The Lana Carol and the Brunette May 12 2007

Small shallow wrecks aren't usually my bag, but it was worth going to spend time with friends. The Scuba Connection had chartered the Independence to the Lana Carol, a trawler sitting upright in 75'. Onboard was Stephan Francke, Craig Billings, Yasuko Okada aka Yasuko the Fiasco, with Dave Oldham crewing. Sean and Sue, a husband-and-wife instructor team were taking a number of students out for their first time off NJ, and Mark Clark and Bill were giving their Megs a first taste of salt water after last month's mega-Megalodon class. All told 6 of 16 pobs were diving closed circuit, with 3 Megs (the two afore-mentioned plus mine), Stephan's Sport Kiss, Dave's Classic Kiss, and Charlie's Evolution.

The Lana Carol is a scallop trawler that sank in 1976, intact and upright. She's deteriorating pretty well now, but has a ways to go before she collapses. Interestingly, she was pulled forward by a storm, leaving her rudder freestanding 20' behind her. I splashed right after Charlie set the hook, and was greeted by several keeper Tog and Sea Bass. I decided to pass on them though, in favor of looking for bugs and perhaps scallops. Down by the stern a sassy female walked right up to me, so I took her home. It's not a big wreck, so after a quick spin around I tied off my reel to see if there was any more debris out there. Stephan has been making a map of the wreck, and later I was able to report to him that the Lana Carol lies in solitude in the midst of a large and mind-numbingly barren muddy plain. By the time I returned all the game fish had scattered, so I poked about a bit more then made my way up.

We had hoped to hit the Spartan on the way back, in keeping with the shallow-intact theme for the newbies, but there was a fisherman on it. My vote was for the Delaware, but the problem with that is you are then committed, since at that point you are pretty much at the mouth of the inlet. Dan was leery of repeating an experience he had last year, where they cruised all over the damn place looking for something free, so when the Brunette came up unoccupied we jumped on it. I had high hopes for the Brunette, having dived it a few years ago and come up with several bugs. The dive started out a very sour note though, when the camera I had borrowed flooded. Youch. I've always wanted to own a tetra housing, but not that way, I'm sure hoping it's not a paperweight. The tide was coming out, and brought with it all the effluvia for which Jersey is famous. Hmm, how to describe the visibility? Murky fits. Crap would also be apt. Lets just go zen and say visibility was...not. You know it's not one of your better days when your strobe disappears into the gloom from less than 8' away. I was surprised there weren't more bugs to be found, as the terrain seemed ideal, but the few bugs that were caught were undersize. It was kind of funny to see what a bowl of spaghetti the boiler looked like, what with all the line running pell-mell off of it.

They weren't the best dives, but there were positive aspects. The obvious 16-went-down 16-came-up, plus nobody got hurt. The students still seemed chipper, and passed perhaps the hardest test by keeping it together in challenging conditions. After a too-long hiatus Craig got back in the saddle. I have some challenging dives in my near future, so more Meg-time is a good thing. Despite repeated threats Yasuko did not barf on me or my gear. While my bug may not have been a terror of the deep, it also wasn't the cricket that Dan cracked wise about, and was tasty. Best of all, it was a nice sunny day spent on the water with good people.

Like they teach my kids at school: You Get What You Get and You Don't Get Upset.

The Oregon May 8 2007

The wind cheated me out of a Sunday charter to the Resor, so I made up for it with a Tuesday trip to the Oregon. Captain Dan on the Independence planned to make the 58 mile run from NJ, which at the Indy's speeds isn't too bad. There was a great group of divers onboard, all folks you'd be happy to spend a trip chatting with: John Yurga, Richie and Carrie Kohler, Louis Barson, Dave Oldham, Mike Cole, Big Wayne, Tom and Ray (no not the guys from Car Talk, though I'd love to see them on a dive boat!), and of course Captain Dan. NOAA had made threats of 8' seas with 5 knot winds. As Dan pointed out though, in the absence of a major storm that just doesn't add up. After a quick consulation with Capt John Gorman of the Lockness (which I believe consisted of him looking out his back window on Long Island) we decided to go for it.

Fortune smiled on us, and we had sunshine and gentle rollers the whole way there and back. Richie gave us an excellent briefing, based on 20 years of diving the wreck. As he pointed out, if you only had one wreck to dive, this would be it: artifacts, lobsters, fish, history - it's all there, and in 130' (go here for an excellent synopsis of the wreck, along with pictures.) He and Yurga shared all sorts of stories about this wreck and others, and it was a real pleasure to be with divers that bring such a passion to the sport.

Louis and Richie splashed first, and made quick work of tying us into the bow. I elected to just make it one long dive, with an extra long hang in deference to my recent experience on the Stolt. Surface viz was a bit muddy, but as I descended it opened up to a very nice 20' or so. I took a few minutes at the tie-in to clip on my strobe, adjust my buoyancy, up the PO2 on my electronics, etc, then began working my way down the port side and into the sand. There are still several porthole backing plates, and I considered, then rejected, ascending for tools. After a brief but fruitless foray into the sand for scallops, I returned to the wreck and headed aft. I was eager to see the power plant, 4 x 4 scotch boilers next to an enormous engine, which Henrik had described to me as rose garden of red and white anemones. It was indeed beautiful, even breathtaking, both in size and sealife. Continuing aft my reel ran out just before the stern, and just as I saw something big swimming off (perhaps a shark, but more likely one of the monster pout that were everywhere.) I was just thinking about clipping my jump spool into the end of the line when I looked, and there was a reel someone had dropped, tangled but still useable. I guess somebody has to find all those reels that keep getting dropped, and I'm ok with being the one. Right at the stern I bagged up a barely legal bug (I carded her and she was 18.) I found another that looked strange, but in a way it took me a moment to place: it looked to be already cooked! I pulled it out from under a plate and then released it, as it was undersize. I really should have rubbed it though, I figured at the time it was rusty from the plate above it, but perhaps it was a red morph. They have a blue lobster in the boston aquarium, as well as an even rarer white one, so odd colors do happen.

Deco was long and thankfully uneventful, 76 minute bottom time with an equal amount of hang. Dave pulled the hook as soon as I got up; it seems everyone elected to do one dive based on temps. It was fun to see the booty that had been brought up. Yurga floated an accretion studded with round bottom bottles, which had the same markings as some I found in an Adirondack lake in 1987. Its intriguing to look at this big blob of dirt and wonder what treasures lie hidden inside. Dave had gone to the sand for scallops, and while he didn't find any either, he did take a bug from under a plate. Then, returning to the wreck he found a half dozen scallops lying on top of it. Paradoxical but he wasn't complaining. Louis and Richie both came up with bugs, as seen below. I particularly like the look of steely-eyed satisfaction with which Louis holds up his maimed crawdaddy:

Actually, it just goes to show how big Richie's was, Louis's was still legal.

There are several chances to do overnighters here this summer, which is something I'd love to do. I definitely need more dives on the Oregon. Maybe 20 year's worth.

Stolt Good, Stolt Bad April 28 2007

I finally got my wish on Saturday to hit the Stolt. I also got more than I wished for.

Onboard the Stingray was Jim Wood, Alex Peterson, Paul and Gary, as well as Captain Henrik. Chatting on the dock beforehand Alex asked if I had ever seen a shark off NJ. I told him how I had, and then mentioned how last year a guy I was with had seen two makos on the Mohawk. Alex nodded, saying he was on that trip, then Gary chimed in to say he was the one who had seen them. Its a tight community indeed.

On the way out I was asked if I would set the hook, which I had no objection to. I don't crew on any boats, mostly because I'd rather maximize my bottom time. Considering the amount of leeway Henrik gives me though, I don't mind singing for my supper. This time though it really sucked ass. The hook had gone all they way to the sand, which meant I had to drop down to 130’, then haul that heavy motherhumper all the way back to 60’, chain and all. I used the hook like an ice axe in my left hand, twice having to drop back down to release a snagged bight. Not fun, not fun at all. 23 minutes later I was tied in, bottle released (which I subsequently found out was never seen from again), and I dropped down to go scallop hunting. I hadn’t had time to mix up some trimix, so I was a little buzzy but nothing significant. I spent about 75 minutes out on the sand hunting about, and filling my bags with a lobster and 5 dozen scallops. On the way back I saw a decent pair of claws in a shallow hole, and quickly scooped it up. As soon as I put my hand on it I knew I had something special, the carapace was enormous. Deco was uneventful, 45 minutes or so just floating about in minimal current. My total run time wound up being 2½ hours, still without a chill. In truth I wanted to hang out longer, especially since by the top of the wreck I’d have been decompressing, but figured they might be getting concerned topside.

As it turns out, they were. Through a misunderstanding they were expecting me back at 2 hours, and were on the verge of sending a diver down the line to check on me. I’ll have to work out a system with them in the future, maybe send up a bottle at two hours so they know I’m alive and well. I kind of figured I’d relay it to someone heading up, but by that time they had all come and gone. I noticed a little soreness in my left arm about ten minutes after I’d come up, but it quickly disappeared, and I attributed it to hauling the hook up. The larger bug was as I suspected, a female. Stands to reason, big carapace, middling claws. She had the body of a 7#er, but since so much of a lobsters weight is in its claws, and since females don’t have to fight, she was more in the 3#-4# range. Big wide child-bearing hips on her, so I notched the tail. That way she can’t be taken, either commercially or recreationally. The notch should last for 3 or 4 molts, which at that size can take several years. After that she’s on her own. Some on the boat seemed to think this was kind-hearted of me (or was that soft-headed?) Really though, all I want to do is eat her children, which doesn’t seem particularly philanthropic.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to do a second dive, but when the possibility of getting another hour was offered I took it, with a 90 minute surface interval. I still wanted to get some mussels, plus I wanted to put Mama Big Bug somewhere nice. After spending a ludicrous amount of time picking out just the right hole for her, then scooping some more scallops, I saw I was due to begin my deco. Then my problems began. I’ve been using a 6 cf bottle for drysuit inflation. This is ample for two dives. However, with the sawtooth on dive one I had depleted it more than I counted on, and it ran dry when I got to the bottom. It wasn’t terrible, a bit of a squeeze but nothing major. Mental note to switch drysuit bottles for dive two, there was even a spare on the boat doing me no good whatsoever. As I ascended I noticed that for some reason the Hammerhead on my Meg was only showing 12 minutes of deco, while my other computer registered 25. Uh oh, that’s not good, they should be pretty close together, and if not the HH should be longer. Mystery solved when I watched it cut out and erase all deco information on the ascent: It was resetting. Also, one of my sensors, which had been slightly lower than the other two, now really dropped out. I still had deco information, and still had valid feedback on what I was breathing, so it fell more in the zone of inconvenient and annoying, rather than dangerous. At the top of the wreck I met Jim, signaled that I was ok and my deco status, then began my ascent.

We had a later start time for the day, plus were delayed leaving, so I finished my deco, added five minutes, then made my ascent. As soon as I hit the surface I knew I had a problem. The soreness in my left arm came roaring back, with interest added. In all likelihood I should have dropped down and done another 30 minutes at 20’ at a nice juicy PO2, but elected not to. The plan was for Jim to pull the hook at any minute and ascend on his own, and it would have complicated matters to have him drifting around while I’m on the line deco’ing – shades of last fall’s Arundo trip in reverse. Given that, I wasted no time scooting my way to the stern and clambering aboard. My mind was focused on the al40 of O2 that I had brought along at the last minute. Stripping out of my drysuit shredded a wrist seal, but I didn’t much give a damn at that point, I was much more interested in moving that bubble. It was muscular, not skeletal, so that was good, but it was also sore enough you’d have to call it pain. I alerted Henrik as soon as I got up, and periodically he and the other guys checked up on me. Paul is an EMT in Newark, and he sat with me and checked for muscle weakness or other discrepancies. I thought about lying on my left side but thought better of it, since I figured it would confuse my symptoms by making my left arm more sore, or god forbid, falling asleep and giving me pins and needles - it would be straight to the chamber then, with a misdiagnosis. After 15 minutes on O2 I felt better by half, and after 30 minutes I was completely asymptomatic. I still finished off the bottle, spending about two hours on O2 – longest I’ve been on open circuit in ages.

So, that’s my tale of woe, or rather woe narrowly avoided. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t kind of depressed about it this week. I feel like I’ve got my head around it now, the things I did that increased the risk, and things I can do to minimize it. I may start just doing one long dive rather than two, at least for deeper stuff, especially if I can’t get a longer surface interval in. I’m also going to plan my deco a little bit differently, setting my computers for at least one point below what I’m actually flying (which is in fact what I usually do.) I don’t think the slight drysuit squeeze was a factor, but I’ll change my 6 out more often, and be more diligent about checking it between dives. Hauling the hook to the top of the wreck was, I'm convinced, a huge factor. It's doubtful there was any initial nitrogen issue, as there simply wasn’t any time to load up on the bounce. What I think more likely is that I strained it, giving bubbles a nucleation site. Though its counterintuitive, I don’t think the length of the dive was much of a factor, since I never registered more than 40 minutes of deco. The over-arching cause I believe was trying to cram too much diving into too little time. My general practice is to add another 10 or 15 minutes minimum after I’ve cleared, but because of time constraints I cut that to 8 the first dive, and then 5 the second. Its definitely time to pad that right back in, I suspect if I had done that I wouldn’t have had an issue.

It was suggested to me that I not write about this, on the basis that it would destroy my credibility. That’s not something I’ve ever really given any thought to though, and besides, would that necessarily be a bad thing? I don’t teach anymore, so I don’t need to present myself as any sort of authority. Ultimately I think I’m much more comfortable letting folks know what has and hasn’t worked for me. I’d hate to think that anyone would get hurt as a result of overvaluing anything I had to say. I like to give back to the sport by sharing what I've learned, but that doesn't mean it will work for somebody else. It doesn't even mean its right.

The whole experience has been food for thought for me, hopefully for you too.

Glory Wreck April 21 2007

When one door closes another one opens. Late Friday afternoon I found out my planned Saturday charter was cancelled, but after a few quick phone calls I was scheduled for the Tuna Seazure the next morning. Tuckerton is a long haul from Boonton, but by taking the camper down Friday night I was able to awaken at 6am feeling passably frisky. Warm sunny and breezeless, the day was ripe with promise.

Last Wednesday I did my crossover checkout for a Megalodon rebreather. Curiosity, weight, compactness, and not least a pretty decent deal on it led me to get the unit, so I was looking forward to putting it through its paces. It’s a much more fiddly unit than either of my other rebreathers in terms of how much time I’ve put into configuring it the way I want it, and even after several hours I still see a significant number of changes I want to make. Brandon McJangles was crewing, and betrayed a more-than-casual interest by noticing that I had a Hammerhead on it. His doctorate it close enough to taste, and it seems he might have a new toy in his immediate future. Considering the impressive diving he’s managed to do as a student, it will be interesting to see where his diving goes when he has more freedom and a regular paycheck.

For those that haven’t been on it, the Tuna Seazure is a very nice boat. It’s a six pack, with ample space in the rear, a large, comfortable cabin up front, and 30 knots-worth of power under the hood. This latter was conveyed to me indelibly when I experienced weightlessness as we cleared the inlet: one moment I had a floor under me, the next I just plain didn’t. Fortunately I was able to land neatly on my feet, but for a moment there I think you could have driven a car underneath me. Our destination was the Glory Wreck, or maybe the Gloria, or the Kennebec, or the Lake Frampton. Call it what you like, it's all the same junkyard in 70’ and no one can prove you’re wrong. Had my poker-loving wife been onboard she would have swam for the shore, as not far off you could see Atlantic City basking in the sun. Seas were minimal, gentle two foot rollers with long intervals in between. A Bedouin couldn’t have gotten seasick if he tried.

Contrary to my usual procedure I waited last to splash. For my first real ocean dive on the Meg I wanted plenty of time to run checks on both my gear and my brain. Satisfied with each, I rolled over the side and kicked down the line to see what the Glory had for me. Water temps are inching up, a not-unreasonable 43F, with viz in the 15’ range. I took a few minutes at the bottom to sort out buoyancy and the loop, and to verify that I could put my hand on each piece of gear. The grapnel was tied into the bow, so I clipped my strobe, tied off to a convenient piece of debris, and headed aft. There wasn’t too much relief, usually in the 3’-4’ range, but with lots of plating and machinery cast about. Roughly halfway down I saw some antennae sticking out from under a plate, and got down to business. There was an odd surge, there and then gone, and with uneven force. It took a bit of timing, but I was able to glide in and scoop both that bug and a neighbor from their shallow holes. Cool, 30 minutes in and I’ve got dinner covered. Eventually I made it to the stern, which has a big open swim-through well populated with tog and sea bass. Very very pretty, there’s probably 18’ of relief, with plenty of light from either end as well as a couple of holes. I was so engrossed in the tog that it wasn’t until my second pass that I noticed two fat and sassy bugs within easy reach. The only problem was, my catch bag already had two, plus a razor clam, some funky copper tubing, and a horseshoe crab carapace to show the kids, and was looking kind of full. Fortunately I carry two catch bags; unfortunately, when I went to pull #2 out I found it had slipped from my pocket. Ah well, I was still plenty warm at 75 minutes, and at least with the reel I easily could retrace my steps, so to speak. I followed the line all the way back to the grapnel to no avail, then returned to the stern to find the missing bag sitting almost exactly where I had locked and dropped the reel. One bug was smart enough to beat feet out of there, but the other, a nice 3#-er, waltzed right into my bag with little coaxing. I was toasty and wanted to stay down, but I had left word topside to expect me in 60-90 minutes, and since it was already over 100 it was time to make an appearance. Somehow all the little gear gremlins that I can usually keep at bay made an appearance on the return swim: grit in the reel made it a pain to take up line, the gate on my light also jammed with grit and wouldn’t open, the two goody bags wrapped around the anchor line on the ascent and got twisted up. Little niggling annoyances that delayed me further, such that my dive stretched to two hours before I climbed over the transom. No worries though, and Captain Bill was even kind enough to let me take an hour and twenty minute surface interval before dive two. In chatting with the other mate, Charlie, I learned that there is reel hope for butterfingered Stephan and Carl: not long back he too dropped his reel on a dive, in the spring, but recovered it that October with little damage. ‘Course, that might mean he’s sucked all the luck out of that bit of serendipity, but you decide if the glass is half full or half empty.

This time I was looking to see what my pole spear could do. I’m still totally wet behind the ears with it, this being only my second time taking it out. Once at depth I screwed the four parts together and began the hunt. I decided to begin spearfishing not only for the obvious reason (damn they’re tasty), but also for the excitement of learning such a new and different skill. Deep, rebreathers, scooters, they are all technical skills to learn. CCR buoyancy plays off what you already know, scooters profit from the experience of diving in flow, trimix is just math with a sprinkling of voodoo. Spearfishing is new in a way none of those other skills are. Gliding silently down the wreck, trying to suss out trajectories, distances, fish-think ie what will and will not spook them – not to mash metaphors, but I’m hooked.

I’m also kind of hapless. I speared a beautiful blue Tog, and despite hearing that I should plant him right in the sand I went for my bag. Two seconds later he was gone. What the hell, I had three inches of trident sticking out of him! I hope for his sake it was merely a flesh wound. I’m also a lousy judge of 14”, and what seemed oh so legal had to be left for the sharks and crabs. In the final tally my catch bag stayed empty, but over the course of 90 minutes my toolbox of skills began filling nicely.

The Tuna Seazure has the sensible policy that they’d like to check you out on something mellow before joining on a tech trip. With all the great wrecks down there, I hope they like what they saw. I know I did.

Delaware April 6 2007

Good Friday lived up to its name.

The Belmar marina was an empty wasteland as loaded up the Stingray. Onboard was Carl Bayer (xjae), Sunny Longardo (trukdiver), Jim Wood, as well John from here at WV (sorry I forget your tag) and Patrick, who is training in as mate. In addition to Captain Henrik we also had two small dogs, which showed uncommonly good dog-sense by keeping out from underfoot. The Stingray is looking sharp, with new paint, a new transmission, and sundry other improvements. It even shows, dare I say, a woman's touch: the head now sports the loveliest little seahorse stencils, in pastel shades no less!

Our planned trip to the Stolt was scotched by 15-20 knot winds, but as every NJ diver knows, West is Best. So, despite the horizon being a ragged sawtooth, and even fluffy little whitecaps inshore, we were able to have very nice conditions just a mile offshore on the Delaware. Jim's ears have been tetchy, so I dropped first to set the hook. The grapnel was fouled in some decking to the east, so after a few minutes of orienting myself I tied it into the prop shaft. Viz was very nice, 20', going to 30' when the sun peeked out of the clouds. Unfortunately in the rough conditions the bottle I sent up was missed, so I had the wreck to myself for rather longer than I expected.

After a winter of recuperation the Delaware is ready for another season of divers. The sands have shifted quite a bit, and I was able to find a very nice piece of brass near the stern. There were plenty of bugs, with several 3, 4, 5#ers, and even a 7# one near the bow. Unfortunately most of them had ideal little hidey holes. I brought down my collapsible pole spear, but even with its 6' reach I had a hard time coaxing them out of their holes. By the end I had two smallish ones in the bag to keep my brass company. I had gone a little light on the undies since I wanted to make sure I was good and negative, and paid for it by being chilled by the end. Still, I made it 90 minutes, so I guess that should be expected.

Hot food never tasted so good, and I had the guilty pleasure of enjoying it fully in front of two slavering begging curs. For dive 2 I added another top. There is no consensus as to the warmest drysuit underwear, with some folks preferring the Weezle Extreme Plus, others the 4th Element Arctic. Since February I've been using the 4th Element, and then putting the Weezle over top. Oh Man is that good. Properly kitted I made 90 minutes on dive two with nary a shiver. The bug that had flirted with me at the stern went right into my bag, a nice 3#er. An even bigger one just barely escaped the same fate. I had him, had him bang to rights, chased out and pinned under my pole spear. The problem was, so was I, wedged 3" too far away under a rib. I even tried calling for Carl, who even did hear me, but of course had no idea where I was. Pity, that. I did manage to find the little rubber cap for my trident tip, which had fallen off on dive one when I assembled it. I revisited the 7#er, who again laughed at me, before putting the paralyzer tip on my pole spear and getting down to business. This was my first time taking it underwater, so beyond a rudimentary understanding of the mechanics I wasn't quite sure what to expect. Bah, nothing to it, in five minutes it had drawn 1st blood, then 2nd and 3rd (though #2 slipped from my rookie fingers and sped off to be a crabby feast.) I took the hint when I heard Henrik started the engines, still warm, still in my ndls, and with plenty of things to do. Back onboard I found out Carl had found a very pretty little piece of China, a 2½ finger bowl with the gold leaf still around the rim. He was much less impressed by my recovery of the 2 cent plastic cap for my pole spear, as his reel disappeared - I guess he'll be able to join Stephan in having a halcyon reel marked #2.

I may be a lapsed Catholic, but it was still mighty good to eat fish on Friday.

Ghost Fleet February 2007

more later...

A Sad Day Diving

more later...