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Well -- it was certainly good to have famous rebreather diver Rich Pyle, his warm wonderful wife Lisa, and their daughter, 1 yr. old Cara Mia (sole "IU Qualified" Cis-Lunar diver on record [In Utero] ), here in Tallahassee for a visit. High on the agenda, of course, was some diving in Wakulla Spring, so my daughter Rosalee started loading bottles into the expedition vehicle (one juice/one milk -- she's 2 now, y'know), while we strapped the necessary gear in all around us. We headed down-county, driving though the almost surreal, shimmering heat and humidity, towards the world's most magnificent spring system; five of us crowded together under a looming bank of life-support equipment: diaper bags, towels, floats, and coolers. As we drove, I related to these visitors from Hawaii the area's geological history. Accompanying my narrative was the engine's powerful deep-throated rumble, coming from beneath the trusty four-door Volvo wagon. For this expedition we had donned our best dumpster-diving attire, perfectly matching our unshaven, on-vacation visages: shorts and T-shirts, the latter with a silk screen on the back and fast food relics on the front, flip-flops, and carrying enough tightly wrapped, seriously used disposable diapers to give us the appropriate aromatic essence. We arrived at Wakulla in the middle of one of those standard summer-in-North-Florida days: F101 in the shade. We'd brought along pre-dive carbo and cholesterol, copping some of Register's Own large greasy, open-pit-smoked-enuff-to-shorten-your-life-a-year, bar-b-qued mad-as-hell cow sandwiches, that we purchased directly from the fine cooking staff of Militia members who dish 'em up right there, next to the road in Woodville. Funny town that Woodville -- the town itself, the geological formation it rests on, the highway, and the Baptist Church are all named after the much-loved, globally-known dive team. After hoovering the sandwiches, we hit the water, so sure of our finely tuned physiologies that we didn't even wait an hour, the way our moms had always told us to. Amazing, how our modern understanding of the human body in water allows us to do things that wouldn't have been dreamed of just a few decades ago. We purged our breathing systems immediately when we hit the 72 degree water -- the 30 degree difference between ambient air temp. and the sparkling liquid environment will do that to you every time. Diving nitrox, using the rule of halfs, while dodging the ever-present, ever-dangerous threat of adolescent boys hurtling bodily from the diving tower above, we thrust ourselves deep into the clear spring water, without even the benefit of modern technology's best and latest high-concept snorkel design -- so close to the monster spring vent that we could feel the depth at 20 feet crushing our bodies and flattening our abs. Gazing around us in awe from our vantage point at three fathoms, we saw street gangs of mullet cruising the weeds, and a four foot long alligator gar protectively poised and drifting near the lip of the massive cave -- challenging all those with the temerity to apply to explore the hidden recesses below. The spring seemed so quiet and serene -- so blue a scene. Wakulla displayed all the quiet contempt that Nature has for the mechanisms of man, giving no clue to what has happened here -- the heroic explorations, the technicolor personalities, the extraordinary egos, and the pyrotechnical politics that are triggered by the unquenchable urge to understand its mysteries. What a pleasure it was to share with Rich and Lisa this truly magical place. As we gathered our gear to leave, lifting onto our shoulders one last time our combined forty-three pounds of off-spring , we were silent, contemplating what we had just seen. I wondered if Rich felt the same "presence" that I did, the same tremendous sense of scale, of time, and of mystery that surges up with the uncounted millions of gallons of water glistening before us. Would he now understand the power of this place? The lure that causes so many pioneers to dream, to plan, to challenge, to risk, to conquer -- and to tremble in fear of this incredible place? Would he now understand? He must have read the question in my eyes. With the brevity, accuracy, and perceptiveness you would expect of highly regarded explorer and scientist, he summed up the impact this experience had for him in three simple words: "No reef fish." Aloha, y'all! Christopher A. Brown Sci-Graphica PR and DOCENT FILMS The Technical Diving Video Library (TDVL) at http://www.neuro.fsu.edu/dave/docent.htm (N.Am. & Canada): 1-800-373-7222 Outside US:904-942-7222 Fax:904-942-1240 Life is short -- this is not a rehearsal.
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