Mailing List Archive Mailing List Archive
A Near Brush with Death
In activities such as diving, where the environment is
unforgiving and second chances are few, it's important to
learn from others mistakes of others. Each incident should
be analyzed to determine what went wrong. As conscientious
divers, it's our responsibility to share our most harrowing
experiences. Keep in mind that it's most important to
provide sufficient background information so that your
physical and mental state can be adequately assessed.
Additionally, for the purpose of this study and to prevent
embarrassment, names are not important.
I've always been fascinated by dangerous, high risk
activities. My personal philosophy is best described by the
words of German U-boat commander, Eric Topp. "Life is a
matter of risk. And the chances of success are in no way
enhanced by extreme caution." However, it was this reckless
abandon, no regard for personal safety attitude that led me
through several failed relationships, years of therapy, into
diving, and eventually on a boat heading out for an open
water encounter with enormous creatures weighing as much as
3,000 pounds and up to 10 feet in length. Living every
moment perilously close to the edge had become a passion, as
well as an escape from my regular job as an accountant.
As the boat sliced through the still water, I was only
dimly aware of the divemaster briefing the other divers on
safety procedures and animal behavior patterns. I was busy
rechecking each piece of my equipment and mentally rehearsing
my reaction to every possible emergency situation. This was
serious business. There were no protective cages or margin
for error. Everything had to be right.
As we started suiting up, I couldn't help but notice
that I was the only one who was armed. While everyone else
loaded film into their cameras, I unsheathed my SMG
multi-tipped pneumatic spear gun which I had named, Matilda,
after a counselor I met at a alcohol rehabilitation center in
northern Wisconsin. Matilda and I dated briefly during an
extremely difficult time of my life. Eventually however, as
with every other relationship I've had, she sucked the life
out of me, robbed me of what remaining dignity I had, drove
me to seek refuge in the bottle again, and then left me for
dead. She was a dangerous woman. I named my SMG gun, which
happened to be the most formidable personal undersea weapon
ever invented, after her to remind me never to be caught off
guard again.
When the boat started to slow down I made the first in a
series of mistakes that nearly cost me my life. I knew that
the element of surprise could mean the difference between
life and death, and I didn't want to be the one who was
surprised. I stood poised at the edge of the deck gripping
the railing with one hand and clutching Matilda other. All I
could think of was me, the water, the animals, destiny, and
eternity. Completely absorbed by the moment, and totally
oblivious to the fact the boat was still underway, I made a
giant stride entry.
The impact knocked the wind out of me, ripped my mask
and both fins off, tore my tank from my backpack and pulled
the regulator out of my mouth - splitting my lip and
dislodging several teeth in the process.
I struggled for a few moments, trying to catch my
breath, before realizing I had dropped Matilda.
Instinctively, I reached for my laser knife and quickly
surveyed the area with a 360 degree turn. Although I couldn't
see clearly without my mask, I instantly knew that my worst
fear had been realized. I was completely surrounded.
I was terrified that the blood, which now streamed from
my mouth at an alarming rate, would throw the beasts into a
feeding frenzy. Just as I was about to scream for help, the
boat's wake rolled over my head, I swallowed water, and
started choking uncontrollably. Somewhere in the process of
regaining my composure, I dropped my knife. Now I was unarmed
and completely at the mercy of a school of wild, aggressive,
blood thirsty manatees.
Through the blur I could see at least six of the
monsters. For a moment they almost looked stupid. But as
they slowly maneuvered into attack formation, I sensed that
they were about to strike. I did the only thing left for me
to do, panic!
After a few moments of wildly thrashing about, my
instincts and training took over. If I was going to survive,
I had to take charge of the situation. Besides, if I had to
cash in this way, I was going to take one of the bastards
with me.
I charged the closest manatee, straddled his back,
placed one arm around his neck, and squeezed. I couldn't
help but notice the deep scars in his back, evidence of
previous battles. He immediately dived and rolled over on
his back in a cunning, but feeble, attempt to throw me. As
we plunged towards the bottom, I felt something brush against
my back. Convinced that the others were attacking, I fully
expected to be gored (or whatever it is that manatees do to
dispatch their prey) to death at any moment. The cowards had
me out numbered six to one and I was completely defenseless.
I remember wishing that I had my mask on so I could look the
murderers in the eyes before they got me.
I knew I couldn't continue to fight without air. I also
knew that, apparently due to some genetic mutation, manatees
are air breathers too. He probably needed air as bad as I
did. As a last ditch effort, I dropped my weight belt,
pulled both CO2 cartridges on my surplus UDT vest, and held
on tight. We slowly started towards the surface, only 10
feet away. Unfortunately, the 70 pounds I had gained during
the off season had finally caught up with me. Inflated, my
vest was much too tight and seriously restricted the blood
flow to my brain. Only inches away from the air we both
needed so badly, we struggled desperately for our lives.
The last thing I remember is losing all peripheral
vision and, for some unexplainable reason, thinking how
unfortunate it was that I would never be able to finish the
liquor in my decorative Elvis decanter. Then everything went
black.
The next thing I knew I was in the boat lying on my back
with an oxygen mask over my face. The divemaster, whom I
specifically remember hearing refer to me as "that asshole",
said he thought that I may have embolized and that they were
going to evacuate me by helicopter. I lacked the strength to
tell him that I would have gladly preferred an air embolism
over the horrifying experience I had just endured.
Apparently, the attack happened so fast that no one saw what
really happened. By the time they turned the boat around and
got back to position where I had jumped off, I was floating
on the surface unconscious.
I've spent hours analyzing the events of that day and
I've learned several things. First, never believe
advertisements in dive magazines. Some resort operators
(particularly those in Crystal River, Florida) will do
anything to convince you that their operations are safe.
Second, never do a giant stride entry from a moving boat. A
forward roll would probably work much better. Third, replace
rubber mask and fin straps with stainless steel hose clamps.
Forth, redundancy, redundancy, redundancy. Always carry a
minimum of three means of self defense. Finally, life can be
taken away in the blink of an eye - if there's any booze left
in your Elvis decanter, drink it now while you still have the
chance.
Navigate by Author:
[Previous]
[Next]
[Author Search Index]
Navigate by Subject:
[Previous]
[Next]
[Subject Search Index]
[Send Reply] [Send Message with New Topic]
[Search Selection] [Mailing List Home] [Home]