Ah wonderful: last week’s news in obscure units! I’d have preferred it in chains (16.5) or perhaps more appropriately fathoms (181.7).
and take back one kadam for the FSM which is their god
Well, that painted a vivid mental picture. The darkness and being surrounded by giant marine life you can’t see (or, if you have a light, can suddenly see rushing towards you out of the blackness past your light’s limited range, I’m not sure which is worse) is just as scary as the danger of pressure and drowning, in my opinion.
Dammit, who keeps on tapping on my shoulder?
But way less likely. Being eaten is so far down on the list of probable ways to die, it barely registers.
But yeah, in the dark, at night, or inside a wreck, when the lizard-brain starts to shout, the best way to shut it up is to focus on the real dangers, the ones you can control.
They’re diving in the WRONG PLACE!
1.615 furlongs, 3270 palms (Br.), or 332.2x10E10 Angstroms. Whatever makes it easiest to visualize.
What did he do for 14 hours? Did he have an waterproof e-book reader with him?
The huffinton post article says
Scuba organizations say recreational divers shouldn’t go below about 130 feet, but one Egyptian diver recently ventured a bit deeper – going more than 1,000 feet below the ocean surface and setting a world record in the process.
But the reason for the limit is that if you go below 30-40 meters (dive tables vary amongst organizations), decompression stops become necessary, and if you go below 66 meters, the oxygen in compressed air becomes toxic. Divers can be trained to use techniques and equipment to overcome these problems, but at that point it shares little in common with what most would consider to be recreational.
Depends on your training agency and instructor.
For example, BSAC will teach deco techniques fairly early on, with the second tier of training requiring planning and execution of dives requiring mandatory decompression stops.
Presumably, that’s how bsac can get away with a 50 meter limit.
Pretty much. The training can also be much more errm, in depth. It stems from the conditions and types of diving around the UK, along with the idea of continual learning within a club environment. There’s no pressure on it being a pass/fail course, it takes as long as it takes. This sort of thing isn’t always practical for other agencies.
Probably concentrated on keeping his gases balanced and watching the clock on his decompression stops.
The thing about trimix is you have to keep the oxygen at a constant partial pressure (basically what it is at sea-level) without letting it get low enough to suffocate you or high enough to poison you. The nitrogen you can’t allow above a certain partial pressure (I forget what, I guess about 80% of the pressure at 130’) else you get nitrogen narcosis. So the remaining pressure has to be made up by helium, and the danger with that is that above a certain pressure you get HPNS (high pressure nervous syndrome), the shakes, as you remember from The Abyss. And the trimix pressure has to increase with depth to stop your lungs collapsing. So you have to vary the mix all the way down and up.
It must concentrate the mind wonderfully. I’m sure the time flew by.
Metric happened. Quite a while ago. You’re welcome.
Love ‘n’ hugs,
The rest of the world.
Approximately how many decimal years?
Megaseconds and gigaseconds would be more in keeping with the spirit of the International System
I’m surprised the process isn’t automated. Having a highly involved manual process is one thing, but when your first sign of error is confusion and trouble thinking you are just asking for trouble.
I remember those childhood road trips, when Dad wouldn’t stop for food, relaxation or relief, and that one time when there was a bee in the back seat. “Only two hours to go. It’ll fly back out the window by then. Just stop screaming and waving around. It’ll ignore you.”
No thanks, indeed.
One of the most feared animals for those divers that have air supplied by hoses from the surface is not a shark, not a barracuda, but a humble fly. Get one sucked in and pumped down, and it buzzes in your helmet, walks over your face, and you can not swat it, you can not do anything. Except perhaps eating it.