The Blue Poison: Getting Narced and Why It’s Not a Party Trick

We are at forty-two meters. The water is a dark, crushing blue that looks like ink. I am staring at a massive grouper. This fish is ugly. I mean, proper ugly. But for some reason, I think he’s the funniest bloke I’ve ever met. I’m actually laughing into my regulator. The bubbles are tickling my cheeks and I feel incredible. Like I just won the lotto and chugged a double espresso at the same time.

Then I look at my pressure gauge.

The needle is in the red. But the numbers don’t make sense. They look like hieroglyphics. I know I should care. I know red means danger. But right now? I just want to pet the grouper.

That, my legends, is Nitrogen Narcosis. The Narks. The Rapture of the Deep. The Blue Poison.

It sounds poetic, right? It’s not. It is a straight-up assassin that waits for you past the 30-meter mark. It tricks your brain into thinking you are invincible right before it tries to kill you.

What the Hell is Happening?

Let’s get the boring science bit out of the way so we can talk about the crazy stuff.

When you dive, you breathe compressed air. Air is mostly nitrogen (about 79%). On the surface, nitrogen is chill. It does nothing. But when you go deep, the pressure increases. Dalton’s Law kicks in. The partial pressure of nitrogen goes through the roof.

Basically, you are cramming way more gas molecules into your bloodstream and tissues than nature intended. This dissolves into the lipid (fatty) coating of your nerve cells and interferes with the transmission of signals between them. It effectively slows down the communication lines in your brain, similar to anesthesia.

The old school divers call it the "Martini Law." The classic rule of thumb is that for every 10 meters (33 feet) of depth, it has the effect of drinking one dry martini on an empty stomach.

So at 20 meters? Two drinks. You're feeling loose. At 30 meters? Three drinks. You are officially buzzed. At 40 meters? Four drinks. You’re properly hammered. You might start texting your ex. Or in diving terms, you might forget to check your air.

The Symptoms: Not Just a Good Time

Here is the thing. Everyone thinks getting narced is just feeling happy. A massive euphoria. And yeah, heaps of the time, it is. You feel like a rockstar. But that is the trap.

1. The Euphoria (The Happy Drunk)

This is the most common one I see. You hit 30-35 meters and suddenly everything is beautiful. The coral looks brighter. The fish are your friends. You feel warm, even if the water is freezing.

I had a buddy once, big tough guy, who got narced at 38 meters on a wreck in Chuuk Lagoon. He started trying to hug a rusty mast covered in hydroids. He was convinced it was soft velvet. It wasn't. He shredded his wetsuit. He was lucky he didn't shred his arm.

2. The Slow Down (The Stupid Drunk)

This is where it gets dodgy. Your reaction time drops off a cliff. Simple tasks become quantum physics.

I’m talking about stuff like reading your computer. You look at the screen. You see the number "15". You know it’s a number. But your brain can't process what it means. Is it depth? Time? Deco stop? Who knows? Who cares?

You get tunnel vision (perceptual narrowing). You stop checking your buddy. You fixate on weird stuff. I’ve seen divers stare at a piece of dead coral for ten minutes, just mesmerized, while their no-decompression limit ticked down to zero.

3. The Dark Narcs (The Bad Trip)

This is the one nobody talks about enough. Sometimes, the narc isn't happy. Sometimes, it’s pure, primal fear.

We call it the "Dark Narcs."

You get down deep and suddenly you feel like something is behind you. You feel trapped. The water feels heavy, like it’s crushing your chest. Paranoia sets in. You look at your regulator and think "this thing is trying to choke me."

If you panic at 40 meters because of a nitrogen-induced hallucination, you are in a world of trouble. You might bolt for the surface. And if you rocket up from that depth without exhaling? Lung over-expansion injury. Game over.

The Big Myth: "I Can Hold My Liquor"

Listen to me very carefully.

Your ability to drink fifteen schooners of VB at the pub on a Friday night has ZERO to do with your nitrogen tolerance.

I hear this rubbish all the time. "Oh, Rocket, I’m an Aussie, I can drink a horse under the table, I won’t get narced."

Rubbish.

Alcohol tolerance is about your liver enzymes and your metabolism. Nitrogen narcosis is about gas solubility in your lipid membranes. They are totally different physiological processes.

In fact, I’ve seen the biggest party animals get absolutely smashed by the narc at 30 meters, while the skinny librarian who doesn't drink alcohol is totally fine.

Also, it changes day to day.

• Did you sleep bad? You’ll get narced easier.
• Dehydrated? Narced.
• Cold water? Massive narc factor.
• Hard work or strong current? The CO2 buildup will amplify the narc like crazy.

Don't be a hero. Don't think your iron liver will save you from physics.

My GNARLIEST Narc Experience

Let me tell you about a dive I did in the Philippines a few years back at Monad Shoal. We were chasing thresher sharks. Deep drop off.

We planned to hit 40 meters briefly to see if the sharks were cleaning deep. Note: This is right at the edge of recreational limits, so don't try this unless you're trained for it.

I dropped down. The water was crystal clear. Visibility was insane, which is dangerous because you lose depth perception ("blue water effect"). You don't realize how deep you are falling.

At 43 meters (yeah, I slipped a bit deep, bad form, Rocket), I felt the buzz. Usually, I can manage it. I recognize the tingling in my lips and the slight delay in my thinking. I tell myself "Okay Liam, you're narced, focus."

But this time, I had a camera.

I saw a nudibranch. A tiny, colorful sea slug. At 44 meters.

Now, any sane diver knows you don't waste bottom time at 44 meters looking for a slug. You look for the sharks.

But in my narced brain, this nudibranch was the most important discovery in human history. I decided I needed a macro shot.

I lay down in the sand. I spent five minutes trying to adjust my strobes. My fingers felt like sausages. I couldn't turn the knobs. I started getting frustrated. Angry. I wanted to smash the camera.

Then, I looked at my dive computer.

DECO 9 MIN.

I had blown past my no-decompression limit (NDL). I had racked up 9 minutes of mandatory decompression stops. And I only had 70 bar of air left. That is barely enough gas to get to the surface safely, let alone handle an emergency deco stop.

The realization hit me like a slap in the face. The fear cut through the euphoria.

I grabbed my buddy (who was fortunately hovering above me, wondering what the hell I was doing) and signaled "UP." We managed the ascent and the stops, but I surfaced with my tank dry. It was stupid and I was lucky.

The Only Cure: GO UP

There is no pill. There is no trick. You can't "breathe through it."

If you feel the symptoms, the laughter, the fear, the clumsiness, there is only one fix allowed by PADI, SSI, and common sense.

Ascend to a shallower depth.

It is like magic. Truly. You swim up just a few meters. Maybe from 40m up to 30m.

The fog lifts instantly. The numbers on your computer make sense again. The paranoia vanishes. You realize that hugging a moray eel was a terrible idea.

It happens that fast. The partial pressure of nitrogen drops, and your brain starts firing correctly again.

How to Manage the Beast

Since we are all adrenaline junkies here, we aren't going to stop deep diving. Deep wrecks are where the best stuff is. So how do we handle the Blue Poison?

The Rocket's Final Word

The ocean doesn't care how tough you are. At 40 meters, we are all just guests in a hostile environment.

Nitrogen narcosis is part of the game. It can be fun, yeah. I won't lie, that little buzz is part of why we love the deep blue. But you have to respect it.

If you start feeling too good, or too scared, or just a bit weird, thumb the dive. Go up a bit. Clear your head.

The wreck will still be there tomorrow. You want to make sure you are too.

Stay safe, dive deep, and save the beers for the surface interval!

Cheers, Rocket