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!