Clemson is full of mysteries. What are the burgers made of at McAlister Dining Hall? Why does everyone have electric scooters? Why does the Hendrix Chick-fil-A only have a line when I am trying to order? It is truly puzzling.
But deep in the depths of Fike Recreation Center lies a mystery worth diving into: the curious case of the high dive.
With four tiers, Fike’s high dive looks like the perfect place to practice front flips, back flips, gainers and belly flops. Yet standing in the way of these high-flying dreams is an unmissable sign that reads: “Pool closed, no swimming allowed.”
Upon further inspection, a sign at the base of the platform details the consequences: “The Dive Tower is prohibited for patron use. Violators will be suspended. All activities monitored by video cameras.”
All in all, the message is pretty clear: no diving. So why the dive tower? Conversations with lifeguards and Fike regulars revealed a rumor.
As the story goes, years ago, a curious — and perhaps drunken — student stumbled into the fitness center late one night. With no lifeguards and the pool formally closed for the night, the student decided to make a splash.
The next day, the student was expelled from Clemson, and the high dive was off-limits for all.
While this tale certainly raises eyebrows, it may not be the real culprit for the dive tower’s hibernation. A Fike lifeguard explained that the tower is used, but only for special events, adding that only the lap pool is properly staffed with lifeguards.
“If you jump off any of those top two ones and you don’t know what you are doing, it’s an actual safety risk,” the lifeguard said. “You could mess yourself up.”
For wide-eyed students, though, the thrill of the dive suppresses any reasonable safety concern. The dive tower, seemingly engineered for silly, collegiate-level adrenaline, provokes the same question from every student who sees it.
“When I say like ‘yeah, I lifeguard,’ they are like ‘oh, can I go off the board?’” the lifeguard said.
Without enough lifeguards to fill the diving post, it is probably in everyone’s best interest that the platforms are prohibited. The high dives loom like Adam and Eve’s forbidden fruit — always visible, but never within reach for most.
Samantha Bork, treasurer of the Clemson Swim Club, is one of a lucky bunch. Almost braggingly, Bork told The Tiger that the Swim Club had the privilege of jumping from the heights during an end-of-semester celebration.
While jealousy might be inherent, Bork and the Swim Club have proved one thing: it can be done.
So while some questions remain, the mystery of the Fike high dive might best be solved by jumping in the deep end.
