My Life Depends on Tiny Bits of Rubber

A picture of my regular, a Scubapro MK2

So, I went on an Equipment Servicing course yesterday at the dive shop. As is the way of these things, it was held on one of the most sunny days of the year, but we couldn't have known that when we booked it!

Actually, it was worth giving up four hours in the sun for. I spend a lot of time with my dive gear, and it's good to know how it works. Also, taking things to bits is fun, although slightly alarming. The tiny bits of rubber in question are two pieces of rubber, each half the size of a penny, which sit inside the regulator (the thing you breathe through) and form part of the valves within it. In other words, they ensure that the air comes through only when you want it to, and not when you don't.

Some people on the course found this a bit alarming, although this may have been induced by the fact we'd all been sniffing glue. (The sort kept in the workshop to stick ripped-up wetsuits back together - it's not a very big workshop.) I can relate (to the alarm, not the glue sniffing - my poison of choice is ethanol). At 35m deep, sometimes, it's better to think along the lines of "It works by magic, la la la, DIVE FAIRIES", than to know exactly how tiny and delicate the mechanism currently keeping you alive is. On the other hand, my gear is serviced by the same chap who ran the course, and he has clearly forgotten more about how dive gear works that I will ever know.

So, I can now take my scuba mask apart and wash it, which has hopefully got the mould off it. Tonight, I shall learn if I can put it back together again. 

Narked by Cold?

My buddy, finding Thunderbird Four 

Well my last dive was ...interesting. In the sense that the final part of it involved me learning first-hand that my ability to safely do a free ascent from a depth greater than 10m in my drysuit is something that needs work. Also, that I will never again forget to clip my SMB (Surface Marker Buoy) to my jacket - lesson learned. It would have been very helpful to have the cord as a visual reference point when trying to ascend. On the other hand, I was having enough to deal with the incessant "YOU ARE GOING UP TOO FAST STOP THAT NOW OR YOU WILL DAMAGE YOUR LUNGS YOU FLAMING IDIOT" beeps from the computer, the fact that I couldn't seem to balance the weight in my jacket and the air in my suit to be neither sinking nor rising, and the fact that my mask chose this moment to fill with water.

I distinctly remember having a second or so's brain space to think "Hmm. This isn't working out how I planned" in the middle of the "Well, shit, what now?" situation.

I solved the problem by dropping down a bit, stabilising, then ascending and swimming across to a nearby rock ledge at 6m, when I floated around doing a safety stop, clearing my mask and thinking baleful thoughts at my computer. And at my own stupidity. Luckily my buddy was fine, although he had his hands full shepherding some very new divers back to the exit point.

The second dive went much better, as myself and my buddy retraced our steps, and I practised a safe ascent, which went better. The only odd thing about that dive was that towards the end, my buddy signalled "I am cold, let's turn around" (he wears a wetsuit). We immediately turned round, but he suddenly paused, and picked up an object (I think a discarded metal ring from someone's dive kit) from the quarry floor. He then swam around for a while, looking for something, then carefully placed the object on the rock and swam off.

This is unusual behaviour, as most divers who have signalled "Cold" will start kicking with some speed once the end of the dive (and a nice cup of tea) is in site. I asked him about it later, and he commented "It just seemed really important to do that". We both pondered this, as this sort of fixation with completing a specific task, without thinking about the dive plan, is characteristic of nitrogen narcosis. However, we were only about 8m deep at the time, which is way too shallow for narcosis to kick in.

Was it exertion and cold causing a slight form of narcosis, or was it slight hypothermia? No way of knowing, but an issue to be aware of; that would be more of a problem if we were in the North Sea needing to get back to the ascent point, and then climb back into a boat.

Other than that, though, it was an interesting dive. And we found Thunderbird Four.

Ever Feel Like You Don't Know Your Own Country?

I have little else to say on the election result at this moment. Other than some quiet sobbing and unnecessary drinking.

On the plus side, Eric Pickles is no longer the minister against local government. But when you quit looking on the bright side of the catastrophe, the catastrophe is still there.

The Beadnell Car Park Song

I'd like to fill this space with a tale of diving derring-do. Unfortunately, the last time I went diving I nearly gave myself the bends. That tale can wait a bit longer.

Instead, here is a musical interlude, to be sung to the tune of "Human" by the Killers, and invented by my good friend J.

Beadnell is, of course, the site of many a North Sea dive. The car park has seen more semi-naked divers than the site of a very bad (and specialist) soft porn shoot.

"I did my best to notice
If the buoy was on the line
Up to the surface of the water
I was cold but I was fine.

"Sometimes I get nervous
When I see the film "Jaws"
Close your eyes, clear your ears
Hold the cord.

"Are we stupid?
Or are we divers?

My hands are freezing
My head is cold.

"And I'm on my knees
Searching for an O-ring*
In a car park
Near Beadnell."


* Small rubber ring, used to create a leak-proof seal between the valve on top of the tank, and the first stage of the regulator used to supply the breathing gas to the diver. Slightly smaller than a penny. Shares the common ability of all tiny mechanical objects essential to a complex process occuring, of flinging itself down the nearest drain at the least provocation. The likelihood of this occurring is expontentially increased if the diver in question doesn't have a spare.