Name: Bob Halstead
Bio: Bob Halstead is a pioneer of the PNG tourist diving industry and has made over 10,000 dives in PNG since arriving in 1973. With his wife Dinah he built and operated the live aboard dive boat "Telita" which in 1992 was voted "Best Live-aboard Dive Boat in the World" by readers of "In Depth" magazine (Ed: "In Depth" merged with Undercurrent in 1996). He is a prize winning underwater photographer, has written several books on PNG diving and marine life, has a fish named after him, and in 2008 was inducted into the International Scuba Diving Hall of Fame.
Posts by Halstead
- “recalls divers with the push of a button
- plays music to entertain divers and snorkelers
- helps break the silence of long decompression stops
- is a P.A. system that allows boat captains or instructors to give instruction to students or customers”
New World Record!
September 2nd, 2011
I was in the Bahama Islands in the late 1960’s. I had just awakened my mania for Scuba and decided that Going Diving was I wanted to do with my life. I was glowing with the excitement of self-discovery when I was confronted with the shocking news that two local divers had died trying to break the World Depth Record for Scuba Diving on Air.
I seem to remember they were diving out of Small Hope Bay on Andros Island. The team of three had successfully completed previous practice dives to record depths and were ready for the officially sanctioned Record Dive to make them the World Record holders.
Just hearing of the attempt got me thinking weird thoughts. I had just been studying partial pressures of gasses, and learned that their medical effect changed as the partial pressures increased. Nitrogen became narcotic and produced “Rapture of the Deep” – Nitrogen Narcosis. Oxygen at a high enough partial pressure became toxic and could produce out-of-control muscular spasms.
The gases in air become poisonous with increasing depth. It seemed to me that what these divers were actually doing was equivalent to seeing how much Arsenic they could take before they would die. Pretty stupid, I thought, what is the point? And more than that, what organisation could possibly sanction such a record. Would it qualify for the Guinness Book of Records?
But these divers claimed they had developed special techniques that prevented them from getting poisoned, something to do with ice packs and meditation, possibly? I did not pay much attention as I had already made my mind up that the whole thing was crazy.
I discovered later that the three started their descent, but one became distressed and abandoned the dive at about 300 feet. He managed to regain the surface. The other two continued to descend – eventually disappearing off the echo-sounding chart never to be seen again.
I don’t think that record-breaking dives are sanctioned anymore for scuba diving breathing air, at least I hope not. But breath-holding records in a multitude of categories are still popular – and still occasionally fatal. It all seems a bit pointless to me. The joy I get being underwater is from the marine life that I am able to swim with, the sublimely beautiful marine landscapes, the poignancy of visiting a long sunken ship or aircraft wreck, and the “back to the womb” sensation of weightlessness. I like the fact that diving is intellectual as well as physical.
I certainly believe that with developed skills, and the right equipment and knowledge, dives can be safe even if deeper than the standard 40m. I am quite happy at 60m, and have been deeper – but eventually recognised a depth that takes me out of my comfort zone, and have no intention of ever going deeper than that. I rarely use only air for these exploits. I may use air for the deep part of the dive, but then switch to Nitrox or even pure Oxygen for decompression.
Fundamentally I love life and diving, and have no intention of killing myself. Although I admit the thought of another two years of Julia Gillard is truly depressing.
Anyway, I am proud to tell you that I am now claiming the World Depth Record For Scuba Planking on the Turret Gun of a World War Two Aircraft Wreck.
Someone had to do it.
I have just spent the month of June in Milne Bay PNG aboard Captain Craig de Wit’s live-aboard dive boat the magnificent MV Golden Dawn along with renowned photographers Tony Wu and Julian Cohen and some other great divers. Check out www.tonywublog.com for details and see some of the great photos that Tony took during the cruise. He’s a smart chap, Tony.
Craig provides diving for Grown Ups, but made an exception and allowed me aboard. No doubt I have been diving too deep for too long, but I do know a few fishes and seem to be the only diver who usually makes it back to the boat and does not need a pick up.
Some of the team used re-breathers, but I stuck with Nitrox, of various concentrations depending on the dive profile. By the way, although I use Nitrox, I dive as if I am breathing air. It is because I think it is safer – and perhaps the fact that my two wonderful 18 (?) year old Suunto Solution computers have no Nitrox mode. I swap them between dives so I get longer bottom times. OK, I just wrote that to see if you are still with me.
For the B17 Bomber “Blackjack” dive to maximum depth of 46m I used 27% Nitrox with decompression on 32% Nitrox. The dive was carefully planned. Go down, swim around, and come back up again, especially the last part. But I jest.
We had a surface buoy marking a descent line down the reef wall off Boga Boga village with an emergency gas supply at 20m. A slow steady descent down this line leads us to the aircraft. With no current running it was easy to make a single pass along the fuselage, shooting photos at the nose and cockpit area and gradually working towards the tail where the broken tip of the starboard tail plane conveniently points back to the line.
Bottom time was no more than 15 minutes, or half a tank of gas which ever came first, and decompression stops took place, following the line at first, along the coral wall. Moving slowly with right shoulders along the wall, divers could swim into a coral lagoon, sheltered from the waves, for an easy pick up. Since Golden Dawn was moored well away in a sheltered spot, even I had to get this pickup.
During the dive I was to ‘Plank” on top of the turret gun and Craig was to take the photo which has to be posted on the web. Planking is the latest craze for deranged people trying to get attention. I am perfectly qualified. You stretch out flat, like a plank, on some incongruous object.
Planking at depth is of course much safer than planking at height above water from where several have fallen to their demise. Nevertheless tension was high as I glided and soared into position above the gun. Someone thought they saw a dolphin!
As I settled into planking pose Craig swooped in for the photo. Looking at it I see my technique could have been improved somewhat by straightening my legs and pointing my fins a bit more, but my 42 years of training took over and I adopted the perfect diver’s relaxed power position instinctively ready to zoom away from any marauding predator.
Actually my knees were a bit stiff ….. and I learned that perhaps I should not be so demanding on my underwater model. I once took a bunch of Eileen Ford New York models diving and studied their technique very carefully on every dive for quite a long time over and over until I ran out of air. Somehow I imagined that I would look as elegant, but it seems I just look like a silly old git in a black wet suit. But it is probably the lighting. For some reason, I never had wet suits when the models were around.
But there it is, my own world record. I cunningly made it at 41m depth to discourage others from diving deeper. That would be very foolish of course. Especially if I found out.
Later I’m going to tell you more about the Golden Dawn adventure - about Julian’s underwater crocodile encounter, and the 0900 dive to a wrecked Beaufighter aircraft at 61m that was so dark it turned into a night dive, and the four Wobbegongs under Samarai Wharf trying to feed on the zillions of baitfish, and the Dog House at Diving Dog Passage, and the night of the Sea Jellies, and the most beautiful lime green Rhinopias, and my new fish … and rapture of the deep.
Just hope people will not say, “Halstead’s a real Planker.”
Check out my new web site www.halsteaddiving.com
Pain in the Bass
May 6th, 2011
A few years ago I surveyed several fisher persons with the question “Do fish feel pain?”. The response was a unanimous “NO WAY”! I then decided to pose the same question to my ichthyologist friends and the responses varied from “probably not” to “maybe” and “just a little” and even “you’re so smart, Halstead, why don’t you ask them” - which latter remark I thought was perhaps an attempt to mock me.
So it was interesting, recently, to read the headline “Scottish Scientists Prove Fish Feel Pain”. It could have just been press hype but, whatever; it provoked immediate suspicion since real scientists do not go around claiming that they have proved things. They might say, for example, “We have discovered evidence that suggests that ….” but rarely would they claim an absolute truth, after all, the whole history of science consists of excellent theories found to be less excellent as scientists proudly discover more stuff. Global Warming for example.
The “scientists” that do go around saying that they have proved things are generally those that work for advertising agencies or creationist religions and who wear white lab coats. They claim proof that brand X soap washes brightest, and that Darwin was a Dickhead. Perhaps the only thing they do actually prove is that people who believe them are on the double-digit side of the IQ bell curve.
Then the “Scottish” bit peaked my interest. Perhaps they only budgeted for a few experiments? Perhaps they wore kilts instead of white lab coats? This was a bit of a puzzle until a later news item made everything clear. These people, or their mates, were trying to get a ban placed on fishing for Scottish salmon. Fish feel pain, they argued, therefore fishing is cruel, thus fishing for Scottish salmon should be made illegal. This is pure logic to them.
Don’t know about you, but I really enjoy a good feed of fish. I love the taste and I am told that the flesh contains all sorts of nutrients that are extraordinarily good for your health. I can remember at primary school even liking the cod liver oil capsules administered every day. Most thought they tasted awful.
But, in order to eat, first catch your fish. Hauling aboard a frantic struggling fish with a hook stuck in its bleeding mouth to slowly suffocate, or have its brains bashed, is not my idea of fun anymore, but I will do it to catch my supper. I am however very fussy where I catch my fish from, and aim for pelagic and deepwater fish to avoid executing any of my friends on the reef. Those of you who have dived regularly at a site know that it is easy to become emotionally attached to different individual fish with their different personalities. Anyone working with animals bred for slaughter suffers the same dilemma. You grow to love the animals you intend to kill. My advice; never give them names, or if you do, call them “Lamb Curry” or “Roast Beef” or “Chook L’Orange” or “Fish ‘n’ Chips”.
Over-fishing is a huge problem these days - but the reason over-fishing takes place is because so many people like to eat fish. If there were not so many people we would not have this problem. So the real answer is to reduce the number of people. As Billy Connolly suggests, an ideal solution would be to bring back cannibalism. You could eat someone I do not like - I could eat someone you do not like, and we could also solve the prison, homeless, unemployment and hooning problems. One good feast and the world’s population could be more than halved!
What people do not realise is that most fish are actually eaten alive. I know you like yours fried in beer batter, but most fish are eaten in the sea - by other fish. No worries about cannibalism underwater. The old, the weak and the slow-witted go first, often ingested in one great wriggling gulp. Others, even in their prime, are mauled, chomped and shredded before or during consumption. That is nature at work.
Given this, I, wearing my white lab coat, can now prove that, IF fish do feel pain, and IF God created them, then He (more likely She) is mean beyond belief. All that suffering! So perhaps they do not feel pain or perhaps God …. but let’s not get into that.
As Dr. Jack Randall, one of my ichthyological friends, pointed out - would you fight as hard as a fish does if you had a hook stuck through your jaw? (Ouch!). That’s a pretty good argument that perhaps fish do not feel pain as much as we do. Mind you, healthy people often think a little pain will not hurt them. We can suffer pain, but not remember it very well, and this is a good job too as otherwise women would be unlikely to have more than one child, and dentists would be a rare species. Mind you I guess many people only go to the dentist when already suffering an agonising toothache.
I certainly doubt whether fish suffer the mental pain that humans can and do. The loss of a loved one, an unrequited love affair, a home destroyed by fire, financial ruin, the mother-in-law paying an unexpected visit - I could write a huge list of circumstances that cause human misery and mental suffering. This suffering is connected to our imagination and particularly our ability to imagine what our future is likely to be in these new disastrous circumstances. This is, I believe, entirely a human trait and many of us would be quite happy to swap mental agony for some physical pain. We can predict that physical pain usually passes, but mental pain seems never likely to end (though it usually does too, eventually).
Does it matter whether fish feel pain or not? The fisher people want there to be no pain (I hope) so they can justify carrying on not-inflicting it, and the anti-fisher persons want there to be pain (poor suffering fishes), to support their argument to have fishing banned.
I think it is all a pain in the bass.
The Noisy World
January 30th, 2011
America has a coral barrier reef off the Florida Keys. While this is no challenge to Australia’s Great Barrier Reef, it does have something Australia does not. For the past 25 years, hundreds of divers and snorkellers have come together for the annual Underwater Music Festival held at Looe Key Reef. Musician-divers mime on whimsical instruments created by a local artist, while a pre-selected radio playlist is streamed live from underwater speakers.
Ocean-themed songs, such as the Beatles’ “Yellow Submarine” and “Octopus’s Garden,” are featured. Sound travels well through water, indeed faster, and is sensed through the bones of the skull rather than the ears. This produces, we are assured, a “particularly ethereal” impression. The Festival pokes fun at itself and attracts big name musicians such as “Paul McCarpney” and “Ringo Starfish.”
Australia, however, has not entirely been left behind in the underwater music stakes. An end-of-the-millennium underwater concert in Sydney Harbour, Sonic Waters II, featured a sound system attached to the Shark Bay shark-netting moorings. Divers and snorkellers could listen in - and so could the marine life. A shark was reported to have turned up only to immediately become entangled in the nets.
The Sosno and Thevenium are musical instruments specifically designed for playing underwater. Both rely on primary sound being produced by striking; the resulting clangs are amplified and modified electronically. I have not heard these instruments but I can imagine why a shark might turn suicidal.
I confess. I am a diver, but have a not-so-secret life as a failed musician. Basically I failed to learn how to play the trumpet, trombone and euphonium, though I used to practice diligently - even when on board dive boats running dive cruises. My lack of talent was actually of some benefit if I had any reluctant divers. A promise of an imminent practice session was enough to get them in the water. More recently I have had better musical success on the saxophone.
Music is intensely personal and I have no doubt that a few of my guests were annoyed not only by how poorly I played, but by what I was attempting to play - generally Classics or Jazz. Occasionally I had compliments. OK, rarely. Once (only) I greeted guests aboard Telita with a Mozart CD playing softly in the background. But my first guest aboard gruffly snarled “I did not come here to listen to music!”
Pop music usually bores me to tears, it is trite, repetitive, and mostly lacks any musical subtlety. I had to undergo some (successful) radiotherapy a while back. In the treatment room it was standard practice to have a poor quality radio/CD player churning out pop music. I asked for it to be turned off but the staff knew better - they insisted it would help me relax. I told then in no uncertain terms that the “music” was making me angry and destroying my will to live. They turned it off.
I could have brought along my own discs and was tempted to bring some that would have no doubt driven the staff nuts, but that was a fleeting unkind thought. I preferred silence, and while undergoing treatment was able to mentally harmonise the gritty buzz of the radiating linear accelerator with images of cancer cells exploding. It worked, and I departed each session content and optimistic.
Cousteau called underwater “The Silent World” but actually it is not. Night dives are particularly cacophonous with carnivores crunching and crustaceans crackling. Waves can be heard thundering on reefs, and a rainsquall can drum a sudden Stacatto. Fish grunt and thump, and cetaceans are famous for their various whistles and moans. The Humpback Whale song is unforgettably heart-rending.
Adding to these natural sounds my own imagined music accompanies me on my dives. I hear J.S. Bach as schools of fish surge and swoop, Stravinsky ballets as barracuda swirl, and John Williams, inexorably, as sharks menace with their jaws.
It is all rather fantastic, but I try to make my dives as perfect as Heifitz playing the Korngold concerto. I can make my dives Pianissimo or Forte, Adagio or Presto. The harmonies of the sea resonate with my diving. Weightless, gliding and soaring, I am as rapturous as when transported by glorious music in a concert hall.
Working with a model can be as satisfying as the fusion of a string quartet. Four become one when the communication between model, sea creature, the ocean environment and photographer moves to the perfect moment of resolution, when I press the camera shutter.
Then a speedboat roars overhead and reality returns. Dissonant bubbles rend my ears, and divers seek attention by clanging their tanks.
Loud pop music on deck is already the curse of otherwise perfectly habitable dive boats; I do not want this “service” extended underwater. Diving for me is an escape from the pandemonium of modern life above water. But it is happening. Speakers can be embedded in the hulls of dive boats. There is a diver recall device that, and I quote:
Individuals can now dive with their SwimMan Apple iPod Shuffle, or use an iDive 300 Deep Dive waterproof case that enables them to “Dive with more than just the bubbles from your regulator providing the soundtrack” and not disturb anyone else.
Dive boat crew please note - keep the music OFF. Your young and uneducated ears might cope, but older folk such as myself not only dislike the noise, we have difficulty in having conversations above it. The inevitable racket from the generators and engines just makes it worse.
And please, please, spare the underwater world from muzak, the broadcasted din of humanity, and the inane babble of rap. Be silent! Leave us to Nature’s water music, and the imagined symphonies in our heads.
bob@halsteaddiving.com
PhotoStop: What Underwater Photography Should Be About
August 31st, 2010
“That’s a wonderful picture, you must be an expert at Photoshop”. Is that the ultimate insult to a photographer? It is to me.
I like to think of myself as an underwater photographer. My perfect dive would be to descend, absorb the site’s ambiance, discover the definitive subject, visualize the image I want, take one perfect photograph, and ascend, breathing the last puff of Nitrox from my tank as I reach for the dive boat ladder.
I believe that a photo that comes straight out of the camera (preferably on film) is superior to one that has been photoshopped. Not only visually superior, morally superior!
So when a photo of violinist and underwater model Leigh Paine, that I had successfully shot to promote a future concert, was published on page 3 of The Cairns Post, I was elated. It looked great; half a page in full colour. But the comments that greeted me praised my prowess at Photoshop, not photography. They thought I had faked it. I was mortified.
I own a camera; I do not own Photoshop. I do not digitally remove backscatter; I strive to shoot pictures without backscatter. I do not care that “to photoshop” is now a recognised verb. I use technique and skill with my camera whenever I shoot pictures. That has to be worthier.
Unfortunately I can find no philosophical rationale to defend my conviction.
Let me explain. If you have studied modern art, you may know of French painter René Magritte. In 1929 he completed a painting called “The Treachery of Images”. The painting was of a smoker’s pipe and on the painting he wrote, under the pipe, “Ceci n’est pas une pipe.” Which translates to, “This is not a pipe.”
He was making the point that images should not be confused with reality. An image is an image and a pipe is a pipe. An image of a pipe is an image, not a pipe. Having got to this point it is logical to argue that since an image can never be reality, except as an image, it does not matter, in an artistic sense, what anyone does to manipulate the image. All that matters is how the final image looks.
I must admit to having fun with unsuspecting innocents at scenes of extraordinary beauty - a tropical sunset perhaps silhouetting a volcanic skyline. Inevitably someone says, “Isn’t that beautiful!” to which I say, “Amazing, it’s just like a picture isn’t it?” If my joke works I hear, “Yes, you’re right!” and I score another point by getting my gullible companion to agree that an image could be as significant as reality.
But perhaps I am the fool; perhaps some images affect us more than reality? Legendary landscape photographer Ansel Adams lugged his huge camera and a handful of glass plates into Yosemite aiming to shoot one perfect negative, but then worked for hours producing, by skillful manipulation in his dark room, a print that was more expressive and beautiful than the reality, or, at least, revealed beauty seen by Ansel but that was not so easy for us to identify in the wild. I suppose all great art enables us to see reality in a different light, as it were.
Ansel said, “The photographer visualizes his conception of the subject as presented in the final print. He achieves the expression of his visualization through his technique - aesthetic, intellectual, and mechanical.” No doubt he would add “digital” to that list today.
But photography is not just about artistic images. News photography is intended to represent reality, as are family snapshots - though just by using a wide angle or telephoto lens you are distorting what the natural eye sees. I remember the fuss produced by National Geographic when the magazine published a “photograph” of the Pyramids on its front cover. The Pyramids had been digitally realigned to fit the cover better. Scandal!
The most deplorable use of manipulated images is for deliberate deception or propaganda. This has occurred through the history of photography - but is much more common since digital images and Photoshop came on the scene. As I write this BP has admitted that a photographer photoshopped images of the Gulf oil spill to sanitize the view from a helicopter. Anti-smoking lobbyists used a photo of Winston Churchill - but with his cigar magically missing. Cover shots of aging beauties are routinely digitally airbrushed to remove their wrinkles and expanding waistlines.
Scientific photographs, such as those from satellites, are expected to be “truthful”. They are evidence. They need not be “as the human eye sees them” - that would be impossible from the space orbits that satellites move in - but once standardised they need to be consistent so as to show any changes in reality that occur. The determination of whether an image is News or Art is critical to the morality of manipulated images.
Perhaps I am a believer in the art of photography rather than the art of images? There are so many fascinating facets involved in the act of creating the perfect underwater photograph. Buoyancy and breath control are vital. You must be able to dive with both hands on the camera. I once offered to teach Underwater Photography. In first lesson I asked students to dive with their hands lashed to their sides with a spare weight belt strap. I had no takers, but the skill is essential.
Other more subtle skills involve avoiding other divers, finding the subject, having empathy with marine life, and approaching from the right direction without disturbing the environment. After finding your subject, visualize, compose the picture, apply technique, and take one perfect image. Digital cameras have ruined this concept. The fashion these days is for divers, without any visualization, to shoot hundreds of poorly composed images on automatic settings in the vain hope that a few of them will be good enough to fix with Photoshop. Instead of concentrating on the subject and capturing the right moment to shoot, the digital photographer is inspecting and deleting worthless images while diving.
Having said that, I must confess. A magazine asked me recently for a vertical shot of a diver cuddling a Moray Eel. I had one well composed shot that I had taken 30 years ago - but had never published as the shot was full of backscatter. I had kept the slide as a reminder to use correct technique every time. I scanned and emailed the image to the magazine, pretty much to say sorry I can’t help. But they contacted me, asking for it in high resolution. “Backscatter is no problem”, they said, “we can fix that”. They did, and the shot made the cover. I’ve now had several magazines “improve” my images, but I still aim for perfection in camera.
Even if I do not get my perfect image every dive, I will at least have the satisfaction of having attempted the perfect photo dive. Ansel Adams thought only 12 photographs “that mattered” a year was good going for any photographer. But photographic genius Alfred Stieglitz was more passionate - he said, “When I make a photograph, I make love!” I reckon I can do that, and without help from Photoshop.
Regulator Rubbish
May 24th, 2010
Years ago a New Zealand dive instructor working as an electronics technician in Port Moresby asked me to teach his wife how to dive. A wise man, I thought, destined for marital bliss.
She joined one of the courses I was running at the time, did very well and became a certified Scuba Diver. On her very first dive after completing the course she was diving with her husband. They had just reached the bottom when the husband swam up close, and signalled that he had no air and wished to buddy breathe (yes, really that long ago - before octopus/alternate air). The wife was a bit peeved thinking that he was testing her new skills and gave him the finger. However a more frantic set of signals, and a distinct lack of bubbles from her buddy, made her realise that her husband actually could not breathe and needed to share her regulator.
She assumed the position I had taught her, and flawlessly shared her regulator. The husband soon settled down and they made a safe ascent together. At the surface the husband explained that his regulator had suddenly failed, and he could not get any air. He thanked me later for doing a good job teaching his wife, and asked me to look at his regulator to find out the problem.
I stripped the regulator, an original US Divers Conshelf XIV - but I already had a good idea what had gone wrong. The first stage of these regulators has an upstream valve opened by a thin stainless steel pin with a cylindrical knob at one end. If the knob sheered off, the pin could not open the valve and, suddenly, it could not supply air to the second stage. Mostly the problem with these first stages was that the high pressure seat would fail - but if this happened the regulator would provide too much pressure and the second stage would free flow - not nearly as serious a problem.
I did not care for regulators that were not “fail safe”, that is, no matter how they failed you should still be able to breathe. In my dive shop, the Diver’s Den in Port Moresby, I did not sell “diaphragm” first stages as they all in theory (and some in practice) could fail catastrophically. Over the years the pin design has been changed and I have not heard of any diaphragm first stage failing due to a failed pin in many years (let me know if you have).
But I championed the flow-through piston design, which I believe was invented by Scubapro and which is regarded as failsafe and foolproof. They would occasionally whistle, but that was easily fixed with a nylon washer each end of the main spring. I sold Scubapro, Sherwood, Dacor, and Oceanic brand regulators, qualified as a service technician for these brands and guaranteed them personally. Apart from minor adjustments I never had any problems, and lots of satisfied, live, customers.
One of my ex-students asked for an appointment with me in the Diver’s Den to discuss his purchase of a set of Scuba gear. I went through the various brands and their various pros and cons. It took about two hours. At the end of this he thanked me profusely then explained he was off to Singapore next weekend and would be buying his gear there. I informed him that he would not get a better bargain than at the Divers Den, and that I personally guaranteed everything, but gave me that ignorant know-all smile that these kind of idiots have, and left the shop.
A couple of weeks later I was amazed to see his brazen hide back in my shop. He was having trouble putting all his new gear together. I took a look at it and burst into laughter. A scoundrel in Singapore had sold him an old style regulator first stage (old stock) with the small high-pressure connection rather than the latest wide thread (universal now) that was on his pressure gauge. “What should I do Bob?” he whined. Now I am a sweet, kind, forgiving sort of guy - but only after I have had revenge - so I told him - you guess -
(a) Why don’t you go back to Singapore and ask them to exchange it?
(b) Get out of my shop you Dickhead.
(c) Seeing as how you are such a good customer, I have an adaptor here I will give you.
Alas, no prize for the right answer(s).
Believe it or not I still have not got to the point of this month’s Adult Section. Here we go.
I have been diving a lot recently, my very latest expeditions with the self proclaimed World’s Greatest One-eyed, Jewish Underwater Photographer, no less than the esteemed Irvin Rockman. Irvin started diving before it was even invented and is the President for life, infinity and beyond of Underwasser Yidden, a group of profane reprobates who travel to PNG to un-civilise the Natives and promote the traditions of Melbourne Business Society.
Irvin emailed me a couple of months before the trip to seek advice on the purchase of a new regulator. As long as he could get it cheaper than anyone else, money was no object. I no longer have a dive shop, thank Neptune, and provided a short list of two, the most expensive (and very expensive it is in Australia, think Rolls Royce) being the one Irvin Picked. I also advised him to get it from his local dive shop - but alas he had discovered a website that sells them at a huge discount so ordered it from overseas.
We joined the FeBrina for a double cruise of diving for adults, exploring Milne Bay and ending in Rabaul. Just about every dive was completed with exuberant praise for the breathing qualities of the new regulator. Then, half way through the trip, it failed. Irvin turned his tank on to be greeted by loud hissing as Nitrox blasted from the water pressure balance vents in the first stage. The regulator had not failed catastrophically; it could still be breathed from had the failure occurred underwater, but was impossible to dive with. The crew fixed him a spare.
At this time I got a bit excited. I had recommended the regulator; I expected great performance and a long service life for my friend. I did not expect it to fail within 20 dives. I was embarrassed and angry. Someone in the dive industry is losing sight of primary objectives. Diving gear is life support equipment. Regulators have to breathe well and be reliable. What is happening instead is that gear is becoming more complicated, more expensive, technically brilliant (or just plain weird, check out fins.) and totally unreliable.
Toyota just managed to do exactly that with its cars - wonderful performance as long as you do not mind accelerators sticking and brakes failing.
Irvin now has to send his regulator away to USA to get fixed. It would have been easier for him if he had purchased it from his local store, perhaps even less expensive in the long run, and of course it is much more fun to abuse someone in person.
A couple of years ago my trusty old fins cracked so I bought a new pair made by the same manufacturer. They had fancy quick release straps and were a bit stiffer than my previous pair. Within 6 months the fancy clips had broken, the foot pockets were splitting and my legs were tired. I took them back to my local store, Tusa Dive in Cairns where the professional and very knowledgeable manager Dave acknowledged the problem, and replaced them with a pair of my original fins brand new that he had managed to find in a forgotten corner of the store - relegated to that position as the clips and straps had been removed. I had plenty of fin clips and straps, my problem was over - what’s more they are gorgeous yum-yum yellow, perfect for attracting sharks and they match my buddy Irvin Rockman’s. We are the boys in yellow fins.
Another thing, if you work on dive boats you are setting yourself up for workers comp with weight integrated BCs. I hate them. They make tanks too heavy for the crew to lift. I also hate those stupid harnesses where the strap breaks free from its Velcro fastening and flaps around behind the diver. Amateur hour. Not long ago my 15 year-old snorkel disintegrated, but my new snorkel nearly drowned me with a faulty valve. I sucked more water than air and that was in flat calm conditions. Something is wrong with the world.
Here is my message is to the dive manufacturers. Cut the Crap. Go back to the basics, make us gear that works and is reliable. You make it; why not try using it sometime?
