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---------- Forwarded message ---------- Date: Mon, 22 Jul 1996 17:06 EST From: Lee Herring <LHERRING.MHSGATE@UF*.UF*.ED*> To: cavers@ge*.co* Subject: Sidemount Adventure: Part 2 "Don't dream about this dive tonight." With that parting comment, Lamar Hires ended our first side-mount class last Tuesday night at Ginnie Springs. I suppose every caver's nightmare is getting stuck, and Roger and I got a small taste of what it feels like that night. We entered the water at Little Devil and I attached the first tank while standing on the stairs. With a little help from my friends, I slipped the metal rod attached to the camband on my Genesis 80 into the PVC tube on my waist belt. Then I stretched the bungee cord that was looped around my back and chest over the valve of the tank. The tank felt snug and secure and I could easily reach the valve and SPG. My confidence rose. This is going to be great, I thought. With these baby 80s at my side, I'll be able to swim effortlessly, without the extra drag from overly inflated wings and huge back-mounted doubles. I stepped off the stairs to get my other tank off the bottom and promptly fell face forward into the water. Lamar swam over and asked me what was wrong. I told him I was having trouble staying upright and he said, yeah, this rig wasn't designed for hanging out at the surface. I attached the other tank and, of course, this only made my predicament worse. Lamar told me to let some air out of my BC but there seemed to be no happy medium -- either I sunk or was propelled forward. Lamar and Roger didn't seem to be struggling as much, so I speculate that longer tanks (Roger was using Genesis 100s and Lamar had steel 85s) might be better for staying upright at the surface. Or, maybe they were actually standing on the bottom and laughing at me -- something I can't do right now with the water level up. This rig will feel better when I get it under water, I thought. As soon as I descended and started swimming down the run, I knew it was going to be a long dive. My trim was way off and every time I tilted my head up, my fins went into the sand. Plowing through the water, instead of swimming effortlessly as I had envisioned, I managed to practice switching regs a couple of times during the swim down the run. As we approached the Eye, I dreaded having to surface again. "How did that feel?" Lamar asked. "Terrible," I told him, while flailing about and kicking desperately to keep from falling forward. "Well, there's no sense hanging out up here and wearing yourself out. Let's get in the cave." I dropped down to the entrance of the Eye, and Roger "the Artful Dodger" slipped in right behind Lamar. Dammit, he would have the best vantage point to observe Lamar's technique for negotiating restrictions. On the other hand, I'd be able to get out if Roger got stuck, and I took some comfort from that thought. We floated smoothly over the first restriction in the Eye and headed for the Catacombs. My trim didn't seem to be getting better and I couldn't swim comfortably, so I stayed near the rocky floor and pulled as much as possible. When we got to the main tunnel just before the Lips, Lamar veered left and headed down a narrow passageway called the Toxic Waste Tunnel. Struggling to keep my legs up, I followed Roger's silt path and kept a close eye on the line. I didn't see much of Lamar after that until he doubled back to help me get through the restrictions. I watched Roger swim through the first restriction. He didn't glide through like a shape-shifter but he didn't do badly either, and I slithered blithely ahead. Be graceful, little grasshopper, I told myself. This did not work. I managed to mangle my way through, only to face a worse one just ahead. (For those of you who have been down this passage with back-mounted doubles, please take pity on me and hold the sarcasm ;>)) I took a more studious approach with the next one and carefully examined the contours of the restriction. Reflecting on Lamar's words of enlightenment before the dive -- "imagine the passage is a keyhole and your body is the key" -- I turned sideways, certain that I'd solved the puzzle, and moved forward cautiously. This didn't work either, so I backed out and took another look. I turned on my other side and tried it that way without success. As a last resort, I dumped some air from my BC, a technique that had worked for me many times with back-mounted doubles. No such luck. I tried to feel where the resistance was. Aha, I thought, my butt-mounted NL-12 is pinning me from behind. I gave Lamar an exasperated look and pointed at my light head. He swam over and signaled me to slow down and relax and motioned toward the floor. With my belly on the floor, I tried to slither in and with Lamar's assistance, I finally did. Later, he told me he had only lifted the neck of one tank about a half-inch. Why couldn't *I* do that? We continued on and the dive was called at an awkward curve. I watched Lamar roll over gracefully and execute a stunning turn. The restrictions were easier to manage on the way back, of course, but still not as easy as they should have been. I don't know why my trim was so far off on this dive. Maybe it was just the typical discomfort that comes with diving a new rig. Lamar said that the Genesis 80s may be too short to provide a good pivot point. I'll try it with the 80s one more time, but I might buy another set of tanks before we do our "real" side-mount dive at Rock Bluff. (Anyone want to sell some Faber 85s or steel 72s?) BTW, if you find a tank boot in the Toxic Waste Tunnel, it's mine. I know, I know. I'd intended to remove it before the dive but while we were gearing up, Lamar told me to leave it on. When I asked why, he gave me that creepy little laugh of his and said it would make the dive more "interesting." After the dive, Lamar told me about his nightmare. It was the night after a side-mount dive, and he had dreamed that he was trying to get through a particularly bad restriction. He had dragged all the covers off the bed and was standing up with the covers over his head and his arms thrashing wildly. He tried and tried and tried to pass through and just before his wife woke him up, he managed to free himself. All he could say was "I got out, I got out, I got out." I decided to forego sleep that night. Lee Herring
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