Canada Redux October 2006

The Thousand Islands is just the most amazing place, and crossing over the bridge to Canada always takes my breath away. Lush woods, warm clear water, beautiful rocky islands, friendly folks and some of the finest manors of the Gilded Age, all can be found in abundance. One of my goals for the year was to go ccr tech diving here, in particular on the Jodrey and Oconta, so I jumped at the opportunity to tag along with a class. Some good friends from the local diving club were taking a rebreather decompression procedures class with some good friends who teach at the shop I used to work with. In all we were Carl Bayer, Sunny Longordo and Stephan Francke, with Dan Stocker and Jay Fisch teaching (plus Dave Oldham, who showed up Friday night.) Before I even filled my tanks I knew it was going to be a great trip.

First out of the box was the Roy A. Jodrey, a St. Lawrence classic. A relatively recent wreck (especially considering the age of the wrecks up there) it sank in 1974 after hitting a shoal, and now lies between 150’ and 240’. Dan and Jay had been on it just four days before so they had the approach, which can be devilish, dialed in. Diving the bow starts with jumping off a cliff. It’s an underwater cliff, starting at 100’ or so, but a cliff nonetheless, and into high flow to boot. I like it, but I can also see why some people find a bit unnerving. In truth I was a little apprehensive but for different reasons: I hadn’t been on my kiss unit in a while (the prism is on its way to Florida), plus deep dives are nothing to take lightly. This vanished 5 minutes into the dive though, as I was taken with how perfectly silent and serene we three were underwater, with not so much as a solenoid to break the silence (that is, until our exhalation tubes filled with condensation, at which point we sounded like a pneumonia ward.) I was content this dive to follow Jay and Dan as they spiraled down, around, through, and back up the superstructure, ascending after 30 minutes on the bottom. I always dive two computers with tables with backup, while everyone else on the trip ran straight tables. It was interesting to see how the run times worked out. Pretty much across the board I completed my deco + five minutes about 15 minutes before they did. I spent my time on several stops just swimming along and grooving on being neutrally buoyant. I’ve been a bit concerned of late that my buoyancy skills might be slipping, since so often my wreck diving involves going up and down the anchor line, or else hauling a goodie bag. There is not much time (or need) for fine-tuned, precise buoyancy control, but I knew I didn’t want to become one of those classic northeast wreck divers who can only crawl around, never float. It was relief to see they haven’t left me, and I was perhaps inordinately pleased to just hover dead-on at my stops.

After a sitting on the dock of the bay, wasting time, roast beef and rye kind of surface interval we came back to hit it a second time. This go round we decided to dive the stern, which I had never been on. You start by pulling on a line by the Coast Guard station there, which goes a good 200 yards out into the center of the channel. First the current pushes you (in the form of an eddy) then it ignores you, then it blasts you full in the face. Not for the first time this trip I thought how you could really get yourself in trouble if you aren’t used to this kind of thing (and in fact there have been a string of fatalities on the Jodrey through the year.) I was missing my strobe on the last dive, so this time I clipped it off high on rope and headed to see the stern proper. I had heard that the prop was pretty interesting, and eagerly looked forward to seeing it myself. At the stern rail Dan and Jay peeled off to go penetrate, so flipped over the rail and pulled myself around the massive curve of the hull. The farther I went the more intense the flow became, until by the time the prop came into view it was a full-blown mask-rattling hurricane. It was well worth it though. The prop was gigantic, all of 8’ per blade, with a 15’ or so rudder. Holding onto the edge and flapping in the breeze was a real endorphin high, and I was laughing and whooping like Slim Pickins riding the bomb in Doctor Strangelove.

The Kingshorn and the Keystorm were on the menu for Friday. The Kingshorn is fairly interesting the first time you dive it. This was my fourth time - 'nuff said? In 90' of water, it lies intact and upright, and has some interesting holds to swim through. I brought my digital camera, and proceeded to recklessly waste ones and zeros while trying to figure out my ass from my f-stop. There was a fair amount of particulates in the water, and my strobe arms aren't all that long, so I decided to shoot using natural light. Translation: more jiggling than Pamela Anderson with a jackhammer. Next time I'll bring the tripod. For some nicer pictures than mine check out http://www.scubaq.ca/ontarioscubadiving/kinghorn.htm

After lunch we cruised over to the Keystorm. This 256' long steel ship was built in 1908, sank in 1912, and lies in 20'-120' of water on its side against a shoal. I always have fun here, lazily swimming in and out of the holds. This time I wiggled into the engine room, which like all ships' up here is largely intact. I particularly liked that the skylight over the engine rooms still has glass in it. Two masts still exist as well, stretching out horizontally in the lee. I was feeling sort of ok about the pictures I had taken until I saw these, all shot on the same weekend I was there. Then I became despondent again.

That night at the resort another Jersey diver came and joined us, Dave Oldham. He has been vigorously logging hours on his Kiss Unit, and had his ccr trimix class on the Jodrey last August. We've rubbed shoulders online, but it was nice to be able to shoot the breeze in person. I slept in my Westfalia in the parking lot, with the kind permission of Mark, Caiger's owner. Nevertheless I woke up at 4am to flashing lights. "Great, time to talk to the OPP (Ontario Provincial Police)," I thought. Then I realized they were white lights, and figured I'd have to wave off some overzealous tow truck driver. Eventually I came out of my torpor enough to discover the flashing was coming from inside. As unlikely as it seems, my strobe had cooled and contracted internally just enough to make contact with the battery. Tres bizarre. Good thing the OPP didn’t really stop by, it must have looked like some kind of party going on from the outside.

We weren't the only ones planning on diving the A.E. Vickery on Saturday. Besides our six, there was another boat of 14, then another boat of 30, then a zodiac with a half dozen more. What a zoo! Good thing it’s worth it. Built in 1861, this 3 masted schooner sank in 1889. Captain Massey had quite a bit of experience with the river, but thought it best to pick up a pilot in Clayton anyways. Bad move, 15 minutes later he put them right into a shoal. It almost cost him his life too, the Captain chased after him with a pistol in his hand and murder in his eye. Fortunately for all involved the mate (who was also the Captain's brother) grabbed his arm so the round went into the deck, then wrestled the pistol free and threw it overboard. Who says history is boring? We were the first boat there, so I rolled in immediately and had the wreck to myself for 45 minutes before the hordes descended. I can only imagine what those holds looked like by the time everyone left. Its almost unimaginable that you can visit a mid-19th century schooner that has lay underwater for 117 years and is still in such pristine condition.

Our surface interval was spent a stone's throw away on Rock Island, which is a pretty little acre or so with a boarded up Victorian home and lighthouse. I especially liked how the lighthouse has a doorway 20' up, from when they lifted it and put a bigger base below it. I felt like a snake sunning myself on the warm rocks. The game plan had been to then dive the Oconta across the channel, but Jay and Dan decided the class could use another go on the Vickery before heading to depth. I appreciated that they took me over and dropped me off, since one of the big reasons I had come on this trip was to revisit the Oconta. This propeller-driven steam ship sank in 1886, and lies between 130' and 180'. Finding it can be a little harrowing in the high current, so I was glad to see that a line stretched down to it from the concrete light abutment on the shoal. Descending, I saw two open circuit divers at 80', and hooted and hollered at them until they looked up (no sense in startling them, if they let go of the rope they'd be blown away.) I regretted leaving my strobe on the surface, so I improvised at the tie-in point by hanging a normal back-up light. It’s not nearly as bright, but it was a comfort to look up throughout the dive to see it swaying there. When last I dove the Oconta I had used a fairly stiff helium mix, but still was narked. This time I was clear as a bell. Good thing too, as there were so many places to play, and so many things to check out. Several ships have come to misfortune on the same spot, and there is speculation as to whether there are one, two, three or more wrecks here. For my part I'm satisfied there is just one (ok two if you count the 10' rowboat at 160'), but it is busted in half and bent on itself. The bow lies pointing down, anchor still in place at 180 feet, and its hull provides a welcome break from the relentless flow. 40 feet upstream the stern is turtled and open, with a fantastic engine room stretching back 60 or so feet., and ambient light glowing from under the gunnels. It is all very peaceful and very serene, and I was sorry to leave it after 40 minutes.

The plan had been to hang out on the shoal until the boat could come back for me, but upon surfacing I was hailed from a small boat and invited me to climb aboard. It was the two OC divers I had passed on the line before, with Louis driving the boat. It seems he dives a Kiss unit too, so we fell to chatting, and quickly discovered a number of friends in common (in fact, we would have met earlier if I had been able to join Ron Benson for his Lake Superior trip in August.) Nice man, it was pleasure meeting him.

That night I strained my eyes scanning the sky for the Aurora Borealis, which was supposed to be making an appearance. It never did, but I did enjoy how the sky was so clear, and the moon so full, that the contrails of the jets were visible as they passed silently overhead.

The J.B. King is a 140’ barge located off Brockville. Its time and place in history are at the confluence of the seaway, the shallower Brockville “narrows”, a whole lot of dynamite and a bolt of lightning. The dive plan was to get dropped off upriver and drift for 12 minutes onto it. Well, the best laid plans and all of that, or as Jay said, “Whoa. And let me just add: Whoa.” Still, we all made it there in fairly short order, with plenty of time to play and explore. The wreck is blown to matchsticks all over the shoal, with lots of areas to crawl through, and all manner of winches and drilling equipment still in evidence. We moved up the wall during our deco, and I managed to find a couple of bottles, one old, one not so. The not-so I amused myself with by dropping it onto the group from the surface while they were still at 20’, provoking great stupefaction and much finger pointing (also a muddy leg for Carl, who forget to empty it before slipping it into his pocket.)

This was a very wet trip for me. My trusty dry suit, which has kept me dry for hundreds of dives, decided this was the weekend to breach in two separate places. No sooner did I patch up Friday’s hole then I sprung a leak again, and ended the dive on the King floating around inside my suit. Fortunately I had a backup set of underwear, because I was soaked to the bone. I was fortunate too that my suit is a trilaminate, because by the time I was ready to get into the water it was pretty much dry inside.

The Henry C. Daryaw is a 219’ steel freighter that hit the shoal, capsized and sank. She lies in the channel with ferocious flow pouring over her, but also has ample lees to duck into. It is one of the more popular wrecks, as evinced by the flotilla of boats sharing the two moorings when we showed up. I had my back to them chatting when it was pointed out that the diver about to roll in was wearing a prism. At a glance I didn’t recognize anyone, which didn’t surprise me since there is a growing community of prism divers in Canada. Then I heard them talking, and exclaimed to Dave “My God, that’s not Canadian, that’s the beating heart of Long Island there!” Looking more closely I realized it was Billy Gambrel and his boat, along with Bob Porter that I had met in Roatan earlier in the year. It was nice to see them, and we sat on our respective gunnels catching up and talking diverese.

I have been all through the Daryaw’s cavernous holds, but had yet to explore the more cramped engine room. Dave and I splashed together excited to do so, though at 6’6” he warned me he might sit out some of the tighter stuff. I had gotten good beta from Jay on how to enter it, and was able to descend the line, curve under the hull to the aft superstructure, and pop right in. It was cramped and silty inside, but still very cool, with all sorts of gauges and equipment to explore. Around the curve I could hear Billy and his buddy, and was cracking up at how I could still hear their accents through their dsvs. The Daryaw is one of the only ships I’ve seen where you can access the holds through the engine room, so I squeezed through and enjoyed them in all their cavernous glory. I especially like how, if you go up to the keel and look down, the open hatches look like swimming pools below. At the bow I found a shoulder-width opening, and by going head-down into it I found a small forward compartment. It was silty and clear, which always gets me going because it means no one has been in there in a while. Some sort of eel-like creature peered up at me through a tunnel 8” into the silt, and a catfish swam by looking ludicrous with a silt beret streaming behind him. I thought about, and even attempted, squeezing through a really small hatch onto the deck, but the clearance was only a couple of feet to the bottom. Eventually Reason prevailed, or more accurately brow-beat me out of it (“What are you, stupid? You want to get stuck in here?”) Dave and I regrouped, then clawed our way up to the bow for the classic screaming ride on the current to the stern.

Somehow Murphy had struck again, and Dave and I passed the class only just descending as we finished up our hang. I wound up pulling on my fins and swimming back to see the prism divers, including Jerry Milmoe, whom I had done my initial training with. The clock was ticking on my time outside the country, so I stuck my smokes and a lighter in a pelican case and brought them with me, to the amusement of most everyone. Hey, I’ve got to get them in while I can, as soon as I recross the border I’m a non-smoker.

The zebra mussels have been taking a hit from another invader, the Gobis, with a consequent drop in visibility. I doubt it will return to the 6’ visibility I used to see in the 80’s, but it has gotten a bit murkier lately. Whether you are a novice, or Poseidon himself, get in as much Great Lakes/St. Lawrence diving as you can, because this is truly the Golden Age.