Written By: Steve Dover

Yes fellow divers, long time no sea, as they say in nautical spheres.  Soon you’ll all be immersed once again in the welcoming waters around Easter.  It’s time to search out the diving gear and assemble and test. In days of yore, one would locate the wet suit suffering from severe rising damp and lichen growth in an obscure corner of attic, garage or cellar.  The mushrooms abounding within this heap of perishing polymer give rise to a hearty breakfast, strengthening the resolve to make ready the remainder of our kit.

Having fully fumigated the previously offensive suit, you may turn your avid attentions upon the unsuspecting demand valves. A shake and a blow confirm function.  The former to see if there’s anything loose, and the latter to break the seal on the mushroom valves as a result of winter lethargy. The preliminaries dealt with, its time to connect to a cylinder; turn on with caution and stand well back.  “What is that whining noise?” you idly muse as you deal another accurate blow to the first stage with your adjustable lump hammer. The whining stops.  It always does. “That’s OK then” you conclude and begin rummaging for the BC.

“I left it rolled up around here somewhere,” you mutter as you fumble beneath beds and in the dark, damp, long forgotten recesses of wardrobes and cupboards like some demented, domestic Martin Bellamy.  Behind the flared trousers the torch beam lights upon a deflated orange – or could be yellow or black – mass beneath various heavy oddments including the weight belt.  With vigour, this harmless crumpled bag is torn from hibernation; immediately pumped to capacity with a sound like a well-used handkerchief being stretched when dry and then left in a corner of the garage mournfully whining and wheezing from its pressure relief valve like some tormented bagpipe.

That dispensed with, the zipper on the dive bag is forced apart to reveal the rest of the diving paraphernalia partially welded together in one crusty mass with salt.  No problem here.  Another blow with the lump hammer soon sorts out compass from depth gauge,; knife from weights; crowbar from fisheye lens and that obscure piece of brass found last season wedged in the face of your mask.  Inspection of the compass needle reveals that it more often than not sticks at 247 degrees, and as there’s a one in 360 chance of ever requiring to head in that particular direction, its considered a trifling disability.  Pulling the Knife from its sheath confirms your suspicion – Its rusty!  The depth gauge looks OK.  A cursory glance shows the needle pointing to the correct depth this year – zero.

For those still harbouring the splendid attributes of wet suits, there finally at the bottom of the bag lurk the booties.  “Oh God! I wondered what the smell was!!”  Nothing a good rinse in industrial drain unblocker couldn’t cure.  Demanding though the task of defumigating these offensive objects may be, it is hardly comparable to the demands upon the wallet should you decide to replace them.  Thinking about replacement in terms of alcoholic beverage equals one and one third bottles of single malt Glenmorangie or 15 pints of beer.  The formiddable refurbishment task diminishes with such positive thoughts.

So, eventually spread out on the living room floor is your total kit.  All chrome shining beautifully and looking thoroughly efficient just waiting for the first season’s dunks into the April briny.  Well done, another season beginneth.

Jokes aside, do make sure your kit is in test for the season’s diving even if your bodies aren’t. 

Human error can largely be coped with during a dive – mechanical failure is a tad trickier!