Decompression Diving

Decompression Diving

      Commercial sea urchin diving in California, in the early years was risky, competitive, and one hell of a good time when it was not miserable The urchins were plentiful at the shallower depths, so mostly divers stayed within the dive time limits, that would keep them from having to decompress at a slower rate than 60 feet a minute, which was considered the universal standard for a safe ascent, and no decompression required, while ascending to the surface.

       Rule of thumb for bottom time limits to stay in a “no decompression profile. 60 ft for 60 minutes, 70 feet for 50 minutes, 80 ft for 40 minutes, and so on. These times were valid On the first dive of the day, after that each successive dive would allow less and less bottom time. The formula to compute those times was taught in just about every basic scuba class. There were fancy slide rule like contraptions, that aided the diver to compute those times.

       It is interesting to note that decompression sickness first became a problem during the time of the construction of the Brooklyn bridge. Workers began coming down with paralysis pain and much of the symptoms associated with Decompression sickness. Workers were located under the riverbed, after the construction allowed air to be trapped for there use. However it was compressed air at depth. The partial pressure of nitrogen in the air was increased at depth and thus if the body was not allowed to dispose of the increased nitrogen , bubbles of the nitrogen would form in the body with devastating consequences as with deep sea divers.

       By this time the urchin business was maturing to a point where a decompression meter was available, for those who would rather not have to do all that math. The model available for most all divers was basically a gauge with a dial face and a needle that rotated threw a graph measuring the bottom times and decompression “hang off “ times required, if the no decompression times were exceeded. Inside the gauge was a bag that filled up as nitrogen levels were increased,as the needle reflected that.

       This equipment was really targeting sport divers. It was not meant for repetitive dives and said so right on the gauge It did , however make commercial sea urchin divers a little more comfortable .

       As far as I utilized the added assurance of the decompression meter, which by the way had to be re calibrated from time to time, at almost half the cost of the meter new, it was just an added safety feature that I would use in situations where I ran into a hot spot at near the end of my bottom time limits. I would go ahead and finish off filling my net bag and then slowly surface being careful to remain underneath my bag as I swam back to the boat and then maybe go hang off on the anchor line at ten feet as required for a few minutes, or until I was out of the red , as the meter indicated.

After I survived the sinking of the Fat City, I was able to land a spot on the Dusky. Now the owner Tom Craiger was a no nonsense very successful fisherman. He generally switched to the fishery that was the most profitable at any given time...some of those were also seasonal. In the summertime he would gear up for Albacore, and the divers had to find a boat since urchins were a year round fishery. He ran a tight ship, midnight to midnight to San Nicolas Island about 60 miles due south of Channel Island harbor. Only a 12 knot boat, she was 40 something ft well maintained. He was in direct competition with Mike Milman on the Triggerfish. A Highline Fisherman in his own right. Mike had invited Tom up from LA and allowed him to duplicate his operation. Depart at midnight, arrive at sunup

after coffee and breakfast was served to 3 divers. This was so the surveyor could be suited up and ready to splash in the water as soon as the boat settled in the kelp beds. It was a crap shoot when to head home, because if we arrived behind more than a couple boats, by the time we got unloaded, we would not arrive at the island until almost noon. That would screw up the schedule for the rest of the week and cut into Toms precious bottom line.

        Along with this operation was the culture and the attitude, cultivated by none other than Ron Rector, at the encouragement of none other than Tom Craiger. Somehow they got it into there greedy little heads that it would be perfectly profitable...I mean safe to push those decompression meters beyond any reasonable limits that they were not designed for.

       First jump 90 minutes at 60 ft. Hang off 10 ft 20 minutes. Deck time barely over an hour. Second jump another 10 ft hang off 25 minutes. An hour and a half deck time. Third jump 30 minute hang off at 10 ft. Hanging off the anchor line was miserable. If you were not cold enough from the dive, hanging off and not active would remind you of where you were. Cold Ass San Nicolas Island in the middle of the winter.

I was not too keen on maintaining this routine, even though I was making some real money. I went along to get along, not yet experienced enough to object to Toms antics on deck, as he was so impatient for us to get back in the water, it reminded me of a kid about to erupt in a temper tantrum.

      I had met Ron Rector once before about 5 years previous. I was interested in the Sorcerer, that was for sale and I maintained I was interested. The 30 ft Radon had a cabin that was a pilot house for one. Interesting design. Lief the owner suggested we make a trip and I could see for myself how the boat operated. The morning of our voyage, a long haired kid,only a few years younger than me showed up and I was introduced as the half owner of the Sorcerer. OK no problem, Ron would not shut up the whole way out. He was trying to impress me how good of a diver he was and that he was also a cocaine dealer with customers that included some of the Hollywood elite. I could care less, even if he was telling the truth, which I had my doubts.

        We got in really shallow to some wash rocks that were just plugged with big heavy urchins. the swell was throwing me around pretty good, but I did not care. I ended up with about a ton. After all that bluster Ron did not even get in the water.

So as you might expect I was not really anticipating having to witness Ron having his nose buried so far up Tom Craigers ass

it made me sick. There combined knowledge and experience insisted that , “fudging the meter would do no harm since a safety factor error of 5% was built into those meters...blah blah blah blah blah.

        I mostly accepted my situation since I was making some healthy bank, until one day on the way in, I started having some pain in my knee. Oh I must have bumped it on a reef or against the boat..I thought. Not to be, the pain would not go away and it was getting worse. I knew I was bent. I was surprised because our last jump was only in about 40 ft of water. I had so much nitrogen built up in me, even a 40 ft dive put me over the edge I must of got a little careless on my final ascent, anxious to get home.

I tried to sleep when I got home...No freakin way. The throbbing deep down pain, would not stop. Finally I called my brother who had made his way down here from Washington for a short visit. He stayed a year, but he had a car. I knew the CB base in Port Hueneme had a recompression chamber, because I did my discharge physical there and I took note of it. The stories I had heard..the next closest one was in Northridge, more than an hour away. My brother drove me to the guard shack on the base entrance. At first they were not going to let me in, since I was no longer active duty. But Matt started screaming 'HES DYEING” That did the trick, I was in.

        When I approached the chamber there were 3 or 4 Navy personal standing around getting coffeecup finger. I explained to them, about the fourth day on the profile I was maintaining. They did not hesitate. they pressurized the chamber to 120 ft and began slowly to bring me up. I was kept company and fed oxygen every 20 minutes or so. They gave me all the water I could stand. Then encouraged me to urinate as much as possible. Something about a good indicator, After about 8 hours in that tiny chamber I was more than ready to escape. They kept asking about my pain level. I finally had to lie just to get the hell out of there.

       I reported for duty aboard the Dusky the following day. I ruefully continued the same routine, and even agreed with Tom that it is probably the best thing for my injury, to carry on diving. I believe a week or 2 went by. Tom decided to give one of his pep talks. Like a football coach he would attempt to motivate us to do well and have a “Bonanza season” This time though he encouraged all of us to give input. He said he felt that it was important for his crew to feel part of a team and having a say in the operation would support that, and go a long way in creating the success he expected to have. So each diver said a few words, Nothing earth shattering, really just to humor Tom. I declined to give any input. Inside I knew if I got started he may not like what I would say, so I just kept silent. After he would not quit with the input thing, I explained to him that , it could get ugly if I said anything. Finally I relented....I dont think anyone has ever talked to him like that before. ON his face was utter shock and surprise. He kept on me so I finally agreed. I dressed him down and tore him up as only I can do. I shamed him for his juvenile behavior, I was merciless in my verbal attack. He finally asked me if I was finished. When I said I was he immediately ordered me to remove all my gear off the boat when we got in. I said I did not have my car and I could pick up my gear later. He would have none of that....He would drive me home, and he did in complete silence.

        I probably should not have blamed him for, me getting bent. I should have stood my ground when I was taking extra deck time, so I would have more bottom time. He would just stomp around the deck, and suggest he take a nap while waiting for me to get in the water. As if that wait would be so long to justify a nap.

       I survived the experience a little wiser and more determined to not allow outside influence to determine the safety protocols I practiced. The boat owner sure as hell would not pay for my medical treatment. 
      A few years later I was having a few too many at the Beachcomber.  A tiny little dive bar at the far end of Silver Strand Beach.  I suddenly found myself being approached by hillbilly looking guy with long hair and a straggly beard.  He asked me if I remembered him.  I did not and then he informed me that spending 8 hours together in a tiny little re compression chamber should leave an indelible memory, as it did with him.  I apologized and referred to his appearance being slightly different than when we first met.  He then told me he had worked there for about 3 years and of all the divers they treated, I was the only one they KNEW beyond any doubt that I was bent.  Most all the others was a precautionary treatment...just in case.  I was rather pleased with myself, hearing that and I said my farewell as I headed out to the beach to check out the surf

       As it was they came out with a state of the art dive computer that left little doubt of its accuracy and reliability.  It ended the controversy surrounding decompression diving with the old Bendo matic.  Funny thing is, the fleet did not adopt that decompression hang off routine, even with the new dive computers. I noted that a diver breaths more nitrogen off on deck than he does at 10 feet,  So as far as I was concerned, it made no real sense to push the limits and endanger your life and health for not even that much more bottom time.

      Later some boats went with Nitrox gas mixes...but thats another story