A close encounter with death

As conscientious divers it's our responsibility to share our most
harrowing experience so others can learn from our mistakes. It's also
important to provide sufficient background information so that your
physical and mental state may be adequately assessed, regardless of how
embarassing it may be. Here's my story.

I've always been fascinated by dangerous, high risk activities. My
personal philosophy is best described by the words of German U-boat
commander, Eric Topp. "Life is a matter of risk and the chances of
success are in no way enhanced by extreme caution." However, it was
this reckless abandon, no regard for personal safety attitude that led
me through several failed relationships, years of therapy, into suba
diving, and eventually on a boat heading out for an open water
encounter with enormous creatures weighing thousands of pounds and up
to ten feet in length. Living every
moment perilously close to the edge had become a passion, as well as an
escape from my regular job as an accountant.

As the boat sliced through the still water I was only dimly aware of
the divemaster briefing the other divers on safety procedures and
animal behavior patterns. I concentrated on checking and rechecking
each piece of equipment and mentally rehearsing my reaction to every
possible emergency situation. This was serious business. There were no
protective cages or margin for error. Everything had to be right.

As everyone started suiting up, I couldn't help but notice I was the
only one who was armed. While the others joked and loaded film into
their cameras, I unsheathed my SMG multi-tipped pneumatic spear gun
which I had named, Matilda, after a counselor I met at a alcohol
rehabilitation center in northern Wisconsin. Matilda and I dated
briefly during an extremely difficult time of my life. Eventually,
however, as with every other relationship I've had, she sucked the life
out of me, robbed me of what remaining dignity I had, drove me to seek
refuge in the bottle again, and then left me for dead. She was a
dangerous woman so I named my SMG gun, the most formidable recreational
undersea weapon ever invented, after her to remind me never to be
caught off guard again.

As the boat slowed down I made the first in a series of mistakes that
nearly cost me my life. I knew that the element of surprise may mean
the difference between life and death, and I didn't want to be the one
who was surprised. I stood poised at the edge of the deck gripping the
railing with one hand and clutching Matilda with the other. All I could
think of was me, the water, the animals, destiny, and
eternity. Completely absorbed by the moment, and totally oblivious to
the fact that the boat was still underway, I made a giant stride entry.

The impact knocked the wind out of me, ripped my mask and both fins
off, tore my tank from my backpack and pulled the regulator out of my
mouth - splitting my lip and dislodging several teeth in the process.

I struggled for a few moments, trying to catch my breath, before
realizing I had dropped Matilda. Instinctively, I reached for my laser
knife and quickly surveyed the area with a 360 degree turn. Although I
couldn't see clearly without my mask, I instantly knew that my worst
fear had been realized. I was completely surrounded.

I was terrified that the blood streaming from my mouth would throw the
beasts into a feeding frenzy. Just as I was about to scream for help,
the boat's wake rolled over my head, I swallowed water, and started
choking uncontrollably. Somewhere in the process of regaining my
composure, I dropped my knife. Now I was unarmed and completely at the
mercy of a school of wild, aggressive, blood thirsty manatees.

Through the blur I could see at least six of the beasts. For a moment
they appeared harmless - almost stupid. But then they slowly
maneuvered into attack formation and I sensed they were about to
strike. I did the only thing left for me to do, panic!

After a few moments of wildly thrashing about my instincts and training
took over. If I was going to survive I had to take charge of the
situation. Besides, if I had to die this way I was going to take at
least one of the bastards with me.

I charged the closest manatee, straddled his back, placed one arm
around his thick neck, and squeezed. I couldn't help but notice the
deep scars in his back, evidence of previous battles I assume. He
immediately dived and rolled over on his back in a cunning but feeble
attempt to throw me. As we plunged towards the bottom I expected to be
gored (or whatever it is that manatees do to dispatch their prey) by
the others at any moment. The cowards outnumbered me six to one and I
was completely defenseless. I remember wishing that I had my mask on so
I could look my murderers in the eyes.

I couldn't continue to fight for long without air. I also knew that due
to an apparent genetic mutation manatees are air breathers too. He
probably needed air as bad as I did. As a last ditch effort, I dropped
my weight belt, pulled both CO2 cartridges on my surplus UDT vest, and
held on tight. We slowly started towards the surface, only ten feet
away. Unfortunately, the seventy pounds I had gained after my most
recent failed relationship finally caught up with me. Once inflated,
my vest was much too tight and drastically restricted the blood flow to
my brain. Inches away from the air we both needed so badly, we
struggled desperately for our lives.

The last thing I remember is losing all peripheral vision and, for some
unexplainable reason, thinking how unfortunate it was that I would
never be able to finish the liquor in my decorative Elvis decanter.
Then everything went black.

The next thing I knew I was in the boat lying on my back with an oxygen
mask over my face. The divemaster, whom I specifically remember
hearing refer to me as "that asshole", said he thought that I may have
embolized and that they were going to evacuate me by helicopter. I
lacked the strength to tell him that I would have gladly preferred an
air embolism over the horrifying experience I had just endured.

Apparently, the attack happened so fast no one saw what really
happened. By the time they turned the boat around and got back to the
position where I had jumped off, I was floating on the surface
unconscious.

I've spent hours analyzing the events of that day and have learned
several things. First, never believe advertisements in dive magazines.
Some resort operators will do anything to convince you their operations
are safe. Second, never do a giant stride entry from a moving boat. A
forward roll would probably work much better. Third, replace rubber
mask and fin straps with stainless steel hose clamps. Forth,
redundancy, redundancy, redundancy. Always carry a minimum of three
means of self defense. Finally, life can be taken away in the blink of
an eye - if there's any booze left in your Elvis decanter drink it now
while you still have the chance.