Cold water diving… I hear what you are thinking… why do it?
With sub-par visibility, rough seas, dry suit dilemmas, and the very real danger of hypothermia (possibly even death) – what could possibly be the appeal?
This is a question I asked myself over, and over, and over again – and I finally came up with an answer: It’s like nothing else you’ll ever do, and it is strangely satisfying when done right.
Just getting to the training is a nightmare and a half, especially since I was doing my training (which involved several woolly layers and 30+ lbs of lead weights) in 90 degree, Florida weather.
After several speed bumps (most memorable: having to be cut out of a broken dry suit, for fear that I would overheat), I was declared “diver in training” and shipped out to Canada where I would (hopefully) be of some use.
My first dive in Canada was a “check-out dive” – simple tasks, just to see that I was a competent diver and not a lawsuit waiting to happen. I was warned that it would be a strange experience (think: 40 degree water, less than 5 foot visibility), but nothing could prepare me for the gloom I was about to jump in to.
Within seconds, my dive buddies become fuzzy (at best) – the silt enveloping them and hiding them from clear view. The cold water burned my exposed skin and it took all of my self control to stop from focusing on the headache developing from the cold-rush.
After calming myself and focusing at the task at hand, I started to relax ever-so-slightly. I was just starting to feel comfortable, when I was asked to do a task, which involved removing my weight belt (see: 32 lbs of dead-weight), holding it out in one hand, and replacing it. Within seconds I started to float (thank you neoprene!), and the silt began to cloud my view even more than before.
Feeling my instructor grabbing onto my gear, I relaxed my body, closed my eyes and allowed my two dive buddies to take charge. When I felt them start to guide me to the surface, I opened my eyes only to be confronted with pitch black. It is truly the only time in my whole life where I have honestly not been able to see anything – not even my own hands.
The silt was so thick that not even the strongest light penetrated through. After finally (safely) reaching the surface, it was relayed to me that I was given the wrong equipment – leading to a chain reaction of events, which ended with the prematurely aborted dive.
A few days later I was given the chance to go on two short dives, with a mission to collect two of the local sea urchin species for experimentation. Jaded by my first, clearly negative, experience, I nervously listened to the pre-dive instructions.
Getting suited up, I felt a strange feeling wash over me, and I realized that the scenery beautifully hid the dangers of cold-water diving. After getting the all-clear, I felt the first splashes of ice water hit my face – although the tingling effect could have been created by my anxiety rather than the cold.
As I descended down the rocky shoreline, my vision was suddenly warped. After a second of apprehension, I realized that I was looking through the halocline – the surface area where fresh and salt water mix.
Laughing into my regulator, I suddenly realized the beauty of such an ordinary consequence of nature. As I looked down at my feet, I saw my fins grazing along the top of tall, green kelp – all swaying to the rhythm of the tide. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
The dive was followed by several others like it, where I poked around rocky tidal areas, discovering more of the local biology. It occurred to me that for every beautiful view in the greater British Columbia area, there was probably one just as breathtaking underwater.
Moral of the story? Sometimes my most memorable experiences are the ones I work the hardest for, especially when it involves crazy-cold water 🙂
If you enjoyed this experience you might like to view more of my dive tips:
• Book liveabroads
• Best dive sites in the world
• Mistakes to avoid when diving for the first time
• How to care for your dive equipment
• Advice for diving with contact lenses
