The Final Dive of Walter St. Clair

My husband was an experienced diver. Cool under pressure, adventurous, and always patient, he taught diving classes to newbies, which is how we met. I wasn?t much of a diver myself, but I enjoyed accompanying him and being his eye in the sky, so to speak. His preference was cave diving, so I?d lounge by the water and enjoy nature while monitoring him as he explored. Once he?d surfaced, we?d watch his video footage together. We had a good time. He was serious about what he did, and always invested in the greatest, newest, safest, and most expensive equipment on the market. And, as it turns out, that equipment was how I was able to be with him in his final moments. My husband died 5 years ago at the bottom of Hranicka Propast in the Czech Republic. He died on his third dive trying to recover a body that had been lost for years. What he said in his final moments has been on my mind ever since that day.
Communicating with someone underwater isn?t the easiest (or cheapest) thing to do, especially when you?re tackling what?s thought to be the deepest underwater cave in the world. That?s why most divers limit communication to hand gestures. That was not an option for us, since I wasn?t joining him under. Instead, I monitored his heartrate and we communicated through what you could call a ?radio?, except it transmitted sound waves, not radio waves. The result was similar, though the audio quality wasn?t the best, especially at lower depths. Going down, he?d set up a series of relays and amplifiers to make sure our voices reached one another.
There?s an informal rule among divers that, if you see a fellow diver in danger, you try to help them. If you can?t save them, or if they?re already dead, you try to bring them home. Two weeks before Walter died, as he was exploring the cave for the first time, my ever-calm husband?s voice came in through the ?radio?.
?There?s a body,? he said, through buzzing static.
I remember feeling a knot of apprehension in my throat. It wasn?t fear for Walter, per se, though maybe it should?ve been. There was a reason I never joined him in those caves, and it was my fear of those tight, dark passages and sharp rocks that could so easily tear off your equipment. I felt second-hand fear for the trapped diver, knowing he must have died alone, disoriented, and knowing full well he was doomed. That?s the thing with diving deaths ? you know. You almost always know, because short of suddenly passing out, you can usually see a roadmap of how, why, and how long you?ve got left.
Walter explained the body was stuck to a cave wall. He couldn?t see exactly what he was stuck to, but when a push didn?t dislodge him, it was clear he wasn?t going anywhere. Walter posited it must?ve been the body of Miloslav Nov?k who?d disappeared exploring the cave a good twelve years before Walter. He was doubtlessly just bones at that point, but Walter hoped to recover his body all the same. However, he was set to start his long ascent and decompression, so he flagged his location with an orange marker and decided he?d come back later to be safe.
Sure enough, a week later, with a lightweight lighting rig and a rope, he plunged back into the water to try and free his fellow diver. Unfortunately, he failed to relocate Miloslav and his marker. Walter ultimately resurfaced, unsuccessful. He poured over the map of the cave, convinced he?d missed something ? that he?d taken a wrong turn. It was dark ? maybe he?d originally gone farther than he thought. He wanted to try a third time. I did try to convince him to let it go, but I?ll admit I didn?t try very hard. I didn?t actually see a problem with his plan, only that I was eager to get back home to Canada, but Walter insisted, and I agreed.
And so, once he was ready, my husband, Walter St. Clair, took his final dive. All was well at first, and he was progressing nicely. He had several back-up oxygen tanks ? my Walter was always the cautious type ? and everything one might need to free a body, from ropes to knives.
It was about an hour in when he finally saw something. The ?radio? made a scratching noise and he said, ?There?s my marker, he?s got to be near.?
He sounded?excited, optimistic. I let his slow, rhythmic breaths relax me, hoping to distract myself from the thoughts of cold, dark crevices and the bones that lurked within. I tried not to focus on the mental image of Walter laying his hand on Miloslav?s body, only for human soup to pour out in a rosy sludge blurring his vision. I tried to think of kittens and rainbows and the elation Miloslav?s parents would feel to finally have their boy back. And then Walter?s heartrate increased.
?Is everything okay down there?? I asked.
Walter replied, ?I?m fine. Found him. He scared me.?
Yes, I?d imagine a large mass floating in the darkness could easily startle a person. But even after the initial shock, his heartrate remained tense.
?He?s still stuck,? Walter said. ?Trying to??
He didn?t finish that thought, though it was obvious he was trying to either untangle or unwedge or un-whatever was needed. I waited by the pool of water, my toes digging into my shoes. I tried not to say anything because I didn?t want to distract him. Under that much water pressure, any movement requires a lot of physical effort. I liken it to the intense pull of gravity. There?s a force down there; it might not pull you down, but it has its own weight that pulls you from the inside, trying to coil you up like a closed fist so you don?t waste energy on anything that isn?t absolutely necessary.
Walter?s heartrate increased again.
?I-I think he moved,? he said.
I should?ve known from the horror in his tone that that wasn?t explicitly a good thing. I thought it was ? I thought he meant he?d cut him loose. But as his heart started climbing again, all my nightmares of cave walls closing in around me came back.
?Walter, are you okay??
?He moved!?
Sometimes, the pressure and lack of oxygen gets to people, even experienced divers. Even people trained to recognize the warning signs. It?s one thing to know disorientation can occur, but it?s a another to experience it. Walter was starting to panic, and all I could think was that he might be succumbing to hypoxia. Walter, my Walter, who was always so safe and took every precaution, who was down there only because he felt he had a duty to bring a lost diver home. I tried to calm him down and to tell him to come back, even though I feared it was too late. Decompression would take hours, and if he was as bad as he sounded, I doubted he had time. Like I said earlier, you usually know.
Walter started screaming a mix of howls and pleas, ?Let me go! Ah! No! He?s got me! Help! No! Ah!?
I sobbed. As his heartrate spiked even higher, I tried to guide him as best I could. Change your oxygen tank, follow the rope back, come back to me?but I couldn?t get through to him. He was too far gone ? and so quickly, too. And then, his heartrate slowed.
?Walter?? I asked tearfully.
He didn?t reply. He was unconscious. His breathing was shallow and irregular. I listened to it, telling him how much I loved him, how proud I was of him. I sang to him. I know he was already out, but maybe he could hear me still? Like a coma patient? I talked and I listened, and eventually, both the heartrate and breathing came to a painful stop.
I?ve lived the past five years thinking he succumbed to hypoxia and died alone in that deep, dark cave, never to be seen again. I?ve since given lectures on diving safety, on recognizing early signs of hypoxia in yourself and your fellow divers, I?ve tried to stress the importance of safety and protocol to people, and I?ve tried to make them understand that even if you do everything right, the outcome can still lead to tragedy. I didn?t want people to be afraid of diving. Walter wouldn?t?ve wanted that. I just wanted divers to be more careful.
A few days ago, a diver recovered what was left of Walter?s body. I was wrong when I thought Miloslav?s parents would be grateful and relieved to get their son back. I felt a hollow feeling. Any shred of hope I might?ve had ? dumb as it had been ? that he?d somehow miraculously come to, found his way out through another hole but suffered amnesia, every what if scenario that sometimes got me through the night was now wiped off the board.
And then I saw the video. His headcam had somehow survived five years underwater, the SD card intact. I debated whether to watch it, but I eventually pulled up the file. Darkness, Walter?s hands threading water, cave walls, the orange marker he?d left? And then his head spun sharply, and I could just barely see the other diver?s body floating over him, perhaps jostled by a water current. The angle shifted with Walter?s head as he swam closer. There was a long moment of quiet contemplation as he tried to figure out his game plan. I could see him flipping through his tools, looking for something.
And that?s when the arms, floating limply in his line of sight, suddenly reached out and grabbed him.


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