Underwater Adventures in Paradise

You can see them most Saturday mornings at Divers Cove in Laguna Beach.

Spread out in long scraggly lines, they shuffle awkwardly backward into the ocean, holding hands for safety while watching over their shoulders for oncoming waves.

They are beginning divers out for their “checkout” dives, the test of nerve and skill that most scuba training agencies require for certification. They are diving here because it is one of the most easily accessible, beautiful and popular beach diving spots in Southern California.

“This is as good as it gets on the mainland,” said one recent visitor from Palm Springs. “It certainly beats diving in golf-course lakes.”

Indeed, on an average weekend when the weather is good, several hundred divers come to the cove (on Cliff Drive near Beverly Street), which has a short stretch of sand protected by rock formations on both sides. The water is generally calm, with both rocky and sandy bottoms and large kelp beds frequently floating offshore. The result: a lush underwater forest populated by eel, lobster, abalone, garibaldi and dozens of other creatures that began attracting divers as early as the 1940s.

“A kelp forest is like (swimming through) the redwoods,” diving instructor Sally Santmyer enthused last summer at the height of the diving season.

That’s why it’s part of an ecological reserve from which nothing--not a shell, rock, plant or marine life of any kind--may be taken. Yet the divers come in droves, battling through the surf just to feast their eyes on what many consider one of nature’s grandest wonders.

But even in this visual paradise there are the same dangers as in other diving spots. Accidents can result from lack of planning, inexperience or poor physical conditioning, say city lifeguards. Generally, they say, divers get into trouble while entering or exiting the water through the surf: Hit by a wave, they lose their balance, become disoriented, lose important pieces of gear and sometimes panic. Hence the practice of entering the water in pairs, holding hands and glancing over shoulders for oncoming waves.

The city itself has taken steps to increase diver safety. All its lifeguards are certified divers and trained in diver rescue. The municipal code requires divers to have buddies and be properly equipped. And Divers Cove is routinely shut down when conditions become especially hazardous, such as if the surf is too high or the undercurrent too strong.

The closures don’t bother nearby residents, who for years have been complaining to city officials about the noise that they say wakens them early on weekend mornings and about the thoughtless divers whose cars and gear regularly block their driveways.

The city has responded by posting “diver etiquette” signs urging divers who use the beach to refrain from making too much noise, stay off private property and generally respect the rights of others. And leaders in the diving community have tried to help by spreading the same advice among those most likely to offend.

But the divers continue to come. Lately the cold and stormy weather have thinned out the Divers Cove crowds. However, as temperatures begin rising, so do the numbers of divers.

There’s a simple reason they return to Divers Cove: As Santmyer says, “It’s awesome.”