“I Do Believe in Turkeys.
I Do Believe in Turkeys.”
Two minutes after the last of the three groups left the surface, a lone diver popped to the surface, going just about ballistic in the process. No sooner had he cleared the surface of the water (up to his waist) than he began screaming at the top of his lungs. “Help me! Help me! I’m out of air. Help me!”
Some raw statistics. I’ve been diving and teaching scuba for over 30 years — and captaining boats for longer than that. In that time, I’ve taken several thousand people diving, at locations ranging from the eastern Caribbean to the central Pacific. Never — not once — have I ever seen a diver in such a complete and total state of panic as this guy.
The funny thing was, it wasn’t as though he was middle age, overweight or out-of-shape — characteristics often associated with problem divers. He was in his late 20s and looked fairly athletic.
I brought the boat to within 20 feet of him — and 30 feet of the wall. “Inflate your BC,” I commanded. He did — but his panic did not subside. “Okay,” I said next. “Drop your weight belt.” Within seconds, $60 worth of our nylon webbing and lead weight were on their way to the bottom, 600 feet below. I didn’t care. Nobody’s life is worth the cost of a few weights.
At this point, I figured the guy would calm down. No luck. He continued screaming at the top of his lungs and flailing wildly.
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