Evolution in Action at Bathtub Spring

In 1990, five college students were staying at a laid-back, rural resort on the banks of north-central Florida’s Suwannee River. One afternoon they decided to take canoes up river to scout out potential dive sites. They soon discovered an outflowing of water on the opposite bank, known locally as Bathtub Spring.

Excited by their find, the group beached the canoes and hiked inland to see what else might be in the immediate area. They soon came across a deep sinkhole, which they assumed connected with the spring, less than 200 feet away.

The group consisted of two divers (we’ll call them Turkey One and Turkey Two), one Turkey’s girlfriend and two more level-headed male friends. Almost immediately, the two Turkeys got it in their head that it would be “cool” to see whether they could connect the sinkhole to the spring under water. Neither Turkey possessed the highly specialized training or equipment needed for cave diving.

Returning to the resort, the Turkeys loaded their dive equipment into their car, and invited the rest of the group to accompany them as they drove across the river to search for the sinkhole on land. At this point, the girlfriend and the two smarter male friends were having serious reservations about the Turkeys’ wisdom, and decided to accompany the intrepid adventurers — if only to try to talk some sense into them.

By late afternoon, the Turkeys had somehow managed to find the way to the sinkhole (no easy feat in itself) and began to discuss the dive in earnest. At this point, an argument ensued, with the clearer-thinking friends pointing out the extreme foolishness of the Turkeys’ plan. When the Turkeys failed to heed their logic, the much wiser friends decided to take drastic steps to ensure the Turkeys’ safety. They confiscated Turkey One’s dive gear, leaving him only with a mask, a hooded vest, some long, gauntleted gloves (best suited for cold water) and dive boots.

Any rational person would think that this was the end of the story. Think again.

Cave Gear for Turkey Divers

Unbelievably, the Turkeys decided they could still make the dive, using the remaining equipment. Turkey One would don his mask, hood, gloves and dive boots, then hold on to Turkey Two’s tank and breathe using the octopus.

Of particular note was the Turkeys’ choice of dive lights. Between the two of them, they had one Pelican MityLite, a ballpoint-size instrument powered by two AAA batteries.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with a MityLite. It is an excellent tool when used for the kinds of tasks for which it is designed. Unfortunately, cave diving is not among them.

The MityLite, at best, puts out roughly 1/100th the light of the High-Intensity Discharge (HID) primary lights used by trained cave divers. Additionally, cave divers carry two back-up lights, each substantially larger than a MityLite.

Also missing from the Turkeys’ gear inventory were items no trained cave diver would be without, including:

• One primary reel and guideline per team, and one safety reel per diver.
• Dual cylinders equipped with an isolation manifold (or equivalent).
• Dual regulators, one equipped with a seven-foot-long hose for air sharing.
• A razor-sharp line cutter.
• A technical-diving tank harness and BC air cell.
• Proper instrumentation.
• Equipment streamlined to help prevent entanglement.

Of course, most noticeably absent were:

• Proper training and experience.
• Any sort of reasonable dive plan.
• Anything approaching the amount of intelligence God parcels out to earthworms.

The Dive

Incredibly, the Turkeys’ plan actually had a chance of succeeding — had they only headed in the right direction. Unfortunately, they did not.

Entering at the sinkhole, the Turkeys started the dive upstream, away from the river. When things started to get tight (which they did almost immediately), the Turkeys assumed they were approaching the narrow spring entrance. So, rather than going back, they pushed even further, turning on their sides to make it through the confined space.

At this point, the divers became entangled in the cave’s permanent guideline, breaking it. With no guideline to point the way out (and almost no light to see by), the Turkeys turned down a side tunnel that dead-ended in a small room. They could see back toward the entrance through a narrow, horizontal bedding plane; however, without a guideline and adequate light to see by, they could not make out the tunnel through which they had entered.

By now the divers were breathing heavily, and the one small tank they shared was rapidly emptying. Dying in a cave is neither quick nor merciful, as it might be in a car crash. You have time to think about what is going to happen to you — and time to reflect on the relationships, opportunities and experiences that will never be yours because you were too friggin’ stupid to keep from killing yourself.

The Recovery

When the Turkeys failed to surface after several minutes, their friends began to worry. Worry soon turned to panic, and the friends summoned help.

Alerted to the problem by fellow cave diving instructor Steve Gerrard, I arrived on the scene as the sun was starting to set. NSS-CDS Recovery Team members Gene Broome and David Rhea were already on site. David had made a preliminary dive and was surfacing as I approached.

“I can see the bodies, but I can’t get to them,” David said. “I don’t know how they managed to get back there, but they’re in an area that’s way too tight for back mount.”

Cave divers use two basic equipment configurations. The more common of the two is back mount, where divers wear two manifolded cylinders on their backs. However, for low areas called bedding planes, where vertical clearance is measured in inches, cave divers use a configuration called sidemount, in which they carry independent cylinders along each side of the body.

Somehow, the Turkeys had managed to get to an area that could only be reached using sidemount equipment. At the time, I did not sidemount, nor did Gene or David.

I put in a call to Dive Rite’s Lamar Hires, and suggested that his and Woody Jasper’s sidemounting skills would be required to make this recovery.

Lamar and Woody arrived within an hour. By now, Suwannee County Sheriff’s deputies and the Coroner were on the scene; however, as they lacked the necessary training, skills and experience, they did as they always do, which is to stand back and let the Recovery Team members do our thing.

Despite the fact the victims were less than 250 feet into the cave, the recovery took several hours. Lamar and Woody later remarked that it was the hardest recovery they’d ever done, so tight was the passage into which the Turkeys had gotten themselves wedged.

By the time we were done, and the emergency personnel had left the scene (along with the bodies) it was approaching midnight. During the entire time, the two surviving male friends sat by the side of the sinkhole, wondering if there was anything else they could have done to prevent their friends’ deaths. I’d swear they never said a word — never even so much as blinked — even as we were pulling the bodies up out of the water.

I later learned that the surviving friends spent the remainder of the night driving back to the Turkeys’ apartment, where they broke in through a bathroom window and cleaned out all the drug paraphernalia before the Turkeys’ parents arrived the next morning.

After completing the recovery, Woody Jasper decided to forego climbing up the steep walls of the sinkhole. Instead, he swam the last 200 feet to the spring, tracing the path the Turkeys thought they would be following. I met Woody at the spring entrance.

“Well, Woody,” I asked, “What do you think?”

Woody paused and hung his head for a minute. Then he looked me in the eye and said, “Evolution in action.”

Bathtub Spring is now fenced off and posted. Unfortunately, divers who lack the proper training still manage to kill themselves at other sites. For more stupid diver stories, visit StupidDiverTricks.com.