An uncontrollable shiver wracked my body as I struggled blindly against the current. Hands outstretched, and feet probing, I pressed forward in search of the broken pipe I had been sent to fix. Sixty feet above me the February sun danced brightly across the water’s rippled surface, but far below, icy streams worked their way into the edges of my wet suit and clouds of swirling silt blotted out any hope of light from above. The darkness was absolute. With every step I took my steel-toed boots sank deeply into the glue-like mud. The thick rubber and lead weight belt slid low on my hips, while the harness that held my emergency air and an array of wrenches, along with a knife, bit into my weary shoulders. The worn umbilical that trailed limply behind my helmet brought me air and let me speak to the surface, but it also added to my burden with every foot that played out. I never imagined I could be this cold in Florida. However, I had been on the bottom for nearly two hours, working on assignment after assignment. Now the sound of chattering teeth reverberated inside my steel dive helmet with increasing frequency.
I was daydreaming when I felt them attack, wrapping first around my leg and then my stomach. Long strands in the blackness. Tendrils that snaked themselves over my body. Out of instinct, I turned away, but this only helped my attacker tighten its grip. My arms were pinned to my chest, as the thing enclosed itself around me. Spinning wildly about, my heart hammered against my ribs as I desperately trying to free myself. My toe hooked on my heel and that was all the current needed to topple me. I hit the ground with a thud, completely ensnared. Fighting in a literal sea of darkness, on the ragged edge of complete panic, I managed to grab part of the malicious web and yank with all my might. When I pulled in one direction they tightened in another, The ferocity of their attack mirroring my own increasing struggle to escape. Then, just when it seemed I must surely be eaten at any moment, a ray of clarity somehow shined through. Chafing against my numb hand I could feel rough fibers and tight braid. This was not some ancient monster or vengeful drowned spirit, but a discarded tangle of rope. Carelessly tossed overboard by a fisherman or blown to sea in a storm. As recognition set in, I stopped fighting. I breathed deeply, trying to calm myself before calling topside to let them know my situation.
After one particularly complete exhale, I went to suck air back in only to find that my lungs would not move. I tried harder, straining my diaphragm, but again they refused to inflate. To be thorough I attempted to exhale what little I could, nothing. My lungs were frozen and I was trapped on the seafloor, suffocating. I tried to cry out for help through the intercom, but could not muster the force to make my vocal cords function. The air, that paltry amount trapped in my helmet, smelled stale. It could only mean one thing, my surface supply had been cut off and the tight seal around the helmet kept me from even attempting to breathe. I thrust up with my hand to reach the valve on the helmet’s side that would turn on the backup air. After only a few inches the lines bit hard and arrested any further movement. I could feel the bottom edge of the helmet. I knew that my backup bottle, the air I needed to call for help, that would give me time to figure things out, that would save my life was there waiting, just beyond my fingertips. Fire spread through my lungs and a dense fog crept into my brain. My heart was thundering again. In an act of pure futility, I looked around, but could not even see the piece of tempered glass at the end of my nose. My mind raced, casting about for answers when it came to the solution it should have found in the beginning. My knife. The ambush by the drifting line had frightened me and sent my thoughts down a twisting course. But now what I needed to do was clear. We all kept our knives in the same place so that they could be easily found at times such as these, and with some creative wiggling, I was able to grasp its bulky snap shackle without searching. Forcing myself to not rush and drop the knife, I unclipped it from my harness and pushed my thumb into the oversized hole on its spine. With a flick, I let lose four inches of wickedly aggressive serration and began sawing at the nearest section of line. The knife tore swiftly through the rotting fibers, and my other hand slid up an inch as the trap loosened. I located a wrap higher up my body and with two hurried slashes the rope separated. As the pain in my lungs became unbearable and I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness, my arm burst free. With well-practiced motions, I turned the valve open until it could go no further and fished around for the tank’s pressure gauge. A flood of fridged air roared into my helmet, and I gasped in enormous lungfuls of oxygen for what felt like the first time in hours. However, training would not allow me to simply lay there enjoying being alive. I hit the indiglo button on the gauge and read the needle, then called the surface to report,
“Topside this is Red Diver, I have gone on back up air and am returning to the surface. Bailout pressure 2300 psi.”
“Red Diver this is Topside, Bailout pressure 2300.” an almost bored sounding voice replied, as the umbilical kicked and jerked slightly on the helmet. Warm oily air flowed in to mix with cold from the bottle. “Negative on returning to the surface Red Diver. Go off bailout and continue on to the next project.”
“Topside, Red Diver is moving on to the next project. Stand by one minute.” I replied straining to keep the venom from my voice. It had been a test. One that I passed but barely. They would have turned the air back on in another heartbeat, maybe two. I rolled over and stood up awkwardly. Taking my time, I cut away the last of the line before reclipping my knife. As I started trudging through the dark once again, I couldn’t help but think, Wow I’m glad there is only one more day of class before spring break.
Just One Quick Story 