The Dive Evangelist

The trip from which I am just returned is very different from the trip I depart for tomorrow. The difference was most apparent last night as I finished packing.

The first dive trip I packed for was overwhelming. There was simply so very much stuff I had to bring that I could hardly zipper my bags. There were straps and bits of rubber and hoses everywhere. It was all terribly unwieldy, unfamiliar, and heavy. I managed, but just barely.

As the years have passed in a blur of flights and soggy luggage that changed and my familiarity with my gear grew. I've fallen into a habit of how and when to pack. The fins always go in first. The flashlights go in my boots. I always expect to be the one pulled aside by the TSA to have the regulator bag in my carry-on opened and inspected.

It has been a long while since I packed for a Caribbean vacation and doing so over the last few days has confused me. The gear which I've become totally accustomed to is abundant: cave diving gear, wreck diving gear, a set of five regulators, drysuit, stage bottle rigging... I didn't need any of that stuff.

I set aside the relatively small amount of stuff that I will need to float on the reef and watch neurotic, little gobies go about their neurotic, little goby day and thought, "That's all?" With that thought I smiled at the memory that years ago I had planned to be in this very situation. When I first started visiting the quarry on weekends it was to make sure I kept in practice, so that on the occasions I'd be headed to warm water I would be calm and cool. And here I am.

Now, I'm not claiming to be the greatest diver that ever was just because I usually travel with a trunkload of gear. I was just struck, looking at my somewhat empty-seeming bag, by how lucky I am to dive as often as I do and in such varied circumstances that my mind and my skills stay reasonably honed and fresh.

So often we hear stories of divers who haven't been in the water for a year or more, their buoyancy a mess, their skills non-existent. Sometimes these people are kicking the crap out of reef, killing off whole colonies of coral with their careless fins. Sometimes their equipment is an obvious hazard not only to themselves, but to anyone who may be within 20 feet of them. I, myself, have been assigned a good share of on-the-boat buddies who look like they have their act perfectly together on the surface, but once underwater are about as comfortable as a squirrel at a dog show.

Diving, when done properly, is just about the most relaxing of all possible pastimes. One floats weightlessly and effortlessly in a peaceful alien environment. You don't need to log 100 dives a year or make sure you are dutifully at the quarry once a week all season; but we all might consider staying in practice as much as we each can.

Visit the quarry once or twice before taking a trip to refamiliarize yourself with the gear. When you can, collect up a set of your own gear, with which you can be completely familiar. If you have been out of the water for more than a year, don't be embarrassed to head to your local dive shop to ask about taking a refresher course; perhaps something about the diving world has changed for the better about which you might learn. Sign up at the closest aquarium as a volunteer diver and you can get in the water a couple of times a month all year! Sign up for a club (an Oceanblue Divers' club, to be precise) or shop vacation. However you can, for the reef as much as for yourself, stay in practice.

The best way to stay in practice is to keep diving. A lot.

70% of the Earth's surface is covered with water... how much of it have you seen so far?

How much?

That's all?

Well, better get practicing, then.