A (Very Heavy) Step Back in Time

I've always had a fascination with hard hat diving, ever since I was a little kid. Who hasn't? Walking along the ocean floor, peering through thick latticed windows, the hiss of air bubbling through green water - it's the same dream our great-great-grandparents had. The North East Diving Equipment Group puts on several vintage dive rallies where they invite folks to try out hard hat diving for themselves, and they didn't have to ask me twice. There is no fee, all they require is that you listen to a briefing, and then assist gearing up divers a few times. This weekend's festivities were at Brownstone Park near Hartford, a beautiful flooded quarry that only recently opened. It's not very big, and it's not very deep, but it's still a very pretty place to spend the day. Surrounding the lake are sheer brownish-purple traprock walls, with rock climbers top-roping on the far walls. To my surprise I ran into Jerry Milmoe, whom I had taken my prism training with years ago, and whom, with his brother-in-law Ruben, I last bumped into on a boat in the middle of the St. Lawrence. Both of them were here to try the helmets out for the first time as well. Another surprise was Martin Weber. Stephan and I dived with him in Cape Ann last year, after I had met him on a trip to Honduras. So just because Brownstone is small, and tucked in next to diesel storage tanks, doesn't mean its not a nexus of the Northeast diving community!

I recently bought a pre-war Dräger dive helmet, or rather Draeger, those crazy Germans can't make their minds up when it comes to umlauts. It isn't diveable, but the kids love playing with it (see? another generation dreams!), so the whole fam damily joined Stephan and me for the trek.

For today we used Bob Rusnak's US Navy Mark V helmet and rig. This venerable design was born in 1905, and stayed in service all the way until 1980. It has a com-link with the surface, a chin-operated purge valve, and a spitcock to allow a little water in (useful for clearing the windows if they fog up, or taking a drink if in fresh water.) The helmet is mounted to a collar, which in turn is bolted into the suit. In order to gear up, you first slip into the rubberized canvas drysuit through the neck hole, then slide your hands through the thick rubber wrist seals. As a diver that is about the extent of your participation in the process, the rest is done by the support team. Brass boots are tied on, 17 lbs. each. There are brass grommets along both calves to prevent air going to the boots in an inversion (which you are NOT going to tuck and recover from), but for today we left them loose. The collar is inserted into the suit and secured to the rubber gasket with 12 brass t-nuts. A weight harness is then belted on, a two-man job as it weighs 70 lbs. The helmet is carefully slipped over the diver's head (at least in theory - hope that nose is okay Jerry), bayonet-locked, and the air and communication lines tied into place. Once we had a rhythm going we could get the diver set in 10-15 minutes without any rushing, something you never want to do with gear this heavy. All told the configuration we had was about 180 lbs. This is not the time to find out if you are claustrophobic, because if you are, you will be freaking out. You also need to be comfortable with putting your life entirely in the hands of other people, and to have complete faith in equipment with single points of failure. That is pretty much the antithesis of everything I am about when it comes to diving, I go to great lengths to avoid letting any piece of gear, or any person(s), have that degree of control. When it comes to hard hat diving though, the ante is to just put that attitude on the shelf.

I was a little concerned, as the first diver had seemed none too happy, and came back out pretty damn quick. He was a big guy, but the weight of the gear really bothered him. I need not have worried, when I stood up and walked to the water it was all very manageable, with the help of my support team. A safety diver accompanied me in a SuperLight, which as its name implies is a much less cumbersome, more modern dive helmet. The pinch-and-blow Valsalva manuever is out, so it pays to be on friendly terms with your Eustachian tubes. I am, and a few jaw wiggles and gulps later I was fine to descend. Entering the water was much different than I'm used to. I felt the water go up my chest as normal, but then there was no sensation of immersion when the water closed over the helmet, and I looked up in surprise to see I was in 10 feet of water already. As is too often the case for me lately, normal also meant getting wet, as water flowed through the right wrist seal with gusto. Good thing it was warm. Air flow is controlled by a knob at your left side, and is rather noisy. For a moment I shut it off, and enjoyed pure silence, the only sound the throbby resonance of my breathing inside the helmet. It reminded me a bit of narcosis, that sensation of being disembodied and remote. Buoyancy is controlled by adding more air, and an experienced diver can ascend and descend easily through open water. I, on the other hand, stumbled about with all the grace of the Tin Man on a week-long meth binge - at one point I thought I might even lose a boot in the muck! I'll leave the effects on the viz to your imagination (put your head in a brown paper bag - yep that's it.) I also uttered several brilliant and incisive observations (ex: "this is so fucking cool!") before remembering that the com link was sharing my witticisms with the world. Oh well, Neil Armstrong's second comment on the moon had to do with oral sex, so there's precedent. I was surprised later to hear Barb come over the com-link, resulting in many jokes about husbands fleeing to the bottom of the ocean but still trailed by their wife's voice. I took the high road and exclaimed just how wonderful it was to enjoy the two loves of my life at once (did you know Barb can snort and guffaw at the same time?)

Too soon it was time to turn the Slog (Dive just doesn't seem an appropriate word for it), and I followed my umbilical back as it snaked along through the weeds. Gravity is not your friend when you are wearing 180 lbs, so I leaned forward and transferred some of the weight from my lower back to my legs via my arms. It was effective albeit undignified: in the video Barb shot I look like nothing so much as an 80 year old man who has just crapped himself. I later slipped into my Meg and shadowed a diver in a SuperLight, despite the no-solo-diving-rule (heh heh stealthy rebreather.) Well before I could see him I could clearly hear the chatter over his com-link.

Many thanks to Ray, Bob, and all the guys and gals at North East Diving Equipment Group. You'd be hard pressed to find a more friendly and generous bunch. I can see doing this again and again and again...

Links: NEDEG, photos