Tech and Training

Years of preparation finally paid off on 3 August 2013 when the first Belgian cave diving team reached deeper territory in Ressel Cave in Lot, France. This underwater cave—located in the heart of French cave diving paradise—is known to be one of the more engaging, difficult and technical cave dives. The expedition was an exploratory dive of several hours, with all its complications in logistics and difficulties.

For the first article in this series, I have chosen to get up on my soapbox with a little constructive (I hope) rant about an area where I think the dive industry is failing itself and its customers.

Is the sport rebreather dream a reality this time around?

Remember the first rule of scuba diving that you were taught in your basic open-water class? I believe it goes something like: “Keep breathing!” Simple advice and unarguably the best advice possible for any diver, not just those entering the sport for the first time.

… just as soon as you get OW certified!?

Do you remember your first reaction to being able to breathe underwater? What was the first thing you wanted to do when you caught sight of a coral head liberally seasoned with tiny, multi-colored bait fish? When your instructor handed you your very first c-card, did you get a strong urge to swap places with them?

What are the differences between the self-sufficiency and team diving approaches to technical diving?

Diving the Ojamo lime mine in Finland, 138 meters of water, 4°C.

Imagine sub-zero temperatures and a hole in the ice. That is your entrance to the underworld of Ojamo, the most popular diving site in Finland.

Although Facebook is a useful tool, it can never replace physical interaction with friends, colleagues and peers. Without a doubt there is a need for a regular gathering of the clans.

Two buddies are holding the line. The second is holding the arm of the one leading the way, communicating with him by means of touch. With visibility nil, the first buddy protects his head and face with his hand in case of contact with a wall or rock.

A rusty tram clatters past us. An uninterrupted line of cars slowly moves along Leó Frankel Street. Businessmen in dark suits hurry to their desks. Women in high heels walk carefully on the cobbled pavement. Between the houses, the ferries on the Danube can be seen, drifting past the Isle of Margaret that divides the town. We are in the middle of the Budapest morning rush hour. Our team attracts attention from passersby.