I was reading this
article on people signing up for the Mars One expedition; a one-way trip to Mars. I cannot imagine anything much more terrifying.
The
article describes the selection process for people wanting to take
part. I do wonder if any part of it (yeah, you know this is coming)
involved asking "Have you done any scuba diving?"
I
don't often talk about the scary aspect of diving. Most other divers
don't. We know it is there, and if it bothered us, we wouldn't do it.
Talking about to non-divers gives the wrong impression, and can put
people off. And by "wrong impression", I don't mean I'm pretending
something dangerous is safe. Scuba diving is in a similar risk category
to jumping into half a ton of metal and barrelling down a narrow asphalt
strip at 70mph. Actually, if you check out this
infographic (worth it just for the hilarious illustrations), it may well be safer than being in a car.
The
scary aspect of diving is one that it took me a while to grasp.
Possibly all those people who reacted to my tales of diving with "Ohmigod,
I could NEVER do that" grasped it faster than I did. From my point of
view, I know where I'm going, I assess if it's safe and if my buddy and I
can get to where we want to go and back with the air supply we've got.
And if we can do all those things, then off we swim, breathing happily
through our regulators with 12m of water over our heads.
And
all that is fine, up until the proverbial hits the fan, and you
suddenly realise with absolute clarity that you are in an alien
environment where, to quote one of my favourite blogs on diving, "A single breath of the ambient atmosphere can, kind reader, fucking kill you".
I
have never had a catastrophic experience when diving, but I had one
very nasty experience when I over-breathed my regulator about 25m down
in the Farne
Islands (meaning I was breathing very heavily and too fast, and the
regulator was struggling to deliver gas at the rate I was demanding it -
gas thickens slightly at depth, which is why all divers are advised to
breathe deep and slow). I felt like I was suffocating. More scary than
that, I could feel myself starting to panic. Panic is the number one
killer of divers. There are few more potentially panic-inducing
situations than being surrounded by water, with 25m of it above your
head, and not being able to breathe the air that is the only thing
keeping you alive.
Fortunately for me, my dive training
took over. I realised what was happening, and took the appropriate
action; ascending slowly until the pressure lowered slightly, my
breathing rate dropped as the surface got slightly nearer, the regulator
began delivering the gas more easily, and I calmed down and carried on
with the dive. But for a few seconds, I suddenly understood why
panicking divers rocket up to the surface and rip all their dive gear
off their faces. If willpower alone could cause humans to teleport, I would have been out of the water and on the boat in two seconds.
The
only thing that kept me calm was the knowledge that it was within my
power to end this situation. I knew that if I really couldn't carry on
the dive, I could end it, ascend slowly and be floating on the surface
in a matter of minutes.
Note: this is not the ideal way
to end a dive, as technically you should always pause for three minutes
at 5m deep to help ensure that any excess gas is out of your system, but
all recreational diving is planned in such a way that you don't HAVE to
make the stop if things go completely wrong.
Technical
divers do not have this safety margin. To dive deeper, they accept that
they will give up the option of ending the dive at any point, and that
if they have a problem, it must be resolved under the water. (This is
why they dive with two sets of working scuba gear, plus quite often
extra tanks of gas in case of emergency.) This is a big part of the
reason I think I may never technical dive. I respect people who do it
mightily, but I am terrified of the idea of having a panic attack under
the water without the option of safely removing myself from the
situation inducing the panic. (This is also why part of NASA's
astronaut training involves scuba diving.)
Which
brings me back to Mars One. Imagine this situation for a moment. You're
locked in a room the size of your living room with, say, three other
people. You want to go outside. You can't. You start having a panic
attack and pass out. And when you wake up ... you
still can't go outside.
You will never, in your entire life, see a tree, or an animal, or the
sea, or anything familiar, ever again. You are sealed in that can for
eternity, and there will never be a way out. Even regular astronauts in
the International Space Station have the knowledge at the back of their heads that at some point, they'll be going back home.
No
human beings have ever subjected themselves to this. To my mind, it's
not a description of a scientific expedition, it's the plot of a horror
movie. To quote another blog on this subject:
Over
the decades, people in the colony will die and there is no guarantee
that more people will come to replace them. In time, there will be only
one person left on the entire planet. If that person is you, it will be
very lonely indeed. You could be alone for ten or twenty years and
possibly longer. It will just be you, marooned on an inhospitable rock
out in the solar system, alone. That is truly the stuff of nightmares.
Ever since that incident in the Farne Islands, space movies scare me. I love them and still watch them, but when Sandra Bullock was floating around running out of oxygen,
I was there. Space is unimaginably vast, inhospitable and empty.
And
yet, funnily enough, I still do hope that at some point, my species
will leave our home and travel somewhere else. Just because... well, I
was brought up with
Star Trek.
Real space is much bigger and emptier than Gene Roddenberry made it
seem, but it would truly be a remarkable thing if we could somehow find a
way to travel outwards and establish ourselves on another world.
Just... not yet. And in a ship much bigger than a living room.