USS San Diego April 30 2006

I swear to God I thought someone was going to die on this trip.

They are made of pretty hardy stuff on Long Island. Despite a small craft advisory, despite projected winds of 15-25 knots, despite calls for 6'-8' seas, the Eagle's Nest was still going to the San Diego. So, being hardy divers ourselves (not to mention financially committed) Stephan and I loaded up the Westfalia camper and headed out to the marina Saturday night. The Eagles Nest is a very handsome boat, and in immaculate condition. Captain Howard Klein lives aboard it, and has turned it into a shrine to his service in the 101st Airborne. Its tasteful though, and the wall of medals has the intended effect. The briefing was very complete, with only a few references to corporal punishment for violating the rules, and right at 0800 hours we set out on our long and bumpy voyage. We met up with some friends I'd met in Roatan, one of whom was giving her prism a northeast wreck baptism. I had initially planned on diving my Kiss unit, but the two dives I did the day before at Dutch were so pleasant and comfortable that I decided it was time for my prism to see what was expected of it too. The initial plan was that I would dive solo, as would R, while her husband, Stephan, and Martin would buddy up as an open circuit team. A sound plan, but the first casualty of battle is the plan, and the first casualty of the ride out was the dive team. Long Island boat rides are intrinsically long, and with the steady 8' rollers the already-long two hour boat ride stretched into 2.5. Well before that Stephan was a lovely shade of green, hunched into a ball of misery on the stern, and R's husband was little better. I've never in my life been seasick, but even I was cautious about turning my head too quickly, as my stomach would try to make a rush for the exit. Rather than abandon Martin to his own devices I buddied up with him, and he, R, and I geared up together, eager to get off the roly-poly boat. Right before we splashed the mate returned from setting the hook, warning us that the viz was adequate but the surge ferocious.

A little background: The San Diego was an armored cruiser, the only major US warship lost in World War One. On July 8, 1918 it hit a mine laid by the U-156 and sank in 28 minutes, taking with it six sailors. It is a protected site on the National Historic Registry, so no artifacts can be taken. As with most armored vessels it turned turtle, and lies upside down with a max depth of about 110'.

Jumping in my nausea immediately abated, and as we did our bubble checks at 20' I was pleased that there was little surge or current present. At depth was a different story. Arriving on the wreck, we found that conditions were indeed intense, and any lingering hope of penetrating was given up. The surge was uneven, at one minute it would just nudge you a little, and the next it would up and throw you. I decided to forgo the reel, as I didn't think it was necessary on an intact wreck, and didn't want to deal with having line out with all that surge. I led off down the wreck, making mental notes of the portholes so we could find our way back. The hull is pocked with blast holes, portholes, etc., and there was quite a bit of suction around them. Down lower the surge wasn't so bad but the viz was worse, and after ten minutes or so Martin signaled that he wanted to go back. We turned, and immediately encountered one of the 8" turrets, which was really pretty cool (it was also one of my more limited goals now that I knew I wasn't taking artifacts or penetrating.) Using natural nav worked like a charm on the return trip, right on time I went to 85 feet, found the funky square vent I was looking for, up at 45 degrees et voila! Anchor line. Martin and I had talked about returning him to the anchor line at some point, and me continuing the dive, but when I asked if he wanted to go up he pulled out his reel and indicated he would like to run it. The surge seemed to have picked up, and there were times I was pivoted up and over the fulcrum of my hands, with my fins cutting a better-than-180 arc. Both of my dry gloves got small cuts and began to seep, nothing significant, and under the circumstances probably inevitable. I thought about calling the dive, but was still well within my comfort zone, and wanted to see more of the wreck. Tying off next to the anchor line Martin headed off, and I followed close behind him in the gloom.

We hadn't gotten too far when I saw the reel had looped around his leg, so I moved in to try and free it. Just as I released it the surge picked me up and threw me. I slammed into the hull with my shoulder, barely avoiding hitting some jagged metal with my head. Worse, we were right next to a huge hole, and in a flash it spun me and pulled me in. I grabbed onto the lip, and after a moment or two the suction released and I was able to swim out. At that point it didn't seem like the dive was worth the risk, so Martin and I exchanged signals and started back. The surge was now pushing us about much more forcefully, and it became a two-man job for a while keeping the line taut. Upon our return to the anchor line I held on like a flag on a flag pole, and tried to keep my light steady on the tie-in. Martin did his best to undo it, but he was being slammed about, and after a minute pulled out his knife and just cut the line.

It was here that everything happened at once. I thought I heard somebody calling, but the sound faded away. Now, as Martin finished, we both heard screaming, then R came blasting out at us from behind Martin, still screaming. I saw him pull out his reg and stick it in her face, but she wasn't taking it. Then as I watched, she rolled face down and began to sink to the bottom. I kicked around the anchor line, grabbed the back of her rebreather, and pulled her up. The rebreather dsv was still in her mouth, thank god, even if she wasn't responding to me. Martin again offered his primary, but instead she pulled the dsv from her mouth and went to her own bailout bottle. The dsv was still open, so I closed it, made sure she was on the line, and after a few moments we all signaled we were okay and headed up.

Deco was uneventful, and in all likelihood unnecessary. We hung for a half hour, long enough for everyone to pass us on the way back up. Even though she was clearly ok now I hung out with her. If nothing else I wanted to be there to provide backup gas, in case anything happened to her bailout. Breaking the surface we were greeted by a whole lot of concerned faces. The first thing the captain wanted to know was did everyone do their deco, and there was noticeable relief that all was well. In the final assessment it was more about miscommunication than anything. R had tried repeatedly to get to the anchor line, but each time she got near it she was pushed away, and was very concerned the surge was going to throw her into midwater. The bailout was because she was having a hard time seeing her primary, and her secondary was stuck behind her light. When I grabbed her drifting down she was giving up on the anchor line, and planned on shooting a bag. So it wasn't nearly the emergency it appeared to be, but I do know for a fact that Martin had to hose his dry suit out afterwards!

So that is the long story of a short dive. It wasn't the greatest, but it sure was interesting, and everyone who went down came back. Not nearly on the same level of importance, but everyone who didn't go down made it to the lee rail, which made for a nicer return trip. To add insult to injury I ate Stephan's turkey sandwich on the way back, but he was asleep and didn't seem much interested in food anyways. Another time, another day, the San Diego owes us one.