It Can Happen to You

When most people think of Florida they think of white-sand beaches, palm trees, and the spray of salt water. When you grow up in Florida, however, you come to know the natural beauty that lies far away from the pristine beaches and bustling cities. You discover the rivers, and the springs that feed them. You discover the caves.

For most people, it starts with the sign pictured above. You’re having a great time enjoying a regular spring dive, when suddenly you come across the following dire warning:

STOP

Prevent your death

Go no farther

Fact: More than 300 divers, including open water scuba instructors, have died in caves just like this one.

Fact: You needed training to dive. You need cave training and cave equipment to cave dive.

Fact: Without cave training and cave equipment, divers can die here.

Fact: It CAN happen to YOU!

There’s nothing in this cave worth dying for!

Do not go beyond this point.

It’s a sign that makes my heart pound and my throat constrict when I see it now. It’s a stark reminder of all those whose limp, bloated bodies had to be retrieved from the maze-like depths, and how close I was to being one of them.

It was the perfect day for a dive. It was even less crowded than you would expect for a Tuesday, the scorching summer sun was the perfect antidote for the 72-degree spring water, and the blue-green water was as clear as glass. I had never dove at Ginnie Springs before, but my friend David had.

The two of us got geared up, donning our wetsuits and buoyancy control vests (BCs), hooking up our breathing devices (regulators) to our air tanks, and strapping on our weights, dive computers, and lights. We compared our psi numbers - the pressure of the tank that lets you know how much air you have to breathe - and we both had 2,500, which was about 500 less than you would expect for rental tanks. Nevertheless, David clipped a sheathed knife onto his BC’s shoulder strap, and I eyed the tank tapper I had just bought the other day.

A tank tapper is a hard, plastic ball on a rubber band that goes around your tank. If you need to get someone’s attention under water, you simply pull the plastic ball and it will slap back against your tank, making a sharp, metallic peal. I decided to leave it. It was going to be an easy, laidback dive with plenty of visibility, and I was paranoid that I would forget to take it back off the rental tank.

David and I checked each other’s equipment, fist-bumped, and waddled to the stairs descending into the spring, weighed down by the bulky, heavy dive gear. We slid on our flippers and masks, and took the plunge. The initial shock of the cold water quickly wore off, replaced by anticipation and the thrill of exploration. I wanted to peer into every crevice, pull myself over the pitted, abrasive limestone, and most of all I wanted to feel the spring shooting out at me from the depths.

35 million gallons of water flows out of the spring entrance here at The Ballroom each day. David said they put a grate across it to keep overly-curious divers from accidentally entering the cave system associated with the spring, but when you swim up to the grate it feels like you’re being blasted with a huge hose. I couldn’t wait to experience it.

We began the descent into the upper cavern, shining our lights ahead as we slipped under the limestone shelf. David lead the way as we passed through the narrow opening. A metal guide rope had been installed near the bottom, and we stuck by it as we unhurriedly swam deeper into the awaiting cavern.

The tank air tasted stale and dry in my mouth, something I recalled seeming mildly unpleasant the first time I dove, but the sensation had become familiar and even comfortable since then. Our bubbles lined the rocky ceiling, leaving little pools of air in its pockets that shimmered like liquid mercury.

The floor was strewn with rocks with sand in between, and occasionally David’s flipper would dip too close to the bottom and a small whirlwind of sand would be thrown up in his wake. The sand would hover there, a roiling cloud in the otherwise crystalline water, a phenomenon that - in extreme cases - can completely obscure visibility. That’s known to divers as being “silted out”, and the small particles can take hours to settle back to the cavern floor. Fortunately, the small puffs being raised by David’s flippers posed no real threat to our visibility.

We passed through a large entryway and the main cavern of The Ballroom opened up around us. I was surprised but happy to see that we had the place all to ourselves. David stayed by the left wall, guiding us ever downward toward the back of the large cavern. He pointed out the spongework ceiling and the geological bedding plane, and he showed me the phreatic tube that will widen out and form a whole new cave system sometime in the next hundred-thousand years or so.

We followed the slope of the cavern as it dipped deeper, and when my flashlight fell on the grate to the spring entrance my breath flew out in a spattering of bubbles. I sped past David, giddy, already feeling the heightened current pushing around me.

My gloved hands clasped the rusted, unforgiving metal and I let the water blow me back like a banner. It wasn’t quite as strong as the blasting torrent that I had conjured in my mind, but it was still impressive nonetheless. I shone my light down into the black, narrow opening, and the light bounced off multiple rock formations before being swallowed by the cavernous gloom.

David had come up beside me at the grate, and he caught my attention. He took two fingers and rapped the bottom of his other palm, the universal dive sign to ask, “How much air do you have left?”

I pulled up my pressure gauge and gave it a glance. I still had 1,700 psi, and I let him know by signing the numbers back. He flashed the OK sign, and we continued to explore the cavern. I was still slightly annoyed that we were only starting with 2,500 psi - but as we started back toward the entrance to The Ballroom I was also sure that we would have plenty of air left when we finished the dive.

As we passed a crevice diving deep into the limestone walls, I paused and inspected it more closely. It seemed to go back farther than the initial tunnel, and it was just wide enough that I could scoot in and see. I wedged myself between the pitted walls, feeling the coarse limestone scraping here and there against my gear. It turns out, I was right.

The tortuous passage did press deeper into the rock, constricting slightly as it went but persisting nonetheless. I pointed my light straight into its black mouth, and I could swear I saw it open up on the other side of a rocky stricture. There was another, unblocked entrance to the cave system.

My flipper was suddenly tugged from behind, and I was able to shimmy myself around just enough to see David reaching in from the entrance behind me. He made a flurry of hand motions that I couldn’t really see, but the message was clear: Stop. Go no farther. Come back.

Turning around was out of the question, so I painstakingly scraped my way back out of the crevice. I was about halfway out when I got hung up on a protrusion in the wall, and try as I might to continue inching backward, I wasn’t going anywhere. I momentarily panicked. I kicked and wiggled and pulled, the bubbles from my regulator going up in a flurry around me, and I finally dislodging whatever piece of equipment had gotten stuck. What I didn’t realize was that as I was trying to break free of the rocky grip, I was stirring up the sandy bottom with my flippers.

The effect was immediate. I went from being able to see as far as my light would reach to barely being able to see my hand in front of my face. I used the walls on either side to carefully guide myself the rest of the way out, my heart rate settling when I finally saw the water turn clear again. I looked back to the crevice but all that remained was a billowing cloud of sand and silt.

David quickly swam up in front of me and signed to ask if I was ok. I flashed the OK sign back, and he made the sign to ascend back to the surface. I once again signed OK, having seen everything in The Ballroom that I came for - and a little bit more. We didn’t dive deep enough or long enough that we had to do a safety stop, so as the day-lit entrance to the cavern drew closer and closer we completed the ascent and surfaced.

“Where were you going?” David demanded as he pulled his regulator out of his mouth, his exasperated tone shaded with concern.

“I think I found another entrance to the caves,” I told him excitedly, too thrilled about the discovery to be abashed.

“Yeah, well you silted us out pretty good,” he grumbled, and I let out a long breath as I remembered the panicked feeling of being trapped in the tunnel.

“I got stuck,” I told him sheepishly. He glared at me.

“That’s why you don’t go wandering down random tunnels, especially without letting me know. I turned around and you were gone,” he lectured, and then sighed. He pressed his lips together as we started for the stairs leading out of the spring, the gears visibly turning in his mind. “How much air do you have left?”

I checked the gauge and replied, “Just over 1,000.”

“I have 1,300. If you wanna see a cave that bad, I’ll take you to one of the actual cave tunnels. There’s a guide line and it’s wide enough that you won’t get stuck, and we have enough air to go down and take a quick look.”

I felt my eyes widening and my jaw slacking. I felt the blood rush through my veins with exhilaration, and all I could manage to squeak out was, “Really?”

“Yeah, as long as you’re good with it,” David said, pausing to measure my reaction.

“Um, yes! That would be amazing!” I exclaimed. He grinned.

“Alright, well the entrance to the main cave system is at Devil’s Springs, so let’s get loaded up and we’ll head over.”

I was practically bouncing with giddy anticipation as I stripped off my gear and put it in the bed of David’s pickup. Devil’s Springs are on the east side of the Ginnie Springs complex, and it has three different outflows that all feed into the same basin: Devil Spring, Devil’s Eye, and Devil’s Ear.

David went over what he knew of the finer points of cave diving as he drove, and we were pleased to see as we pulled up to Devil’s Springs that they were likewise sparsely populated. We went through our setup routine again, and then it was finally time.

Neither of us said anything as we took the stairs down to the Devil’s Eye spring. The blood was thrumming in my ears, my heart spelling out my excitement in my chest. I couldn’t believe I was actually about to go into a cave. I was always that kid that wanted to climb the highest tree, swim out as far as I could, and blur the lines of adventure and danger. At the time, it felt like destiny was drawing me forward into the deep, like there were secrets to discover beyond the limestone rock formations and underwater tunnels. It felt like I was going home.

It would be a stretch to say that the cold water was inviting on our first dive, but now it felt downright hostile. It attacked my wetsuit, viciously invading and conquering my body with its frigid grip. Massive, puffy storm clouds had accumulated on the horizon, and the late-afternoon sun seemed to have lost some of it’s friendly warmth. David asked if I was ready, and I gave him the green light. We put on our masks, took our regulators into our mouths, and began our descent.

We dropped down to the bottom of the rocky opening, and a rounded entrance ushered us into a small cavern. At the far side of the cavern was the main entrance to the cave system, and a harrowing warning:

Stop

Prevent your death

Go no farther

It was the first time I had ever seen the sign, and I stopped to read it over. The text itself was sobering, but it was the image that really gave me pause - a grim reaper standing over a pile of dead divers. The closer I looked at it, the more perturbed became as I realized that the grim reaper seemed to be beckoning us.

David had stopped with me, but then motioned to continue. I knew that with our depleted tanks we didn’t have much time to stay under, but I remained rooted to the spot for another several seconds. I imagined the grim reaper floating up from the dark, foreboding cave ahead, inviting me to come into his eternal embrace. It was almost enough to make me turn back. Almost. But the adventurous spirit surged through me, defiantly spitting in the face of fear and caution. I gave David the OK, and we started into the cave.

The tunnel was round, wide enough to swim comfortably but narrow enough to give the mildest taste of claustrophobia. The grim reaper sign swam before my eyes, seeding doubt and apprehension in my mind with his scythe as we swam. A metal guide rope ran the length of the tunnel - a welcome reminder that others had passed here before and lived to tell of it. The pitted limestone surrounded us and nothing moved except the light thrall of the underwater current. It was as peaceful as the grave.

I admired the mercury-like air pockets in the ceiling above and felt my former excitement returning. This was a place that relatively few had dared to explore, and I could now count myself among those elite, brave few. I wondered if we would encounter anyone else on our tour through the caves, but I brushed away the bleak thought that they wouldn’t likely view us as favorably.

We reached a bend that opened into a spacious cavern, and we took a few moments to shine our lights around the rocky cathedral before continuing back into the tunnel. I checked my air gauge - just under 900 psi. David and I had agreed that we would turn back when one of us reached 500. On a normal dive that goes through a shop or charter they make you turn back at 1,000 psi, and sometimes even 1,500. I trusted David’s judgment, though, and I knew he wouldn’t intentionally put us in danger.

Up ahead, a dim light emitted through the crystal-clear water. David pointed up at a small opening in the ceiling, and I figured that must be the Devil’s Ear entrance that he had mentioned as we were driving over. We both swam up and examined it before turning back to the cave below.

The tunnel we had been following continued on, wider now and strewn with boulders. To the left was the first branch in the cave system, a dark, resting tunnel that tempted us with its hidden mysteries. David inspected the opening then gestured to it questioningly. The grim reaper was long forgotten now, much like a fleeting nightmare, and I nodded enthusiastically. Had we looked for the metal guide line before starting down the tunnel, we would have seen that it didn’t run through that part of the cave. Unfortunately, we didn’t look.

The tunnel was about the same width as the main one we had followed into the caves, and a little ways in we came to a wide bend. We followed it around and found ourselves face to face with another split. One branch continued on ahead, and the other went off sharply to the right. David turned and asked me about my air level with the hand sign, and I checked and signaled back that I still had 650.

He nodded, and led me up to the entrance of the right branch. As we shone our lights into the narrow tunnel, a sudden, fast movement in its depths made me scream through my regulator. Visions of the grim reaper flashed before my eyes, except now he was accompanied by the other divers he had lured to their watery death. I jerked back from the tunnel entrance, kicking hard, and I whacked my tank on the limestone wall behind me. The tank slammed painfully against the back of my head, but I was much more preoccupied by the thick, billowing clouds of silt that immediately sprang up between me and David.

It was like I was back in the narrow crevice from The Ballroom, but much, much worse. The light from my flashlight reflected back on the silty particles like headlights in a thick fog, doing nothing to cut through the oppressive blackout. David had to be mere feet in front of me but I couldn’t even see his flashlight through the silt. I reached behind me to grab my tank tapper, and realized with a cold, sinking dread that I hadn’t put it on between dives.

The harsh limestone wall to my back was the only thing orienting me, and though I was loath to leave it and venture into the insidious cloud of slit, I decided that I had to get back to David. I pushed off hard from the wall, my arms stretched out blindly in front of me like I was Superman mid-flight. My flashlight collided first with the opposing wall, then my left hand crumpled painfully against it. There was no sign of David over here either and I felt the panic rising like bile in the back of my throat.

I swept my light back and forth helplessly into the silty gloom, desperation setting in as I tried to figure out what to do next. I could keep trying to search for David in the silt, or I could try to move to better visibility and go from there. I brought my air gauge up, having to practically press it against my mask to see the numbers. 550. I decided to try and get out of the cloud.

Keeping my left hand pressed squarely against the abrasive wall, I inched my way along the limestone tunnel. The seconds dragged by like hours and the silt was claustrophobic to the point that I felt like I was choking. Or was that my air supply? I checked the pressure gauge again. Still 550, or had it dipped slightly? What if I ran out of air down here?

I thought about the 40-or-so feet of rock and earth between me and the surface. When you’re doing a regular dive you always know where the surface is. As long as you’re not at risk of decompression sickness, if something goes wrong you can always just go up. It was at that moment, when I realized that there was no quick bolt to the surface, no life-saving air within easy reach, that it really hit me how much trouble I was in.

I continued to drag my hand along the wall, and all of a sudden I found myself staring out at crystal clear water. My heart lurched and I let out a gasp from the relief, but it was quickly replaced by trepidation. This tunnel seemed smaller than the ones we had come through before, but I couldn’t tell if it was familiar or not. The thought of venturing deeper into the cave terrified me, but going back into the silt cloud did too. I decided to press on, and see if this is where David went.

I swam ahead, trying my best to control my breathing and conserve precious air. A sharp movement at the margin of my flashlight beam made me shriek and jerk again, but instead of a grim reaper lunging for me I saw the true source of my distress - a very large, gray fish. It darted off deeper into the cave tunnel, and, with a steadying breath, I followed it. The narrow passage curved to the left, and I continued until I came to yet another branch in the tunnels.

I swam up to the mouth of the one on the right, then the one of the left. I shone my light down both, seeing nothing but limestone continuing in each direction. I checked my pressure gauge - 450. It was time to go back and face the silt cloud. I turned around, and my stomach plunged to my knees as two tunnel entrances illuminated behind me. I had no idea which one I came through.

I tried to remember what I could of the cave map that David had showed me on his phone. I knew that Devil’s Eye was somewhere to my right, so sticking to the right was my best bet for getting out. If I chose wrong, however, I also knew that these caves went on for miles. I gathered my resolve, then started down the right tunnel.

The relief I felt upon getting out of the silt cloud was nothing compared to the relief I felt when I saw it again at the edge of my flashlight beam. I checked my pressure gauge and the metallic taste of fear ran thick on my tongue. 350 - I had to find my way out, fast. I approached the edge of the cloud, but before I could dive back in I saw something that turned my veins to ice.

In the silty gloom in front of me, a massive, dark figure was taking shape. It was him, the grim reaper come once and for all to seal my fate. He beckoned to me and I heeded his call, and now he had come to lead me home. Except...the grim reaper wouldn’t need a scuba tank.

David suddenly exploded from the silt cloud, fear and distress clearly written on his features despite his mask. He swam hard for me, and before I could raise my hand to ask if he was OK he yanked the regulator right out of my mouth.

The cold water seared my mouth and I managed to close my throat just before it coursed down into my lungs. I fumbled for the spare regulator at my side, and managed to get the mouthpiece in. I cleared the water out and took a couple merciful breaths before turning to David. He had already calmed down somewhat, and I reached for his pressure gauge. He was flat out of air. There’s no telling how close he was to drowning before I found him.

I signaled to ask if he was OK, and he motioned to his broken flashlight. It was cracked and full of water. I nodded and showed him my pressure gauge, and he motioned to ascend. With both of us breathing from the same tank it was awkward to maneuver through the narrow tunnel, and he ended up going mostly backwards into the silt cloud. I hugged the left wall as the blinding silt once again obscured everything, and finally, at long last, we emerged on the other side.

The tunnel was big enough that we could swim next to each other, and I checked my pressure gauge as David let out a huge billow of bubbles. 150. The junction with the main cave passage eventually came back into view, and relief once again swept through me as I saw the daylight filtering down from the Devil’s Ear entrance. Daylight meant surface, and surface meant air.

We swam for the crack in the ceiling, both desperate to be out of those cursed caves. I went through first, the regulator in David’s mouth tugging at my BC as he positioned himself to come up behind me. He started through the hole, then jerked to a stop. His panicked eyes met mine as he began to struggle, and I realized after a few seconds that he was entirely stuck.

The air in my regulator started to get harder and harder to suck in, like I was trying to suck a thick milkshake through a straw. I brought my pressure gauge up, and saw my worst fears had become reality. I was out of air.

Thinking fast, I grabbed the knife off of David’s BC and began to saw him out of his gear. I drew one last difficult breath in, and held it as I worked. The grim reaper and the dead divers surrounded us, laughing mercilessly and cheering against my efforts. I knew that if I had to I could surface and then go back down, but I also knew I would probably be signing David’s death certificate. I wasn’t going to let the reaper win.

I cut one shoulder free, then the other, and finally, miraculously, David was free of the crevice. I kicked hard for the surface that was shining tauntingly about 30 feet above. I blew out a steady stream of bubbles to keep my lungs from over-inflating as I rose, and when I finally surfaced that first breath of fresh air was the sweetest I had ever tasted.

David surfaced right after me, and we both burst into tears as we hugged each other. It was closer to death than either of us ever cared to come, and the grim reaper sign was right - there was nothing in that cave worth dying for.

To this day, I don’t like confined spaces. To this day, the grim reaper haunts my dreams. I still dive, but I will never enter another cave for as long as I live.