Scuba diving is very much a black and white world in terms of the laws and rules one must abide by. It comes down to clear-cut physics. If the laws are broken, severe penalties are exacted, including paralysis or even death. ~ CARLOS EYLES, The Blue Edge

I am pretty sure if I forget my fins again I risk paralysis or even death….it’s kind of a given….but I am getting ahead of myself…..

My time in Florida is fast approaching and it appears that I might need additional supervised time on my doubles before taking them for a spin down there. After watching the weather forecasts the weekend didn’t hold much promise but we are giving it a try. Round Two in the Back Bay with my new 3442 lb doubles.

It appears that winter has finally arrived and we have been the lucky recipients of multiple days of weather in the 30’s although we have thus far avoided any snow. Under a cover of gray skies we are in the Belmar marina parking lot assembling or gear and pulling on our assorted layers of insulation before donning our drysuits.

I have my tanks fully assembled and leaning on the seawall while I pull on the last of my wool socks and stuff my feet into my suit. Mark already has his on and is setting up his tank. I sigh as I realize that I have left my bungee necklace on my pony bottle and my toolbox with the extra bungee cord in the garage. Oh well, will have to be inventive here.

I rub some sea gunk into my mask and rinse with the last of my water bottle and then lay out my gloves and hood beside my tank and check my hose routing to see if I can get it to lay better. One quick turn of my valves to ensure they are on, tap a little air in my wing and I am ready to go…maybe. Where are my fins? Think Cheryl…. Think . I see them…. I see them very clearly hanging in my garage, never making it to the load up pile having been distracted by looking for additional weights and “discussing” the difference between putting 10 or 15 lbs in my weight pockets. Ohhh….

As I inform Mark we will not be diving just yet, I can see “the look” cross his face as he immediately starts loading the tanks back in the truck, “severe penalties are to be exacted, including paralysis or even death.”

Wearing our drysuits and long underwear we head on over to the dive shop and grab a set of loaner fins and head back to the marina parking lot. Setting up our tanks one final time before going in we are joined by more divers, Angela, Scott and a third whose name I can’t remember, sorry. We weren’t the only ones with the idea of jumping in to test out equipment.

We walk into the water and swim out towards the dock where we lift our inflator hoses, dump our air and slide silently beneath the water arriving on the bottom in a huge puff of silt. A few taps of air to get me off the bottom and I am on my way. It isn’t pretty but I have moved the bands up some and am not fighting the face plant any longer. With enough weight I am not stressing the floating issue either. Trim however is simply another story. I was trying my best to move myself in the water column with breaths of air and only occasionally succeeding. This is going to take some work.

I still bounced off the bottom a few times and I still had to work my way out of my cloud of silt to read my gauges but I eventually felt confident enough to start poking the tiny crabs scurrying through the water and box a round or two with the larger ones. Rounding out the wildlife for this dive were quite a few starfish spread out along our route and numerous hermit crabs half buried in the sand. I even pulled out my compass to get my bearings.....who am I kidding......I used it to clock a big crab who was threatening me with his claws....

The water was a fairly clear 42F with about 5-7 in visibility anywhere not near me, but the surface swim back to shore was killer. I was definitely chilled by the time I got in.

Doubles..... Take Two

Scuba diving is very much a black and white world in terms of the laws and rules one must abide by. It comes down to clear-cut physics. If the laws are broken, severe penalties are exacted, including paralysis or even death. ~ CARLOS EYLES, The Blue Edge

I am pretty sure if I forget my fins again I risk paralysis or even death….it’s kind of a given….but I am getting ahead of myself…..

My time in Florida is fast approaching and it appears that I might need additional supervised time on my doubles before taking them for a spin down there. After watching the weather forecasts the weekend didn’t hold much promise but we are giving it a try. Round Two in the Back Bay with my new 3442 lb doubles.

It appears that winter has finally arrived and we have been the lucky recipients of multiple days of weather in the 30’s although we have thus far avoided any snow. Under a cover of gray skies we are in the Belmar marina parking lot assembling or gear and pulling on our assorted layers of insulation before donning our drysuits.

I have my tanks fully assembled and leaning on the seawall while I pull on the last of my wool socks and stuff my feet into my suit. Mark already has his on and is setting up his tank. I sigh as I realize that I have left my bungee necklace on my pony bottle and my toolbox with the extra bungee cord in the garage. Oh well, will have to be inventive here.

I rub some sea gunk into my mask and rinse with the last of my water bottle and then lay out my gloves and hood beside my tank and check my hose routing to see if I can get it to lay better. One quick turn of my valves to ensure they are on, tap a little air in my wing and I am ready to go…maybe. Where are my fins? Think Cheryl…. Think . I see them…. I see them very clearly hanging in my garage, never making it to the load up pile having been distracted by looking for additional weights and “discussing” the difference between putting 10 or 15 lbs in my weight pockets. Ohhh….

As I inform Mark we will not be diving just yet, I can see “the look” cross his face as he immediately starts loading the tanks back in the truck, “severe penalties are to be exacted, including paralysis or even death.”

Wearing our drysuits and long underwear we head on over to the dive shop and grab a set of loaner fins and head back to the marina parking lot. Setting up our tanks one final time before going in we are joined by more divers, Angela, Scott and a third whose name I can’t remember, sorry. We weren’t the only ones with the idea of jumping in to test out equipment.

We walk into the water and swim out towards the dock where we lift our inflator hoses, dump our air and slide silently beneath the water arriving on the bottom in a huge puff of silt. A few taps of air to get me off the bottom and I am on my way. It isn’t pretty but I have moved the bands up some and am not fighting the face plant any longer. With enough weight I am not stressing the floating issue either. Trim however is simply another story. I was trying my best to move myself in the water column with breaths of air and only occasionally succeeding. This is going to take some work.

I still bounced off the bottom a few times and I still had to work my way out of my cloud of silt to read my gauges but I eventually felt confident enough to start poking the tiny crabs scurrying through the water and box a round or two with the larger ones. Rounding out the wildlife for this dive were quite a few starfish spread out along our route and numerous hermit crabs half buried in the sand. I even pulled out my compass to get my bearings.....who am I kidding......I used it to clock a big crab who was threatening me with his claws....

The water was a fairly clear 42F with about 5-7 in visibility anywhere not near me, but the surface swim back to shore was killer. I was definitely chilled by the time I got in.

The Glory Wreck

There are strange things done in the midnight sun

By the men who moil for gold;

The Arctic trails have their secret tales

That would make your blood run cold;

The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,

But the queerest they ever did see

Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge

I cremated Sam McGee.
“The Cremation of Sam McGee” ~ Robert W. Service

The chosen wreck was the unidentified Glory Wreck, also known as the Gloria and some believe it to be the Kennebec while others say the Lake Frampton. Heck, I thought I had not been on it before and that proved to be wrong also…..

The "Glory Wreck", at 70 fsw, is a twisted mass of hull plates and steel spread over a wide area on a sandy bottom and there are usually artifacts and lobsters found.

She is possibly the remains of the Kennebec, a freighter named after a county and river in Maine which sank June 18, 1921, after springing a leak.

Or she might be the Lake Frampton, a tanker, which sank after a collision with the steamship the SS Comus on July 12, 1920.

Since there was no GPS back then, until the telltale artifact is discovered we will not know.
The night before, we watched the forecast as it was in a state of constant change and awoke in the morning to…..dark. It is dark at 5:30AM! By the time we arrived at the dock, the sun was peaking out and it was 50F and the start of a promising day. Captain Bill arrived bundled up like Sir Edmund Hillary and welcoming divers as only he can, and I was reminded why I enjoy diving this boat.

The Captain, Mark and I were joined by Brandon, whose voice reminds me of…nevermind, and Stefan, and spear fishing Bill, who I have dived from the Seazure with before. We loaded onboard and prepared for the ride out. The Seazure is quick, very quick and as we left the bay the swells built up and for a moment we bounced from the top of one to the other. Captain Bill slowed us down a bit and smoothed out the ride and we still quickly arrived at the dive site.

The air was warming up and the seas had rolling swells with wide troughs between them. The top layer of water was clear and the diving looked very promising. Brandon had answered a barrage of questions on his new rebreather on the ride out and he now readied to drop down and tie us in. While we waited the captain spotted a whale off of the bow, surfacing and spouting a huge stream of water. He disappeared again below the surface and a few minutes later the bottle was up and we were gearing to drop in.

I gave Captain Bill a bag of pistachios to keep him busy and not raiding our coolers as he often threatens to do when left alone topside and then followed Marks lead on the knee drop over the side. While I did it, I can tell you it involved neither grace nor agility.

We headed on down the line and arrived to find 10-15 feet of visibility which was a welcome sight considering the amount of rain and storming it had done the day before. Mark tied off his reel and we headed on out, first following a line of debris which quickly dead ended and then moving out along the boiler s. Tucked inside we could see several reasonably sized tautog and sea bass swimming about. As we neared the end of the boilers the fish became noticeably smaller in size and there were but a few starfish scattered about. While the water was still around 44F, you could tell it was winter and a good portion of the sea life was off vacationing in Boca for the winter.

We turned around and at the tie in there was Bills spear gun, planted in the sand ready to be retrieved on the way up the line. We headed on out in the other direction and came across several broken and abandoned traps with no locals errantly trapped inside and the wreck provided a fairly intact portion with some wide openings and lots of peekholes to look in.

All through the dive there had been a strong surge around the wreckage and by this time it was taking its toll on our energy level and was noticeable in our air supply so we turned the dive and headed on up before the cold caught up with us too. During our hang, Mark kept motioning to listen as he thought he heard the whales off in the distance. I had busied myself watching a purge of bubbles coming up from below us and really wasn’t paying enough attention to say.

As each diver arrived topside, they had their wreck story to tell. Bill had a problem with the bands on his gun and abandoned it to poke around for lobster, Stephan found himself some ships hardware, Brandon did a marathon dive and we were the sightseers reporting back the sights and condition of the wreck and its landmarks. We ate and laughed, telling jokes and stories and Stephan entertained us with a rousing rendition of the poem “ The Cremation of Sam McGee” replete with dramatic renderings, assorted character voices and accents.

During the surface interval the seas laid down quite a bit to almost flat and although the sun was shining I got chilled and couldn’t loose it. While I was going in for the second dive, I knew it would be a short one.

I rolled over and dropped down and we again headed out, this time checking out the scattered hull plates and some other machinery with rather large gears which looked more like truck tires. The visibility had dropped remarkably and the surge was in full force. I began to really feel the cold and motioned up and we headed on back and up.

At the surface we found the good Captain relaxed and sunning himself on deck. The rest of our group followed quickly behind us and we readied for the ride in. A fine end to the dive season for the Tuna Seazure and just plain hard to believe that it is mid-January.

Captain Bill….See you in March.

Mohawk and the Riggy Barge

There are fish in the sea better than have ever been caught ~ Old Irish saying

As I stood in line to pay for my coffee, I made small talk with the man in front of me.... "Glad it warmed up this morning" and he heartily agreed 35F was much warmer than 16F ..... now that is insane ......

The sun never really came out, it was gray and cold as the last of my gear was loaded on the Lady Godiver. The heater was blasting and we were 5 hearty souls making our way out of Shark River to the Atlantic. There was a bit of a chop in the water and we bounced our way along.

The main bottom finder was not working so with just the smaller one to find our target we opted for the Mohawk for our first dive. This site is so big that although I have been on it more than once, I still haven’t seen it all.

Just as we approached the wreck the errant bottom finder kicked into gear, but we were content with our choice of dives and proceeded to tie in...twice...but with a snug hook we readied to drop in. As usual, I was geared up and ready to go in no time and we rolled over the side into the cool green water.

Freakin ice cream headache cold is more like it!!! Yowser!!! It took a minute but as we descended through the layers of water laden with little stringy thingies it got better and then even the water cleared..... a lot. We arrived on the bottom with 44F water temps and 20-30 foot of visibility. Our only problem was which direction to head out into first.

We were tied in near the boilers and as we headed out I began to spy pieces of truck. Tires mainly, and axels and other discernable pieces. I had not been on this section before and began to look around.

There were not many fish about and the ones that were swimming past us were mostly small with the exception of the ling cod which were huge. This was not going to be a poking kind of day and so I began to peek in and about the tangled wreckage to see what was to be found. And mostly it was pieces of truck. Tires which were slowly melting away in the harsh ocean water made graceful arches along the route. You could easily make out the tread as you passed over top and they were surprisingly soft when you brushed against them. Twisted metal and lopsided stacks of metal plates filled the area. And we peeked all about as we swam.
We looked around for some time before turning to come back and then....there he was...just sitting there....only about a foot long and blending in perfectly with the wreckage, what was it? A lionfish? No, no not that. Ahhh, I know....a monk fish. I circle slightly taking in the sight and I could see him close his eyes and hear his little fish voice saying "Go away! I am invisible". Just as my hand shot out I received the sign. Not the bunt or steal sign, but the distinct and reverberating "Don’t poke that, it bites!!" I considered this for a moment but heeded the warning and would have to move on and settle for grabbing a ling cod by the tail instead.

We reached the line and swam out a bit more. The hydros and aneomes covering the wreckage were all opened up and moving slowly due to the cold and I could actually watch them pull slowly into their tubes like little disappearing bouquets. The cold was starting to make itself known and we headed on up the line. That safety stop was pretty cold and I was glad when it was over. We got onboard and headed for the cabin and some warmth.

No fish came up on this site and no legal lobster were sited either, but Harry did pick up a block of square tiles. These were interesting to see since the hexagonal tiles are what are usually found here.

As the last diver emerged from the water and we sat huddled in the cabin our next site was decided upon and. While we were not blessed with a parting of the clouds overhead, the seas laid down almost flat as we set sail for the Riggy Barge, making the ride pleasurable.

For many years the real name of this big wooden wreck was not known, and it was referred to as the "Rig Barge" or "Riggy Barge". It has since been discovered that is the three-masted schooner barge, the Helen.

Wooden walls protrude from the sand and are easily followed. At one end of the wreck is a large post sticking up all by itself, while at the other end is an interesting collection of machinery. The wreck is popular with lobstermen, whose traps are all around. The traps themselves are interesting since they often contain many other creatures besides lobsters.

We geared up and the cooler of hot water was most welcome, making donning the wet hood and gloves actually manageable. And we dropped into the water curious as to what we would find.

Again we descended through the profusion of thin brown strings only to have the water clear as we came upon the wreck. While the visibility was slightly less here, we still had a solid 20 foot of viz and I can only imagine what it would have been had the sun been shining providing additional ambient light.

The low lying ribs of wood extended out into the sand and we followed them on out. There were tons of little cubbies along the wall of wreckage and in each one was a large sea crab dug in for the winter. I tried dislodging one but he held fast. There were many different starfish scattered about, some spindly, some thick, and lots of fairly large moon snails making their way along the bottom. And there were not as many fish on this wreck as the other. We swam out past the end of the wall and turned to come back.

At the line we swam out in the other direction to see what it had to offer. On this end of the wreck were a line of lobster traps. As we swam past one I looked inside and did a double take. There were a few fish and decent sized lobster moving about but there were a pair of claws laying on the bottom that did not belong to any 3lb lobster….this was MUCH bigger and as I looked closer I saw this one covered the bottom of the trap and the rest of the inhabitants were just climbing over the top of him. Some Lobsterman is going to be very happy when he pulls this trap up.

Mark found some sort of a tool, encrusted with sea life and debated his souvenir, carrying it with him for a bit before deciding to place it back on the wreck. He is currently in the midst of restoring his last find so I guess one artifact at a time is all that fits in his toilet tank. Oh well.

We looked about a bit more and then headed for the line starting to feel the cold of the icy water. As we approached the anchor line I saw a pair of claws sticking out from a cubby and reached in and grabbed. Out I pulled a nice sized lobster, but upon turning it over, I was met with the site of eggs and back my little missy was going. Except that she was really pissed and grabbed hold of the seal on my dry suit. I tried coaxing a bit but she wasn’t letting go and I turned to Mark for a little assistance since I was not looking forward to the resulting flood from ripping the seal in this cold water. A little wrestling match of holding down the errant claw and keeping the lobster aligned while Mark loosened her grip ensued and back she went and we headed on up the line.

Harry was on deck as we arrived and he told the story of a really irate female lobster he left behind. He had a picture of her on his camera…..it was my little missy…..same lobster, same cubby…..we told him of our encounter with her also. No wonder she was so worked up when I grabbed her.

A few minutes later Jim came up and he was not happy. He pulled off his glove and there was the bruise from a female lobster with eggs. A cantankerous little wench that got him as he was putting her back! Our little missy got another one…..guess by now getting grabbed by divers was getting really old. We all had a good laugh and waited for Howard to see if he had a run in with the little girl too.

Howard arrived topside and couldn’t imagine how he had missed her. “Several lobsters were taken” is the word for the trip. Many shorts and eggers were left behind. We headed on in looking at Harrys pictures and telling diving tales as only divers can do.

New Year....New Dives

When I do good I feel good. When I don't do good I don't feel good. ~ Abraham Lincoln

It is New Years Day, a new year, new experiences, new adventures. One down....364 more to go.

I have doubles now. Not one set...but two. Woo Hoo! I am going to see all the sights everyone writes about. The Norness, the Empress of Ireland, the S-5, the Texas Towers. All I have to do is learn to use them. Hmmmmm.

After a hydro, viz and O2 cleaning, 2 sets of regulators, an interesting old school Dive Rite doubles wing, and the STRONG recommendation that I not paint them like I did my pony (that could be a whole nother report), I am ready to begin.

A group dive at L Street in Belmar for New Years Day seemed the perfect time to take them for a test spin. I loaded the dive mobile with everything I thought I might need and some redundant redundancy besides. It looked like I was making a pilgrimage to the Doria not a dive in the back bay, but I was prepared.

Arriving at the beach fashionably late, I prepared to ask questions of the more experienced doubles divers as to what to do next. It was a group effort with much discussion and debate as to the best approach to my first time out. Mark was gracious enough to assemble most of the gear with explanations as to the hows and whys.

As we suited up, the weather was changing to overcast skies and the wind had picked up bringing with it a bit of a chill. But the water was crystal clear and a bit of excitement was in the air. We geared up on the beach side wall and it seemed like I added much more than an extra tank to the mix as I clipped off my gear. Around my neck I wrapped my regulator on a hose so long I could share air through a restriction with a giraffe.

We walked down to the water and waded on in and we were off. I pulled on my fins and did a weight check. And.........nothing happened. I bobbed unceremoniously on the surface like a large neoprene duck. Bob suggested I lift my feet. Wise guy. I was in over my head. He clipped off 2 lbs to me and I tried again. Lets just say he clipped off 2 more lbs and then Mark dropped 3 lbs in my pocket. I was able to kick myself to the bottom and so we continued on out to the docks.

I was not the only one struggling as we unfortunately lost two divers to suit leakage before we headed on down. On my way down, I noted the 5-10 foot visibility which we don’t often get in this area and then arrived at the bottom in a cloud of silt, immediately bringing the viz to Zero.

I had been warned of the inevitable face plant issues and struggled to stay horizontal. My head was being pushed down and my feet were trying desperately to make a break for daylight. I struggled to keep from upending and single handedly depleted the water clarity for 3 nautical miles all around. Trying to maintain some semblance of trim by using breath holds I followed after Mark occasionally hitting patches of clarity which I immediately rectified by loosing trim and banging along the bottom. I still felt light, or maybe it was just the fear of being light, but hard as I tried I lost my way and started floating on up. Mark dropped another 3 lbs in my pocket, no easy feat at this point and we went down again.

Trying to keep the illusion of trim and searching desperately for that sweet spot in buoyancy, while trying to keep my dive buddy in sight, all the while enveloped in a never ending cloud of silt, I continued on. My waist strap was too loose and the tanks shifted slightly from side to side and I bounced off the bottom trying to recenter them on my back. The 7 foot anaconda I was using for a primary hose was having its way with me and I found myself pulling it from side to side like reins in order to turn my head. I was so fearful of being light I hated to pump any air in my wing and dreaded adding any to my suit for warmth. And my left fin must be larger than my right as I kept drifting to the right and Mark kept pushing me back on track. I was quickly becoming frustrated.

I seriously considered selling these tanks at the flea market next month and taking up bowling. My back ached from arching it to keep from burying my head up to my shoulders in the silt and I was getting cold from not adding any air to my suit. I almost gave it up right then and there. I took a deep breath and gave it one last try.

Then....all of a sudden the water would clear and for a few brief moments I could see the last of the sea urchins holding onto the scattered pieces of timber and occasional cinder block. The smallest of crabs were still scurrying about as if they had last minute shopping to do. These were Jersey crabs. You can tell by their attitude. As I bounced off of them they waived their little claws threatening me should I try that again. And at one point Mark tried to guide my hand to a small flounder I didnt see buried in the sand and asking to be poked. He took off just as my fingertips brushed him.

We headed on in after 28 minutes that seemed like a lifetime, they had to seem longer to Mark. I cant thank him enough for his patience although I can do without his new nickname thanks to all the silt I kicked up....Pigpen.

We broke down our gear and I even got my tanks in the truck by myself...it wasn’t pretty, but it was all on my own.

We headed out to Pete and Eldas for a hard earned dinner and beer. I am going to try again......I’ll get it....I hope.