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From: <bdi@wh*.ne*>
Date: Fri, 14 May 1999 11:42:16 +1000
To: "Shimell, David (shimell)" <shimell@se*.co*>,
Subject: RE: Halcyon experience in Australia?
At 10:33 AM 13/5/99 -0700, Shimell, David (shimell) wrote:
>
>But life can be a bitch sometimes.  There's you above with your paranoia. In
>your nightmare, you've probably messed up to be so low on gas for this to be
>an issue.  We all say, "not me" but humans will be fools sometimes, so I
>recognise your concern.

Or, possibly, I've done a hose on a single tank
dive so I don't have gas for inflation or breathing,
and my weightbelt is caught on my crotchstrap.

>My concern is that I'm happily monitoring my gas, enjoying my dive and
>suddenly my weight belt drops off  and I go ballistic to the surface.  For
>those still with us, I rarely dive a weight belt but have adjusted the teeth
>on mine to give a firm snap shut i.e. they should be greater than and angle
>of 90 degrees to the lever part of the buckle.

There you go! Perfect! See? There ARE ways of minimising 
the possibility of accidentally ditching the weight belt
without having to compromise its effectiveness when you 
REALLY NEED to drop it.

That's EXACTLY why Jack wears a weightbelt with a stainless
steel quick-release. And he wears it outside the crotch 
strap, not under it.

>>How are the mine dives going?
>
>Fine, but you make it sound so un-romantic.  I'm back in 
>South Africa after a short week or so overseas and will be 
>at Badgat this weekend.  I was planning a "Star Trek" dive 
but have a slight cough (UK and Italian weather) and have
>not really had the time to do any planning.  Things do not 
feel right due to this lack of preparation, so I will not be 
>pushing anything.

Didn't mean to make it sound less than the great adventure it 
is. From your earlier story of the dives, I got this impression 
of divers dropping fantastic distances - hundreds of feet - down 
well-like, black-walled shafts and turning to glide through 
endless square-cut galleries lined with pit-props and floored
with sleepers. The mental images were like deep etched 
illustrations in Boys Own annuals: Heroic lino-cuts showing 
stuttering torch beams cutting into thick, ink-dark shadows and
fading out down blackened passageways marked only with the 
occasional skeleton in miner's helmet slumped over a shovel, 
right where a spray of egg-size diamonds studs the wall.

rgrds  billyw


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