Thursday, July 20, 2006

Block Island July 15-17 2006

I had been looking forward to our Block Island weekend for a long time, and all the more so since I was blown out for the Doria last week. When I went last year I was in ccr limbo, trained on the prism but without one to dive, and still a month before getting a kiss unit. The OC diving was great, but I kept glancing covetously at the crew's inspiration and meg. What a difference a year makes. This time you couldn't walk the deck without tripping over a rebreather. All told, between 2 crew and 6 passengers, we had 9 rebreathers onboard the Sea Turtle, three sport kiss, three classic kiss, two megs and my prism. A number of local divers in NJ did their training this spring, and have been diligently applying themselves to logging hours at Dutch, and putting a tentative toe into the waters off NJ. For them this trip was an opportunity to stretch their wings and challenge themselves with some deeper and longer dives. Besides me it was Carl and John Bayer, Chris Gruno, Stephan Francke, and Sunny Longordo, with Ted McCoy crewing and Chuck Wade at the helm.

Our intial plan had been to hit the USS Bass first, but after talking amongst ourselves it seemed wiser let folks build up to it. Thus, we started out with some shallower sites around Block Island. The first dive was to the Grecian, a passenger-freighter lost to a collision in 1928. It lies in 95', and with the exception of some bow superstructure it's a generally ship-shaped debris field. Still, it's a pretty debris field, with large boilers amidships, and the prop still poking out of the sand. After an intense period diving the prism I decided it was time for the kiss to take a swim. I have been eagerly looking forward to the uncluttered profile of the kiss, especially as the weather gets hotter. However, as that hoary old chestnut goes, there is no perfect rebreather, and I immediately began missing certain aspects of my prism: the work of breathing, the tight profile, the heads-up display. Let's just say I love them both in their own ways.

My normal dive profile is to swim the length of the boat and check out the props, so that is what I did here. The boilers were particularly interesting, with lots of hidey-holes. I really like New England lobsters, they are such a belligerent, dim-witted bunch. Shallow holes, access to behind them, you name it, they are just begging to be picked up. There wasn't really anywhere to put them, since we were staying in a bed and breakfast, but it was still fun. I took and released five, including one that didn't want to go back into its original hole, and instead chased another out of his. There was one decent one that I would have figured out a way to get home, but it didn't get that big by being dumb. I'm going to blame Stephan for that one. He was swimming by when I almost had it in my hands, but it took one look at him and shot back into its hole. I hope he flooded his mask laughing at me. Carl later caught me plucking a shamefully undersize one, so I put it on my shoulder and comforted it before tucking it back in.

Our second dive site was one of my favorites, the Pinnacles. It reminds me of the boulder field at the base of a cliff, with all sorts of little cavey swim-throughs amongst the house-size glacial erratics. The current was kicking, and I was glad I swapped my al80 bailout for a 40. The deficit was made up by my camera though, which was no joy to manhandle through current and tight squeezes. Ah the suffering artist. Most every dive now I make it a point to go off into the sand, and as expected a dozen or so dogfish skimmed past me. This time though I think they were teasing me: I'd see one, put down the reel, get the camera ready and they'd disappear. Pick up the reel, start taking up line, and they'd come right back. Shark humor. Eventually it paid off in a shot that I am perhaps inordinately proud of, but then if you knew how paltry my photographic skills are you'd understand. There was a double payoff when I emailed it to my wife. To quote: "were you really THAT close to the shark? wtf?! why good god?_ oh Puh-LEASE?!" I think I threw her back into the seventh grade with that one. Really though, what was going through my mind was "If you think that's bad..."

The last dive of the day was to the Lightburne, a tanker that in 1939 hit the point on Block Island right beneath the lighthouse, testament to the foggy conditions there. Fortunately they were able to pump out all the oil first, while the radioman bravely stayed at his post to warn off other ships. It lies in only 30' of water, but with upwards of 20' of relief, and is home to a vast assortment of lobsters, crabs, nudibranchs, little kelp gardens, sea bass, blackfish, and schools of other fish large and small. I even spotted my first smooth dogfish, up to now all I've ever seen are the spiny variety. Much of the hull is gone but not the bulkheads, so with a little imagination you can stitch what remains together in your mind. Its just keeps going and going, over 400' long, and with cozy temps in the 70's it's like floating through a modern sculpture garden. Warm is a relative term though, at least according to Chuck and Ted when they set and pulled the hook in their bathing suits. As much as I like the cold, and even enjoy an ice dip after a sauna, that didn't tempt me.

For Sunday we added another 30' to our max depth, and went to the u-boat. The U-853 lies intact and upright, with lots of access holes courtesy of the US Navy. They pounded that thing for hours, and when they were done they pounded it some more. Its surprising much of anything remains but it does. In truth more harm has probably been done by yahoo souvenir hunters than either time or war, at least in terms of dive quality. Really, did they need to hacksaw off the periscope? I have lots of stainless steel tubing in my shop they could have, which would look just as exciting when removed from context. And don't get me started on the bone stealers, I'm pretty sure those guys had skulls when they died.

The first thing I did was the last thing I had done last year: enter the blast hole forward of the conning tower, swim up to the forward torpedo tubes, and then swim the length of the boat to exit the stern. Along the way Ted and I passed like two ships in the night, or rather two divers in the diesel motor room. Its nice how well you can communicate on ccr - "Hello Ted" "Hey Dude". I spent a little time digging in the collapsed stern but no joy, all under the watchful eye of a nervous 4' striped bass. He was tucked up deep into the hull, and kept looking at me like "You're not going to tell anyone I'm in here, right?"

What I was most interested in on this dive was seeing some of the Hedgehogs off in the sand. These are a kind of depth charge, so named because they bristled from the launchers. Fired off in a pattern, hedgehogs freed the Destroyer from having to be directly overhead. Ted had described where to find them, 25' or so off the port side of the conning tower, and circling wide from the stern I bumped into quite a few. They look like nothing so much as a spackle bucket on a pole, but are ever so much more explosive. It's a wonder the afore-mentioned yahoos haven't set one off. After all, folks have taken 6" shells off the San Diego, as I recall that prompted a concerned-but-anonymous call to the local bomb squad.

We stuck around for dive 2 on the u-boat as well. I didn't have any urgent priorities, so I took Stephan on a tour of the inside and the Hedgehogs, while Ted took Carl and Sunny. It was very nice later to have some kielbasa from the grill. I don't care what your food rules are (mine is: don't eat human - unless really hungry), but even the wispiest california vegan would appreciate a nice piece of kielbasa after a dive.

For dive 3 we went to the Heroine, which is a 136' long fishing vessel that sprang a leak in 1920. It now lies on its starboard side in 80'. There are some very nice swim-throughs on the bow structure, and then a lot of debris. The boilers are absolutely enormous, with expansion tanks on top which are themselves the size of 55 gallon drums. As with the Grecian I spent my time catching and releasing bugs. Likewise I had my heart broken by another nice one, 5# at least and way to clever for my song and dance routine. Why does Stephan always swim by snickering when I'm arm deep into a hole and flailing? It's like having my own floating Greek chorus.

Monday started in a much more civilized manner than the 6:00am roust of the day before, followed by a 20 minute march to the boat. We got to enjoy the second B of our B&B, then trundled across the street to Old Harbor patting contented pancake bellies (at least in my case that was the contents, not the flatness of it.) This was the day I was really looking forward to, when we would get out to some of the deeper stuff. First was the Dixon, a 220' barge that sank in 1961. Intact and upright in 155', Ted calls it the HydroAtlantic of the Northeast with equal measures of justification and hyperbole. I went back to diving the prism for this one, and was very pleased with how it felt and handled. Dropping down, the outline the ship began to appear right around the 100' thermoclime, its deck strewn with piping and its masts draped in nets. I finned down the starboard side, and entered a large hole smashed into the engine room, promptly grabbing two foolhardy bugs (in lobster life as in ccr diving, complacency kills!) The engine room wasn't too deep but was very intact, including shelving on the walls. I later repeated the exact same mistake Ted had once made: found a hatch, scrunched myself up tight get through, and then found it was the same wide open engine room I had just been in. A bit of a let down, but more than made up for in the spooky silty bow hold. Encased in steel, wires hanging like spanish moss, and my light barely piercing the murky gloom, it was a reminder that the boogeyman is alive and well, and he likes shipwrecks. NB to my buddies who might be getting ideas, thinking it would be funny to sneak up and grab my leg when I think I'm alone in a wreck: I will stab you. And when I see it's just you, I will stab you again.

The last dive of the trip was to the USS Bass. This enormous, flawed, and even tragic submarine was deliberately sunk for weapons testing only a month or so before the nearby U-853. At 341' feet it dwarfed most submarines of the day (the U-853 is only 250'), but was a design that ultimately was not successful. It never saw action beyond war patrols, but did lose 25 men to a fire. The bottom is at 160', the top of the conning tower comes to 110', and it lies upright and mostly intact. 80' of the bow smashed off when it hit the bottom, and lies on its port side about 25 feet away from the stern at an angle. I first visited the bronze propellers, with their attendant ling cod jamboree. These have long silver bodies, with whiskers like a catfish, and tend to congregate cheek to jowl underneath the hull. I then made my way to the cut and crossed to the bow, picking up a couple of hapless bugs along the way. There is still a decent little penetration in what remains of the bow, not too deep, with fishing nets draped over the mouth of it like cobwebs on a cave. I had also planned on penetrating the stern section, but had to forgo it due to time. At 38 minutes I pulled my strobe and ascended for 50 minutes of deco, gently buffetted in the warm clear water.

Of the 8 dives we did, only one had to be scrubbed due to a rebreather issue (Sunny had a leak in her loop which cancelled the dive but was easily corrected.) Getting fills in New England can occasionally be challenging, as last years trip showed: multiple carts filled with doubles, non-certified gas, and even the joy of hauling doubles gunnel-to-gunnel in a crowded marina. This year, by contrast, we were able to satisfy all of our gas needs without leaving the boat, using a booster, whips, and spare 119s of O2 and diluent. As people develop spare sets of tanks we will be able to skip even this task, and simply bring all the gas required for the trip. I had brought four sets of 19's filled with O2 and 10/50, and still had a fresh set after 11 hours underwater. The Sea Turtle is an excellent platform for this type of diving, with plenty of room for spare gear, stowage for tanks, and benches to gear up on. Ted and Chuck can describe the wrecks in minute detail, and offer suggested dive plans based on experience and comfort level. They can deploy an O2 reg at 20', which will simplify your bailout planning if you are certain you'll come back up the anchor. My personal solution for bailout is typically to bring an al80 of air. It offers me plenty of gas even if I can't get to the 20' O2 station, leaves me with 100%-200% above my gas needs, and can be used as backup for my drysuit. Below 180' I like to add an al40 of 18/45 or so, but for these dives it spent the trip bungeed on the deck.

The ride back to Montauk was mellow and relaxing, and Sunny proved her one-of-the-guys status by enjoying a fine cigar with me. We got a chuckle out of the old lighthouse on the point in Montauk, a stone's throw from a very modern radar installation. It reminded me of the lady I met spinning thread at a county fair, and how she keeps her spinning wheel in the tv room so she can watch Star Trek. Later we made the social scene in the Hamptons, stopping for a quick bite to eat. The paparazzi were too clever to let us see them, but we did elicit gasps with our celebrity status (that or the three day funk.)

So what is on the itinerary for next year? Where are we going with all these new-found rebreather skills? Let's just say the divers onboard were put on notice: Next year the Bass is the warm-up dive.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

SS Carolina July 3 2006



This past weekend was the much-anticipated trip to the Carolina. I booked several months ago on the Independence II, as not only do I like the boat and crew, but Capt. Dan also runs it as an overnight, 3 dive trip. That is the idea at least, though as we in NJ know only too well, that is all subject to the weather. Mother Nature gives and Mother Nature takes away, or in our case, the reverse. We arrived at the dock Saturday night, with the intention of leaving in the wee hours of the morning, and returning Monday afternoon. Twas not to be however, and after many lets-wait-and-sees the decision was made to try heading out Monday at 4am instead. Waretown is not a bustling metropolis of heady delight, but the company was fine and the boat air conditioned, so we all read, chatted, and watched movies to pass the time. In addition to Capts Dan and Jay, we were Terry and Scott crewing, and John Bridge, Bill Bedford, Dan from NESS, and Brandon. Near dusk we headed over to Long Beach Island, where we were greeted by one of the most cacophonous, out of tune marching (well, sitting) bands I've ever heard. It was painful on the ears, but worth it to see the bandleader staring not just daggers but whole flamethrowers at his arrhythmic rhythm section. I later walked over to the lighthouse, where I had spent many a summer night netting blue claws in my youth. A few towns across the bay were shooting fireworks, but they were so insignificant as to be embarrassing compared to the thunderstorm that rolled in. Immense bolts of lightning came crashing down all around, arcing not only from on high but, improbably, sideways too. It was one of the best displays I've ever seen, heightened by the realization that I was being exceptionally stupid hanging out on a flat island surrounded by metal objects. I wasn't alone though - how's that for an excuse? - most everyone's face was etched by the same mixture of excitement and fear. Of course I stayed out too long, and got fairly well soaked when the rain started lashing us, but I've no regrets.

Around 4am I awoke in my bunk to the boat casting off and chugging out the intercoastal to the sea. I knew we were in luck when the throttle opened up and still the bouncing was minimal, the ocean thrumming by a scant inch of fiberglass away from me. Four hours of snoozing later I heard the throttle pull back, and twisted out of my berth to see Terry and Scott geared up and ready to splash.

The S.S. Carolina was a steamship sunk on June 2, 1918 by the U-151, which had sunk 5 vessels prior on what was dubbed Black Sunday. It went on to sink another 13 in the following weeks, and an incredible 51 vessels before it surrendered at the end of the war. As was common with a civilian ship, Korvettenkapitan Heinrich von Nostitz und Jänckendorff ordered the ship abandoned, and then sank it with artillery fire. It saved on torpedoes, cost less lives, and with no antisubmarine capability to speak of the times were fat for uboat men. By the way, isn't that a great name? Wouldn't you just love to drop that at a party? "Hey baby is this guy bothering you? Why don't you come talk to me, I'm Korvettenkapitan Heinrich von Nostitz und Jänckendorff. I sink ships." You'd be beating the women off with your swagger stick. Anyway, the ship lies in 240' with only about 10' of relief on the starboard side. Its pretty busted up, with plenty of artifacts for those that want to look for them.

Captain Dan asked that we splash in teams, so John Bridge and I geared up and jumped in at 8:30. As we dropped down the line it became distinctly cooler and clearer, with the water temps dropping from the 70's down into the 40's. After five minutes descending the outline of the Carolina coalesced, and we saw the line was tied in at the high point of the stern. Clipping my strobe to it, John and I exchanged okays and parted ways. Any concerns about navigation were dispelled when I saw how it retained its basic outline, with the starboard high and the port side splayed out into the sand like jacksticks. Right near the stern were two intact portholes, but a quick tug told me I could spend my entire dive on them with no guarantee of success. Heading amidships I found a nice 4# lobster hopelessly ensnared in fishing line. Today was his lucky day though, as I sought brass not bugs. In fact, in an act of devotion to the Lobster God I pulled out my shears and, dodging his best attempts to pinch me, took two minutes to cut him free. Peeking from the debris were a number of ocean pout, silver eels and lobsters, with chain dogfish lying about on top of the wreck. These latter are especially beautiful, with a ringed camouflage pattern on their backs in tan and brown. Not much for personality though, at one point I picked one up, looked it all over, then put it back down. No movement besides the gills, I'm not even sure it noticed. Maybe he was narked.


photo credit to Christina Young http://christinayoung.com/pages/scubphot.htm

Shortly thereafter I hit moderate paydirt amongst the steel plates, and loaded up my goody bag with several door locks, an enormous old-fashioned hinge, and sundry brass pieces. There was quite a bit of china lying about, but no intact pieces, and what little digging I did didn't reveal any keepers. Best of all though, right before I turned the dive I found a sconce light, which with a bit of elbow polish should clean up quite nicely.

At 35 minutes I began my ascent, with my first stop at 160'. No matter how much I like my down undies, and no matter how much I like cold water diving, I have to admit I was happy to see the next thermoclime fifteen minutes later at 90'. Current was almost non-existent, with the scope near 90 degrees. My overall runtime was two hours eighteen minutes, a long dive but a safe one.

Conditions on the surface were pleasant, not too hot with gentle rollers. Captain Jay told me a great story about nearly becoming dinner for two porbeagle sharks while on the line here. Having been in a similar situation, I could appreciate the part about feeling like he had whiplash from keeping an eye on them. My favorite part was when his buddy completed his deco and left him there alone - yikes! Like an exclamation mark at the end of the story, a 6' mako then began prowling around our boat. Isn't that what you want to see when gearing up? Good thing I like sharks, especially as one of the movies we watched the day before was Jaws.

My dive computer had rather ticked me off on the last dive by piling on another 25% or so in deco, so this time I planned to manage my inert gas with rgbm tables. I keep a pocket pc with me on trips with Gap-lite, so its child's play to punch in the numbers and cut very accurate profiles. At least then I know that 50 minutes of deco is 50 minutes of deco, not 70 or more, which always leaves me seething. I also find it makes the deco go faster, as it gives me something more interactive to do than stare at a computer screen wondering why my minutes aren't 60 seconds long.

We were on a bit of a schedule to get back, so I planned dive two to have a 90 minute run time, with a max of 25 minutes on the bottom. John, Dan and I splashed together and headed down, with the visibility somewhat reduced as the sun arced to the horizon. This dive I spent a little more time swimming around and sightseeing, though I did come up with some more brass, including a coat hook that I'll polish and use in my house. Turning the dive at 15 minutes, I finned down the starboard side, pulled the strobe on the fly at 27 minutes and began my hour of deco. Up to 50 feet was fairly busy, with lots of 1 and 2 minute stops. After that I mostly just zenned out and dug the jellyfish, and tried not to think about sharks.

On the ride in we were saluted by a fairly large pod of whales in the distance, the plumes from their blowholes rising in succession.

Delaware & Morania Wrecks June 25 2006


On Sunday a group of us got out on the Stingray. We had initially planned on the Stolt, but weather was gray and foreboding. Capt. Henrik decided not to go out into the shipping lanes in all that fog, which seemed a wise choice. Besides the fog and a little rain at the dock it was a beautiful day, sunny only briefly but cool and comfortable.

The Delaware is a big junk heap in 75 foot, but not without its charms. Viz was a respectable 15'-20', nothing great but very doable. Some folks got chilly in the 48 degree water, but I managed to stay warm for the entirety of my 95 minute dive. I found a nice artifact, an old brass doorknob with an ornamental escutcheon and ring. It was lying out in the open, sort of tucked into one of the boilers. I'm sure there are plenty more artifacts left for someone willing to put the time in, but I'm a little off digging of late after I saw what the silt on the Mohawk did to my gear (sticky O2 injectors are NOT cool.) There was a beautiful 3lb bug that flirted with me for twenty minutes or so, and even let me touch it, but I blew the grab. Damn! I had great respect for its hidey-hole, several interconnected 5' deep spaces in the ribs. I'll call on it next time and inquire after its health. As I often do, I trekked off into the sand to see if there was anything interesting off the wreck. It was like Moon Snail Girls Gone Wild out there, lots and lots of snail humping. I'd like to take some for scungilli salad, but call me sentimental, not under those circumstances. I'd hate to see their little slimy appendages reaching out to each other in despair as I pulled them apart.

I had never dove the Morania before, and loved it! Its an intact oil barge sitting in 75 feet, with a really funky notch in the back where a tugboat would push it. The relief is about 18 feet, with thumb-long mussels covering it. I had a very nice, albeit snug penetration into the stern, which involved knocking off quite a few mussels and entering head down. It was tight inside, and incredibly silty, but there was decent ambient light. A keeper bug winked at me from under some steel, but it was sitting in an enormous pile of silt. As careful as I was to wedge my feet up, and as much as tried not to disturb things, the viz still immediately went to near zero. So, no bug for me.

After squeezing out of the stern I swam along the bottom, looking under the hull and generally checking things out. At the starboard bow I tied my reel off to explore the sand. As always of late, dogfish swam up to and around me, staring at me with their big black eyes. There were a number of tires cast about, all of which had crabs but no lobsters. About 300 feet off the wreck I found three abandoned lobster traps. These really pissed me off, as they were covered in growth, and had obviously been down there a long time. They wind up working as fish-kill catalyst, since fish get trapped, die, and then lure in other fish to eat their remains, perpetuating the cycle. So I went on a mission of mercy, to disable the traps. The first trap I approached was packed densely with fish, and in their agitation they hurled their bodies at the sides. It sounded like rain pounding on the side of a tent. I cut free all the bungees, opened it, then cut free all the netting inside. The fish seemed to be a bit freaked out by the big black thing hovering over them and didn't want to swim out. Finally I just started pulling them out by the tail one by one, after which they would take the hint and swim off.

At this point a really obvious lightbulb went off over my head. I mean, this thing was packed with fish, and I really do like tautog, and that big one right there just looks sooo tasty. Would it be a sin to perhaps cull the herd a bit while I liberate them? Hmmmm. Perhaps I could do a riff on the US Army line in Vietnam - "In order to save the village, we had to destroy the village." Maybe I could just eat the village a little bit? Seemingly with a mind of its own, my goody bag leapt into my hands, which busily guided the tog's nose into it. And what's this? A 2# bug? Well, move over Mister Tog, it would be a crime to leave a good bug. By the end, things got a little cramped in there, with five lobsters on top of the Tog. And while my conscience entered a rather murky area, there weren't any complaints from the folks who helped me dispose of it (the spoils, not my conscience.) I did at least free the sea bass, so that counts for something, right? Provided they made it past the cordon of a dozen or so circling sharks, that is...

I had offered to pick us some mussels for Henrik, but now I had no room in my bag, so I just hoisted a big soccer-ball size clump. Thus, for the second time in three days, I came up with a full bag, and had to hand the overflow to the mate while ascending the ladder with one hand. There are much worse problems in this world.

Stolt Dagali June 25 2006


This was a good way to spend a friday, wreck diving and coming back with dinner. Seas were calm, the company was fine, temps were cool and the sun was shining.

One thing about having a rebreather, since you don't have to come up you just don't want to. What I do is either splash right after the tie-in, or when I'm on the Stingray I usually splash and help set the hook. After a couple of stops and starts we were well-grappled in, and Jim Wood and I went down to wrap it up, which on the Stolt is a piece of cake. Waving goodbye to Jim I headed down to the sand to see if I could load up my goody bag. The scallops weren't too thick on the ground, but after 20 minutes I had nearly 3 dozen. I also found a bug in some debris, and even bagged it. Upon reflection though I decided it was probably too small, so I freed it to make room for more scallops. Returning to the wreck I nearly knelt on an enormous monkfish while untying my reel - neither of us would have liked that. I ascended to the engine room, and did my deepest penetration of it to date. If you haven't gone all the way to the keel, and are comfortable with it, I'd encourage you to go check it out. It is very open, with lots of catwalks, ladders, stairs, machinery, etc., and all within the light zone. When I got back to where the cut was there were feelers everywhere. I grabbed a hapless and unwary one, but my bag was too full of scallops to fit it. Ok, I'll just carry it up. But then I saw an even bigger one, and grabbed that. This put me into a 3 stooges type situation, with a bug in each hand – all that was lacking was one pinched onto my nose. I swam outside the wreck for a while hoping for somebody with room in their bag, but at an hour and 15 minutes I knew I was down there by myself. Fortunately, as I ascended the cut I found the perfect live pool. It was a little box on a vertical wall, big enough for the lobster to get into to, but not so big that I couldn't pluck it right back out. After a 17 minute hang I was back onboard, with a run time of 90 minutes and dinner on the table.

The monkfish was a little deep for Mike's mix, so when he passed on it mate Jim stepped right up. Fortunately directions to it were easy, as it was hanging out right by some landmarks on the stern. For dive 2 I offered to show Mike some of the engine room, and to go grab some of the bugs I saw. It was vital that Mike have a bug, as apparently the rewards in the Bender household for a manly and successful hunter are, well, the kind that all guys really appreciate. As Mike said, bug 2 was still right where I left him, and was easily relocated. When Mike and I split up in the engine room I went back to where I had been, and sure enough the bugs I had spotted before were more or less in the same spot. The 4-pounder startled me when I grabbed him by grabbing back, and got a nice grip on my rebreather exhalation hose. I was very thankful that I have covers on them, and that he hadn’t pinched it closed. After a little tussle I pulled him off and bagged him, then did a little rodeo twirl to force them to the bottom of the bag. There was still time to put a bunch of mussels on top of the two, as well as to do a little more penetration down a passageway around 70 feet. Someone had run a bunch of orange cave line through the wreck, and I followed it for a while in the hopes I would find a reel at the end of it. No soap, as it dropped down deeper, but maybe next time I’ll follow it to the end.

The plan had been for me to pull the hook at one hour. Right on time Henrik gave me slack, the grapple obliged me by coming off easily, and I went off on a wild, better-than- 45-degree-scope ride. Fun stuff. The boat ride back was the way I like my rides back, with lots of cleaning and sorting.

I told Mike I wanted an assist for the score.

Cranford Ferry - Dykes - Mohawk - Venturo June 16 & 18 2006


I headed out late on a Thursday night to dive with Henrik on the Stingray. The plan was to sleep in my camper bus at the marina, but the local cops had different ideas. They woke me up at 1 am to hassle me about sleeping in my vehicle, and pissed me off even more by ticketing me. Guess they thought it would serve the public better to have a bleary-eyed driver on the road than to have one minding his own business in his sleeping bag. Whatever, I bring it up so no one else gets busted.

Conditions were gorgeous on the water, not even 1-footers, bright and sunny without being hot. Dive one we went to the Cranford Ferry. Henrik was nice enough to let me splash with the mate, which worked out well as I was able to help him haul the grapple. It had pulled from the debris and was about 20' out, not a big deal but easier for two than one. Viz was good at about 30', lots of light penetration as we were only down about 60'. Early on a dogfish swam over my head, and any dive I see a shark on is a good one. I quickly found two grapples, and later on bagged a decent size bug, maybe two pounds. I've never been one to bother with lobsters, but with time to play I decided I might as well try my luck. After ten minutes of fruitlessly searching I grabbed a broken fishing rod. That did the trick, he popped right out into my hand. I clipped the two grapples I found to the anchor chain, but unfortunately the split ring I used busted before they could be hauled up.

Dive two we went to the Dykes, which is one of my old favorites. I splashed again with the mate, but this time we used a checklist. I was diving ccr so it was a given I'd be the last up, and it made the most sense for me to pull the hook. Somehow none of us had a slate, so we just put 5 clips on the chain plus my strobe. I had a very nice time cruising the wreck. I grabbed another bug, but it was small and a softshell to boot, so I let it go. You're not suffering when the consolation prize is a big bag of mussels anyways. After an hour I went back to the line, saw that all the clips gone, and pulled it for a free ascent.

I had a bit of a surprise when I got home. It seems I wasn't solo diving after all! When I opened my scrubber canister what did I find but a spider in there. He didn't seem worse for the wear, and certainly has been places few spiders have dreamed of. Mayhap I should shake the hoses a little more carefully after hanging them to dry, especially as I did find a beautiful black widow once in my basement.

Saturday I also went out with Henrik. Have you noticed how, when putting all those new docks in at Belmar they seem to have forgotten about parking? When I saw the new setup last fall I thought what a nightmare its going to be on a summer weekend. Yep, its pretty much exactly what you'd expect, though the addition of a charter bus in a space where minis fear to tread didn't help things. My favorite part was when the garbage truck pulled up. You can just imagine the conversation: "When is your busiest time? About quarter to seven on a saturday? Ok great we'll send the truck then!"

Oh well, these things sort themselves out. Onboard was fellow wreckvalley member Scott Montgomery (Jersey Diver), out kicking it hard and getting his sea legs. Also with us was Alek, whom I met last November when he was out in chilly-willy weather diving wet. I was relieved to see that through a combination of finances and common sense he is now diving dry, as something just t'aint right with a guy diving wet that late in the season ("He seemed like such a nice guy, a normal guy. Who could have guessed he was burying dive buddies in his basement?")

Dive one was on the Mohawk. I spent a lot of time digging at a spot under the debris, but ultimately I think someone beat me to it. I found a peeled-up old mirror, and wood from an old crate, but other than that all I got was dirty gear. I did manage towards the end of the dive to bag up another bug though, so all was not in vain. I'm starting to think I like this whole bug-catching thing! Certainly my family thinks its a good idea. One of the divers onboard, Gary, saw two mako sharks. I'm sorry I missed them, but its nice to know they are there.

For dive two we went to the Venturo. I ran a reel out to the APC's, as there were several divers with us who hadn't been there before. I'd never noticed before what a nice penetration dive the Venturo is. The engine room is snug, but there are a number of gauges and other things to look at. I had hoped to find a bug inside, but instead all I saw were body parts, and a 6' silver eel looking rather smug. Later I ventured off into the sand a ways, leaving behind a trail of clam shells stuck into the mud. Sharks were everywhere, several dozen dogfish swirling all about me. I was having a good time communing with nature close up, until four or five of them began fighting with each other, and the rest started to get really agitated. At that point I elected to perform the dive skill called 'Get Me the Fuck Out of Here', lest I started to look toothsome in my non-threatening bubbleless way. A few followed me up the line, but without any real intent.

I may have a new avocation in the future, after Capt Dave was kind enough to give me four meaty sea bass fillets. A little panko, a little lemon, and I feel like I've had a transcendent experience. Delicious! Celestial! Hallelujah-can-I-get-a-witness! It was some of the tastiest fish I've had in my life. I've always eschewed spearing fish, but I find myself googling sea bass, and wondering if my non-violent, oh-look-at-the-pretty-fish ways are about to get much more mercenary. More pointed, you might say.

Caveat piscis.

Maurice Tracy June 4 2006




I got out diving, but it was très dur. I nearly lost my life on Saturday by forgetting I was on the eagerly-anticipated hook to be designated driver for Barb's bowling league banquet, ferrying 5 drunks to and fro. My slogan was No Yak In The Back, so to hedge their bets they put the drunkest one in the passenger seat. No yak in the front either thankfully, but she did give me very meandering directions back to her house, and regaled me with stories with no discernible beginning, end or point. I managed to finesse my forgetfulness, but not the fact that while the banquet ran well past midnight, I still had to get up at quarter to five to make it to the dock. Actually, on behalf of the Hanover Manor, let me correct that: the banquet didn't run past midnight, only my crew did, with a yawning dj, a toe-tapping bartender, and staff flipping chairs upside down all about them. I'd make a comment about deserving a medal, but those whose wives don't let them dive as much might burn me in effigy (or worse.)

So yesterday I get up at an obscene hour, drive down to Pt Pleasant, and ride out on the bumpy seas aboard the Blue Fathoms. Our goal of the Gulf Trade got quickly scrubbed due to wave action (and methinks, diesel fuel prices) and in place we decided to go to one of my least favorite wrecks, the Maurice Tracy. Its basically a junkyard, with steel plating scattered about and buried in the sand. Great for hunting, boring to look at. Bottom temps were about 50, viz in the 15' range but with decent light penetration. I worked on natural navigation for a while, seeing how far out into the debris I could go and still find my way back, then worked on my reel work for a time as well. I did manage to find a fin amongst the extant bridge superstructure, and kept it in the hopes that it came from someone on the boat. After an hour on the bottom I was ready to go, still showing 119 minutes of ndl.

You ever hear that phrase about watch out what you wish for? The fin wound up belonging to a diver who panicked on the surface, spit out the reg, and began to sink down to his death. He was very fortunate that Gary was up at the bow with his dry suit still zipped up. He jumped in and somehow managed to kick down 15' (no wt belt, fins or even mask) to grab him and drag him back up. Gary was pretty nonchalant about it, I'd be pumped on enough adrenaline to light up a small city. Freaky stuff, and the end of diving that day, since they quite sensibly feel that once they put a person on O2 they have to bring him back in. I felt bad for the guy, who clearly felt humiliated, but it sure beats being dead.

The upside of being back on the dock at 11:30 was now I could go splash with Craig who desperately wanted to work on some stuff. So, two hours more in the syncro from the shore out to Dutch. I kept waiting for the herds of pink flying elephants to cross my vision, especially as I hadn't slept much in the days prior either, but they stayed at bay. While there I saw Chris, Jonny, Stephan and Sunny taking their ccr class. In fact, barring a horrible balls-up on the last dive, congratulations should be in order for at least Stephan. For my part, a little splash, a little fresh water rinse, much success underwater with Craig, and time to drive another hour and a quarter home for a dinner get-together. As Henry Rollins likes to talk about, it was truly an adventure in exhaustion, but still a good one.

Florida May 2006


I went to Florida in May with the family unit, for a quick trip to see my folks. Wife demonstrated and perpetuated her Good Wifeliness by encouraging me to dive, so I packed up the Sport Kiss and had a ball. You know you've got it good when the only non-diving day is because YOU wanted to spend it with the family!

I had asked on rebreatherworld for an rb-friendly Ft. Lauderdale boat to tech dive off, and was told Oliver Paoli's Avid Diver is the boat to be on. Sure enough he had one spot on the Friday charter to the Hydroatlantic, and with Fill Express along the way (and banking 10/50) I was loaded for bear. The Avid Diver is a six pack, fast and clean, and the run time out was only about 20 minutes. I had a nice time chatting with Captain Oliver, he's good people and it winds up we know a lot of the same folks (don't make enemies in the rb community, there is scarcely one degree of separation between us all.) I went in with Ron who was doing the tie-in, and we dropped 145' down through clear 70-something water to the wreck. The Hydroatlantic is a 320' cable-layer that sank in 1987, and is 170' to the bottom. For some great pictures and video go to hydroatlantic.com, but they don't do it justice. Approaching the wreck is breathtaking, it is so intact, with so many places to explore. Cranes, winches, piping, and masts crowd the deck, and offer safe haven to a wealth of corals and fish large and small. Waving goodbye to Ron, I let the current ease me down the port side, spooking an enormous Goliath Grouper along the way. As I usually do, I went down to check out the props, but they had been salvaged. The ship is cracked in all sorts of places, which makes for easy penetration. My canister light decided to fail on me on its first dive back from the factory, but I still had enough backup lights to go in (I'm getting used to gear failures.) Shining my light into a body-width crack, I was confronted by 7' and 400#s of disgruntled grouper, just hovering and staring at me. I love jewfish, they are just such big puppies. He scattered when my light touched him, and I wiggled in to explore the aft rooms, and then down a ladder into the engine room. Despite the comparative weakness of my light, there was still plenty to see, and ambient light poured through various breaches in the hull. The machinery is just as impressive inside as top side, and is in a remarkable state of preservation. I'm not sure if it is the laws or the ethics, but there were artifacts everywhere, and it made for a much richer experience than you usually get here in the northeast. Exiting through a rend in the starboard stern, I swam along the hull in the lee of the current, and ascended up the keel at the bow. Capt. Oliver had asked me to keep my runtime to about 70 minutes, but I still had time to swim down the length of the ship again, this time skimming along the deck, before returning to the tie-in at the bow at 36 minutes. The Avid Diver uses a checklist, and as I was the last one on the wreck I pulled the chain and ascended for a smooth and comfortable drifting deco.

The next day I went out with Jupiter Dive Center for some drift diving on Captain Mike's Reef and Scarface Reef. I've been diving with these guys for 5 years now, and they make a real effort to please. I especially appreciated them letting me do one hour runtimes, since they had a lot of divers to keep track of. In fact, the boat was kind of a madhouse, with 28 divers on board. English was definitely the second language onboard, which was pretty cool (my Spanish is pitiful, but I still like to listen.) Early on a nurse shark swam past me, followed immediately by a reef shark. Later there were also several loggerhead and green turtles, as well as an 8' green moray snoozing under a coral head. My favorite moment was when a group of divers spooked a turtle. It took off like a bullet and swam straight to me, its face the epitome of "Hey man can you give a brother a hand?" I also saw a turtle feeding, which I had never seen before. Very cool. It was my first time diving the new Shearwater computer for the Kiss units, and I was impressed with its simplicity and ease of use.

Monday morning it was back on down to the Hydroatlantic, to go see what the forward quarters look like. I volunteered to set the hook, which despite a rather fierce current went well. I just pointed straight down, kicked like hell, and sucked off the dil tank the whole way. Good thing too, as I had figured I would bust my ass down to 150' and then drift onto the wreck, but instead came down straight onto the bow. Just to be safe I flushed the loop, but there really wasn't much CO2 to worry about, and I felt great. Getting onto the wreck first was a big advantage, as a school of 4' tuna made several close passes to see what I was all about. After circum-swimming the superstructure again I explored another area of the engine room, working my way down long lines of valves and gauges deep inside. Backtracking a bit I found the galley, quarters, and a storage area with ship lockers and shelving in the bow. Its amazing that this ship went down nearly two decades ago, the shelves are still stocked with equipment, and everything feels fresh and recent. At 37 minutes it was time to go, so as not to abuse Oliver's patience (otherwise these would be 2.5 hour dives!) The other divers had in the meantime come and gone, so I again pulled the chain. I had a moment of concern, as the current had the boat hard on the chain, but it slackened enough for me to undo the carabiner and pull it loose. Wheee what a ride, good thing my first deco stop wasn't until 110 because that chain was going!

Tuesday morning was a two-tanker off Jupiter. Dive one was Scarface again, nothing exceptional but a nice relaxing dive. Dive two I expected more of the same, but instead had one of my best dives down there. We went to the Tunnels, which is a series of fairly tight swim-throughs. The mate, Ham, gave an absolutely brilliant briefing, complete with pictures of which fish to look out for. I kept laughing underwater, because everything he said would happen did, like he had choreographed it with the fish. We dropped to the first set of swim-throughs, right on cue the reef sharks did a curious pass on us and vanished. Several divers thanked me later on the boat for going into the first tunnel, as they said the other side exploded with a half dozen enormous Goliath Grouper, which are always a thrill. I had no idea I was so intimidating, it certainly feels the other way around in a tight tunnel. I hung back for a while to let the bubble-blowers clear out, then cruised down the reef at a leisurely pace. Several turtles finned past, eyeing me curiously, and the fish at the cleaning stations tried to figure out what to do with me. Coming over a rise I found two large, one small, and one gigantic GG, which swam at a wary distance. I decided to test their curiosity, so I settled down on the bottom and kept very still. Within a minute or so they were making passes at 8', checking me out with their surprisingly small eyes. Ham had told me about a donut shaped hole where the sharks hang out, so I reluctantly headed off after five minutes to find it. Along the way I encountered the biggest sting ray I have seen in my life, a monster at least 7' across in wingspan. It was just swimming down the reef about 4' above it, carefree and looking for crustaceans. Right at the end of my dive I found the donut hole, and like clockwork two reef sharks whipped past me, I shot a bag and up I went. On the surface the captain was yelling something and pointing next to me. I cocked an ear out of the water enough to hear "Turtle!" and turned to see one that looked like it wanted a piggy back ride. I guess I was putting off a turtle vibe of some sort this trip, though according to Ham it looked like it just wanted to mount me. Yipes! Just before docking in the inter-coastal we came across a herd of manatee, including a calf. The captain obligingly cut the engine, and for 10 minutes they dove and surfaced all around us, rolling over and sticking their bewhiskered faces out of the water.

So that was Florida. For years now I've been meaning to go do some of the tech dives, and I'm glad to have finally dipped my toe in those waters. Winter is lemon shark mating season, with up to 100 10-footers crowded right off Jupiter. Perhaps Grandma Vee and Pop-Pop Joe would like to see the kids then?

Cape Ann Memorial Day 2006



Memorial Day weekend saw Stephan and me heading up to Cape Ann. While there we met up with Martin Weber from CT, whom I had met in Roatan, and who was with us on the San Diego trip. He too is from Deutschland, and he and Stephan have a way of jabbering in German and then looking at me like I have a clue. I did pick up some new vocabulary from them though, including keine problem, tauchen computer, okey dokey, and most of all, Ich benötige ein powernap. We also met up with my buddy Bill Hackbarth, who lives locally and has been teasing me with sketchy reports of a submarine up there.

Perhaps as penance, conditions were the polar opposite of our trip last fall, with flat seas and sunny weather. One nice thing about diving with Cape Ann Diver's is that if you are the first to sign up for the boat you get to pick the destination, so I always call weeks in advance. For the first dive Saturday morning we went to the Saturday Night Ledges. SNL is a series of long canyons, less than 10' wide but with upwards of 30' of relief, and descending from about 95' down to 130'. Viz was terrible at the surface but opened up quite nicely at the bottom, with water temps in the mid-40's. Seeing as how this was my first dive on a newly-repaired, newly re-zippered dry suit I was pleased not to be a floody mess. In fact it was the first dive in a long time I didn't emerge at least damp, so it was kind of a new experience for me. Throughout the dive I saw Northern Red Anemones of all sizes and color variations, from deep red to pale pink. There was also an amazing profusion of Spiny Sunstars, another of my New England favorites. After one pass Martin Stephan and Bill headed up, but with plenty more time I swam down the length of it again, finding new things to catch my eye.

For Dive 2 I had picked the Poling, a perennial favorite. It is the stern half of a vegetable oil tanker that went down in 1977, and all sorts of fun (for a neat film trailer see http://www.nimbusaudio.com/portfolio.html) I brought my camera down, and managed an ok shot of a sculpin, but then the siren song of penetrating made me tie the camera off on the line, fire up the HID and head in. Fortunately no one else on the boat had gone inside, so I was able to slip into it in pristine, unsilted condition. I went first into the engine room, which still had a whitish haze, and explored all about the machinery in there. Ascending to the next deck, I went through a hatch, down a long stateroom, and into the galley. Digging around I came up with several broken plates and cups, none of which were worth keeping. Above me was the cupboard, so on a lark I looked in and found a fluted glass sugar pourer, which I put in my pocket. After a few more swim-throughs I retrieved the camera and ascended for a few brief minutes of deco.

My afternoon shore dive was extremely compromised by heavy teutonic snoring. Stephan and Martin were horizontal most of the afternoon. As I had brought the Westfalia camper I took the opportunity to pull the dash off and fiddle rather aimlessly with some knobs (I did manage to maintain equilibrium, which is to say I fixed one thing but broke another.) Eventually Dornröschen (that's sleeping beauty in German) bestirred himself, and we headed out to Folly Cove for a late afternoon dive. Bill had gone home, and Martin decided to pass, which ultimately was a wise move. Hauling a prism (me) and a set of doubles (Stephan) across slick stones at low tide in the hot sun wasn't the stupidest thing we've done, but it sure wasn't the smartest either. I should have gone with my first instinct, which was to bring the sport kiss, or else dove it sidemount open circuit, but live and learn. I had hoped to see a torpedo ray, at least one of which hangs out in Folly, but twas not to be. That may be just as well, as last time it was me with the camera urging Craig Billings into electrocutable range, but this time Stephan had the camera.

Sunday morning's first dive was to Burnham Ledge, another set of minicanyons in 60'-125' of water. Stephan rather promptly got narc'd, so he and Martin turned back, but I spent 25 minutes at 125 checking out the amazing flora and fauna. I was also delighted to find a 19th century round-bottom bottle. I have a bunch of these from my check out dives in an Adirondack lake in 1987, and have always gotten a kick out of them. It was filled to the neck in muck but otherwise in great shape. It also gave Martin a chance to shake his head at me and ask what it is with Jersey wreck divers. For Dive 2 we returned to the Poling. Martin is from San Diego, and has lots of deep trimix experience but not so much wreck, so I offered to take them in where I had gone yesterday. Ultimately though the entry was a little uncomfortable for Martin, so Stephan and I took our time following my path of the day before, as well as going through the crews quarters. I've little doubt there are tons of artifacts buried in the elbow-deep silt, but after some desultory digging I decided to pass and just spend time with the wreck. I even brought back the sugar pourer that I had taken the day before, as it was cool but not neat enough to keep. I'll be curious to see if it is still in the cupboard next time I go.

I had an ulterior motive in picking these two sites as I hoped, since they are close in, that I could get away with more bottom time. We were a little late getting back to the dock for the afternoon charters, which was completely my fault as I was the last one onboard by a wide margin. They aim to please at Cape Ann Divers though. I kept expecting to be asked to shorten my run times, but never was, and all my dives over the weekend were between 53 and 60 minutes with an hour-plus surface interval.

But. But. Just because you CAN doesn't mean you SHOULD, as I'm starting to realize. I spent the boat ride back and most of the next day fairly concerned about the way my left shoulder was throbbing, and my right wasn't too happy either. I sucked down a 40 of O2 on the drive back while thinking about my decompression, whether I had taken a hit, and if so was it undeserved in the technical sense of the word. Ultimately it just wound up being strain from hauling heavy gear for a lot of dives in quick succession, especially the long march across the beach at Folly (such an appropriate name.) It got me thinking though, and I am definitely going to start padding things a little more (lengthening the haldanean tail on my gradient profile, for you fellow deco-geeks.) I share this experience with all the newly certified ccr divers I know in particular. You might want to think before doing two hour long dives to 100' separated by an hour surface interval. I've come to the conclusion that it's asking for trouble. Rather than cycle compress/decompress/compress/decompress, a friend of mine always makes it one long long dive, and I might just start following her lead. Food for thought.


I'll be back in Cape Ann for Columbus Day weekend if anyone wants to check it out, as well as before that for some quick tech dives. Its one of my favorite places. And should you ever go with these guys, remember: Keine Powernap! Powernap ist verboten!

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.

The Baleen April 8 2006


I drove up to Massachusetts late Friday night to go dive aboard the Gauntlet. I had been meaning to dive with them for a while, as they do some very cool tech trips off the north shore of MA, but could never find the time. I wound up meeting Heather and Dave in Honduras last February when we were all diving our prisms, and found them to be good people and hardcore divers (to read their excellent write-up on the Roatan trip, go to http://www.northernatlanticdive.com/roatan/roatan_2006.htm)

I did have to ask myself, though, was it worth it to do all this driving just for one dive? And am I insane to go do a tech dive in 39 degree water? Well, I rationalized to myself, where am I going to hit 170 off NJ this time of year? Besides, it would be nice to go try something new.

The Gauntlet is anchored in Salem, in a really pretty part of town. I had no real worries finding the dock, and after a little recon I pulled out the bed and crashed in the Westy. 6am came, as it always does, way too early, but at least by then the rain had stopped. Unlike locally, there was no snow, and air temps stayed in the mid 40's. The boat is a six pack, clean and comfy. Not sure the dimensions, but pretty close to the Independence in size. It was nice to see Heather and Dave again, and to meet the other divers, it was a good crew of wreck-rats. This was my checkout dive for my new Weezle undies, which I had high hopes for (oddly enough several other divers aboard were diving the same underwear for the first time as well.) The runtime out was about 45 minutes, pretty much flat seas little wind, going to the Baleen. Its a tugboat, sitting in 170', known for the sealife on it.

Descending the line, the first thing I noticed was that it got really dark really fast. The other thing I noticed was that, despite there not feeling like much current, I really had to tug myself down the line. For damn sure I was glad I had 10/50 in my dil tank, what with the cold, the new gear, the new location, and my first deep northeast dive on the sport kiss, I think my narcosis would have manifested itself as paranoia. I had forgotten to charge my HID, so it was backup lights for me, but they did the job. I eventually made it down to the tie-in at the stern, got myself sorted, and descended to the rocky bottom. All around the wreck were these beautiful anemones, ones I don't recall seeing off NJ. They have a hard brown tube that tapers up out of the sand 6"-8", then dozens of long white symmetrical tentacles splay out. Even without narcosis it was hypnotic watching them sway in the current. Swimming up to the bow, I saw why they refer to this wreck as an anemone garden, all the hard edges are softened by frilled anemones of all sizes and shapes, including my favorite, a northern red anemone on the starboard side. It was when I saw it that my question to myself was answered: it was definitely worth making the trip up for this dive. The mast lies out into the sand on the starboard-stern, so I followed that out a ways, tripping out on groves of the aforementioned (ghost?) anemones. I also found a very nice spiny sun star, as well as what I believe is a badge star. Yeah I know, next time I'll bring the camera, I promise. I hadn't felt too bad about using my little scout lights until everyone else showed up with their hunking chunking HIDs, then my little power ranger's nightlight didn't seem so adequate.

Dave had given me the good advice to make sure I headed up while I was still warm, otherwise deco would be a pure misery. It was never an issue. After 30 minutes bottom time I finally came up, still toasty, since a 37 minute hang seemed like enough. My aggravation with my VR3 continues unabated, as somehow 37 minutes turned into 45, despite hitting all my stops on the money and making sure the gasses were programmed correctly. Argh. On the plus side though I stayed warm, even with the extra hang time, and a small leak from around my pee valve (from the outside in, not the inside out, thank you.) If anyone finds themselves getting chilled on long dives you might want to check out weezle's stuff, its like a form-fitted down sleeping bag. Be forewarned though that you might have to buy two, my wife was casting covetous glances at it (not for diving, mind you, just for the brutal conditions of, say, our living room.)

Not much to tell on the way back. We returned to gunfire in Salem harbor, which was a little odd but I like a town willing to celebrate lunchtime with a fusillade of large caliber weaponry. I also learned from a Navy guy that "It ain't gay if you're underway", which had me chuckling throughout the four hour drive home. If anyone would like to make a weekend trip up let me know. Its so sweet to be able to get that depth of water with only a half hour ride out, and the area has a lot of stuff to do family-wise. I'll definitely be heading back soon.

Truk Lagoon March 2006


There are many conceptions of Heaven: Manly sword-swinging in Valhalla. The Happy Hunting Ground. Allah’s reward of a 72 virgins. Sitting on a cloud playing a harp and making moon-eyes at the Supreme Being (yawn!) If you are a wreck diver though, it has pretty much got to be Truk Lagoon (Ok, maybe Truk WITH the 72 virgins? Forget I said that.) With 85 degree water, a sunken Japanese fleet, and artifacts everywhere, what could be better?

The answer is, to dive it on a closed circuit rebreather, and that is just how a group of us spent a week in March. The trip was organized by Ron Benson of Going Under Dive Center, who shipped out k-bottles of O2 and Helium, as well as all of our tanks and buckets of sorb. He has spent several years now promoting ccr diving in Truk, and his time and efforts show in the smoothness of the operation and what, for there, is some pretty radical diving.

First, however, you need to go through the sour to get to the sweet. And its pretty fricking sour. There aren't too many nonstops from Newark to Truk, so instead it was Newark to Honolulu to Majuro to Kwajalein to Kosrae to Pohnpei to Truk. Never been to Kwajalein? It’s a lovely airfield. Literally. As you descend, you see that pretty much all there is IS an airfield, with some dormitory type buildings off the end of the runway, and ocean everywhere else. No cities, no towns, not even any jungle, just asphalt and ocean. I chatted for some time with a guy fresh out of the army and going to "Kwaj" for a one-year contract as private security. Perhaps he should have googled it first. I'm not one to engage in schadenfreude, but I did have to laugh at the way his jaw dropped as we descended: "That...That's it?" I sensed it's going to be a long year.

Eventually we made it to Chuuk, as they say in chuukese, and its expansive state of the art 3-terminal airport. Ok, I exaggerate grossly, but the runway IS paved, and I didn't directly observe any chickens go into the engines. I might also point out that the people of Chuuk have probably the only high school with 8 foot walls. Not 8 foot high, 8 foot thick, with bomb scars all over to attest to their fortitude (it was the former Japanese headquarters.) So, after what seemed like a hop skip and jump from leaving the US (compared to, say, sitting in lava) we finally arrived at the Blue Lagoon Resort, formerly the Continental Airlines Hotel, formerly Japanese Naval Airfield #2. When is the last time YOU stayed at a hotel with pillboxes on the water and anti-aircraft guns as lawn ornaments? Ppprrreeetttyyy cool!. I was very pleasantly surprised, as the rooms were clean, frigidly air-conditioned, and with gorgeous views of the Lagoon and surrounding islands. Even the restaurant was a treat, once you accepted the concept of Island Time (kind of like manana, but without the urgency.) You could have spaghetti bolognese, fantastic sushi, a passable wiener schnitzel, fish and chips, etc. It was a little odd, but the food was delicious, and we divers do travel on our stomachs.

The dive shop was very considerate, and gave us a big chunk of their facility for our gear. In the final assessment we were 7 Megalodons, 6 KISS units, and two Inspirations. The boats are normally six packs, but for us they ran 4 to a boat, plus driver and guide. They are little skiffs, but with twin outboards they get you there fast, and the canopy keeps you out of the sun. I was very satisfied, even if I did have to wear my mask several times due to the spray. Probably 90% of the wrecks were a 20 minute boat ride, thus a short run for a long slide.

A little bit of history is in order: US Forces caught the Japanese with their pants down and bombed the snot out of them. That's pretty much it. In two days US Naval forces destroyed about 300 planes, most of them on the runway still, sank something like 70 ships, cut the place off and left it to starve. It was ugly, and a lot of people died, but in one of those ironic ways people more philosophical than me can ponder, it left some amazing beauty in its wake. The ships are mostly Marus, armed merchant ships, though we also dove two destroyers and a submarine, as well as some aircraft.

Day One:

I was buzzing with excitement, just high on being there. The surrounding islands are gorgeous, steep wedding cakes with hanging gardens, as we slipped through a channel and out to the Fujikawa Maru. Rolling backwards over the side, we could immediately make it out sitting in 115' of water, upright and intact, with amazing visibility. I swam first down into the forward hold, where several Japanese fighter aircraft lay, then through all the other holds and the engine room. Everywhere was strewn bottles, airplane parts, ammunition, etc., while outside the ship was covered in all manner of sponges, hard and soft corals, giant clams, and enormous anemones that would spread out and cover 15 or 20 square feet of the deck.. A reef shark cruised around outside the wreck, eyeing us curiously but without hostile intent. The lack of bubbles on the rebreather really put the fish at ease, they would barely bother to get out of our way. I dropped down to check out the propeller, then along the length of the hull. Covered in life, it was like doing a wall dive on a reef, albeit one with a base of steel. Along the way I saw the torpedo hole that doomed her, an enormous blast to the rear cargo hold that buckled the plates and splayed them inward. Not for the first time I thought "You poor bastards", the destructive force was really sobering. It's beautiful now, but it was hell on earth for those guys. Swimming up the keel at the bow, I found the forward ship's control. The bow cannon was so covered I swam past it before I realized what it was. It’s gorgeous, one of the most photographed sites in Truk. After an hour and a half on the wreck I ascended to my deco stop, where I hung for a half an hour looking at the ship below me and tripping out.

After a quick lunch we headed right back out, to the Heian Maru, also in about 115' of water. This was one of my favorite ships, an ocean liner converted to a submarine tender, lying on its port side. It is marvelously intact, and at over 500' it gave me plenty to do for nearly two hours bottom time. Dropping down onto the hull, I could still make out the ship’s name at the bow in Latin and Kanji characters. I then swam into the holds, which were filled with torpedoes, spare periscopes, and other paraphernalia appropriate to her mission, and spent a fair amount of time swimming down the gangways and poking my nose into the rooms. The twin screws were enormous, looming over us in the soft afternoon light.

Day Two:

Next up was the Nippo Maru, another famous wreck in 130' of water. Upright on the deck are several tanks and artillery pieces, while the holds are filled with artillery shells. It’s a wonder it didn't all go up in smoke. I spent a bunch of time photographing a shark, which kept circling back to check us out, and hoping that a remora would attach to my buddy's Bill’s arse so I could photograph it (I later found out he was doing the exact same thing.) Later on deco a bottle-nose dolphin swam between us, the first time I've seen one underwater.

For the afternoon we went to the I-169 in 140’ of water, at 330' long one of the largest submarines ever built. It spent an excruciating 30 hours off Pearl Harbor for the attack, entangled in an antisubmarine net, and barely survived. Luck ran out in Truk, where it dove to avoid an air attack, but with a valve open. The Japanese later depth charged it, blowing the conning tower off and making a mess of the stern. Despite this it is an interesting wreck, and still reasonably intact. I was shocked to see the outer hull in such fine shape, on most subs I've seen the outer hull is gone, and only the pressure hull remains. After shooting some pics I hung the camera, and spent a half hour trying to find a way in. Nothing doing. I did find one hatch but it would have to be a no-mount entry, and I'm just not ready to take my rebreather off.

Day Three:

The San Franciso Maru is considered one of the trophy wrecks in Truk. Lying in 200’, most divers to Truk are happy to get a quick 10 or 15 minutes on it. We spent over an hour playing around, checking out the tanks, swimming through the holds, working through the bridge. I was surprised to see in hold number two case after case of small arms ammunition, still in its wooden boxes, still stacked up. I guess worms aren't a big issue here, in NJ those crates would go down like popcorn. By the screws I looked up to see the ship above me, with three sharks circling above that, two more behind me, and a pair of eagle rays off to the side.

The afternoon dive was the Yamagiri Maru, which lies on its side in 105' and rises to nearly 50'. There was a bit of an unfortunate misunderstanding when we discussed our dive plans: How was I to know they were joking when they said "Wow, we can spend three hours on this one!"? Those who have dove with me know better than to wave that carrot in my face, my dive was 2 hours 50 minutes. This was my deepest penetration of the trip so far, I was way way far back in the engine room. It was a bit disorienting being on its side, but by picking out landmarks I was able to dispense with running a reel and do it by memory. I took full advantage of the long run time the rebreather offered, and was able to go places way off the beaten track. In the aft hold were stacks and stacks of 18" shells for the super-battleship Musashi, the largest ever made. I love the giant clams, the edges of their shells go up and down like a graph, giving them this great grumpy expression (though not nearly as grumpy as the other divers waiting up top - sorry guys!) The hang was a bit long, but as the light started to fail fish came out to feed, and I was surrounded on all sides by flashing silver and blue.

Day Four:

It took a lot of pleading, but the next morning we convinced the guides to take us to the IJN Oite, a 330' destroyer in 200' of water. They hadn't been out there in 7 years, and despite the hour run out, plus an hour looking for it, the dive was well worth it. The wreck lies in two pieces, close by each other, with the torpedo tubes a little ways off in the sand. Two lionfish greeted us by the anchor line, which was rather cheerier than the skeleton in the bow section. On the way up my bc rather rudely detonated, with the inflator button shooting off into the briny. In case you are wondering, doing a hour plus hang with a broken bc really kind of sucks, my arm was sore afterwards from holding it in an awkward position to prevent air from escaping. Those of you who dive deep know just how discomfiting it is to have body pains afterwards, thinking "Is that going to go away? I think it will go away. Its going away, right?. Ouch, no its not. Go away go away go away." Right by the dive shop they have an actual but defunct chamber, 8 feet long and barely large enough to take a deep breath in, with the unnecessary admonition "Don't Get Bent in Truk." Yeah, no fooling! Fortunately my stressed arm felt better shortly, and I was able to turn off the babbling soundtrack.

The BC was unfortunately not the only piece of gear I had go on the trip, not by far. A full litany: Dive computer failed on the very first dive. Pocket PC locked up. Canister light cord tore, flooding (and ruining) light. Camera strobe stopped functioning. The above referenced BC explosion. Other dive computer got flaky, until some folks helped me correct how I'd programmed it. Finally, one of my backup dive lights failed as well. For someone who takes good care of his equipment it was all a bit frustrating, but the most important thing never failed: the rebreather. So, in the end, it was all just a series of inconveniences, and with a little help from my friends I never broke stride.

Later that day we went to the Shinkoku Maru, 500' long in 140' of water. There were enormous opportunities for penetration, including going all through the engine room, and later working my way through the operating room in the main superstructure. Somebody had piled bones on the operating table, which I thought was kind of cheesy, but oh well. I had a good time in the engine room, even when the battery on my light died halfway down a stairwell. That's why we have plan B, C, and D, I pulled out a backup and continued on my now rather-more-limited way. With an intact mast rising to 40', deco was relatively short and enjoyable.

Day Five:

There was no current on the Aikoku Maru the next day, which made for an especially nice dive. A large passenger liner/freighter in 200', the front end has been smashed off. Diving my now standard itinerary, I headed first for the stern to see the propeller. While there I turned around and found a shark about 6' behind me, looking over my shoulder. Very cool stuff, I especially liked later when I looked up and saw the shark silhouetted against the sun, with an eagle ray silhouetted above that. For the afternoon we went to the Kensho Maru, which wound up being one of my favorite dives. Intact and upright in 120', the engine room is this enormous 5 story time capsule, with tools still sitting in their racks, four enormous steam boilers, gauges intact, and all the ladders, gangways, and even the greenhouse in place. In several rooms I shone my light inside, revealing dozens of pairs of red eyes staring back at me as shrimp scuttled for darkness. On the ceiling of one room was a pool of oil, which when disturbed would swirl into sinuous black funnels. Back on the deck, a friendly pair of eagle rays swam around in circles an arms length away, the smooth sweeping motion of their wings adding a detached calmness.

Day Six:

I find on some trips, no matter how great they are, you get into brain overload. That never happened to me in Truk, in fact the dives just kept getting better. I made the difficult decision to skip the morning’s 300' wall dive (with over 150 sharks up close and personal) to concentrate on wrecks. The IJN Fumitsuki is another destroyer, sitting in 130’ of water, intact and upright with a slight list. With the deckguns and antiaircraft guns intact and pointing up it makes a very nice profile. Most of these ships were notable for going down fighting, in many if not most cases the order to abandon ship was never issued, and AA guns fired away until the water closed over them. I thought long and hard on attempting several really tight penetrations, until the angel on one shoulder crossed over to dope-slap the devil on the other. I will consider bringing a sidemount or no-mount rig with me another time though, there are some really cool penetrations for someone who doesn't mind small places. Maybe then my dives won't be accompanied by the clarion call of tanks smacking things. At the tail end of the dive I found a stairwell leading down, and pulled my bailout tanks off to wiggle my way in. This was really exciting, a bunch of undisturbed crews quarters. I started digging through the silt for artifacts, but between the lateness of the dive, and the clouds of silt obscuring my vision, I decided discretion was the better part of WTF and snaked my way back out.

The Hanakawa Maru is one of the more remote wrecks, so I was very excited to go check it out. On the way we stopped off at a small concrete pier in a cove for a quick lunch. There were a bunch of schoolchildren down the end of the pier waiting for the afternoon boat to take them home. After some shy peeping their reserve dissolved into them sitting on the dock, feet in our boat, laughing uproariously at us. Someday, perhaps if you decide to drop out of society, make your way to Chuuk. You can make a killing in coconuts on the Chuukese comedy circuit, because we Americans are apparently some funny motherfuckers. I'm not sure why, I'm not sure how, but those kids were in stitches the whole time we were there, and nearly waved their arms off when we left. That goes for the younger kids at least. With the older boys, I found I do understand a little chuukese. Maybe not word for word, but the way they were ogling Mel Clark in her tight wetsuit, I knew full well what those boys were saying. She was a bit puzzled as they generally like ‘em big over there, but as I pointed out, variety is the spice of life (when I told her this she gave me a look that could be interpreted as either “What a bizarre thing to say” or “Die you insect Die!”) The wreck is intact and upright in 110', with a mast that rises very conveniently to 15'. Filled with aviation fuel, it was hit by three torpedoes and made what is technically referred to as "A REALLY Big Boom." Particularly impressive was the 55 gallon drums welded to the ceiling by the blast. The stern superstructure was breathtaking, it looked like a garden someone had planned with great care. I was sorry when my two hours was up, I still had more I wanted to explore, more things great and small to focus my attention on.

Day 7:

Off to the Momokawa Maru, in 160', lying on its port side over a big wash. Unfortunately I was now down to one light, so I had to be very careful about my penetrations. I particularly liked the engine room-to-bridge communications, as well as the airplane in the forward hold, and the trucks in hold #2. My favorite part however was getting down into the wash, 350' of ship looming over me.

After an enormous barbeque the divemasters put on for us, my last dive was on the Kiyosumi Maru. It is another gargantuan maru on its side, in 115' of water. After circumnavigating the hull , and weaving my way in and out of the holds I found a killer penetration on the stern, too good to pass up. My kingdom for an HID! I squeezed my way into it, always making sure I was still able to see light, until I decided tempting the fates was unwise. Besides, its ok to leave a little bit of longing, a little mystery unsolved, a place yet to explore. Next time!

The way back, I’m happy to say, was much easier going, as I skipped the Micronesian Milk Run for Truk to Guam to Honolulu to Newark. About 30 hours of travel, including layovers, and really not objectionable (besides having to sit through Walk the Line about 1500 freaking times.) Flight time is like deco time is like jail time, its all mind over matter: if you don’t mind, it don’t matter. My rule is that I only smoke outside the US, but with a four hour layover in Hawaii I had to amend that to “Only outside the US as it existed prior to August 21st, 1959.” Its my brain I can lie to it if I want to. If you’d like to see my pictures, well you can’t. Not yet at least, but some of the more ambitious folks on the trip (or those with longer layovers) have theirs up. Go to http://www.advanceddivermagazine.com/Expeditions/Truk2006/Truk2006.html or www.inner-space.co.uk/photos for some really groovy pictures, plus Curt Bowen was with us so look for a big article in July’s Advanced Diver Magazine. Ron runs this trip every year, plus we are urging him to do Bikini next year, so think about it. Soup to nuts, including tips and a t-shirt, it still cost me well under $4000. Not bad for the trip of a lifetime.