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by Jarrod Jablonski
Header Photo by JP Bresser
Technical diving means different things to different people, opening legitimate arguments about different time periods and personalities involved in shaping this activity. Our purpose is more confined as I wish to focus mainly upon the development of decompression procedures. Leading figures like Jacques Cousteau (1910–1997) performed reasonably significant “technical” dives including both deep and overhead exposures. Yet, his dives were relatively short, often on air, and absent a community of fellow tech divers with whom to evolve varying strategies. Meanwhile, military or commercial activities reached significant depth with notable exposures but used different technologies and procedures. Hopefully, the following overview will be independently interesting—although I also hope to illustrate what I consider an intriguing wrinkle currently lacking in most debates over the best ascent schedule for a decompression dive.
For our purposes, I mark the 1980s as the period in which technical diving truly started to become a globally recognized activity. Of course, numerous significant projects occurred before this period, but the 1980s established a growing global awareness that amazing diving feats were possible by enthusiasts. The 1990s and the developing internet age brought these ideas progressively into the mainstream. Most importantly, these global communities could now easily communicate information and, of course, disagree about the best way to do one thing or another.
The 1980s and 1990s were also an interesting period of development because people were doing more aggressive dives but still lacked important support tools that would take another decade to materialize. For example, most early tech dives were using some form of military, commercial, or scientific tables, such as the U.S. Navy, Oceaneering International, Inc. or the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA), which were often not well-suited to the dive at hand. This is because there were no decompression programs available. Divers were unable to calculate their own profiles and would trade whatever tables they could gather. In many cases, they were forced to choose from tables that were calculated at a different depth, time, and/or breathing mix to the planned dive.
Over time, the physiologist Dr. R.W. “Bill” Hamilton (1930–2011) began creating custom tables, but the lack of flexibility, as well as the cost, discouraged frequent use for most divers, especially when considering a range of depth profiles and their various time adjustments. This problem was especially prominent in deep cave diving where variable profiles and long bottom times created numerous complications . This landscape encouraged, if not demanded, that exploration divers be creative with their decompression practices. For example, Woodville Karst Plain Project (WKPP) explorers George Irvine and I began to explore ways to extrapolate from existing tables. The birth of what is now called ratio decompression originated with this practice.
By exploring the way decompression schedules develop, we began outlining simple ratios that allowed divers to adjust their decompression based upon a ratio of time spent at depth. Then, in 1998, I went on to form Global Underwater Explorers (GUE), and such practices became part of the process for helping divers appreciate the structure of decompression while supporting adjustments to profiles when depth or time varied from that expected. Regrettably, some individuals took this too far and began promoting complex adjustments and marketed them as superior to the underlying algorithms from which they had been derived.
We should leave a more in-depth review of ratio deco for another time. For now, I intend to illustrate that “rules” such as ratio deco had their roots in limited availability of decompression tables and evolved as a useful tool for understanding and estimating decompression obligation. The fact that early tech divers had limited ability to calculate profiles encouraged a “test-and-see” philosophy, further fueling the early popularity of ad hoc adjustments to decompression profiles. This was most notable in the DIR and GUE communities through ratio-style adjustments and also prominent with non-DIR advocates who used a modification known as Pyle-stops, originating from ichthyologist Richard Pyle’s early deep dives and his attempts to refine efficient ascent protocols. One common adjustment in these approaches involved a notable reduction in ascent speed, adding additional stops known as “ deep stops ”
Driven by self-discovery, the migration toward deep stops resulted in rare agreement among technical divers, and the practice developed a life of its own in conference symposiums, being advocated far and wide by a healthy share of technical divers. The earliest phases of these modifications were driven in part by limited access to decompression tables, though by the end of the 1990s there were a variety of decompression programs available. This was a big improvement, although it was still true that divers had a limited baseline of successful dives while planning mixed-gas dives in the 50 to 100 meter range and beyond. Today, most divers take for granted that technical dives planned with available resources and within today’s common use (a few hours around 90m/300 ft) are relatively safe in terms of decompression risk. When these programs first came to market, there remained many question marks about their efficacy.
The availability of decompression programs was a big advantage for technical divers, as they now had more sophisticated tools at their disposal. Yet, the output from many of these programs produced tables that were sometimes different to profiles thought to be successful by some groups. Typically, the difference related to an increase in the total decompression time and/or a distribution of stops that varied from developing consensus. These divers were keenly interested in the developing tools but reluctant to change from what appeared successful, especially when that change required additional hours in the water. A debate developed around the reason for these differences, bringing the already brewing interest in bubbles well into the mainstream.
At the time, all tables were based upon dissolved gas models like Buhlmann, and thus not directly modeling bubble development during an ascent. Dissolved gas models preference ascents that maintain a reasonably high gradient between the gas in tissues and the gas being breathed, which should be supportive of efficient elimination from tissues. Dissolved gas models manage—but do not explicitly control for—bubbles and were thus labeled (probably unfairly) as “bend and mend” tables. In fact, dissolved gas models are designed to limit supersaturation (explicitly), because this is supposed to limit bubble formation. Haldane references this control of supersaturation in his pioneering publication .
Those advocating for different ascent protocols imagine that a lack of deep stops creates more bubbles, which then need to be managed during a longer series of shallow decompression stops. In this scenario, a slower ascent from depth, including “deep stops,” would reduce the formation and growth of bubbles while reducing time that might otherwise be needed to manage previously formed bubbles. Support for these ideas gained momentum in diving and professional communities, although some of these individuals were arguably conflicted by a vested interest in promoting deep stop models. Eventually, the practice received more critical consideration but during the intervening years deep stops were largely considered as common knowledge.
The idea of controlling bubbles became extremely popular through the 1990s, encouraging deeper stops designed to limit bubble formation and growth. The “test-and-see” approach developed by early tech divers appears to have fueled the promulgation of deep stops though the determining characteristics remained poorly defined. Early tech divers embraced the uncertainty of their activity, realized that nobody had the answers, and decided to “experiment” in search of their own answers. In fact, divers were experimenting with a lot more than deep stops, altering gases breathed, the placement of various decompression stops, and the total amount of decompression time utilized. This meant that divers were sometimes aggressively adjusting multiple factors simultaneously.
For example, divers using a decompression program might input significantly less helium than was present in their breathing mixture. This was done because the algorithm increased decompression time with elevated helium percentage, sometimes known as the helium penalty . In other cases, divers would completely change the structure of stop times. For example, divers would invert the way a profile should be conducted by doing more time near a gas switch and less time prior to the next gas switch, believing the higher-oxygen gas only 3m/10ft away was time better utilized.
I do not intend an exhaustive or detailed review but only to assert the many, sometimes radical approaches being taken by tech divers who often perceived success with these various strategies. In some cases, it appears these practices may have been leading the way toward improvements (eliminating the Helium penalty) while other adjustments might prove disadvantageous. In both cases, it is important to note that divers understood—or should have understood—these actions to be potentially dangerous, accepting risk as a natural part of pushing into uncertain territory where definitive guidance and clear borders are rarely available.
None of this is to argue that divers should engage in aggressive decompression or challenge convention or place themselves at risk to unknown complications. I merely wish to clarify the atmosphere under which these adjustments were conducted, while highlighting that conventional ideas of risk mitigation are inherently complicated against a backdrop of novel exploration. A sense of relative risk dominated most of these trials since there are also risks associated with lengthy, in-water exposure. Eliminating what might be an avoidable decompression obligation could reduce risk from other obvious factors, including changing weather, dangerous marine life, being lost at sea, hypothermia, and oxygen exposure. Decompression experimentation was but one of many attempts to establish new protocols during extensive exploration projects.
During this time, deep stops and similar adjustments were part of the “norm” for aggressive technical explorers who were sometimes notably reducing in-water time as compared to available tables. It is interesting to note that individual differences in susceptibility seemed among the most prominent variables across the range of tested adjustments, and we will return to this in a later discussion. For now, we should acknowledge that the “success” being achieved (or imagined) is greatly complicated by a small sample size of self-selected individuals who were simultaneously experimenting with a range of variables. On the other side, I do not want to entirely discount the results being seen by these divers. We should remember that development of safe decompression ascents for the general diving community was not the goal of most tech divers. These divers were interested in maximizing their personal and team efficiency during decompression. These strategies may or may not have been objectively successful or broadly applicable, but many teams imagined them so, at least within the narrow scope being considered. Later, we will return to these important distinctions with careful consideration for the potentially different interests being pursued by divers evaluating different decompression profiles.
Fortunately, a desire to create broadly useful tools was high on the list of priorities for some individuals in the technical diving community, leading to a relevant and important contribution. This inventive approach would introduce a new way to think about decompression, remaining to this day at the center of the debate about deep stops.
Creating a New Baseline
Despite the popularity of deep stops and other modifications presented previously, technical divers lacked a common language for comparing the results, especially across different profiles. Compounding this problem was the variable way decompression programs considered a dive to be more or less “safe.” For example, some programs developed “safety factors” which increased total decompression time by an arbitrary factor, i.e., made them 10% longer. Other programs used different strategies, though it was not clear whether any of the various safety factors actually made the decompression safer. Whether safer or not, these factors were typically inconsistent and added complications when comparing various profiles. Just as these debates were reaching a fervor, help arrived from an unlikely place. An engineer by trade and decompression enthusiast by choice, Erik Baker had developed a novel solution.
Baker was seeking a way to establish consistency in considering the safety or lack of safety between various profiles. The term Baker applied was Gradient Factor (GF). I will not invest considerable time exploring the science behind GF, as many useful resources are widely available. For our purposes, it is sufficient to say that GFs allows a user to establish a lower threshold than the maximum recommended by a dissolved gas algorithm. This maximum pressure or M-value is assigned to “compartments” having an assumed amount of tolerance relative to the flow of blood they receive. Decompression theory is complicated by many factors but when the pressure of a gas in a compartment nears the M-value, it is thought that the risk of decompression sickness becomes higher. By adjusting a profile through the use of GF, one presumably reduces the risk. However, this also means there is less gradient between the gas in tissues and the gas in blood, reducing the driving force for the removal of gas and probably requiring additional decompression time.
Gradient factors took an important step toward using a consistent language when talking about a variety of adjustments divers might make to their decompression. As part of his work on GF, Baker had developed a keen interest in the decompression adjustments by leading technical divers. Baker and I began working together while evaluating some of our most extreme diving profiles. This collaboration led to a number of productive developments including GUE’s DecoPlanner, released in 1997, and among the first to utilize GF methodology. These collaborations further highlighted what appeared to be a discrepancy between the decompression expected by dissolved gas algorithms and the decompressions being conducted by many technical divers.
Decompression experimentation tended to cluster in small groups whose size was likely affected by self-selection with members who would stop or reduce aggressive dives when experiencing decompression sickness. Yet, it seemed possible that there was more to the story. These divers were doing several things that should have exposed them to notable risk and yet were repeatedly completing decompressions of more than 15 hours. Deep stops were only part of the story as these divers were ignoring conventional wisdom in several areas while notably reducing decompression time. What was behind this discrepancy? Were deep stops right or wrong? Was the conservative approach to helium right or wrong? Were these individuals lucky? Were they unusually resistant to decompression sickness, or were there other factors lurking in the background?
Note: I will outline many of these developments in the upcoming Part Three, where we more directly consider the modern challenges to deep stops and most especially the assertion they are dangerous. In the interim, I hope to hear from our readers. Do you have different experiences from this period? Do you think such experimentation is reckless or inadvisable? Please let us know your thoughts.
Jarrod is an avid explorer, researcher, author, and instructor who teaches and dives in oceans and caves around the world. Trained as a geologist, Jarrod is the founder and president of GUE and CEO of Halcyon and Extreme Exposure while remaining active in conservation, exploration, and filming projects worldwide. His explorations regularly place him in the most remote locations in the world, including numerous world record cave dives with total immersions near 30 hours. Jarrod is also an author with dozens of publications, including three books.
Learning from Others’ Mistakes: The Power of Context-Rich “Second” Stories
Proper storytelling is a key to learning from the mistakes of others. Human Factors consultant and educator Gareth Lock explains the power of context-rich stories to inform and help us to develop the non-technical skills needed to make better decisions, communicate more clearly, and lead/teach more effectively.
by Gareth Lock
Header image courtesy of Gareth Lock. Divers from Red Sea Explorers’ examining a magnificent gorgonian coral.
Diving can be a fun, sociable, and peaceful activity; it can be challenging and technically difficult; and it can be a way of escaping the hustle and bustle of modern life. Sometimes new wrecks are discovered, caves have new line laid in them, new encounters with wildlife are experienced, and in many cases, courses are completed where both instructors and students have learned something new.
However, it can also be scary, harrowing and frightening if things don’t go to plan or if the plan was flawed in the first place.
Fortunately, the majority of dives which take place are the former and we consider the outcomes to be positive. If we think about it, the goal for every dive should be to surface, having had an enjoyable time, with gas reserves intact and no-one feeling physically or emotionally injured. But how do we achieve this goal considering the inherent risks we face while diving?
The easy answer would be to have effective training, to have the correct equipment, and to have and apply the right mindset. These three things together then lead to safe diving practices. You could say that the majority of safe diving practices and safely designed and configured equipment comes from feedback following accidents, incidents, and near misses. You only have to look at the work which the late, famed cave explorer Sheck Exley did in terms of cave diving fatalities and his “Blueprint for Survival” to see how procedures and equipment have evolved.
What do we learn?
There are accident and incident reports available to us. What do we learn from them? Bearing in mind that the majority of reports which divers see are either in social media or summarised in reports like the Divers Alert Network Annual Incident Report or the BS-AC Annual Incident Report.
For example, the following incident reports are written in a style similar to those you would find on social media or in an organization’s incident report.
An inexperienced diver entered the water to provide support for a guided dive to 24m. They got separated from their buddy, made a rapid ascent to the surface after nearly running out of gas. They were recovered on the boat without any symptoms of DCS being present.
A diver on the final dive of a rebreather training course entered the water from a dive boat. The diver swam to the side of the boat to receive their bailout cylinder to clip on. While sorting their gear out alongside the boat, they appeared to go unconscious and descend below the surface. The diver was recovered from 38 m/124 ft and despite CPR and first aid being applied, they were pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital ER. On inspection, the oxygen cylinder on their rebreather was found to be turned off and the controller logs showed that the pO2 had dropped to 0.05 while they were on the surface.
How much learning do you get from these reports? What emotions did you feel while reading them? What did you think was the primary cause of each of these events? If you were to choose two or three words to describe the causes, what would they be?
Human error? Complacency? Inexperience? Rushing? Not paying attention? Overconfidence? Naivety? Arrogance? Stupidity? Who was it? Where was the instructor? Were they certified? Which agency? Were they qualified?
All of these are normal responses, and they make up the first story.
The First Story
The first story is the narrative we hear, and we start to make immediate judgments on. We can’t help making judgments, even when we try not to. We make judgments because we compare the stories we’ve just read or heard to our own previous experiences. We match patterns to what we ‘know’ and then fill in the gaps with what we think happened, all the time thinking about whether it was the ‘right thing’ to do based on our own experiences.
This ‘filling in gaps’ is normal human behavior. Because our brains are constantly trying to make sense of the situation when we don’t have enough information about a scene or a situation, we reflect on what we’ve seen, read, and heard in the past and then make a best guess or closest fit. During this process, we will be subject to a number of biases, and one of the strongest at this stage is called confirmation bias. This is where we think we know the answer to the question, then as we read or hear something in the story that aligns with our reasoning, we stop looking any further because we have confirmed our suspicions.
In many cases, we carry on and don’t think anything of the learning opportunities presented because we know what happened, we know that ‘we wouldn’t do that’ because we would have spotted the issue before it became critical. We often make use of counterfactuals (could have, should have, and would have) to describe how the incident could have been prevented.
Unfortunately, this means that often we don’t learn. There is a difference between a lesson identified and a lesson learned—a lesson learned is where we make a conscious decision to accept how we do things based on the conditions and outcomes, or we actually put something in place which is different than what was there before and see how effective it is to resolve the problem encountered.
If we are to make improvements, we need to look at the errors, mistakes, and deviations that were made. However, we must recognize that errors are outcomes, not causes of adverse events. If we want to stop an adverse event from occurring, we need to look closer at the conditions which led to the error occurring i.e., the error-producing conditions.
The easiest way to look for error-producing conditions in an event that has already happened is to get those involved to tell context-rich stories. This becomes the second story.
The Second Story
Second stories look much deeper than what we first hear. They look at the context, the local rationality, the conditions, especially those conditions which might lead to errors. Ultimately, they expose the inherent weakness and gaps in any system, where the system includes people, paperwork, equipment, relationships, the environment and their interactions.
Second stories also highlight how divers and instructors are constantly adapting and changing their behaviors/actions to deal with the dynamic nature of diving. They describe ‘normal work’. This adaptation could be moving dive sites, increasing or reducing the time for a course, the order in which skills are taught or the amount of gas used/planned for a dive. Second stories describe the difference between ‘Work as Imagined’, which is what is written down, what is expected to happen, and against which compliance is assessed, and ‘Work as Done’ which is what actually happens in the real world and takes into account the pressures, drivers, and constraints which are faced by those on the dive or the course.
The easiest way to see what a second story looks like is to tell it, and the following account is the same recreational event as above but told as a second story.
An Advanced Open Water (AOW) diver with around 50 dives was acting as an ‘assistant’ to the instructor and dive-centre owner on a guided dive with five Open Water (OW) divers and recent graduates from the school they themselves had learned at. The AOW diver felt a social obligation to help the Open Water Scuba Instructor (OWSI) who was leading the dive, because the OWSI had done so much to help her conquer her fear of mask-clearing during her own training. However, she was also wary that, over time, her role had moved from being a diver on the trip to being almost the divemaster by helping other divers out, which she wasn’t trained to do. In addition, the instructor regularly asked her, at the last minute, to help out and change teams to ensure the ‘experience’ dives happened.
On this particular occasion, the AOW diver was buddied with a low-skilled OW diver who acted arrogantly and did not communicate well. In fact, she didn’t believe that three of the five on this trip should have received their OW certificates, given their poor in-water skills. As they approached the dive site, the visibility could be seen to be poor from the boat and the surface conditions weren’t great. The instructor said to the AOW diver, “Don’t lose the divers. I want you at the back shepherding them.”
They entered the water and descended to 24 m/78 ft and made their way in the poor visibility. On two occasions, the OW buddy had to be brought back down by the AOW diver as they ascended out of control. At one point, the OW diver turned around quickly and accidently knocked the AOW diver into the reef. Unfortunately, the AOW diver became entangled in some line there, and the OW diver swam off oblivious to the entanglement. When the five divers and instructor reached the shot-line ready to ascend, the instructor realized the AOW diver was missing. The instructor couldn’t trust the five divers to ascend on their own and didn’t have enough time to wait at the bottom and conduct a search, so the six ascended. On the surface, the buddied OW diver said that the AOW diver had swum off looking at fish in a certain area.
In the meantime, the AOW diver had managed to free herself; but in her panic, while stuck on the bottom, she breathed her gas down to almost zero and had to do a rapid ascent. She surfaced, feeling very scared and sick with panic, just as the instructor was speaking to the other six on the surface. On seeing the AOW diver break the surface, the instructor swam to her but turned and shouted at the other divers, admonishing them for abandoning their buddy on the bottom. The AOW diver felt very alone and wanted to give up diving as she was not given the opportunity to tell her side of the story.
Observations on potential contributory factors and error-producing conditions:
- Deviation of standards on the part of the instructor/dive-center owner taking OW divers to 24 m/78 ft, maybe driven because of the need to generate revenue and offer something unique.
- Authority gradient between the instructor and AOW diver meant that the AOW diver felt they couldn’t end the dive before they even got in the water or once in the water.
- Inferred peer pressure to help out when they weren’t qualified or experienced enough to act in a supervisory role.
- Poor technical skills on the part of the OW divers and the AOW limited their situation awareness to be aware of hazards and risks.
- Limited awareness on the part of the instructor regarding the location of all the divers during the dive.
- Positive note – good decision on the part of the instructor to ascend with the five OW divers in poor conditions and not keep them on the bottom or get them to ascend on their own.
A full account of the second event can be found here where you can also download a guide which contains more detail than the video covers and also gives you details on how to run a learning event at your dive center or in your own classes.
We can see that the learning opportunities have increased in the second stories. They allow certain issues to be identified like time pressures, financial pressures, peer-pressure, authority gradient, teamwork, leadership, decision-making and situation awareness. These aspects are rarely captured or recounted in the narratives we see online or in incident reports. There are a number of reasons:
- They are often considered ‘common sense’,
- Our brains are constantly looking for simple answers to complicated or complex problems, and one of the easiest ways to do this is to find an individual or piece of equipment to ‘blame’ rather than look wider.
- Those involved don’t consider these factors to be important so they don’t write them down.
- Those involved don’t know about these error-producing conditions or human factors so they don’t know to include them.
- There is no formalised and structured investigation process for diving incidents by diving organisations to facilitate the capture, analysis and sharing of second stories.
Telling second stories isn’t enough to create learning though. We have to work out how to change our own behaviors, and that is where the free materials and courses which The Human Diver provides come in. They help develop these non-technical skills in divers, instructors, instructor trainers, and dive center managers/owners to help them make better decisions, communicate more clearly and lead/teach more effectively. Ultimately, it is about having more fun on the dive, and ending each dive with the goal described at the start of this article intact and creating learning in the process.
Since 2011, Gareth has been on a mission to take the human factors and crew resource management lessons learned from his 25 year military aviation career and apply it to diving. In 2016, he formed The Human Diver with the goal to bring human factors, non-technical skills and a Just Culture to the diving industry via a number of different online and face-to-face programmes. Since then, he has trained more than 350 divers from across the globe in face-to-face programmes and nearly 1500 people are subscribed to his online micro-class. In March 2019, he published ‘Under Pressure: Diving Deeper with Human Factors’ which has sold more than 4000 copies and on 20 May 2020, the documentary ‘If Only…’ was released which tells the story of a tragic diving accident through the lens of human factors and a Just Culture. He has presented around the globe at dive shows and conferences to share his passion and knowledge. He has also acted as a subject matter expert on a number of military diving incidents and accidents focusing on the role of human factors.
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