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By Gil Zeimer
I hadn't been underwater in a few years, so I'm always more cautious on my first dive of a trip. This day, the wind off the Florida coast in late February was gusting to 20 mph, the seas were rolling with 3-4 foot waves, and water temp was 74. I jumped in to follow a divemaster and 6 divers to a depth of 85 feet on a drift dive.
I immediately encountered a few problems:
I forgot to put anti-fogging liquid in my mask. It fogged up when I hit the surface. I took it off, wiped it, put it back on and cleared it. Still about 75% fogged.
Visibility was limited to about 40 feet because of the rough seas. Though I couldn't see the divers 80 feet below me, I could spot the bubbles that rose from their regulators.
I was being tossed around near the surface like a cork, so I began to descend. At about 30 feet, I lost the bubble streams and still couldn't see the divers.
At this point, I stopped, neutralized my bouyancy and thought to myself, "This is a potentially dangerous situation. I'm alone. The divemaster doesn't know I'm up here. He can't see me. I can't see him. My dive buddy can't see me either. I'm disoriented from where the ship might be because I've been spinning around to find my group. I could continue and try to find them. But if I surface too late, the boat won't be able to spot me because of the strong current and the waves. And I'll be low on air.
I also thought of my wife and daughter who were back at the hotel's pool.
They were the most important reason not to let anything happen to me.
So after 10 minutes of unsuccessfully trying to find my group, I aborted my dive. The boat motored right over to me and I climbed on. The skipper asked if I wanted to be dropped above my group. I declined to collect my thoughts and reflect on my decision.
I'd never cut a dive early before but realize I made a wise decision. I was safe, not sorry. I breathed the fresh air. I felt the cool winds on my wet hair and suit. I tried not to notice a few passengers tossing their cookies from the surface turbulence.
When my divemaster and group returned to the ship, my worst fear was realized. The divemaster had miscounted the number of divers with him. He hadn't tried to find me because he actually thought I'd been with the group all along. Turns out another diver had a mask and wet suit the same color as mine. That further validated my decision to return to the ship.
About 90 minutes later, I took my longer, successful dive with the other half of the group - and another divemaster whom I'd been with a few years before. I enjoyed every one of the 35 minutes and 40 seconds of the 90-foot depth experience. It was wonderful.
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