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| on a scooter |
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| the sand really is pink |
Bermuda in 1960 was a charming
if sleepy colonial island attached to the British Commonwealth,
noteworthy mostly, to us at least, for its clear water, pink sandy
beaches and scooters. The big event for me was a chance to learn
SCUBA diving with the ship's gear and expert divers. The first
experience turned out to be terrifying. I didn't really understand
that the air didn't flow freely, as does the normal air you breathe
every day, into the mask. The instructors told us that you have to
consciously suck in and exhale the air from the tank and to be
careful not to hyperventilate. Oh, yeah, sure I thought, no problem.
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| this a propane gas tank, of course |
Full of piss and vinegar and gung ho
to jump in I donned my wet suit and hoisted the tank (felt like the
picture on the right) onto my back, put on the fins and the mask.
Ready, I thought to jump in, the instructor says just a minute, you
forgot your lead weight belt. So, put on the belt and jump in to
about 15 feet of water off a pier—and sink directly to the bottom
like a ... well, like a lead weight. Shock. Can not resurface. The
lead weights make it seem like I'm glued to the bottom. Hey, the air
isn't flowing. Start to panic. Remember that you have to suck
in...suck in...not enough air....suck in harder...still not enough
air...begin to hyperventilate....start to freak out. Suddenly, an
instructor appears, unhitches the belt and I bob to the surface
gasping for air. Instructor laughs and says I told you not to
hyperventilate. I'm furious: “Yeah, sure. You didn't tell me I
wouldn't be able to get off the damned bottom though!” “Best way
to learn. It's a lesson you won't soon forget, will you?” Mumbling
to myself: “Bleeping a**hole.”
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| inside a decompression tank |
Being so intimately involved with the
romantic idea of submarines while working on the SONAR submarine
detection system, I got it into my head that I wanted to be a
submariner. I must have been temporarily out of my mind. I suppose
I wanted to upgrade my B-navy-sailor-in-the-service-fleet status to a
“right stuff” warship sailor. I actually put in a written request
to train for submarine duty. Since the Hoist had a decompression
chamber (photo on left) on board that worked both ways—it could
compress as well as decompress—the captain agreed to consider the
transfer request if I would take a compression test. I agreed and
entered the tank. As the depth simulation increased it got warmer and
warmer and the weight of the pressure began to press on me and especially my eardrums. I was instructed to continually adjust the
pressure in my ears my holding my nose and swallowing to pop the
eardrum back into normal position. The pain in the ear canal and
accompanying headache would become excruciating if I forgot the
adjust and abated when I held my nose and swallowed. I succeeded in
getting down to the required depth [several hundred feet below the
surface] to pass the test and the tank was decompressed and I began
to “surface” to normal sea level pressure. As it turned out, my
request was denied because the Navy considered that I didn't have
enough time left to serve to make the training required worth their
while. So, I stayed in the dungaree navy as a service fleet sailor.
To be continued...
Being so intimately involved with the
romantic idea of submarines while working on the SONAR submarine
detection system, I got it into my head that I wanted to be a
submariner. I must have been temporarily out of my mind. I suppose
I wanted to upgrade my B-navy-sailor-in-the-service-fleet status to a
“right stuff” warship sailor. I actually put in a written request
to train for submarine duty. Since the Hoist had a decompression
chamber (photo on left) on board that worked both ways—it could
compress as well as decompress—the captain agreed to consider the
transfer request if I would take a compression test. I agreed and
entered the tank. As the depth simulation increased it got warmer and
warmer and the weight of the pressure began to press on me and especially my eardrums. I was instructed to continually adjust the
pressure in my ears my holding my nose and swallowing to pop the
eardrum back into normal position. The pain in the ear canal and
accompanying headache would become excruciating if I forgot the
adjust and abated when I held my nose and swallowed. I succeeded in
getting down to the required depth [several hundred feet below the
surface] to pass the test and the tank was decompressed and I began
to “surface” to normal sea level pressure. As it turned out, my
request was denied because the Navy considered that I didn't have
enough time left to serve to make the training required worth their
while. So, I stayed in the dungaree navy as a service fleet sailor.
1 comment:
both of your 'illustrations' make me paranoid and claustrophobic. gulp
-r
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