Between a rock and a hard place

Scuba diving is an incredibly intoxicating activity.

Donning an assortment of equipment to ensure your survivability underwater, you tend to look otherworldly, not to mention feeling a bit awkward. Flippers, tank, BCD jacket, combine to add weight and bulk to your body.

The anticipation of a dive and the unknown discoveries that await add imbalance to the psyche, matching that of the physical dimension. Combine the dynamics of a bobbing boat or heavy swell landing onshore and the challenge is to be met before you actually slip below the surface.

But, once there....

You are weightless. Well, neutrally buoyant. Your surface check is OK, you've signaled the divemaster, the dive flag is in place and you begin the descent. The only noise is your breathing, and you start to explore.

Once you are below the surface, the wave action becomes unnoticeable.

You are free!

One particularly glorious day some years ago our vacationing dive group was headed for some islands offshore of Puerto la Cruz, Venezuela. The boat captain, a diver himself, was knowledgeable and eager to show us the many wonders available to us. The location we were to explore was a miniature archipelago, mostly large rocks rather than small islands, about a half hour boat ride from harbor.

My dive partner and I had no particular plan that day other than observing the large schools of small fish and the fantastic underwater coral caves. Our captain had brought an underwater camera and lights to record our dive. Noticing a house-sized rock that looked interesting, my partner and I swam towards it for a closer look. I could see light underneath a portion of the rock as it was resting on a smaller, car-sized rock.

Curious, I motioned to him "Is there enough room?" He nodded and indicated I could swim through the opening between the rocks. There was a sandy bottom so I knew I wouldn't get caught on anything passing through.

He positioned himself on the other side of the opening, waiting for my exit. It was a much smaller opening than I had calculated. The passage was about thirty feet long, but only about two feet or less in height at the lowest point. I was about three quarters of the way through when I realized I couldn't proceed any further.

I was trapped, forty feet below the surface.

How was I going to get free?

Under many circumstances, this would have made me anxious, if not in full panic mode. But it was early in the dive, I had a full tank of air and hopeful that any other divers would be able to help me from my predicament. I could see my partner watching me, but unable to help even though only about ten feet away.

Cautiously I tried to back up. Taking care not to stir up the sandy bottom and lose all visibility, I used my hands to push my body backwards. The bottom of my air tank, riding high and reaching towards the surface because it was still full, caught on a protruding piece of the large rock above me. I couldn't back up then, because I couldn't reach back to hold my tank down.

Was it time to panic?

Remaining calm, breathing slowly, I looked again towards my partner who could see I was not moving forward. He motioned for me to press my belly into the sandy bottom, getting as low as I could possibly get. With one hand I pressed on the rock above me and crept forward. I could sense the air tank grating against the rock and the loose sand begin swirling about, obscuring my view.

I was almost there now.

In what seemed like an hour but was only a matter of minutes, I reached the end of the passage. My dive partner gave me a hearty slap on the tank and a fist bump.

The rest of the dive was unremarkable, but I was left with this takeaway:

If you are going to test yourself, be prepared for failure. Make sure your consequences are not fatal. Remember to lean on someone you trust, and don't overthink your situation, trust your ability. Solutions don't have to be complicated.