KAMIKAZE
DIVERS


Some divers like marine life, others like wrecks and some just like to go deep ­ really deep.
Pete Harrison takes a look at the joys of narcosis and playing Russian Roulette with oxygen toxicity

I love the feeling of narcosis, and I don't care who knows it. This admission will doubtless be condemned as irresponsible by many. And by others it will be seen as a rare and welcome display of honesty, in this sport which is so plagued with hypocrisy.
Divers have been getting narked since the sport was born. They continue to do so, despite the emergence of safer breathing mixtures and being totally aware of the risks.
More often than not, the divers going deep on air are instructors or dive guides with a high level of training and experience behind them. They might know the risks, but they go down in search of adventure, adrenalin and the buzz of narcosis. The recent revelations in Diver about the last days of Rob Palmer bear witness to that.
One of deep-diving's Meccas is Dahab's Blue Hole. It is a crystal-blue shaft of water that bores down through the reef top, then turns, like a storm-pipe, to emerge on the outer reef wall at a depth ranging from 55m to over 100m.
The classic dive starts on the inside, passing beneath the archway at about 60m into the open sea. Hanging beneath the arch, one might be swimming through a cathedral: the walls are plastered in velvety sponges, clouds of fish dart and shimmer like shards of falling stained-glass, bubbles surge up towards the high, vaulted ceiling like clouds of incense.
Back on land, however, comparisons veer more towards a graveyard. The surrounding cliffs bear the epitaphs of those who went out to test their limits ­ and found them. At least 40 divers have died there over the years, and each summer season a few more names are added to the list. The place bears testament to the saying: "You get away with it until you don't."
One man who repeatedly toyed with the Blue Hole in the early 1990s and survived was Nicholas Croucher. In fact, so deep was his fascination that he had his house built nearby to allow daily access to it and the nearby canyon. Croucher was diving to 100m on an almost daily basis. Many a macho deep-diver surfaced from what they had previously thought was a deep dive, shaken by the sight of "a lunatic with a twin-set more than 20m below me". Croucher's deepest dive on air was to 127m.

In the name of science
He was not the only diver pushing the depth limits at that time. Many of Sharm el Sheik's old-timers were in just as deep: penetrating the caves, 90m down, at the base of Thomas Canyon; venturing deep inside the Black Hole on Woodhouse Reef which penetrates back half a kilometre underground; and exploring the limitless depths of the front of Shark Reef.
Some did die, but most are still around, and many of them have taken up management positions in Sharm el Sheik's dive centres or now work for training organisations.
But it's not just the sun-bleached, dive-bum fraternity that chooses to put everything on the line to go deep. There is an eminent and respectable group of divers that takes unimaginable risks at depth ­ in the name of science.
In 1995, I was dive-guiding on a popular Red Sea live-aboard. The boat had been chartered out for six weeks of that summer to a well-known underwater science group whose best-known member has probably done as much for promoting conservation of the marine environment as any other living diver. However, while the huge contribution she has made to under-water exploration is indisputable, we should not brush over the facts: she likes to get narked.
Nearly every morning of that memorable trip, she and I would set out in search of a small sand-dwelling fish, Malacanthus orenii, which was previously known only from dead specimens hauled up by Eritrean fishermen. The living specimens are found at around 90m, which is where we had to go to look for them.

Catch 22
Yemen and Eritrea, 1995 ­ not the time or the place to go borrowing a tank of trimix. These 90m dives had to be done on air.
The boat had been chartered lock, stock and barrel and, unlike on a normal live-aboard, where guests are obliged to follow the dive guide's recommendations, we were effectively employed by the guests and obliged to fulfil their needs.
And those needs were deep-diving: really deep diving. What is more, while most of Sharm's deep-diving went on within access of a decompression facility, these outings were going on nearly 1000 miles from the nearest chamber.
As a Divemaster I was left in a Catch 22 situation. Let them go off on their own, or be there to intervene if things got tricky. The choice was not difficult. On went the twin Aladins and the pony tank, I turned religious for long enough to cross myself and plunged in, prepared to enjoy the trip.
I am not suggesting that these divers were there to get narked. They were there for science, but they were prepared to take the risks that going to 90m involves.
We finally found the little critter at 84m at Quoin Rock. So we went back down in a group of six ­ two photographers, two videographers, someone with the formalin and someone with the net.
So did the fish get photographed, videoed, then caught and preserved? No, but we got a video of six narked scientists having a party, and one netting another one's foot.
These were all educated people who knew the risks but went ahead regardless. They were lucky to get away with it.
Anyone who has undertaken the most basic diving training will comprehend the risks of decompression sickness ­ and will know that what we did at Quoin Rock was madness, pure and simple.
The dangers are driven home time and time again ­ for good reason. But most of us know surprisingly little about the mechanisms of narcosis, or of oxygen toxicity. The diving manuals devote surprisingly little space to the issue.

The physical effects
Nitrogen has a biophysical part to play in narcosis, almost identical to using a gas such as halothane as an anaesthetic. Nitrogen does not combine chemically with the blood, so recovery is fairly swift and, as with an anaesthetic, the gas is expelled as the person recovers.
Although the exact mechanism at a cellular level is not known precisely, nitrogen is believed to act by dissolving in fats, which are especially prevalent in nerve cells. The gas probably affects the nerve-cell membranes. The result is that the diver effectively becomes drugged and feels slightly euphoric.
"The mechanism of nitrogen narcosis is quite similar to that of nitrous oxide [laughing gas], but unlike those of alcohol or barbiturates," says Dr Bill Hamilton, a physiologist who has spent 35 years dealing with breathing gases and decompression. "But," he warns, "the physical effects on the diver are quite similar to, if not indistinguishable from, those of all three drugs."
Those effects are euphoria, paranoia and confusion. Hamilton adds that the doses and time courses vary wildly, and individuals are affected differently by all of the drugs, including nitrogen.
Nitrogen narcosis cannot kill on its own. "Theoretically, one could anaesthetise a person using nitrogen," says Hamilton, "but that would take about 20 or 30 atmospheres [equivalent to diving to over 200m]. But about five atmospheres [equivalent to 40m] is enough to cloud good judgement and ability, and this can be dangerous in a bad situation."

WHY DO IT? "I used to be into that sort of diving in the early days. It was that feeling of having nothing between me and death but the mechanism of that regulator." Guido Cherif, owner of mv Coral Queen "When you dive deep you can really enjoy the cosy effect of nitrogen narcosis as it closes around you." Rob Palmer, shortly before he died

Alternatives to dying
Hamilton points out that divers often lose track of how narked they are, and this can lead them into straying even deeper, perhaps beyond 65m. This is where oxygen toxicity becomes a very real killer.
The actual cellular mechanism of oxygen toxicity is not much clearer than that of nitrogen narcosis. In the lungs it causes symptoms similar to an internal sunburn, but the most severe effect is on the brain. "Excess oxygen is excitatory," explains Hamilton. "It acts by causing a simultaneous and sudden firing of many brain cells, leading to a convulsion much like that caused by epilepsy."
At depth, this convulsion more often than not leads to drowning. Oxygen toxicity does not occur every time someone dives below 65m. It is like Russian roulette, with one round in a very large barrel. If you keep playing, then sooner or later... you won't be playing anything any more.
The development of mixed-gas diving means that there is no longer a reason to go deep on air, and many former deep-divers have switched to mixed gas.
Alec Page is one London-based diver who has not: "I've always been fascinated by deep wreck exploration," he says. "For me it's the thrill of passing through a landscape that has rarely been seen before ­ if at all."
Naturally, Page was keen to make use of trimix to extend his range and improve his safety. "I spent a lot of time and money on getting trained up," he says, "but only then did I realise what a grey and desolate place it is down there. Getting narked was half the fun."
Now he is back on air, and diving regularly to 70m.

The client knows best
According to photographer Alex Misiewicz, deep-diving is more prevalent than most people would suspect. He has guided a number of divers down to 70m. "These were clients of respectable dive centres in Sharm el Sheikh. They were favoured clients. Each expedition was done slightly below board. The centre kept no paperwork, and took no money. But at the same time it wanted to know its clients were getting what they wanted ­ depth."
This is consistent with my own experience, especially on live-aboards. Divers think that once they are away from the centre, they can make their own rules. And on about 50 per cent of trips, I was approached by divers asking to go deep. Or worse, I found out they had gone deep, when it was too late to try to dissuade them.
But, given that most kamikaze divers know the risks they are taking, why are the rest of us so judgmental?
Alec Page thinks that to gain a balanced view, one must avoid introspection, and look at a parallel sport, such as mountaineering.
Like diving, he argues, mountaineering encompasses a wide range of different sports: "At one extreme it encompasses the safe and homely sport of hill-walking. At the other end it encompasses such suicidal pursuits as solo climbing and high-level mountaineering."

Who can judge?
High-level mountaineers know the risks they are taking: the risks of falling, of hypothermia, of equipment failure, and the many other traps that await the unwary. And like narcosis in deep-diving, there is the ever-present spectre of altitude sickness that affects the climber's ability to correctly assess the environment around him.
Unlike diving, however, we rarely hear patronising sermons from the hill-walking community about the irresponsibility of high-level mountaineering. They generally recognise that their two sports are different and that all they share is the mountain environment. They realise how inappropriate any comment from them would be. And if a mountaineer dies ­ as has already happened in Scotland this year ­ most people accept that "they died living life to the full" or "doing something they loved". Only rarely is there any talk of irresponsibility.
It is a similar story in the sailing community. When the famous French yachtsman Eric Tabarly died last year, he was not attached to a lifeline, a practice that goes against the grain of safe-sailing. But the word irresponsible barely featured in the press coverage.
With diving, it is quite the opposite. Shallow-water divers somehow feel compelled to condemn the activities of those who choose to pursue the risky sport of deep-diving.
Many might offer sociological explanations for this judgmental attitude, seemingly unique to diving. But Page offers a simpler explanation: "While both altitude sickness and nitrogen narcosis are debilitating effects of pressure change, only one of them is fun. And, in some quarters, fun will always be condemned."
Another reason might be that there are no equivalent training bodies for mountaineering and climbing, and no one ever really considers themselves an expert. Each weighs up their personal limitations, but is wary of judging those of the next man. However, in diving we are issued with badges and certificates. "All too often, divers feel their qualifications give them a right to judge others," says Misiewicz.
Of course, there is a balance. Ask most ex-deep-divers where they now set their limits, and they come up with very similar answers. Narcosis might be fun, but oxygen toxicity is not. So when the water is warm and clear, they often set 65m as their limit. After all, many of the old kamikazes now have children, and they do not want to miss watching them grow up. In colder, darker waters with currents and low visibility, deep-divers set their own shallower limits.
"There will always be those who want to take the risks further," says Page, "but if they weren't doing it underwater, they'd be doing it on a fast bike, on skis or beneath a parachute. Likewise there will always be those who enjoy giving a good sermon. The danger is that because preaching is what they do best, they will make the rest of us lose sight of what takes us all under water in the first place ­ the love of freedom."

Making the choice
Diving below 50m carries an increasing risk with every metre ventured. Nitrogen narcosis in itself might not kill you, but it can easily lure you to depths where oxygen toxicity will. These are the facts, and they are freely available to us all.
But back to that provocative opening statement. I love the feeling of narcosis, but these days that is outweighed by the danger, and I choose to stay shallow. I have made my own informed choice, just as Page and Misiewicz have made theirs. Perhaps if the topic became less taboo, each new diver would be more capable of making his or her own choice ­ preferably the safe one ­ but either way, their own.

---

Appeared in DIVER - June 1999

---