The Card I Am Willing to Sign: A Love Letter to Dive Training

Benjamin Hadfield   Jul 01, 2026

The Card I Am Willing to Sign: A Love Letter to Dive Training

Some moments in diving should make all of us stop talking for a minute. Not because we do not have opinions. Divers always have opinions. Ask five divers about fins, computers, tank pressures, agencies, or whether someone is overweight, and somehow you will end up with twelve opinions and one guy yelling from behind the fill station. But some moments are bigger than opinions. Some moments are not about being right. They are about being human.

The recent tragedy in Texas involving 12-year-old Dylan Harrison is one of those moments. Public reporting says Dylan died on August 16, 2025, while participating in a scuba certification course at The Scuba Ranch in Terrell, Texas. She was there to learn to dive. She was someone’s child. Someone’s future. Someone’s whole world. Her family has since filed a wrongful-death lawsuit, and there are investigations, allegations, and legal proceedings still attached to that loss. I am going to be very careful here, because this is not the place for internet court, blame, agency fighting, or easy answers from people who were not there.

But I will say this: a child went to scuba class and did not come home. That should break every instructor’s heart. It breaks mine.

And then there is Linnea Mills in Montana. Linnea was almost 19 when she died on November 1, 2020, during a scuba class in Glacier National Park. Her father’s page through the University of Montana says it plainly and painfully: his daughter was killed during a SCUBA class, and her loss continues to ripple outward in ways meant to make training safer. Her story is now told in the documentary How to Kill a Mermaid: The Linnea Mills Story, a film about her death during a cold-water dive in Montana’s Glacier National Park, using footage and investigation materials to examine what happened while also showing the life that was lost.

I watched How to Kill a Mermaid, and I am not ashamed to say it literally made me weep.

Not “that was sad” weep. Not polite movie-theater sniffle weep. I mean the kind of crying that comes from somewhere deeper, because you are not just watching a diving accident. You are watching a young woman with a life, a family, a future, a laugh, a story, and dreams. You are watching parents carry a loss that should not belong to any parent. You are watching the kind of thing that makes every instructor, every shop owner, every divemaster, and every agency professional sit with one terrible truth: when people trust us, they are not handing us a transaction. They are handing us someone they love.

That is what hit me so hard: Dylan. Linnea. Their families. Their futures. Their names. These are not “incidents” to me. They are not case studies to win arguments with. They are not ammunition for agency politics. They are human beings. They are daughters. They are loved children. They are the reason we have to be willing to grow.

And I do mean grow.

Not perform grief online. Not point fingers from a safe distance. Not say, “Well, that would never happen here,” because that kind of arrogance is dangerous all by itself. I mean real growth. Quiet growth. Painful growth. The kind where you look at your own program, your own habits, your own instructor development, your own ratios, your own culture, your own willingness to say “not yet,” and you ask, “Are we doing enough for the next student who walks through our door?”

Not for me. Not for my ego. Not so Stuart Scuba can look good on Facebook.

For the next student. For the next nervous parent. For the next young diver with a mask fogging up because they are excited and scared at the same time. For the next loved child who comes through our program. For the next husband, wife, grandkid, best friend, or least experienced buddy who may one day be underwater with someone we certified.

That is where this article comes from.

I am not writing this to judge an instructor, a shop, an agency, the RSTC, ISO, or anyone else. There are many great instructors in this industry. There are amazing dive shops. There are professionals who care deeply, who cancel dives when their gut says no, who add extra pool time, who slow classes down, who carry the weight of their signature with humility, and who lose sleep because they know this work matters.

This is not a call-out.

It is a call-in.

It is a plea, from one instructor and shop owner who loves this industry, to remember that the card is not the goal. The diver is the goal. The family waiting on shore is the goal. The buddy who may one day need help is the goal. The child in the water is the goal.

And if these tragedies do not make us softer, sharper, more humble, more protective, and more committed to doing the hard right thing, then we have missed the lesson.

What does my signature actually mean?

Not what can I justify? Not what is technically allowed. Not what will keep the class on schedule. Not what avoids an uncomfortable conversation. Not what makes the customer happy in the moment. What does my signature mean?

For me, and for Stuart Scuba, that question has become one of the most important questions we ask.

The new SDI Open Water standards and safety updates have brought attention to ratios, junior divers, environmental conditions, and instructor judgment. SDI’s published safety update states that Open Water training ratios are being reduced to a maximum of six divers per instructor, and that when any student is under 15, the maximum becomes four divers per instructor, with no more than two divers under 15. It also makes clear that the instructor must reduce ratios when conditions require it, including reduced visibility, current, surge, difficult entries or exits, boat diving, long surface swims, temperature extremes, large groups nearby, or students who need more attention.

To me, that is not just a standards update. That is a reminder that professional judgment is not optional. The water gets a vote. The student gets a vote. Stress gets a vote. Visibility gets a vote. Current gets a vote. A tired instructor gets a vote, whether we want to admit that or not. A child’s emotional readiness gets a vote. The boat, the quarry, the spring, the lake, the weather, and the group dynamic all get a vote.

The standards can give us the framework, but they cannot see the student’s eyes underwater. They cannot hear the student’s breathing through the regulator. They cannot notice the tiny hesitation before a mask clear, the way a student drifts away from the team, or the moment a diver stops thinking and starts surviving. That is the instructor’s job. That is the professional’s job. That is where the real work lives.

Standards matter. I believe that. I am not anti-standard. I like standards. I like checklists. I like procedures. I like clear expectations. I like knowing where the guardrails are, mostly because I have met enough divers to know we need guardrails, traffic cones, flashing lights, and sometimes a grown adult standing there saying, “No, buddy, not like that.”

But standards are the floor!

They are not the ceiling. They are not the goal. They are the lowest acceptable line. And a long time ago, before this tragedy, before the industry conversations, before the latest standards updates, I made a commitment that I would not build my teaching at the lowest acceptable line. Not because I think I am better than other instructors. I do not. There are incredible instructors and amazing dive shops all over this industry. I know many of them. I respect many of them. Some of them have forgotten more about diving than most people will ever learn.

I made that commitment because the responsibility scares me in the right way.

Not fear like panic. Not fear, like we should quit teaching and go hide behind the mask wall. I mean the kind of healthy fear that says, “This person’s life matters. Their family matters. Their future matters. The person who will buddy with them later matters. My name on this paperwork matters.”

The standard language around certification is that a diver should be able to dive with an equally or more qualified buddy, within the limits of their training, experience, and conditions. (From the SSI Standard). That is a good standard. It is a necessary standard. It gives us something clear to work from. But at Stuart Scuba, I had to take that language and put a much finer point on it.

I had to make it personal.

The question became, “Would I let this student dive with someone I love?” (From the SDI standard).

Then the question became sharper.

Would I let this student dive with my least qualified loved one? Would I let this student dive with my most precious loved one? Would I let this diver be Nikki’s buddy? Would I let this diver be Owen’s buddy? Would I let this diver be the buddy of the 11-year-old I love, at the appropriate age, depth, qualification, and conditions?

That changes everything.

Because now I am not just asking if the student performed the required skills. I am not just asking if they cleared a mask one time while kneeling on the bottom like a scuba garden gnome. I am not just asking if they recovered a regulator, hovered for a moment, or made it through the dives without anything dramatic happening.

I am asking if they can think underwater.

I am asking if they can breathe through a problem.

I am asking if they can stay with a buddy when their brain starts getting loud.

I am asking if they can donate gas without turning it into an underwater wrestling match.

I am asking if they can receive gas without bolting for the surface.

I am asking if they can notice when something is wrong, communicate clearly, and be part of a team.

I am asking if they can help themselves and, when appropriate, help someone else.

I am asking if I would trust them with someone I love.

That is the card I am willing to sign.

And this is where I think we need to talk honestly about the instructor, too.

When a person becomes a brand-new Open Water Instructor, they have earned something real. I do not want to take that away from anyone. Becoming an instructor takes work. It takes training. It takes evaluation. It takes courage to stand in front of students and accept responsibility for them. But becoming an instructor is not the finish line. It is the beginning of learning what teaching really means.

A new instructor knows the standards. They know the required skills. They know the course structure. They know what they were evaluated on. But the real education starts when they begin working with real people, in real water, with real fear, real confusion, real personalities, real family dynamics, real equipment issues, real weather, and real students who do not behave like the demonstration students from an instructor course.

That is when an instructor starts learning the difference between “I can teach the skill” and “I can teach the student.”

Those are not the same thing.

Teaching a mask clear is easy compared to teaching confidence. Teaching regulator recovery is easy compared to teaching someone not to panic. Teaching buoyancy is easy compared to teaching patience. Teaching navigation is easy compared to teaching awareness. Teaching a student to pass a class is easy compared to teaching a student to be a diver.

As instructors grow, they should become more careful, not less. They should become more humble, not more casual. They should start seeing more variables, not fewer. They should begin to understand that the race to the certification card is the least important part of the job. The card should be the result of the path, not the purpose of the path.

The purpose is the skills. The purpose is the knowledge. The purpose is judgment. The purpose is comfort. The purpose is to create a diver who can be trusted when the instructor is no longer there.

That takes time.

One of the things I would say to every new Open Water Instructor is this: please do not be in a hurry to rush into your first Open Water class just because the ink is dry on your instructor card. You may be qualified, but you are still growing. That is not an insult. That is wisdom. I do not care if you passed your instructor evaluation with flying colors and looked great doing it. Good. I am proud of you. Now slow down and learn the craft.

Cut your teeth on simpler classes. Teach Peak Performance Buoyancy. Teach Navigation. Assist in Open Water classes before you own them. Teach refresher sessions. Work with certified divers who need polish. Spend time in the pool watching how different students learn. Learn how to explain the same skill five different ways because, I promise, the first way will not work for everyone. Learn how to read body language underwater. Learn when a joke helps and when silence is better. Learn when to push and when to pause. Learn when a student needs encouragement and when they need a firm line.

A brand-new instructor should not feel ashamed to say, “I need more time before I lead this alone.” That should be respected. Honestly, that should be celebrated. Because the instructor who knows they are still learning is usually the instructor I trust more than the one who thinks they have it all figured out after two weekends and a shiny new polo shirt.

At Stuart Scuba, this is something we are trying to build into our culture. We do not want instructors to feel like they have to prove themselves by taking the hardest class as fast as possible. We want them to grow. We want them to assist. We want them to be mentored. We want them to teach the smaller building-block courses where they can develop their voice and their judgment. We want them to learn how students actually learn, not just how standards are written.

That is one of the things I believe sets us apart. We are not perfect. I am certainly not perfect. Just ask Nikki. She has a whole file. Possibly a binder. But we are trying very hard to build a shop where “not yet” is an acceptable answer, not only for students but for instructors, too.

If an instructor is not ready to teach a class alone, we support that. If an instructor wants a more experienced instructor in the water with them, we support that. If an instructor gets out of the water and says, “I do not feel good about signing this student off today,” we support that completely.

Not halfway. Not with a sigh. Not with a manager standing there calculating the schedule and making a face. Completely.

Because that instructor was in the water. That instructor saw the student’s breathing, eyes, buoyancy, awareness, stress response, and decision-making. That instructor felt the class dynamic. That instructor knows whether the student was truly present or just surviving the moment. If they say a student needs more time, then the student gets more time.

We can fix a schedule. We can add a session. We can explain things to a parent, spouse, friend, or student. We can absorb an awkward conversation. We can take the financial hit if that is what doing the right thing requires.

What we cannot do is sign a card we do not believe in.

At Stuart Scuba, we do not guarantee certification. We guarantee training. We guarantee effort. We guarantee care. We guarantee that students will learn more than when they started. We guarantee that we will teach, coach, correct, encourage, repeat, slow down, explain, demonstrate, and help them grow.

But we do not sell certification cards.

If a student rises to the level of the agency standards, completes the required work safely and competently, and we can honestly apply our duty-of-care test, then we submit that certification to our agency. The agency issues the card. That difference matters. The card is not something we hand out because someone paid, because someone is leaving town, because the class was supposed to end on Sunday, or because the conversation would be uncomfortable.

Sometimes the most loving words in diving are, “Not yet.”

Not “no.” Not “you failed.” Not “you do not belong here.” Just “not yet.”

“Not yet” means I see you. It means I care about you. It means I am not going to lie to you just to make today easier. It means I am not going to put a card in your hand and send you into the ocean with confidence you have not earned yet. It means I believe you can get there, but I am not going to pretend you are there before you are.

There is nothing kind about rushing someone through before they are ready. That is not customer service. That is not compassion. That is just moving risk from the class into the ocean and hoping the ocean behaves.

And the ocean has never once behaved because Benjamin had a schedule.

This applies to every student. It does not matter if you are 10, 15, 40, 70, nervous, athletic, confident, quiet, a veteran, a doctor, a boat captain, or someone who has watched 400 scuba videos online and now owns more gear than sense. The question is still the same. Would I trust you with someone I love AND cherish?

With kids, that lens gets even sharper. I love teaching kids. They are funny, curious, honest, and sometimes better listeners than adults who snorkeled once in Cancun and now believe they are basically Jacques Cousteau with a GoPro. But kids are still kids. They are still developing physically, emotionally, and mentally. Some young divers are incredibly capable. Some are not ready yet. Both things can be true.

That is why our shop policy is more conservative with younger students. If we have any child under 15 in an Open Water class, they cannot be in a class with more than three other students. Many times, we add a divemaster or another professional just for extra eyes. Not because we are trying to be dramatic. Because attention matters. Because children deserve more than minimum. Because when a parent hands us their child, they are handing us their whole world in a mask and fins. I am going to treat that child like someone’s whole world.

There is another part of this conversation that matters deeply to me, especially as an adaptive instructor and instructor trainer. A student can sometimes perform the physical skills and still not be ready to be certified as an independent buddy. That is hard for people to understand. They may clear the mask. They may recover the regulator. They may hover. They may complete the required dives. On paper, it can look close.

But certification is not just a collection of underwater party tricks.

The real question is whether they can use those skills when they are uncomfortable, task-loaded, cold, tired, distracted, over-weighted, under-weighted, stressed, or suddenly dealing with a buddy who needs them. I am not just looking for mask clearing. I am looking for presence. I am looking for awareness. I am looking for judgment. I am looking for the ability to be a buddy.

If we cannot honestly say yes to that yet, then we take another path. Maybe that path is more pool time. Maybe it is private instruction. Maybe it is a smaller class. Maybe it is a required dive buddy or adaptive pathway for a season. That is not punishment. That is not a label. That is not forever. That is care.

One of the things adaptive diving has taught me is that we do not have to trap people in one category forever. We meet people where they are, build from there, and keep the door open for growth. Some divers need support today and may not need the same support later. Some divers need a trusted buddy structure until they develop the judgment, awareness, or ability to manage more on their own. That is not failure. That is honest training.

The goal is not to keep people out of diving. The goal is to bring people into diving the right way.

If we want to grow as an industry, I think we have to fall back in love with development, not just certification. We have to develop divers before we certify them. We have to develop instructors before we throw them into the deep end of teaching. We have to develop divemasters who understand that their job is not just carrying tanks and looking cool on the boat, although the tank-carrying part is still appreciated. We have to develop shop cultures where an instructor can say, “I need help,” or “This student needs more time,” without feeling like they are costing the shop money or disappointing everyone.

We also need to make mentorship normal again. New instructors should have someone to call. They should have someone to debrief with after class. They should assist experienced instructors and then talk honestly about what happened. Why did that student struggle? Why did that explanation work? Why did the group get away from us? Why did that child need more attention? Why did that adult look fine on the surface and then fall apart at 15 feet? These are the questions that turn someone from a person who can teach skills into a real instructor.

We need to stop acting like every delayed certification is a failure. Sometimes it is the best proof that the system worked. Sometimes the instructor saw something that mattered. Sometimes the student needed one more day. Sometimes the safest and most professional decision is also the least convenient one.

We need to talk more about judgment. We need to talk more about emotional readiness. We need to talk more about what it means to be a buddy. We need to stop pretending that completing a skill once in controlled conditions always equals readiness. We need to remember that divers are people, not checkboxes.

At Stuart Scuba, we are trying to do that in real ways. We keep younger-student classes tighter. We add extra eyes when needed. We back our instructors when they hold a student back. We refuse to guarantee certification. We use adaptive pathways when that is the right and loving route. We encourage instructors to grow into teaching rather than race into the hardest classes immediately. We value mentorship. We talk about judgment. We talk about the duty of care. We talk about the loved-one test.

And for me personally, as Benjamin, this is not just business. This is not just a shop policy. This is my name. This is Nikki’s name. This is our family. This is our community. This is the kind of dive shop I want to own, the kind of instructor trainer I want to be, and the kind of industry I want my grandkid to inherit if he ever decides to put on fins and make me cry into my mask.

I love this sport too much to cheapen it. I love teaching too much to rush it. I love my students too much to pretend. And I love Nikki, Owen, and the people closest to me too much to sign a card I would not trust with them.

To the instructors and shops already living this way, thank you. I know there are many of you. I know there are instructors who carry this responsibility with love every single day. I know there are shop owners who take the financial hit, protect their staff, slow down training, and choose the harder right over the easier sale. I know there are divemasters who make classes safer simply by paying attention and caring. This industry has a lot of good people in it.

This is not about shame. It is about love. It is about remembering that the card is not the goal. The diver is the goal. The family waiting on shore is the goal. The buddy who may one day need help is the goal. The instructor who is still learning is worth developing. The student who needs more time is worth investing in. The child in the water is someone’s whole world.

At the end of the day, I do not want Stuart Scuba to be known as the shop that certified the most divers. I want us to be known as the shop that certified divers we believed in. Divers we would dive with. Divers we would trust with our families. Divers whose cards mean something.

That is our duty of care.

That is our promise.

That is the card I am willing to sign.