I offered to work out a dive plan for them, but they refused.   Why?  Because they didn't understand the basic concept of using a watch and depth gauge to limit time and depth. Worse yet, they insisted that deco meters were the only safe way to avoid the bends. And by their logic it was true:  the risk of bends is minimal when you spend most of the day sitting on the beach. So what did they do?  --They made one "safe" dive a day (less than 33 ft).   A couple of hundred bucks of technology defeated by the inability to read a plastic card with no moving parts. An expensive vacation shot to hell.   Digital technology:  Ain't it grand?  What happened to basic dive skills?

At this point I know the reader is thinking: "Gee, George, that was most riveting dive story I've  heard in years. Do you have another?"  Well, yes, now that  you mention it,  I do.  How about a "first day on the job" story"?

When I was younger and much less of a sissy diver,  I had the opportunity to work at Club Med as a dive instructor.  To quote Dickens: "It was the best of all times, it was the worst of all times."  My fondest dive memories stem from that time, as do my worst.  Let me tell you about my first day on the job.   We were diving "The Devil's Hole", one of  the most interesting underwater geological formations I've ever had the pleasure to dive.  It's a small opening in the sandy bottom that opens up into a much larger conical cavern underneath.   Imagine descending into an underwater volcano, and you get the idea.  Since I was the newbie instructor, I had only four in my dive group.  After descending to about sixty feet, the hose to my regulator broke.  Yep, broke clean in two.  So there I was,  first day on the job, a useless regulator dangling from my mouth, sixty feet underwater, and high-pressure air exploding behind my head.  From  others' viewpoint, it must have looked like Mount St Helens erupting behind me.  Fortunately, it happened right after I had taken a breath. 

So how did I handle the situation?  What else?   The old out-of-air hand motion across the throat, of course.   Absolutely no cause for panic since I had four (yep, step right and count 'em, folks)  four sources of air within ten feet of me.  And what response did I get from the four certified divers in my group?  First, blank stares.  Second, eyes wide in alarm. And third, rapid back-pedaling when I approached them for air.  True.  So how did I resolve the situation?  Free ascent to the surface, switch the regulator with  the extra  we always carried on the boat,   and then back down to find my group.  After that, it was smooth diving.  Deserting your dive group and making a free ascent though a narrow opening is not the ideal way to begin your first day on the job. Naturally, when we returned to the boat,  I calmly and politely pointed out to my group that they lacked certain basic safety skills that I found somewhat useful   ---LIKE KEEPING ME ALIVE UNDERWATER!!! Alright, so maybe I wasn't so polite with my criticism.  OK, so maybe I even shouted a bit.  Well, OK, maybe I shouted a lot...

Yes, it was also my fault for not checking the gear I was handed, a mistake which I never repeated.  A situation like that makes you especially aware of the fact that scuba is not just sport, it's a life-support system. Oddly enough, when I think back on this incident, I don't blame the certifying dive agencies for what happened.   I'm certain they taught basic safety skills to the four divers involved --just as much as I'm sure those same four divers forgot them once the course was over. One of the obvious drawbacks to being a dive master at a tropical resort is that you never really know who you're diving with on a week-to-week basis.  Which is why a lack of basic dive skills I often encounter today really chaps my hide.  And naturally the subject of basic dive skills leads me right to...

5.   The Giant Stride.  I've never figured this one out. How did the practice of allowing water a very intimate slap at your crotch become the most sacred cow in diving?  Is this some sort of locker-room bonding rituals, like snapping towels? I've seen dive masters actually scream at newbies when they didn't goose-step off the boat like a demented Nazi.   Exiting the boat with both fins flat and together seems like a perfectly natural method of entering the water to me.  And no, don't you dare bring up that moronic chestnut about plummeting to Atlantis on the nitro-express if you do it my way. 

Next victim on the "what-chaps-my-hide" list:  dive resorts. Stayed tuned.