DEEP BREATH
Where I go, my BC goes!



Nobody seemed to want to argue earlier in the year when Neil Kermode suggested in his Deep Breath that a casualty's kit should be ditched before attempting a tow. But Pete Harrison has only recently read the piece - and he was far from impressed.


I never really considered myself interested in diving politics - never, that is, until I read Neil Kermode's Deep Breath in the May issue of Diver. It got my back up.
In case you were unlucky enough to miss this eloquent piece of misinformation, I will summarise it for you.
Mr Kermode argues passionately for dropping the victim's equipment during a rescue prior to towing them to safety, and provides us with no end of examples to fit his case.
Anyone can invent a number of hypothetical scenarios to back up an opinion. But most people should recognise the fallacy in Mr Kermode's statement that, in 17 years of diving (I am suitably impressed), he has yet to see a kit configuration that will make a diver sink if left alone.
In my four years as an instructor in the Red Sea, I have encountered several thousand divers who would do exactly that. I am speaking of the vast majority of divers who wear Lycra skins or shortie wetsuits.
If unconscious at the surface, most people, myself included, would sink or float so low in the water as to make effective artificial ventilation impossible.
Add a few little waves to the situation and the result is disastrous.
I can only assume that in his 17 years of diving, Mr Kermode has yet to dive abroad.
There are many highly opinionated people who will happily make up the rules for the rest of us, based on their own experience. I know nothing of Mr Kermode's qualifications to preach, but judging by the conclusions he reaches, they are not based on real-life experience.
Much diver-rescue theory would appear to be based on methods practised during diver training on conscious victims. However, where this particular theory falls flat is at this point - a conscious body cannot be compared with an unconscious body.
A conscious body has muscle tone, full lungs and an urge to survive the training session.
An unconscious body, on the other hand, is limp, less buoyant and with empty lungs that will happily ship in as much water as you allow near them.
The only hope for the unconscious body is to be lifted clear of the water by every ounce of buoyancy in its jacket which, if the body was unlucky enough to be buddied with Mr Kermode, is now 200m away, floating off on the wind.
I was unfortunate enough to discover that an unconscious body is nothing like a conscious one, during the first week in which I worked as a Divemaster in the Red Sea.
I had been allotted a group of three holidaying instructors to take for a check-dive at White Knights. Considering their obvious experience and allowing for the calm, clear waters, I did not think it excessive to lead them to 25m.
What I did not know was that one of them was a doctor who had forged himself a clean bill of health, despite six previous heart attacks.
Had I known this, I would not have been so shocked when he turned blue and wrapped himself around a coral head.
Being fresh off the course, I welcomed the chance to castigate him for his obvious disrespect for the reef. Approaching, I realised the gravity of the situation and quickly slipped into the lift-and-rescue drill. I was lucky. My victim was an obese 20-stone and was wearing an 8mm semi-dry. He obviously had more buoyancy than most and, as I dropped his 13kg weightbelt, I felt his body bob up in the water.
I made good ground, towing him towards the boat 100m away, performing AV and doing my best to attract attention.
That is, I made good ground until, in accordance with PADI teaching, I ditched his BC. And then it all went wrong. My victim was sinking. Little wavelets lapped across his unconscious face as I struggled to support his head above water.
Every tiny ripple washed over us, threatening to swamp his airway.
I finned desperately, supporting his head and trying to keep the two of us from drowning. By the time I reached the boat I was almost too exhausted and too panicked to continue.
Had the victim been less buoyant, and had the sea been less than mirror-calm, an effective rescue would have been impossible. As it was, it was too late anyway.
I'll be fair, Mr Kermode. I think you were proposing a technique for UK waters only.
Here I will quote you: "We all hope we will only have to do it in drills but we are also concerned that we might have to do it for real one day."
Believe me, when the time comes to do it for real, you are in no state to remember whether you are in the North Sea, the Red Sea or the Timbuctoo Sea.
Mr Kermode, those who do have to do it for real one day will not thank you for teaching them a technique which I believe is better suited to drowning the victim than saving him.
Appeared in DIVER - December 1997
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