Learning to Dive - Part 1: Why?

Before we dive in (buckle in… this won’t be the last time we do that), I wanted to give a quick overview of this mini-series — why we’re writing it, what this blog is, what it isn’t, what we hope you take away from it… and what we hope you don’t hold against us.

Though it’s hard to pinpoint the exact number of scuba divers worldwide, estimates range from 6 to 9 million active divers — 2.6 million of whom are here in the United States. That puts active scuba divers at just under 1% of the U.S. population. Of that 1%, most hold their Open Water certification — the initial level that grants access to recreational diving. A smaller percentage go on to earn their Advanced certification, and fewer still pursue training as Rescue Divers. The rarest recreational designation is that of Master Scuba Diver — achieved by fewer than 2% of all certified divers.

We’re certified as Open Water Divers — and with just six logged dives, we’re clearly not the world’s foremost authority on the subject. This mini-series was penned to tell a fun story of the great migration from desk diver to scuba diver… from the guy that fears falling in the water with his crown unscrewed, to the guy setting his bezel to time a dive… from Dramamine and anti-nausea patches to embracing the salty brine on a deep wreck-bound Zodiac. Alright, the last bit is an exaggeration — we don’t want to bury the lede — but the one thing that did not resolve through this life-changing experience was the seasickness that kept me from ever starting it in the first place. But as the great F. Scott Fitzgerald once penned, “we beat on.”

So for the diver that writes in to clarify that 1 ATM is actually 14.6959 PSI, not the rounded 15 PSI I referenced… or to tell us about the wrecks and reefs you’ve explored yourself — we welcome it. We tend to be a bit obsessive, and with scuba diving cemented as our latest passion, we don’t want to stop talking about it. So send us your thoughts, comment on social, email us — anything! Let’s talk diving.

But for the desk diver who doesn’t want to get their watch wet, who knows for certain a dive watch has no place in a modern diver’s arsenal, and who has every excuse to avoid the sport of scuba — come along for the ride anyway. You might just see it differently by the end of this series.

As loyal Fred Heads, you likely know the Binnacle Diver — and hopefully you’re excited about the latest rendition, due to begin delivery just a few weeks after the publication of this blog. The Diver was a huge project for Jamie and me. We consolidated nearly two decades of feedback from emails, forums, social media posts, and in-person chats into a focused list of customer requests, coupled with our own thoughts of how we wanted to take the model forward. We worked on the case design and engineering for a year to increase the water resistance to 300M while reducing case thickness. The design of the dial, the angles of the raised index borders, the sunken sandwich lume, the correct taper and fit of the bracelet and clasp — all of it took just as long. For nearly all of 2024 and into 2025, the Diver was our life.

And when you spend that much time on something, you want to share it with eager ears. If you’ve met us at a show — Charlotte, Chicago, D.C., Austin — you know we’re not short on words when it comes to our timepieces. This past spring in Chicago was no different. A customer stopped by and began examining the oversized 3-D reproduction of the new Diver. I walked him through every detail, highlighting every new feature and change from the prior generation. Then came the question: “I get it, but this doesn’t replace a single function on my dive computer. So why are folks still making dive watches?”

We spoke about the history of dive watches, the “backup” role they often serve today, and the nod they give to their original utility. We parted on good terms.

A few interactions later, someone else asked about the internal bezel on our Binnacle Timer: “…but this doesn’t help calculate my decompression time, because I can’t set the internal bezel underwater.”

I pushed back, explaining the bezel was meant to be set before you entered the water to track elapsed time — not changed during the dive. He shook his head, disappointed.

“I’m a diver.”

That one stung a bit. He wasn’t trying to be rude — just making a point: real-world experience matters. It was textbook knowledge vs. street smarts. Or, in this case… ocean smarts. And I saw the gap. It wasn’t a knock on our watches at all — it was a challenge to understand the category more intimately.

That night back at the hotel, I spent hours online trying to defend my point. But the more I read, the more I realized how much I didn’t know. My perspective didn’t shift so much as it expanded. At 2AM, I found myself reading about the Andrea Doria wreck and the perils of deep wreck diving. I was hooked.

The next morning, I called Jamie from the hotel. “Hey. I have a crazy idea. I’m gonna get scuba certified.” She was used to these sorts of crazy, random ideas, and laughed and said, “Okay!”

We were setting up for Day 2 in Chicago, and I couldn’t stop grinning.

Then… it hit me.

How was I going to become a scuba diver if I get seasick just looking at a boat?

Growing up in Fort Lauderdale, everyone was always on the water — airboats in the Everglades, wakeboarding in the Intracoastal, braving the jetties to reach the open Atlantic. Life in South Florida was a dream… for people who could stomach the sea. I wasn’t one of them. For as long as I can remember, motion sickness has been a close companion. One of my earliest memories is hurling over the side of a glass-bottom boat in Islamorada as the rest of the tour eagerly huddled around the center to get the best view of the sea life below.

But I adapted — the ocean was gorgeous, and I wanted to experience it.

I discovered snorkeling during my 11th birthday on a trip to John Pennekamp State Park with my aunt. Even now, decades later, it’s one of my fondest memories: floating just above an old shipwreck, watching rainbow fish flit through coral, coming face to face with a barracuda — all while holding down my lunch. Shore snorkeling became my window to the sea.

High school was a bit weird. Friends would invite me to the beach for the afternoon, and I’d arrive with my goggles & fins, only to learn that the intention was merely to sit on a towel in the hot sand and… just sit there.

Then there was my honeymoon. A picture-perfect Caribbean beach, gentle breeze, turquoise water — and me, beelining for the reef after spotting a “2 for 1” rental deal on snorkel gear. My wife’s enthusiasm didn’t quite match mine, and that second set was never used. We still laugh about that today.

After moving inland to Charlotte, that hobby faded into the background. But when the idea of scuba resurfaced — and stuck — I knew I couldn’t let motion sickness be the thing that held me back.

I bought every anti-nausea remedy under the sun: ginger chews, patches, bands, Dramamine by the pound. I figured if I could make it through the first few minutes of any trip, the rest would be worth it. I was ready to stop making excuses and finally go deeper.

Up next: the gear, the pool, and open water dives. And yes — more watch talk. See you next week for Part 2!