When the Out of Air Signal Was Real
It was the last dive of the day at Pearl Lake, about thirty-five feet down near one of the training platforms. The visibility was good, the water in the low sixties, and the dive had gone smoothly. I was acting as divemaster, swimming shoulder to shoulder with a new open water student while the instructor, Richard Tessell, followed behind us so he could watch both of us and evaluate the student. We had been in the water for about forty minutes when I looked back and caught Richard’s eye. He gave me the signal we had talked about before the dive.
He wanted me to simulate an out of air situation.
I kicked away from the student, about fifty feet, turned back toward them, and started a fast flutter kick while signaling out of air in a way that no one could mistake for casual. My arm movements were sharp and quick. I wanted it to feel real.
The student saw me and froze.
You can see it instantly in the eyes. The widening behind the mask, the shift from curiosity to alarm. Their brain was trying to make sense of it, and for a few seconds nothing happened. It was that human moment when a new diver’s mind tries to pull something from training and finds that the real scene looks different from the classroom.
By the time I reached them, I was already reaching for their octo. That broke the spell. They moved, handed me the regulator, and then followed the procedure exactly as they had practiced. They gave the OK signal, started the controlled ascent, held my BCD, and we surfaced together.
When we broke the surface, Richard looked over with a grin and said, “See, he’s an air hog.” The student laughed, still catching their breath. Earlier that morning they had asked about gas consumption rates, and both Richard and I had joked that we were the kind of divers who always seemed to burn through gas faster than smaller students. The tension drained out of the moment, replaced with the relief that always follows something real that ends well.
What stayed with me wasn’t the drill itself but what I saw in that short pause before they reacted. The freeze. The human delay between recognizing a signal and deciding to act. It was a few seconds at most, but it felt longer because I knew what was happening in their mind. Training builds muscle memory, but the first time you face a situation that feels real, your brain still has to translate it. It takes a moment for understanding to catch up with the body.
That freeze is normal. It is not failure. It is how humans process surprise. Under stress, the mind runs through its library of experiences looking for a match. When it does not find one, it stalls. Once it recognizes the pattern, action follows. The difference between panic and response is often just a few seconds of processing time.
Experienced divers forget how heavy those first real moments can feel. We talk about drills as if they are just steps to follow, but for a new diver, each step carries emotional weight. Seeing bubbles, grabbing a regulator, making eye contact, confirming a signal, every action requires trust in what they have been taught and in the people they are diving with. What looks like hesitation from the outside is often the mind catching up to the body.
As divers gain experience, that gap shrinks. The mind builds a framework for what different problems look like and how to respond. But the freeze never fully disappears. It just gets shorter and quieter. Every diver, no matter how seasoned, still feels that initial spark of confusion when something unexpected happens. What matters is how quickly awareness turns into action.
That day reminded me how easy it is for experienced divers to forget what new feels like. When you have been underwater hundreds of times, it is hard to remember that for a beginner, everything still feels fragile. Every sound, every motion, every unexpected signal carries meaning they are still learning to interpret. Patience and empathy are part of good diving just as much as buoyancy and trim.
The student handled it well once the moment became clear. They did not bolt or panic. They followed what they had learned. That is how learning happens in diving, one real experience at a time. No classroom or pool session can fully prepare someone for the first moment that feels real. But when they reach that point and come through it safely, confidence starts to take root.
Back on the surface, it was easy to laugh about it. The air hog joke broke the tension, and the student left that day a little more capable than when they arrived. For me, the lesson was quieter but just as lasting. The freeze is part of human wiring. It is not something to train out. It is something to understand. When you expect it, you can see it for what it is and help a new diver move through it safely.
The next time a diver hesitates or stares for a few seconds before reacting, remember that their brain is just catching up. The mind always lags behind reality for a moment. That is why calm partners matter, and why empathy underwater is more than kindness. It is part of good judgment.
Every diver has their first real moment. What defines them is not the pause. It is what comes after.
