Depth & Current

Marietta 950 Cobb Pkwy One of the strangest scuba courses we ever attended started at Divers Supply Marietta — that unassuming shop off Cobb Parkway. The pool sessions were standard: gear familiarization, the mental game of breathing underwater, buoyancy. But it was the open water certification at Lake Keowee, South Carolina that turned surreal. We went during the colder months, and the water was oddly warm — because the Oconee nuclear station dumps its cooling water straight into the lake. That warmth would become a character in this story.

At the time, my ex and I were courting — a year of conversations where I shared my plans and she nodded along. Hidden agendas, I’d later realize. During the Marietta pool training, we learned to balance, to trust the regulator, to clear a mask. Simple steps on the path to open water. But the drive from Blairsville or Kennesaw to Marietta was always a bit much. Still, we pushed through, and soon we were standing on the dock at Lake Keowee. That’s where I would propose — at the end of our certification course. We’d be engaged for six months, married for four, before I filed for divorce. But that’s another story — the one that set off a chain of exposures, harassments, and community fallout that still echoes.

The certification dives were bizarre from the start. Cold before getting in, near freezing on the boat ride back in wet suits. Our last dive, the instructor placed us directly in front of the power plant discharge—a clearly marked concrete structure, impossible to mistake. There were about eight of us. We descended to the bottom, latched onto rocks as best we could, and the instructor went diver to diver, giving hand signals to break the goggle seal, recover, and clear. Then we had to remove our breathing apparatus, toss it behind our back, and recover it—simulating a kick that destroys your mask and knocks out your regulator. I watched each diver take their turn under the instructor's high-beam light, a silent circle of us on the lakebed, the concrete discharge looming somewhere in the dark beyond the beam.

When my turn came, I removed my goggles, tossed the regulator behind me, and began the recovery. I reached back, grabbed the Regulator tube, cleared it, and began breathing. goggles on, seal made, water cleared—and I noticed most of the other divers were gone. The instructor was nearby, looking around. A flush of warm water covered me—a current, pushing against my face, warming my wet suit during this process but I was focused on the important things like the regulator. I was still latched between rocks. In the span of about twenty seconds or less, everyone had vanished. Confused at this point because even the instructor was gone, I released myself and was immediately shoved out into the lake in a current. I surfaced almost instantly—other divers were breaking the surface hundreds of yards away all of which were tossed from our circle around the time I had my goggles back on and clearing out the water as I recall them not infront of me.

We later learned the nuclear plant had done a scheduled cooling water release right as we were anchored there. He had anchored us at a clearly marked discharge structure—either an oversight that nearly killed someone, or something far colder. I could have drowned. The timing was suspicious: I was the diver instructed to remove mask and regulator exactly when the release hit. No audible alarm underwater. No warning. Just warm water, a current, and empty lakebed where my classmates had been. Dangerous as can be. Now that I am suspicious and well aware of some type of life insurance policy fraud targetting my social security number, I ponder.

On the boat, our instructor seemed alarmed as we picked up divers who had been pushed half a mile or more by the current. On the cold ride back to the dock, it all dawned on us—what had happened, and what it meant. That's where I proposed to my ex, on the dock after that dive. The one who might be a serial murderer. Divorce came less than a year later.

We took our honeymoon to Key West, Florida. Truthfully, I had an amazing time mingling with locals and post-marriage activities. We tried different restaurants, explored the keys, hit the museums that were open, and did our first and only dive as a married couple. I remember throwing up because the seas were 5–20 feet — like a washing machine — but fine once you got under. I’ve always had sea sickness that eventually gives way to sea legs. We saw a shark hiding under rocks, lion fish, schools of fish. And if you’d believe it, the Coolpix camera died as we were returning to the ladder — right where a massive sea turtle was just chilling, watching us.