Fly By Nighters and World Travelers

I was sitting at the bar with a couple of buddies after a great morning of diving. It was a perfect day. We'd had a full boat with motivated divers, on flat seas and clear water. I had been hired by a father-daughter team to tag along, keep an eye out, and point out a few hidden treasures of the wrecks. They were naturals and I almost felt guilty taking their money. But the beauty of being a good divemaster is never putting anyone in a situation where you have to prove how good you are.

So we're on our second beer at the bar talking about the dive and how incredible it had been. We went down the mental list all divers go though, comparing notes on viz, fish identification, shark patrol, talking about the upcoming dives on the Oriskany. We're lost in our own conversation about the upcoming dives when suddenly a strange voice pipes in.

"You guys dive the 'riskny." He sat on the other side of my buddy Jeremy, and spoke with a rural Florida accent. He looked in his late fifties, but I pegged him as a little younger. He was thin with feathered hair, as if the seventies were coming back any day now. Something didn't seem right with this guy.

"Not today," I replied.

"What you charge for a dive?"

I hesitated. For some reason I didn't feel comfortable telling him the rates. "The company handles that," I said, and went back to my beer.

"I got to talk to you guys," he said.

Let me back up a couple of days here...

For a few weeks I've been emailing with a group of divers who want to dive the Oriskany. They're all former aviators who have spent time aboard aircraft carriers. They tell me they're all accomplished divers, having explored Palau, Truk and other parts of the world. I was really getting excited about diving with these guys. But after a few emails, their leader tells me they're all just Open Water certified. Apparently during all of that international travel, it never occurred to any of them to get beyond their Open Water I certification.

I advised him that we follow the guidelines approved by the Gulf Coast Dive Council, and one of those guidelines is that any open water diver must have a divemaster with them in the water. And my fees are $50 per diver up to two dives.

That threw him for a loop. He was stymied that someone would charge something like that. He , and how he has 400 dives all over the world, adn how he's not a "hairy chested diver," and that I "would not be disappointed" in their abilities. And then he went on to belittle the work divemasters perform. And that's where I became a little upset--not about the money. What rubbed me the wrong way was I would've thought that an aviator would understand the theory of responsibility. Just as a private pilot with thousands of hours can't sit in the left seat of a 707 and fly a load of passengers to Atlanta, an Open Water diver can't expect to receive privileges and accords any higher than their certified level.

So now the situation is, if he wants me along, it's going to be an investment in experience. But if he doesn't, no worries, I'll find some kid fresh out of DM class to take him at whatever he wants to pay. Someone who can't do it well is always willing to do it cheaper.

And that's where we pick up the conversation at the bar...

"I got to talk to you guys," he said. He paused, wiped the foam from his lips and said, "I just started a new website. "something Oriskany.biz." He took another hit from his beer. "We're gonna take people diving."

"Really," I replied. Pensacola is a small town. Divers and Captains know of each other, and this guy was from somewhere far away. "How many times have you dove the Oriskany?"

"I haven't." he said. "We just move up." He motioned to a woman next to him. She looked exactly like Velma from Scooby Doo.

"I'm a divemaster," she added. Then she took out a magnifying glass to look at the menu. (I'm not kidding.)

"Yep. We're gonna get the boat fixed and start taking people out."

"You're going to take people out on the Oriskany and you've never seen it?" I asked. "How can you do that?"

"I just gotta get'em there and back," he said. "We got a website. And you can have our overflow."

"And that's all there is to it? Getting them there and back?" The guy had no clue what it means to run a boat, or probably a business.

"That's it," he said proudly. "I hear they're getting $150 a trip. And that's a lot of money. I'll do it for a lot less."

So many people are coming into town to run trips, and it's becoming disconcerting. Just like guy at the bar, they're all going to try to undercut the professionals who've been here years before the Oriskany came. Unfortunately there's a market in cut-rate risky diving.

And so when I hear back from Mr. World Traveler, I'll have a brand new website address to pass along that just might fit his needs. I just hope the divemaster can find the wreck without her magnifying glass.