Beyond Machismo

"All you need in life is a tremendous sex drive and a great ego.

Brains don't mean shit."

Capt. Tony Tarracino,

former Mayor of Key West, Florida

Machismo seems to be an insidious illness that has affected divers from all communities over the years. In technical diving it can be deadly. Sadly, though the afflicted diver may be the only one to die or be injured, they are rarely the only ones to suffer. Here are some perspectives drawn from the experience of a variety of communities.

What Price Glory?

by Cathie Cush

For years I lived with and loved a man who believed that "if you can’t die doing it, it’s not worth doing." I didn’t happen to agree, but I held my tongue and followed him to the tops of mountains and to the bottom of the sea. If I hadn’t met Ed Soellner, I probably never would have done long decompressions, ventured 200 feet and below on air, or seen some of the deep shipwrecks I have visited in the waters of the world. I probably also never would have experienced narcosis so mind-numbing that I forgot how to work my BC, and I never would have dropped a $2,500 camera rig into the sea for my safety’s sake.

What did I know? I was young, naive and in love&endash;not just with Ed, but with my own ego. The risks we took brought us recognition in certain circles of the dive community and beyond. We were featured in several newspapers and interviewed for local magazines. Wasn’t it worth risking a little pain in the shoulder and maybe a chopper ride if we could be "Somebodies" with a capital S. Besides, I told myself, these adventures were research for potential stories.

"Sports Illustrated.... National Geographic...." Ed would taunt as he suggested dives farther and farther outside my comfort zone.

And then there were the souvenirs: old dishes, pieces of brass and other paraphernalia filled the bookcases. Neat stuff for show & tell.

But think about this: What if someone said, "I’ll give you a first-class dish from the Andrea Doria. The only hitch is, if you take it, there’s about a 20-percent chance that you won’t ever walk without a limp."

Would you really care whether you had that dish on your wall?

No?

So then tell me the logic in this, because Ed isn’t here to answer me any more:

What would you do if I told you I could give you 60 minutes of no-decompression time at 140 feet, but the trade-off is that you have a significant chance of convulsing and drowning while on the bottom?

I think Ed truly believed that things like no-decompression times and partial pressure limits didn’t apply to him. He had never been bent, and wouldn’t admit to narcosis shallower than 260 feet. He was, after all, a big bear of a guy who handled excess in stride. Why should oxygen be any different?

A few weeks before Ed died, I told him that I was concerned about his PO2s. He laughed and told me that I was much too conservative. My own diving has toned down considerably in the past year or two, as I’ve played enough games of chance to know that I never seem to beat the odds.

On July 5 he dove the Arundo, off the New Jersey coast in 135 feet of water. After 57 minutes, he was found unconscious near the anchor line with gas in his tanks and his regulator out of his mouth. He had been breathing "EAN 38-point-something." A reporter called a few weeks later looking for background for a story on the fatal accident.

I hope it was all worth it.

Cathie Cush is a NAUI instructor, wreck diver, freelance journalist and aquaCorps editor. She can be contacted by writing aquaCorps, PO Box 4243, Key West, FL. 33041. (The accident that resulted in Ed Soellner's death is summarized in "Safety First," pg.4&endash;Ed.)

It's Your Call

by Sheck Exley

Since I retired from the car business seven years ago, I've had a blast teaching algebra and calculus to high school kids in Suwannee County, Florida. Most of the kids have no idea that I am a diver, but a few find out and inevitably ask me to teach them to dive or sponsor a scuba club. I will never do either for fear of encouraging the "macho" so evident in teenaged males.

The guy that taught me how to dive, Ken Brock, had more guts than I have. In early 1966, he organized a scuba club especially for teenagers called the "Aquacks" at the Jacksonville YMCA and promptly ordered us to "stay out of caves". Given the poor technology available to cave divers at the time, abstention was the only rational advice to give to the aspiring diver.

So what did we do? You guessed it! While cave diving at Jugg Hole on April 3, I got caught in a current, hit my head on a rock and flooded my mask. On July 16th at Orange Grove Sink , my partner and I got narked and entangled in our line. Later the same day, I discarded the troublesome line, got lost at Peacock and exited the cave by an unknown route with only a couple of minutes of air left. The next weekend I got lost in a siltout at Ginnie Springs and dug my way out through a restriction on my reserve air supply. Later the same day, my partner ran out of air and attacked me. He survived only because Ken had taught me how to do CPR.

This experience should have stemmed my obvious problems with testosterone excess. Instead, I was portrayed as a "hero" for saving my partner's life, and became more arrogant than ever. My youthful partners and I (including Joe Prosser, past training chairman of the NSS Cave Diving Section) continued to scare the heck out of Ken with our illicit cave diving escapades and close calls, diving ever deeper in a never ending quest to impress each other and prove how "brave" we were. By August, 1967, I had hit 237 feet at Zuber Sink (now "Forty Fathom Grotto"), the club record.

I was the clear leader of the club as well its hero. My greatest admirer and emulator was probably my brother, Edward, who was three years younger than me. He bought equipment that looked like mine, gave talks about me in school, and even copied my mannerisms. It was great to be held in such esteem by him and the others.

On June 29, 1968, we stopped at Wakulla Springs for some snorkeling on our way to Morrison Springs, where I planned to try to set a new club depth record. I got cold and got out, but Edward, ever eager to impress me, said he wanted to stay in a little longer. I told him to be careful, then watched him swim out to the deepest section, take a few breaths, and disappear behind the huge ledge. A minute later he reappeared, swimming at a strange angle instead of straight up to the surface. When he got to the surface he kept on swimming instead of clearing his snorkel, then slowly started sinking toward the 125 foot bottom. After an hour of CPR, my mouth filled with his vomit, we had his heart and lungs going again, but he never regained consciousness. My only brother, Edward, was dead. I was the one who had to make the call to my parents.

If machismo stopped upon reaching the age of 20, we could prevent most diving accidents by simply outlawing diving at a younger age. Unfortunately, many of us seem to remain adolescents indefinitely. Don't get me wrong. I applaud record setting in diving; virtually all human progress since the dawn of time has come from that desire to achieve, excel, and discover. I also recognize that much of this motivation comes from the desire for recognition and esteem, a trait shared by all of us. But this desire should never be used as a rationale for cutting corners on safety procedures or leading unqualified partners into danger. Unless, of course, you want to make a phone call like I did.

Sheck Exley is a cave explorer, instructor and author who has written over100 published articles and six books on diving. He can be contacted at: Rt.8, Box 374, Live Oak, FL 32060

Pull Quote: "Virtually all human progress since the dawn of time has come from that desire to achieve, excel, and discover; but this desire should never be used as a rationale for cutting corners on safety procedures or leading unqualified partners into danger."

Brass Fever

by Gary Gentile

When I first got into wreck diving I breathed a welcome sigh of relief. Here at last, I thought naively, was an activity which by its very nature inspired fellowship and team participation. After all, the first order of conduct one learns in a scuba course is the "sharing of breath" and instructors drive home the all important concept of "buddy diving;" look out for your buddy, rely on your buddy, work with your buddy.

In a medium in which safety is the primary concern, the importance of cooperative effort would seem to be tantamount. Yet like god-fearing church goers who would just as soon cut you off the road once they get behind the wheel of a powerful machine, some divers lose all sense of companionship once they whiff the scent of brass. Fair play goes out the porthole and what seemed like camaraderie is now only topside exercise. When they hit the water, the thin veneer of humanity, which was merely a disguise, is washed away.

Underwater they become a different animal. They become furtive, secretive, non-communicative, and sometimes, downright dangerous. They act in ways that are unconscionable, often imperiling the lives of others who may not share the same level of expertise in the water. I have seen fists shaken and knives pulled. I have seen decompression lines and liftbags cut. I have seen tools and gear stolen. And I have seen lives threatened as if underwater a different set of rules apply and basic morality no longer has meaning. These people are infected with an insidious form of the disease known as machismo manifested as "brass fever."

This is not to say that souvenir collecting itself is malfeasance. We all like to have mementoes of our exploits, keepsakes that inspire the memories of an experience. But when the amassing of relics becomes an end unto itself, when aggression toward that goal is the prime directive, when bravado and arrogance become watchwords, then the dark persona has taken control.

I have seen friendships dissolved over artifacts. And I have seen hatred evolve over the competition to their recovery. Worst of all, I have recovered the bodies of those whose macho self-imagery led them to attempt deeds and bring back artifacts because they had to show off what they could do, or because they thought someone else might beat them to it.

This is not what diving is all about.

If you want to compete, play football. If you need to demonstrate physical prowess, go bear hunting with a knife. If you have to see other people lose, take up tennis. In the underwater world there is no room for machismo&endash;it might kill you; or worse, it might kill someone else.

Diving is an activity in which people need to work together. Lives depend upon it. It is not just something you do; it is something you join.

Gary Gentile is veteran wreck diver, explorer and author with over 18 published titles to his credit. A review of his latest book, The Ultimate Wreck Diving Guide, can be found on page 26. He can be contacted at PO Box 57137, Philadelphia, PA 19111.

Pull Quote:

"The most valuable artifact that you'll ever bring home is yourself."

Capt. Billy Deans, "China Cult," aquaCorps Journal

What's A Picture Worth

by Marty Snyderman

I'll be frank. Over the years I know I have acquired a reputation as a daredevil, a guy who will do anything to get his photograph. Perhaps it's just the way the world thinks about people who have had published images of a diver outside of a cage with a great white shark, blue sharks, schools of hammerheads, or the eyeball of a southern right whale. No matter what the diving public's perception might be, I'm here to tell you it ain't that way at all. Me macho. No way!

Sure I want my shot, and yes, I do have a number of big animal images in my library, but I also have a strong desire to live a long, normal, life and hope to be physically active for a long, long time. There are a lot of things in life that are easily as important to me as my photographic library. I am certain that the same desires are true for my collegues, Howard Hall and Bob Cranston. Howard's image library is every bit as good as mine, probably better and Bob is catching up fast.

Years ago Howard and I built our first shark cages and started venturing out to open sea to film blues and mako sharks. Over the years we have shot a lot shark films and whale films. It looks easy on TV. That's probably how our reputation as daredevils got started. Sometime later, Bob and I started leading shark filming expeditions through See & Sea Travel and our "macho"reputation seemed to grow some more.

Inspite of what others may think, I am a planner and a constant second guesser. I question everything. I constantly try to pre-plan every detail of our dives down to whether or not we will have mustard or mayonnaise on our sandwiches or whether we will have both. This kind of planning drives some people crazy and I understand why. It's a painful process and I don't always like it myself, but I am convinced it's the only way to do what we do safely. Thorough planning doesn't help us push safety limits but allows us to be able to better understand where those limits are&endash; what can or cannot be done safely.

Throughout my career I have thought of myself as pretty good at breaking down any filming situation into its components and analyzing each part; wind, waves, currents, bait, animal behavior, even the psychological effect of clouds. I've always believed that this ability allowed me to see things a little more clearly than other people who don't take the time to approach the problem in that way. I only thought I was good. Howard Hall is the best I have ever seen at analyzing ocean conditions and animal behavior. It galls me but he beats me hands down every time. It's true. Howard's not magic, but he is just very logical and analytical and has taught me a lot. I see many of the same traits in Bob Cranston.

Being introspective, analytical, logical, and constantly playing the devil's advocate and the game of "what ifs" has allowed us to take the dive game a little farther than we might have otherwise. Are we risk takers? Macho divers? I don't think so. We love our adventures, but each of us loves other things in life just as much. I am not saying I will never make a mistake out there, but it won't be because we didn't plan, and analyze, and try to find the flaws. I play racketball that way, and I dive that way. It's just the way I think I need to be if I am going to continue to lead the life I've choosen.

Someday I may get a big surprise and get scarfed up by a shark, a giant squid, or a killer whale, but I doubt it. My deep down fear is that I will do something stupid and put myself in a situation that I can't recover from like getting get down current from the boat at sunset without a signaling device, or run out of gas chasing a whale shark100 feet down. To my way of thinking, mistakes like that are absolutely inexcusable. I check my pressure gauge constantly and am always asking myself, how will accomplish my objectives safely if this happens or that.

I can't stand being around people who tell me they got so involved taking pictures that they ran out of air at 100 feet and wear that episode as some kind of badge of glory. When those they ask me what I think about that kind of event, I am fairly quick to say, "Gee, that was sure stupid. Please do not dive with me."

I have three sayings that I repeat time and time again, usually just to myself. The first is; don't take animals or conditions for granted because you have had a few pictures published. The sharks can't read and the ocean could care less. Second, never get off a boat unless you know how you're going to get back on. Anyone can jump off a boat and hit water. Wise divers know how their dive should go and how they will get back to and on the boat. Finally, no picture is worth getting hurt for. In my own case, I have way too much to lose.

Marty Snyderman is one of the premier wildlife photographers in the US and an avid freelance writer whose articles appear in most of the major dive publications. He can be contacted at: PO Box 99970, San Diego, CA 92109.

Pull Quote: "I am a planner and a constant second guesser. I question everything. I constantly try to pre-plan every detail of our dives down to whether or not we will have mustard or mayonnaise on our sandwiches or whether we will have both."