d keep her company.

But I know who’s really to blame for getting me into scuba gear - the late Monsieur Jacques Cousteau.

First Lesson

There's power in fear.

I stood at the edge of the diving pool. Blue death lurked patiently under a smooth surface. The neat tiled grid dropped away to a depth of about three metres; more than enough water to swallow me whole.

As far as I know I've never, in my life, jumped into a pool of water more than a few centimetres deep. My memory is scarred by my first swimming pool encounter, when I was perhaps six years old, and I've distrusted deep water ever since.

I've stood here before, at the side of the pool, in a vain attempt to persuade a reluctant body to disconnect with solid ground. From time to time I've challenged my apprehension, questioned the logic and tried to overcome the stubborn refusal to give it a go. I have a one hundred percent record of failure.

It's not as if I can't swim. Weekly junior school visits to a swimming pool taught me nothing - it wasn't until much later that I gained the confidence to trust water with my own weight, and that's another story. I've rarely chosen swimming as a recreational activity and even less frequently have I ventured out of my depth.

But this time was different. This time I was wearing a belt with several kilograms of lead weights. I also had a heavy tank of compressed air strapped to my back. And I had an instructor waiting for me in the pool. This time it would also be much harder to walk away.

The fear was still there. The quiet blue water remained a threat, even though I was equipped to breathe below the surface. My confidence had already been boosted by a couple of lengths under water in the shallow pool, but one challenge still had to be faced.

My distrust of water is, I've come to realise, all about my need to be in control. I've always dreaded those fleeting seconds between committing to a jump and rising back to the surface. I don't know what it feels like because I've never done it, but my head tells me that for precious seconds I'll be out of control in a potentially dangerous and disorientating environment.

This time I was as in control as I could ever be. My buoyancy jacket was fully inflated, I had a mask and I had a continuous supply of air. All that remained was to push through forty years of irrational anxiety and stride off the edge into empty air.

I hesitated, took a few breaths through my regulator, and stepped out.