Learning to Scuba Dive as a Watch Collector

I’ve spent years writing about dive watches—their history, their design details, the way they evolved alongside the rise of recreational diving. We all know the talking points: clear legibility, luminescent hands and hour markers, bezel knurling, water resistance. I’ve described how these watches were once safety equipment before becoming everyday accessories. But until recently, I had never been diving myself.

That gap kept nagging at me. I wanted to feel what it was like to wear one of these watches in the setting it was actually designed for. So this summer, I signed up for a PADI Open Water course. A couple of months of weekly classes led up to a certification weekend at Haigh Quarry in Kankakee, Illinois—a converted limestone quarry with murky water and endless friendly freshwater sunfish.

The Watch That Came With Me

For my four certification dives, I wore my Seiko SKX013 on an Everest Universal rubber strap. The SKX013 has been my reliable “beater” for years. It’s small, rugged, and I swim with it often (I know its gaskets are sound). The Everest Universal I wore is probably my most-worn strap of the three years I’ve owned it. In that time, it hasn’t torn, faded, or stretched—thanks to its FKM vulcanized rubber build—and it cleans up easily after a dip in a silty quarry. It felt like the obvious choice.

I would’ve worn my DOXA SUB 200T “Divingstar” if it weren’t still being serviced for a manufacturing defect. After a brief swim in Lake Michigan, the crystal fogged up on me. A few days and a failed pressure test later, the watch went back under warranty, but the experience left me cautious. I wasn’t about to strap on something fragile or expensive for my first “real” dives.

Setting the Bezel

Image Source: Analog:Shift

On the surface before each dive, I lined up the bezel’s zero marker with the minute hand. Throughout the dive, you can reference elapsed time to get an idea of your remaining air supply. Of course, I wasn’t relying on this watch in any real way—my dive computer handled depth and time—but I still wanted to feel how the watch functioned in practice.

Like many dive watches, the SKX’s bezel is unidirectional, a design feature that dates back to the 1960s. If the bezel is bumped, it can only rotate counterclockwise, which shortens the indicated dive time rather than extending it. That means an error will always err on the side of safety.

Into the Quarry

All four dives were enjoyable. The surface water was warm, in the 70s. As we descended, the first thermocline hit. The temperature dropped sharply into the 60s, then steadied. Deeper still, around thirty-five feet, a second thermocline cut through. Below that it was 48°F, cold enough to cut through even a thick wetsuit.

Visibility wasn’t generous—ten to fifteen feet at best. Still, we could see what lay beneath: a sunken cabin cruiser, a LARC-V (an amphibious vehicle from the Vietnam War era), and even the quarry’s original rock crusher. The quarry is also chock full of freshwater sunfish that swim right up to you, occasionally nipping at your fingers and ears.

I was wearing a 7 mm wetsuit, gloves, and a hood, plus all the basic scuba kit: BCD, tank, regulator, and a computer with SPG and compass. Amid that load of equipment, the Seiko sat quietly on my wrist.

Seeing the Watch in Its Element

This was the moment I’d been curious about. I knew what made a dive watch a dive watch on paper: large lume plots, simple dial layouts, oversized hands. But underwater, with poor visibility and cold water pressing in, it all clicked.

At a glance, the dial was extremely clear and legible. Underwater, objects appear closer and larger than they do on the surface, which only helped further (especially with the SKX013’s smaller dial). The lume stood out in dim conditions. The hands separated distinctly, and there was no dial clutter to confuse my eyes.

Just as revealing were the things I didn’t think about. On land, dive watches get dissected for thickness, lug-to-lug measurements, or how they sit on a bare wrist. None of that mattered here. I wasn’t thinking about proportions or polishing. I was thinking about whether I could read the time when the water turned cloudy, or whether the strap stayed secure throughout my four dives.

How the Course Framed Dive Watches

A Doxa Sub 1000T in my PADI Open Water Workbook

The PADI materials barely referenced mechanical watches. In the workbook, I spotted a photo of a DOXA SUB 1000T. In one of the instructional videos, the narrator said plainly: “Dive watches are popular as lifestyle accessories that identify you as a diver.” The existence of that single line sums up their obsolescence better than I ever could. Computers are essential now. Watches are cultural markers.

The Strap

The Everest rubber strap impressed me as much as the watch. Three years of use have shown me it doesn’t degrade the way cheaper rubber does. After four cold-water dives, it rinsed clean and looked new. It didn’t catch on the wetsuit cuff, didn’t loosen, and didn’t demand any attention. The buckle felt solid, the keepers stayed put, and the strap sat flat even under thick neoprene. It belonged in the kit alongside everything else.

People and Place

Image Source: PADI

The dives themselves were the main event, but the context mattered too. I did the course through Elmer’s Water Sports in Evanston, Illinois, just around the corner from my childhood home. I used to walk past the shop and peer at the windows full of gear, vintage memorabilia, and old maps. For years it was a curiosity from the outside. This summer, I finally walked in to sign up.

My truck loaded up with everyone's tanks, BCDs, and gear.

Our class was small, just a handful of students. The range of reasons people were there struck me. A couple were preparing for vacations where diving was on the itinerary. Another was pursuing a career in marine biology. Some were just curious, like me. Everyone was very kind and supportive, no matter the background.

Our instructor was Myron, the shop’s owner. He has been teaching for decades, and this happened to be his very last class. Being one of his final students was a cool feeling. It connected the whole experience back to the history I’d glimpsed as a kid, staring through the window at that same shop.

What I Took Away

Wearing the SKX underwater didn’t make mechanical dive watches useful again. It made their purpose visible. I could finally see why lume size, dial simplicity, and bezel grip were designed the way they were. And I could just as clearly see which collector obsessions don’t matter once you’re under: thickness, lug shape, case polish.

I won’t pretend my watch replaced my dive computer—it didn’t. But the experience gave me a sharper appreciation for why these watches exist, and why we still collect them long after their role as a tool has faded.