As technical divers, we all grow up with the saying that ‘any diver can call any dive at any time for any reason.’ Sounds simple enough, but in reality, calling a dive is not that easy. Depending on the situation, plenty of factors can convince us that we don’t need to call that dive. Another question is when to call it – what time is the right time? This blog is about a dive that came very close to being called before I even got on the boat. It’s also about the different moments in the run-up to the dive that pushed the decision in one direction or the other. In the end, it came down to teammates and a well-stocked spares kit.
*Don’t worry, it’s neither sad, nor gory, nor particularly dramatic. Just a bit of a recap of the decisions that happened.
Setting The Scene
When we talk about why it is so difficult for divers to call a dive, the question is often how high are the stakes attached to this dive. How often can you dive in general? For how long had you planned this particular dive? How far have you had to travel? And what are the chances of repeating this dive in the near future?
In this case, we’re in none other than the wreck diving mecca of Chuuk, in Truk Lagoon. Two days of travel on five planes for 12 diving days to try and see some of the 60-odd wrecks. While everyone on the trip understands that we won’t see all the wrecks in one trip, there is a sense of ‘every dive counts.’
Aside from logging hours underwater and ticking boxes or wreck names off a list, there is also a genuine sense of wanting to see what there is on the next wreck. All of them have something unique that is worth discovering. To make a long story short – you don’t want to miss out.
The Run-Up To THE Dive – A Leak Appears
I was in Chuuk to private-guide one client. As it happened, my client caught a bug and decided to cancel an afternoon dive. With my rebreather ready and the wreck planned being the Kensho Maru which has an outstanding engine room, I buddied up with the trip doctor and went diving.
We spent the majority of the dive winding our way through the engine room, taking images and videos and generally having fun. On the ascent, completing deco stops on the shotline, I noticed some gurgling in the loop. I tried to remove the water, but the gurgling continued. Work of breathing was fine, and with no sign of a caustic cocktail, I completed the deco.
Back on land, I dropped the rebreather into the rinse tank to look for the cause of the leak. Bubbles were coming from the ADV, perhaps not surprising after several days of moving in and out of engine rooms with a bit of rust constantly surrounding you. Was that bad news? Not in my books. Finding an obvious cause of the leak and no other signs of anything untoward was a good start. And I knew how I’d spend the time between finishing the dive and heading for dinner.
Next Step – Cleaning That ADV
Having said that, the last thing you really want is for gear to break in a remote location. But it’s also true that all gear will break, it’s only a question of ‘when.’ So, having cleaned the rebreather, I took the ADV head to my room where there would be more space than in the dive center.
Removing the ADV cover took nothing more than an Allen key and four screws. Having lifted the cover, I saw what I had kind of hoped to see – specks of dirt and a bit of rust. Nothing dramatic but enough to cause the leak I’d experienced on the dive. I removed the membrane under the ADV cover and a bit more dirt underneath it and then put it all back together.
This is the critical part. The membrane is made from a soft material and needs to be aligned properly to avoid damaging it. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, it is, if you’re working in good light. Which I wasn’t. Anyway, as far as I was concerned, I’d cleaned the ADV and put it back together. There was nothing more I could do that night.
Getting Ready In The Morning
Mornings in Truk are rarely rushed, especially once you have worked out your routine. My normal routine would be to get up early enough to prepare the rebreather and then head for breakfast before diving. On this day, everyone would be taking the afternoon off diving as well as the following morning. That meant leaving later and having time to build rebreathers after breakfast.
I don’t normally need more than 20-30 minutes to get ready, but I tend to start early because I really dislike being rushed. Things went smoothly until I attempted the positive test. It just wasn’t holding (ironically, the negative test had held fine).
My private guiding guest was still unwell, so the plan was for me to dive with our trip doctor and the big boss himself, Pete Mesley. Why am I mentioning that? To let you know that there was no pressure for me to be on the dive. I didn’t need to work, no one was relying on me to guide them. Despite that, there was a moment of thinking ‘Could I dive it like this?’ It’s only human, I think, to try and brush things aside and just hope (against reason) for the best.
Still, I wanted to be on that dive. But once the positive test failed for the second time, it was time to let the team know that I may not make it. Could I have called the dive (for me) right then? Yes. But in the end, the conversation went something like:
“What do you think is wrong?”
“Well, I thought I fixed yesterday’s leak, but I really need to put it in water to check.”
“Ok, do that and see from there.”
The test showed that the leak was worse than the night before, and that’s when I remembered putting together that ADV in relatively dim light. And I remembered looking at other people’s damaged ADV membranes.
Time To Call The Dive?
Now, if this had been a normal diving day with two scheduled tech dives, potentially lasting two hours each, there would have been no option but to cancel at this point and let the boat leave.
Let me be clear about one thing: even though the thought of diving the rebreather as it was crossed my mind, it was NEVER EVER a viable option.
As it happened, on this day we had time.
“Can you fix it?”
“If it is what I think it is, I just need to swap one or two parts.”
“How long is that going to take?”
“20 minutes, half an hour without surprises?”
“Ok, get moving.”
“You sure you want to wait?”
Thankfully, both of my teammates were happy to wait for me to try and fix my gear. As dive professionals, we’re not always in such a lucky position, and when commercial pressures are added to a situation, it becomes tougher to manage the different pressures at play. Our own fear of missing out is no longer the only consideration. It’s also the commitment we’ve made to clients and the responsibility for their dives. But that responsibility isn’t limited to being present on the dive and guiding clients. By implication, the responsibility stretches to being an asset to the team, and you can’t be an asset when you’re diving with compromised equipment. It’s that simple.
The Fix
I carry quite an extensive spares kit with me whenever I travel, especially to remote locations. And I knew that there was no chance of finding anything in Chuuk itself or getting it shipped in time. I also assumed (wrongly, but never mind) that I would be the only Sidewinder diver there at the time.
I had what I needed: an Allen key of the correct size, a replacement ADV membrane, even a replacement ADV cover – and, critically, daylight. Because I am inherently lazy, I did try just tightening the ADV cover, but that did nothing to help.
So, I opened the ADV head again, and there it was, the result of my dimly lit work the night before. The ADV membrane was misaligned and had been cut by the very screws that were meant to hold it in place. The ADV cover was also a bit bent out of shape, probably not from the night before but from years of use. I replaced both, put everything back together taking great care with the alignment, and – voila! – checks were passed with flying colours.
How long did it take to fix it? Less than 30 minutes.
Not all gear issues are so readily fixed, for sure. But the point I’d like to emphasise is this: whether it’s 30 minutes, three hours, or even longer, it’s worth taking the time to fix your gear before starting a dive.
It’s easy to say you’d never dive with faulty gear from the comfort of your couch. It’s a very different decision when you’re standing next to the boat and people are waiting for you. I was lucky that I had team members who were happy to wait and offered help but didn’t breathe down my neck. I was also lucky that there was very little time pressure on that day, and that there were no commercial implications in me potentially missing the dive.
Lessons Learned
- Keep carrying that somewhat excessive spares kit – you never know when you’ll need it
- There are huge benefits to having a very simple rebreather in a remote location
- Avoid rushing even minor repairs; you’re not saving time
Above all, don’t start a rebreather dive on a compromised unit. You may think you can manage it, but it may also become the start of an accident report waiting to be written.
If you’d like to learn more about handling complex, difficult situations above and below the water, check out the work of Gareth Lock at The Human Diver. You can also book the Human Factors in Diving Essentials class directly through us. It’s a great way to add to your technical diving knowledge.