Shadow Divers: The True Adventure of Two Americans Who Risked Everything to Solve One of the Last Mysteries of World War II

by Robert Kurson

“He’s used trimix on some shallower dives this year. He says he’s ready. And I’ll be diving with him,” Yurga replied. Kohl adjusted his mask, bit down on his regulator, and flopped sideways off the gunwale. Chatterton and Kohler could not believe what happened next. Rather than bob to the surface as most divers do after the splash, Kohl plummeted like an anchor toward the ocean bottom. The topside divers knew at once what had happened: Kohl had not adjusted the buoyancy for his new trimix equipment. He had become what divers called a “dirt dart.” Dirt darts were in deep shit. The furious increase in water pressure that came with their plunge squeezed their suits into a second skin. Rapid compression caused their regulators to free-flow, exploded their sinuses and blood vessels, burst their eardrums, and induced vomiting and vertigo. And that was before they hit the bottom. “Oh, shit, he’s gone,” Kohler said. “Lew Kohl’s dead.” But Chatterton could see that Kohl had landed and was still breathing—he could see his bubbles. Chatterton’s mind slowed to 16 rpm, the speed of the Vietnam medic under pressure.

I remember flopping with out my tank turned on once. Scared the shit out of me but I could luckily reach the valve and turn it on while I was sinking slowly.