The Stolt and the Northern Pacific September 9-10 2006

This past weekend Barb and I celebrated our 6th anniversary by getting away alone. At her urging, however, I also went diving both days. My God I love that woman.

Friday night we stayed at the motor lodge across the street from the Belmar marina. It sure was nicer than getting up at 4:30, and at $75 was quite a bargain. I was Underwater World for their Stingray charter, and we enjoyed flat seas and sunny skies as we chugged out to the Stolt. In all there were ten of us, including Ernie the Rookman crewing, and Shelly Loo whom I had dove with a few weeks back in Canada.

I splashed a couple of minutes after Ernie did the tie-in, and descended through a murky layer at 20' into brilliant visibility. Two triggerfish greeted me on top of the wreck, swooping by with that off-kilter drunken way they have. Not too bright, they were trying their best to eat Ernie's strobe. I do feel sorry for them though, as they are way too tame around divers - the first one down with a spear is taking them home for dinner. Dropping to the sand, I headed to the stern and some debris I use for a tie-off. There to greet me was a handsome 2# bug, poking its head out of a pipe. Unfortunately, there was no way to get behind it, so I perched myself on top of the pipe and tried to stay as quiet as possible. It knew I was there, but was foolhardy enough to stick out its claws, so made a grab for them. Unfortunately, a clumsy grab, I got the ripper right on my index finger. Yeeeooow! Playtime is over! I pulled my finger away and held on, thinking they don't have much stamina. That delusion shortly got put to rest when it twisted the ripper away and gave me another nice squeeze. Argh, Lobster 2, Rob 0. So now I've spent 5 minutes at 125' getting my ass kicked by a crustacean, but at least I was laughing about it. After another minute I worked it out of its hole and pulled out my bag, only to discover it was a she, and egged up. I swear she was blowing me a raspberry as I slunk off to hide my shame and look for scallops. It's mighty late in the season to expect too many on such a popular dive site. It took me 40 minutes, and I had to run my reel out 400 feet and sweep, but I eventually found three dozen. I was even more pleased with the school of squid that followed me around, little inch long jobs with translucent bodies. I felt like the Pied Piper of Squidlin.

The surface interval was very tasty. Henrik grilled up some burgers, then I cooked up a half dozen scallops, then Ernie added a few more, as well as grilling a bug he brought up. The shells and scallop guts went over the side, which was perhaps not the most prudent thing to do, but then I like sharks.

For dive 2 my goal was to go deep into the engine room and look for bugs, since I've had good luck there in the past. I don't know if it was the good viz, or just that I'm becoming more familiar with the wreck, but I really noticed the functionality of the ship in a way I never had before. The bridge, the galley, the heads, the engine room, they all seemed less a random series of passages and machinery, and more a coherent function of ship design. I was kind of shocked to see that the ship's mess is right below the tie-in everyone uses, I've probably got 20 dives on it and never noticed that. I managed to find 9 lobsters in the engine room, 6 of which went into my bag. The nice thing about the engine room in the Stolt is that there is always ambient light, so you always know which way is out. Almost always. At one point I squeezed between some pipes and then dropped way down. After searching a bit I covered my light, to double check which way was out. Nothing, just pitch black. Uncovering it, I looked about and realized I really didn't know which way was farther in, and which way was out. Ascending 15' I covered my light again, saw the way out, and resumed the dive. It was a little scary, and a good reminder not to get cocky with these things, especially on a nearly-depleted scrubber.

As I swept my light past a bunch of turbines it reflected back several pairs of red dots. Dancing in my light was a school of shrimp, with clear bodies and opaque organs. It must be a merciless place in the shrimp world: "So Sue, cheating on the diet again I see?" "Dude, line your stomach, you are not barfing in the back of my car again." "Eww, you eat Tofu?" "Well, if it isn't little Miss Binge-n-Purge - Where'd those 5 brownies go? Huh? Huh?" No, I think the world is a kinder, gentler place without that knowledge.

On top of the wreck I paused to sort my gear before ascending, and was struck by how closely the mussels and cunner resembled the zebra mussels and hungry gobis in Lake Ontario. Picking out a big fat mussel, I smashed it on the hull. That sure got the cunner's attention. I picked up another, smashed it, and this time held it in my hand. Visibility went to near zero as a cloud of 6" brown fish engulfed me, pecking at the mussel, as well as my gloves and arms. It was amazing, and we went on for some time in this fashion, until the thought crossed my mind that I was making a very effective chum slick. Just then I turned to see a big gray shape inches from my face, and I learned something: when you shout "Oh Shit!" underwater, and you are breathing helium, there is no avoiding sounding like Minnie Mouse about to mess her drawers. It took but a moment to realize it was Dipsy the friendly triggerfish, but was long enough to consider how the accident report would not reflect well on me.

I passed Ernie on the way down, as he descended to gather scallops and pull the hook. For a while he thought he too was seeing an unfamiliar creature off NJ, as shiny white disk-like shapes kept floating past him in the water in ones and twos. Eventually he got a closer look and realized it was just us getting an early start on the scallop cleaning, and pitching the shells off the stern. Of the six lobsters I brought up, I knew one was marginal. In fact, he was embarrassingly undersize, and two others were off by a whisker. The way undersize one had bigger problems though, as somebody in the bag got mad and snapped him in half. Sorry little guy, next time I'll bring a gauge. I had loaned Shelly a bag for mussels, so on the way in I showed her how to clean them, then led a scallop-shucking gut-plucking hoe-down. After the work was done I tipped Ernie with a cuban cigar, and we relaxed and capped off a fine day with a smoke on the transom.

The John Jack is one dive boat I've wanted to get on for a while now. I've always found it curious though that everyone I have asked has said the exact same words: "Zero's a psycho." Every single one. Hmm, interesting, I've got to go see for myself, and Sunday I got my chance. Captain Zero had it moored in Cape May for some southern diving, and I jumped at the chance to go to the Northern Pacific. Onboard was a crew from Treasure Cove, some of whom I've met, some of whom I've just talked to, and some of whom were new faces. All were good company, which is important on a 60 mile roundtrip ride with pitching seas for half of it. I finally got to put faces to names for Andrew and Claire, and got into a rather unexpected conversation with them about Russian literature (to maintain equilibrium Vern and I shouted "Ford!" "Chevy!" at each other.) Denise had a much worse pinched finger story from the day before, hers was a six-pounder that left her index finger swollen and bruised. Zero too was pleasant to talk to, no horns, no foaming at the mouth, just a touch of Jack Nicholson in the early scenes in the Shining. I was surprised to see only one other rebreather onboard, an Inspiration one of the crew had. I guess RJ doesn't want to promote ccr until there is a viable co2 monitor. A number of folks were diving single tanks in fact, which at 140' would certainly be beyond my comfort level. Different strokes, different dive plans.

Intact and 500' long, the Northern Pacific promised to be a great dive, and is out where the viz sometimes exceeds 100'. I appreciated RJ letting me go with the first batch of four, and was keyed up while we waited interminably for the tie-in (props to Andrew, who made sure we didn't overheat.) As I approached the wreck though I had a bad feeling about the dive. Dark and murky, it would be generous to say the visibility was 6 feet. Even I tied a reel off for this one, and dropped 30' to the sand. On the plus side there was little surge, but there also wasn't anything to see, and I kept wondering if I was going to swim inside without realizing it. After a couple of minutes of that I backtracked to the tie in, then down the keel a ways. I had hoped to find a break somewhere, but ran out 75' of line with no better placement than a clump of mussels. Eventually I cut off to the port side and encountered a debris field. The first thing I saw made my heart go thump - an intact porthole. Wishful thinking it wound up, it was just some circular junk, but at least now I had found some interesting stuff to poke about. Some punk little half-pound lobster flipped me off from atop the wreckage, then I saw something that ran a finger of fear up my spine: two of the biggest claws I have even seen, sticking out from under some plating. In all honesty, I was half hoping I couldn't get a shot at it, because I knew that enormous crusher would break my fingers if it got the chance. I ran the reel another ten feet past, then locked it, dropped it, and doubled back to check out Beast some more. Sure enough there was access behind it, so I screwed up my courage and came up with a game plan. After looking about for a tickle stick I found a big piece of plate, and dropped it behind to cut it off from escaping. I then poked my light in behind and tapped its tail until it emerged. I think I was more surprised than him when my hand closed on its carapace. It all nearly came to naught, as I had foolishly only brought a small red game bag, but with pleading, cajolery, and no small amount of grunting I managed to fold the tail, cram the body in, then gently manipulate the claws one by one past the handle. In truth, it struggled much less than the chicken lobsters from the day before, if it had fought like those I'd have never been able to hold it, much less bag it. I really only wanted to bring it up for a picture; as I've said before, if a bug makes it to 5# I'm giving them a break. So the plan was up for a pic, then down with the mate when he pulls the hook.

By that time I had spent 40 minutes at 140', and was 350' out. Retrieving my reel, I scooted along back to the tie-in, pulled the strobe, then up the line for some uneventful deco. At one point I dropped my legs and felt Beast brushing my ankles, which got me to pondering what sort of damage he could do if he put his mind to it. Think about it: hip-clipped, claws up, just a little bit of mesh between him and me. I used to take theatrical roles for the NJ State Opera, but I've never been so close to being able to sing soprano (castrato?) parts.

In the end, I totally screwed Beast over, all 8.5 pounds of him. The mate didn't want to bring take him, and I didn't want to pitch him into the ocean since I've heard their chances of making it down and finding cover are near nil. I then figured I'd return him on Dive 2, but that got scrubbed due to building seas. My last option was to ask the Captain just to slow down over a wreck so I could drop him, but Zero's response was to the effect that the only thing he needed to drop onto was his plate. Sorry Beast, we hardly knew ye, but we certainly ate ye.

Eau Canada! August 2006

More later...