As THE SAYING GOES, there are old divers and there are bold divers, but there are no old, bold divers. I have no idea where the saying came from. It could have originated from a wise old diver who wanted to make a point about the foolishness of youth, but I think it was more likely first proclaimed by a young person as a way of thumping the chest and announcing to the world, "Look at me, I'm young and bold." I think this because the corollary, "Look at me, I'm old and cowardly," just doesn't sound right. Whatever the case, now that I'm what must be considered an old diver, the saying doesn't seem quite as pithy to me as it once did. Of course, being old does not necessarily mean being smart, but it does give me a perspective on the evolution of the sport of scuba diving that younger divers might not have.
People ask
Don't panic! I'm not about to start waxing nostalgic about the "good old days" of scuba. The fact is, there has never been a better time to be a scuba diver than right now. Scuba divers today have the benefit of options that simply did not exist in the past options ranging from interesting and accessible destinations to a veritable plethora of training opportunities.
PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) was a young certifying agency when I got my Basic certification in 1973. The class was made up entirely of young men, and it was conducted in a pseudomilitary fashion. We swam laps and treaded water; we swam with blackened masks in a pool while our instructor harassed us. When it was all over, we took a written test and made a single dive in the ocean. Surviving that, we were certified scuba divers as qualified on paper as Jacques Cousteau himself.
Our visits to the local scuba shop after initial certification were solely for the purposes of filling tanks or replacing gear. Advanced training was available, but it was not promoted and was primarily for those wishing to become instructors. Nobody logged dives (something I regret today), and divers were known locally only by reputation. Scuba certification was an either-or proposition. Either you were certified or you were not. Degrees or classifications of certification simply did not exist as a practical matter.
Equipment was basic in those days. We had hard backpacks onto which steel 72-cubic-foot tanks were strapped. The negative buoyancy of the tanks pretty much negated the need for weight belts. We had uncomfortable safety vests that could be inflated on the surface by means of a small C02 cartridge, but we seldom wore them. Submersible pressure gauges to keep track of our air were newfangled gadgets that were actually condemned by some hard-core divers of the day. Choices regarding gear were limited, and our rubber masks and fins rotted quickly.
Much of our gear was manufactured by the AMF/Voit/Swimaster Company and was comparable in fit and quality to the packaged snorkel gear that can be found in drugstores today. We typically dove in nothing but a bathing suit or a pair of shorts. Those who chose to dive in an "exposure suit" wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The really fancy guys wore coveralls.
The lack of an established dive infrastructure limited our dive opportunities. Charter boats that catered to divers were virtually nonexistent in most areas of the country. Dive travel to the Caribbean was exotic and dicey. The islands were difficult to reach and provided little if any, support to recreational diving. Pacific destinations were worse. Yet, we dove. We drove to the Florida Keys and other isolated pockets with dive infrastructures. We weaseled our way onboard local fishing boats, and we made trips on independently owned boats. We dove off beaches and jetties. We dove any way and anywhere we could.
Dive techniques in those days differed significantly from techniques used today. We made no safety stops, and our ascent rate was determined by the smallest bubbles of our exhalations. Of course, there were no dive computers, and our use of the dive tables was sporadic and undisciplined. Sometimes we dove with common sense, but sometimes we dove with the common nonsense of youth. The fact that nobody in my personal dive fraternity of friends ever suffered a serious dive injury is a testament to the inherent safety of the sport of scuba diving.
Recreational scuba diving has certainly come a long way since then. In the past thirty years, scuba has evolved into a mainstream activity enjoyed equally by men and women. Manufacturers now offer a baffling array of high-quality equipment, and most scuba shops offer an entire curriculum of training options. The sport is far safer and more convenient than it has ever been.
At the same time, something seems to have been lost. Despite an exponential explosion in the number of certified divers, relatively few divers are actually striking out by themselves and going diving. A whole new genre of "classroom divers" has emerged as divers continue to pursue dive training but never seem to get around to using it.
I can think of more than one explanation for this. As scuba became more available to those with only a casual interest, it stands to reason that more casual divers would be produced. There's nothing wrong with that. Many resorts cater to the casual diver, and the diving is supervised, fun, and safe.
There's another possible explanation that bothers me a little. As advanced-training options became commonplace, many divers began to get the idea that their Open Water I certification was somehow inadequate. If you enjoy diving and if you are reasonably confident and comfortable in the water, this idea is simply false. Your Open Water I certification is not merely a prerequisite for more advanced training. It is your ticket to real diving adventure, and it is proof that you are a "real" diver, albeit possibly an inexperienced one.
Let's make this analogy: Scuba diving is like driving a car. Both activities require special training and the development of skills, and both can take you to places that you might otherwise not be able to reach. Once training is complete, both require a written test and a transitional period before you become licensed. For driving a car, this transitional period consists of behind-the-wheel practice with a learner's permit; for diving, it is your open-water training (checkout) dives made under the
You weren't ready for Daytona on the day you received your driver's license. On the other hand, you probably didn't feel the need to get a chauffeur's license before you actually started driving a car. You probably began your driving with short excursions at times of light traffic until your skills and confidence grew.
Likewise, Open Water I divers are not ready for a dive to the Andrea Doria. However, they are certainly qualified to dive most sites. By limiting their dives to areas and conditions with which they feel comfortable, Open Water I divers gain experience, skill, and confidence— attributes that are essential to diver development and cannot be learned in a classroom.
I certainly do not mean to disparage training beyond Open Water I. Quite the contrary, I wholeheartedly recommend that you continue your formal training in all areas that interest you. Later in the book I recommend, some of the advanced training that I think is most worthwhile. The point is that advanced classroom training cannot take the place of actual dive experience.
A relatively new phenomenon has developed in this age of advanced and specialty training. Some divers seem to be engaged in "card competition"—a game in which the diver with the most impressive array of certification and specialty cards is considered the "best" diver. While this kind of game might be more suitably addressed in a book on ego management, it can present a real danger to the players. Far too many divers mistake classroom training for actual competence.
The key to becoming an independent diver is a marriage between formal training and actual dive experience. Even though formal training beyond your initial Open Water I course is necessary for some types of diving, your Open Water I training is enough to get you into the water to start building the experience that is crucial to independent diving. Only through actual dive experience can you realistically develop water skills and risk assessment skills, and only by the development of those skills can you become a diver capable of planning and making safe dives in a variety of conditions or situations.
Independent divers are those divers who have developed confidence in their capabilities to the point that they assume sole responsibility for their dives. Of course, they will adhere to the buddy system, and they will seek the advice of those with local knowledge and experience or of those with greater general knowledge and experience, but independent divers do not defer to anyone on matters of their personal safety or well-being. Becoming an independent diver is an act of personal responsibility as much as it is a declaration of freedom.
If you are a newly certified diver whose only dives have been under the supervision of your instructor or a divemaster, it's time to change attitude gears. You are a trained diver, and, as such, your safety underwater is no longer the responsibility of your instructor or of your dive buddy. It's yours.
As an example of independent decision making, I was recently on a live-aboard dive boat a hundred miles out in the Gulf of Mexico for two days of diving. (Note: Miles are statute miles unless otherwise indicated.) The weather was marginal, and the diving was marred by a hellacious surface current, poor visibility, and high seas. After a full day of diving in those conditions, the boat's divemaster made an announcement that a night dive would be available but that it was not for the squeamish.
I knew about half of the divers on the boat, having dived with them many times before. I knew them to be more than capable of making the night dive. The other divers on the boat were newer divers, and some had struggled to overcome problems during the day with the diving conditions. After assessing the effort of the night dive against the probable reward, I told the divemaster that I would not make the dive and retired to my bunk for a bit of reading.
I returned to the dive deck sometime later to see how the dive was progressing. Joining me on deck were most of the divers I knew. They had each decided to pass on making the dive. All of the newer divers were paired with each other in the black water.
The newer divers made it back on board without incident. Many exchanged stories of problems encountered and overcome. The whistling wind and heaving sea made a dramatic setting for their tales of adventure. Those of us who had passed on the dive smiled and nodded at the stories.
We smiled because we had eaten all of the brownies and ice cream normally provided by the boat for returning night divers. All the divers on that boat could be considered independent divers.
The newer divers who had made the dive knew full well the conditions they would face and decided that stretching their experience envelope was worth the effort. The more experienced divers who had passed on the dive felt no need to make a dive that would not be much fun. Or maybe we were just a bunch of old, un-bold ice cream bandits.
People ask
- What it feels like to scuba dive?
- Is it worth getting scuba certified?
- Why do you like diving?
- What do scuba divers do?
Don't panic! I'm not about to start waxing nostalgic about the "good old days" of scuba. The fact is, there has never been a better time to be a scuba diver than right now. Scuba divers today have the benefit of options that simply did not exist in the past options ranging from interesting and accessible destinations to a veritable plethora of training opportunities.
PADI (Professional Association of Diving Instructors) was a young certifying agency when I got my Basic certification in 1973. The class was made up entirely of young men, and it was conducted in a pseudomilitary fashion. We swam laps and treaded water; we swam with blackened masks in a pool while our instructor harassed us. When it was all over, we took a written test and made a single dive in the ocean. Surviving that, we were certified scuba divers as qualified on paper as Jacques Cousteau himself.
Our visits to the local scuba shop after initial certification were solely for the purposes of filling tanks or replacing gear. Advanced training was available, but it was not promoted and was primarily for those wishing to become instructors. Nobody logged dives (something I regret today), and divers were known locally only by reputation. Scuba certification was an either-or proposition. Either you were certified or you were not. Degrees or classifications of certification simply did not exist as a practical matter.
Equipment was basic in those days. We had hard backpacks onto which steel 72-cubic-foot tanks were strapped. The negative buoyancy of the tanks pretty much negated the need for weight belts. We had uncomfortable safety vests that could be inflated on the surface by means of a small C02 cartridge, but we seldom wore them. Submersible pressure gauges to keep track of our air were newfangled gadgets that were actually condemned by some hard-core divers of the day. Choices regarding gear were limited, and our rubber masks and fins rotted quickly.
Much of our gear was manufactured by the AMF/Voit/Swimaster Company and was comparable in fit and quality to the packaged snorkel gear that can be found in drugstores today. We typically dove in nothing but a bathing suit or a pair of shorts. Those who chose to dive in an "exposure suit" wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The really fancy guys wore coveralls.
The lack of an established dive infrastructure limited our dive opportunities. Charter boats that catered to divers were virtually nonexistent in most areas of the country. Dive travel to the Caribbean was exotic and dicey. The islands were difficult to reach and provided little if any, support to recreational diving. Pacific destinations were worse. Yet, we dove. We drove to the Florida Keys and other isolated pockets with dive infrastructures. We weaseled our way onboard local fishing boats, and we made trips on independently owned boats. We dove off beaches and jetties. We dove any way and anywhere we could.
Dive techniques in those days differed significantly from techniques used today. We made no safety stops, and our ascent rate was determined by the smallest bubbles of our exhalations. Of course, there were no dive computers, and our use of the dive tables was sporadic and undisciplined. Sometimes we dove with common sense, but sometimes we dove with the common nonsense of youth. The fact that nobody in my personal dive fraternity of friends ever suffered a serious dive injury is a testament to the inherent safety of the sport of scuba diving.
Recreational scuba diving has certainly come a long way since then. In the past thirty years, scuba has evolved into a mainstream activity enjoyed equally by men and women. Manufacturers now offer a baffling array of high-quality equipment, and most scuba shops offer an entire curriculum of training options. The sport is far safer and more convenient than it has ever been.
At the same time, something seems to have been lost. Despite an exponential explosion in the number of certified divers, relatively few divers are actually striking out by themselves and going diving. A whole new genre of "classroom divers" has emerged as divers continue to pursue dive training but never seem to get around to using it.
I can think of more than one explanation for this. As scuba became more available to those with only a casual interest, it stands to reason that more casual divers would be produced. There's nothing wrong with that. Many resorts cater to the casual diver, and the diving is supervised, fun, and safe.
There's another possible explanation that bothers me a little. As advanced-training options became commonplace, many divers began to get the idea that their Open Water I certification was somehow inadequate. If you enjoy diving and if you are reasonably confident and comfortable in the water, this idea is simply false. Your Open Water I certification is not merely a prerequisite for more advanced training. It is your ticket to real diving adventure, and it is proof that you are a "real" diver, albeit possibly an inexperienced one.
Let's make this analogy: Scuba diving is like driving a car. Both activities require special training and the development of skills, and both can take you to places that you might otherwise not be able to reach. Once training is complete, both require a written test and a transitional period before you become licensed. For driving a car, this transitional period consists of behind-the-wheel practice with a learner's permit; for diving, it is your open-water training (checkout) dives made under the
You weren't ready for Daytona on the day you received your driver's license. On the other hand, you probably didn't feel the need to get a chauffeur's license before you actually started driving a car. You probably began your driving with short excursions at times of light traffic until your skills and confidence grew.
Likewise, Open Water I divers are not ready for a dive to the Andrea Doria. However, they are certainly qualified to dive most sites. By limiting their dives to areas and conditions with which they feel comfortable, Open Water I divers gain experience, skill, and confidence— attributes that are essential to diver development and cannot be learned in a classroom.
I certainly do not mean to disparage training beyond Open Water I. Quite the contrary, I wholeheartedly recommend that you continue your formal training in all areas that interest you. Later in the book I recommend, some of the advanced training that I think is most worthwhile. The point is that advanced classroom training cannot take the place of actual dive experience.
A relatively new phenomenon has developed in this age of advanced and specialty training. Some divers seem to be engaged in "card competition"—a game in which the diver with the most impressive array of certification and specialty cards is considered the "best" diver. While this kind of game might be more suitably addressed in a book on ego management, it can present a real danger to the players. Far too many divers mistake classroom training for actual competence.
The key to becoming an independent diver is a marriage between formal training and actual dive experience. Even though formal training beyond your initial Open Water I course is necessary for some types of diving, your Open Water I training is enough to get you into the water to start building the experience that is crucial to independent diving. Only through actual dive experience can you realistically develop water skills and risk assessment skills, and only by the development of those skills can you become a diver capable of planning and making safe dives in a variety of conditions or situations.
Independent divers are those divers who have developed confidence in their capabilities to the point that they assume sole responsibility for their dives. Of course, they will adhere to the buddy system, and they will seek the advice of those with local knowledge and experience or of those with greater general knowledge and experience, but independent divers do not defer to anyone on matters of their personal safety or well-being. Becoming an independent diver is an act of personal responsibility as much as it is a declaration of freedom.
If you are a newly certified diver whose only dives have been under the supervision of your instructor or a divemaster, it's time to change attitude gears. You are a trained diver, and, as such, your safety underwater is no longer the responsibility of your instructor or of your dive buddy. It's yours.
As an example of independent decision making, I was recently on a live-aboard dive boat a hundred miles out in the Gulf of Mexico for two days of diving. (Note: Miles are statute miles unless otherwise indicated.) The weather was marginal, and the diving was marred by a hellacious surface current, poor visibility, and high seas. After a full day of diving in those conditions, the boat's divemaster made an announcement that a night dive would be available but that it was not for the squeamish.
I knew about half of the divers on the boat, having dived with them many times before. I knew them to be more than capable of making the night dive. The other divers on the boat were newer divers, and some had struggled to overcome problems during the day with the diving conditions. After assessing the effort of the night dive against the probable reward, I told the divemaster that I would not make the dive and retired to my bunk for a bit of reading.
I returned to the dive deck sometime later to see how the dive was progressing. Joining me on deck were most of the divers I knew. They had each decided to pass on making the dive. All of the newer divers were paired with each other in the black water.
The newer divers made it back on board without incident. Many exchanged stories of problems encountered and overcome. The whistling wind and heaving sea made a dramatic setting for their tales of adventure. Those of us who had passed on the dive smiled and nodded at the stories.
We smiled because we had eaten all of the brownies and ice cream normally provided by the boat for returning night divers. All the divers on that boat could be considered independent divers.
The newer divers who had made the dive knew full well the conditions they would face and decided that stretching their experience envelope was worth the effort. The more experienced divers who had passed on the dive felt no need to make a dive that would not be much fun. Or maybe we were just a bunch of old, un-bold ice cream bandits.
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