Never Rescue Anyone Bigger Than You
Shaw’s Cove, a certified instructor, and two strangers who had no idea they were crashing my exam.
This rescue dive was not going as planned. It had heated up substantially since we entered the water two hours earlier and the onshore sea breeze had made the water choppy, creating much shorter wave sets at Shaw’s Cove.
It was the second and final day of our rescue dive certification. I had just completed the hour and a half underwater search & rescue drills, using our compass to search a wide area, then expanding the search from a central point, and finally the reciprocal headings to return to where we started…in other words, back to the boat.
Now it was my turn to locate the designated missing, unresponsive diver. Once located, I had to make a controlled ascent with him in tow, establish buoyancy at the surface and get him to safety onshore. The boat was moored in a cove to facilitate a beach exit…very different from returning to the boat. Well, I got him to the surface, removed his mask, and made sure he was breathing. Now I had to time our exit with the wave sets. One would think this would be the easy part.
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On top of my 107 pounds, I was wearing another 30 pounds with all of my gear. Add to that a 175-pound victim and now I’m performing Jack LaLane stunts. I’m sure I had burned at least 10,000 calories by this time. I was tapped out.
I knew about wave sets, waiting for the lull after a set of 3 to 6 large waves. I was trying to differentiate the big waves from the smaller ones, but the wind had kicked up and now all of the waves looked the same to me. So, my instructor, standing on the beach, started prompting me when to make my exit.
“Come on, Kc. Let’s go.” I trudged one step forward and then the surge pulled me back, only to be knocked down by a wave. At least I had a choke hold on the victim’s BC, with him face-up behind me now and I’m treading in one spot, trying to keep us upright and stationary. Three waves must have come in because again I heard the instructor say, “Come on, Kc. NOW. Let’s go!” So, I heaved forward and making three steps toward the beach and then BOOM! I was knocked down and pulled backwards again. If the poor man in my care wasn’t dead beforehand, he most certainly was now.
A couple more minutes passed and for the third time, the instructor yells, “NOW, Kc. Keep going. NOW!” I’m leaning forward, stepping, leaning forward, stepping and the surge is pulling me backwards with each step forward. Now the instructor is frantically waving his arms for me to hurry and I could see the panicked look on his face as I was about to be washed out again. Then, all of a sudden, out of nowhere, two random guys run from the beach, pick me up and pull us in.
I had been rescued from my rescue dive by a pedestrian.
My “victim” was probably saying “Hail, Marys”, since he was actually saved, by someone. I, on the other hand, was speechless and mortified.
My instructor went into a rage of laughter at the whole unlikely scenario.
He passed me. For effort. But he told me that I must never try to rescue anyone bigger than me.
