The Roller Coaster

I loved the Little Lulu stories, where she would fantasize that her bedroom rug would turn into a pool of water, and she could dive down into the center of the world.

 ~ Lynn Johnson ~

One last dive and I am on the road. My car looks like a dive shop exploded in it and the non-ending wetness is beginning to take on a life of its own. I guess it is time and I am ready.

One last dive at Ginnie Springs and I will head back. Jack has offered to join me once more and I appreciate his patience and his advice. I will end the trip as I started it with a left post leak. This time it is caught before I get in the water and a new O ring puts things right again.

Our plan is to swim the main line to the Roller Coaster Tunnel and jump off there and travel up to the jump back to the main line. I have not been in this section of the cave yet and look forward to it.

Coming through the eye, I once more have spots of my line catching my tank. My practice was sans O2 bottle and I will need to change that. We make our way up to the ceiling in the Gallery and pass over the Catacombs and through the Lips. Past the Bone Room Jump and the Hill 400 and on by the Mud Tunnels.

The cave is slowly getting blacker, the farther back I go. I try to imagine it as it was before, layer after layer of black on black, limestone covered in the dark rich color of goethite and holes worn through from the waters flow making patterns that would play in the light. How quickly that all changed and how amazing the difference below the river from that that above it.

At the Roller Coaster I make the jump and lead into a tunnel that earns its name with the rolling floor and changing scenery. There is so much to see as I look about. I will need to come again to take it all in.

Jack did a tremendous job of describing the changes that would occur in the tunnel and how to recognize each jump and landmark. Progressive penetration, a wreck diving term we happened to discuss at dinner the night before is just as useful here in the caves. Each dive now I am making my way a little farther back, and each dive I am familiarizing myself with the cave more and more. Dump air here, stay high and left, right up ahead, go heavy, start tapping in, fins up, right to the Bone Room, left to the Hill 400, tall and narrow, low and wide and so it goes. On and on, to places I have not been and sights I have not seen.

Back out to the sandy floor with the lone rock center stage; there is some deco to be done and we spend the time rewinding my reel. Up to the river floor and the darting fish and the clear blue water.

A little bit gets added each time I come. People, places, experiences. Little Lulu was right. There are places where the river bottom opens up and you can dive down into the center of the world, a world filled with water and amazing sights to behold. Things to learn and stories to be told.

Where Is The Gold Line?

What is the difference between exploring and being lost? ~ Dan Eldon

Today we are at Peacock Springs, now known as Wes Skiles Peacock Springs Park. Jack Leeth has joined us and we plan on diving both Orange Grove and Peacock One before heading back for wings and beer. Not a bad dive plan at all.

I am trying to warm up to my new dry suit, but it is a struggle. I have not been dry in it yet and I am disappointed. I am also taking a new pair of fins on their maiden voyage and have high hopes.

Orange Grove has two of my most beloved things. Steps, not one, but two sets of them, and duckweed. There are no ducks, but there is more than enough duckweed. To the left of the steps is the cave entrance, with fallen trees, branches and rocks forming three holes; it sits about 50 feet below the duckweed canopy and at the top of the cavern, which extends down to about 100 feet. While I have been in Orange Grove before, it is not enough to recall the cave and upon being lucky enough to lead in once again, I get lost. Totally missed the monument; swam right past it in the passage to the right. Turning back I get a second chance at it and this time I bring us to gold line.

This cave does not have the cavernous feeling of the Devil System with high ceilings and wide berths. There is no flow to push us and the floor is quite silty; fossils dot the walls and rock out croppings. The tunnels move up and down, changing size and shape and I run my light along the walls and into the narrow edges of the cave, taking in the sights as we move along towards Challenge Sink.

My suit is leaking and I can’t decide whether the new fins are too long or too light. I feel as if they touch everything and stop often to realign myself and the fins. At dives end I have coating of duckweed over me and my gear, an inch of water in my boots and a lone patch just a few inches round that is not wet on my underoos. There is no justice.

After lunch at the Luraville Country Store (no slaw dog this time) we head back for a turn in Peacock One. Several groups are at various stages of entering the water and I make a huge mistake by sitting on the steps. I am using a set of rented double 85’s while my shorter 100’s are being rebuilt, and when I put on my fins and lean forward…. Nothing happens. The tanks are only slightly taller but just enough that I can’t lift them up from the steps while sitting as I can my 100's and I now have to shimmy down the last few steps before plummeting into the water, all to the amusement and good natured ribbing of the group before us.

As Barbara giant strides off the steps, I announce to the amused divers in the water, “go ahead, have your fun, take pictures of me struggling, and if you want to post them online, I am not embarrassed to tell you… My name is Barbara Dwyer.”  I know.... I'm bad, can't help it.

I have developed a fondness for Peacock One. The lack of flow makes the dive hard work, but the cave is growing on me. Biologists classify cave-life into three categories: troglobites (cave life), troglophiles (cave lovers), and trogloxenes (cave visitors that must return to the surface to breed or feed. They include salamanders, minnows, sunfish, and cave divers.)

Troglobites, in the form of white crayfish, rain down from the ceiling here, giving me an opportunity to poke if I am quick enough and catfish show up nestled among the different rocks at times you least expect them.

Taking the tunnel to the left, we are heading for the Waterhole jump. The gold line begins just inside the entrance but Grim Reaper sign lies about 100 feet inside. From there the Breakdown Room is just ahead beginning as a small slit in a ledge about half way up the wall and turning into a treasure hunt of fossils embedded in the walls and floor that  stretches the entire length of the room. Shells and sand dollars form a bread crumb trail to the next tunnel.

At the Waterhole jump, I again tie in and we begin down the passage as it changes shape and size. Our turn is before the end of the passage, dictated by time, as the park is closing and we must be out of the water. We pass through a short silt out on the way back and the experience reminds me of why we train for caves; in the failing visibility, I automatically move closer to the line and keep on moving toward the entrance and daylight.

We are the last group out of the water and as we make our way along the boardwalk and to our cars, I ponder where I can get me one of those there dive Sherpas, Cause one surely would be handy about now.

Making Progress

They say that nobody is perfect. Then they tell you practice makes perfect. I wish they'd make up their minds. ~Wilt Chamberlain

I am again meeting Jim Wyatt at Ginnie and hope to actually get a dive in this time. I will be diving wet as my dive yesterday resulted in 2 inches of water in my new dry suit. I just can’t win.

We gear up and move on down the steps into the water. Blue gills are abundant in the spring run and a lone turtle swims near the far steps, the water is clear and patches of blue in a plethora of shades dot the spring run as we set ourselves for the dive.

The dive plan is once again to enter the eye and jump off at the Hill 400; popular little plan apparently. This time I am running the reel and as Murphy loves his time with me, there is already a line going in taking the best points and course on the way in.

I find a small spot, smooth with wear and make several attempts to tie on before being rewarded with a good hold. My secondary is again slipping and sliding and as I move on it slides off once more. So frustrating. I try to make my way down not crossing or hindering the line already there but with my tanks above me and my O2 bottle below I am constantly catching on the rocks as I move slowly downward. Battling to squeeze my tanks and my butt through the narrowing rock spaces, the flow steadily does its best to push me back out. I struggle to find holds for the line and keep moving forward while and the line lets loose from several moorings and is caught in the waters flow and wraps itself around the regulator and gauge on my bottle. As I pull the line free, I loosen the gauge and regulator from their respective spots and this loosening seems to invite more line to tangle itself around. By the time I reach the Reaper sign I need to check my air, the idea that I may have hit thirds in my struggles does not seem so farfetched to me.

We head up and into the flow making our way back in the cave. I am doing better, this trip; I have only a small knick in my thumb from pulling on the limestone rock instead of the multi-finger carnage of previous trips, and I again glide on through the Lips, no longer my nemesis.

I tie in the jump at the Hill 400 and we make our way back once more marveling at the changing cave before us. With no training to distract me, I can take in the subtle changes of the cave and peek in places I previously passed up while locked in concentration.

We return along the same route we followed in and I begin to recognize the landscape and anticipate the twists and turns to come; the mental map of the gold line slowly taking hold in my mind. This is what I had been missing, the familiarity and mental image of the common parts of the cave that give perspective to where you are and where you are going. For all my frustration, there has been progress.

I pick up my bottle and reel at the sign and slowly start to wind my way out.

Once back on land, Jim packs up to leave and my phone has a message that Barbara isn’t feeling well. We will cancel our dive and meet for dinner. I feel badly for her but will use the free time to master my floating line, just laying line in and reeling it back out a few times before getting fills and readying for dives in the morning.

My last text to Jim….. “Where are you when I am laying line a girl can be proud of?”

There is progress to be made and I am making it.

Diving With Jim Fishback

The cave you fear to enter holds the treasure you seek. ~ Joseph Campbell


It has been a while since I posted, not since I dove, just since I posted.  A good trip was in order.  I think I accomplished that..... I think.....

It was a Monday in May and I was driving leisurely up Rt 19 and heading for the land of caves and wet rocks. I was meeting Barbara Dwyer from California, but she was not to arrive until late, and so with errands to run I made the rounds dropping off comp. magazines at Cave East and Amigos and stopping at Ginnie Springs with seconds to spare and renewing my yearly pass.

I checked in at the High Springs Country Inn, dropped my bags and headed across the street to what is currently called the High Springs Diner, but will forever be known as “Floyds”.

Morning arrived with sunshine and a promise of things to come. I was meeting Jim Wyatt at Ginnie for an early dive while jet lagged Barb slept in. Jim was getting in some practice and tweaking time on his new rebreather and we caught up on things as we geared up. We dropped down into the clear water at the bottom of the stairs and as I clipped on my O2 bottle I could hear the distinct sound of bubbles. Not happy champagne bubbles or the excited warbling of the lil fishies….. but a rush of bubbles….. dive stopping, equipment failing, trip ruining bubbles. My left post was making Lawrence Welk proud and Jim, try as he might, could not get it to stop. He continued on solo as I made my way up the stairs.

Since Jim could not get any results with all his attempts at the regulators, I decided to try switching tanks. Marching back down to the water, I swam, fluttered and twisted with no sign of my previous bubbles. Satisfied, I sat on the stairs, hanging lazily from my tanks by my harness and passed the time talking shop with groups of divers as they came and went. Before I knew it Jim was back and wondering if I had moved yet.

For the afternoon dive we were meeting up with Jim Fishback, who I understand may have been around longer than even Forrest Wilson; and that’s a long time. He gave us some history and a few stories of the first dives At Ginnie as we geared up. Talk of running wreck reels through the woods in order to find their cars and how each passage opened up when they thought they were at the end.

We head for the eye, making our way over the lip of rock and on down to the sandy bottom. Here, a lone rock sits in the center of the sand and a tree trunk worn smooth by the waters flow marks the entrance to the cave. We wind our way through the zigzag tunnel over boulders and past gravel piles of limestone with three beams of light slowly scanning the darkness and guiding us along.

The Grim Reaper still stands sentry at the start of the gold line and we clip off our tanks and hit our inflators to get up to the ceiling and out of the worst of the flow. The Gallery Tunnel is massive and the ceiling rises and arches like a huge stone cathedral. Jim had explained when Ginnie was first discovered, the entire cave was covered in black with goethite (a reddish-brown to black iron oxide deposit). Through years of diver use and exhaust bubbles from their breathing, the Geothite has been dislodged and washed from the cave; the cave is now almost entirely white. As I make my way back I am more observant of where the black patches lie and his story.

As we pull our way along, I am also apprehensive. My last trip here, the Lips had its way with me; flying me like a flag in the current and keeping my next hand hold secreted from me in a vicious game of hide and seek. The more frustrated I became, the worse the short trip through this short passage became.

The Lips is a wide low opening in the limestone wall about mid-cave height approximately 200 feet into the cave. I release my air and drop heavy onto the smooth limestone shelf and feel the force of the spring’s current as I reach out and…… find a small hand hold to pull myself along. And then another and then just the smallest of bumps but I am almost there and with one last push I am through and preparing for the keyhole, a restriction shaped long and narrow….. like a keyhole. From here we turn at the park bench and through the cornflakes where I am sure to look off to the side where the last of the fragile cornflakes still lie, just as Jim described.

Our jump is at the Hill 400 and we meander along the line and I notice there is more black to the walls here. The limestone is still smoothed from the waters flow and dotted with holes and finger-like out croppings; but I can see more dark patches and long swaths of black appear as we make our way back.

My time has come and I signal my turn time and we slowly make our way back out. With the flow at our backs we move more easily returning around the bench and up through the keyhole and can feel the suction of the lips as we approach and the flow increases with the narrowing of the tunnel.

We make our way out and back to the sand where the light filters through the river water above and tubers frolic one last time before day’s end.

From here we will pack up and go to dinner and Jim will tell us stories, amazing stories, funny stories, stories that come from a lifetime of diving before roads and tank benches ever reached these Florida caves. I hope he tells me more and that he writes them down to be shared. I loved hearing them and would love to hear more.

 

Peacock with TMet

You have brains in yer heads, and feet in yer shoes.

You can steer yerself in any direction you choose.

Yer on yer own, and you know what you know.

You are the one who'll decide where to go"

~Dr. Seusss

It was dark out when I got up….. no fair! What is this all about……. Caves don’t have tides….. no assigned time slots….. it is the advantage to looking at wet rocks……. Where is my advantage? Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa……..

TMet is a slave driver….cracking the whip…… up before dawn …. Pack into the car….He didn’t even bring donuts!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa…………..

Enough of the whining……I smuggled a cup of coffee into the truck, along with my dog and my dive gear and we were off. We didn’t stop for gas, or a potty break, or donuts……. Sorry, back to the dive story.

We arrived at the Dive Outpost late-morning and unpacked the car…….no we weren’t staying…. We just put the tanks on the bottom, in the future we will reconsider this strategy….. anyway, it was quiet and while Ron put a cave fill in some and “topped off” the rest we stretched our legs and looked about. Grabbing a few supplies and hoses, and a Twix bar…..they had no donuts….. I know I know…. focus……. We collected what we need and packed back into the car.

Hobie found a soft piece of floor and opted to stay, knowing full well that anyone who entered the shop would fall for his sad eyes routine and give him a pet and a milkbone…… he is a fan of cave country.

We pulled into the park and headed for Peacock. There is a new trail running through the park and I told Terry about it as we drove. This project has been a few years in the making and is entirely designed, built and paid for by cave divers. We have been told it is one of the best in any of the States many parks and divers should take pride in this. Anyone who dives the springs and parks in north Florida should take a few moments and join and support the North Florida Springs Alliance. http://northfloridaspringsalliance.org/ This organization is a wonderful ambassador for the diving community providing things like this interpretive trail, promoting conservation of the springs and working to open more areas to divers. The trail is 1.05 mile long, beginning at the Peacock steps and ending there as well. It follows the same route as the caves below the ground with over a half dozen stations describing the caves below and trail above. These are located at places like the Breakdown Room, Crypt, Peanut Restriction and Olsen Sink. Olsen will also have a scenic overlook built there so you can walk out over the top of the sink and get a good look down into it. (no throwing rocks at the divers below…. They told me that….I don’t know why… really…) A few weeks ago I met some other divers here and we spent a few days clearing the trails, putting benches in along the trail and setting the signs in at each stop…they weighed in at over 250 lbs each, Tim the Toolman would be proud.

The park ranger remembered me, he introduced me to another ranger as the one who got their 4 wheel drive golf cart stuck between 2 trees, a story for another day…..

If you are in the area, be sure to take a few minutes to walk this trail and enjoy it.

Terry and I geared up and other divers made their way out of the water or into the park. Even on a Monday there is a steady stream of divers here enjoying the caves.

I am still working out the kinks on my new dry suit. Cannot say I am a fan yet, but I am working on it…. There is less water in this one than my last one, so that is a good thing.


Terry is practicing and getting ready to further his training. He is making his way to full cave and doing just fine. I think I have to keep a close eye on my double 85’s from here on in though, as he is a fan of them.

There were a few equipment glitches and after ironing them out we were on our way.

The walkway out to the Peacock steps is only a short distance in flipflops but extends, meanders and snakes its way along when you are carrying a100 lbs or so of dive gear. Like the march to Bataan we made our way to the water. I sat on the steps, pulled on my fins and plummeted face first into the water. It is an art and I am the master of it.

A quick bubble check and we are on our way. I have my new reel and I am about to give it a workout. There are 2 other teams already in the system and it takes several tries to find a good spot to tie in around them, they took all the good rocks!

Securely tied to the cavern entrance we make our way inside. Our first dive will be the right side and out to Pothole Sink.

A short distance into the cavern is an oval opening in the rock wall. As you slide into this opening you drop almost straight down 65 feet making your way to the floor and the beginning of the cave. I tie into the gold line and we make our way forward. I am struggling in my drysuit with about 3 feet more zipper than there is real estate across the front of me and am working on how to move the air about my suit though this excess as I adjust my buoyancy during the dive. My struggle seems to be in the beginning of the dive. Going from the surface to the cavern and getting rid of the bulk of air. I don’t believe I had any problems in the cave and Terry did not point out any bouncing about so I am good so far, although I do need to put a bit more air in the suit next dive.

Terry is moving about brilliantly, getting to enjoy the cave as a tourist and not a student.

Large rocks give way to lower passages with silty floors. The beams of our lights illuminate arched grotto like alcoves along the cave walls and the white of the walls contrast sharply with the dark floors and sand. The arches increase in size as we move along extending across the cave and providing openings large enough to swim through and explore. The cave begins to widen and several pure white crayfish scurry along the floors. These are troglobites. They live only in the pure dark of the caves and so have no eyes as there is no need to see and no color as they need not hide from an enemy nor attract a mate. They are especially fun when they float down from the ceiling and you catch them in your light like it’s raining creepy crawlers.

At Pothole Sink the dome of the cave opens up and rises over 50 feet into the air and as you look up you see a hazy patch of blue where the sunshine from the surface filters down into the water stretching its rays far as it can reach into the black of the cave. There is a T tied into the line pointing the way to the surface with a note stating “Emergency Exit Only” and halfway up the wall a small ledge. The cave narrows after this and the Nicholson Tunnel lies beyond.

We turn head on back seeing Mother Nature’s architecture from a whole new angle. Some of the dark grotto like indentures light up as small passageways with at least one tying into the left side of the system. There is no flow and the quiet and the dark lets your thoughts concentrate and wonder at what you are seeing. I pick up my reel and begin to crank in the excess as we slowly rise up the wall and towards the surface. The line tangles round the spool, but this is a wreck reel and I have used it before, I know it will keep going. It continues to tangle but still turn and as I reach my tie in I have a mess round the reel but no unspooled line. Yep, this will be my primary from now on.

At the surface I clip off my tangled reel to a stage clip at the steps and we float about resting and planning the second half of this dive. The left side and the Breakdown Room.

We sink back below the surface and I tie around another team’s line and we make our way back into the cavern. I tie into the gold line and we make our way to the start of the tunnel and the grim reaper sign proclaiming “there is nothing in this cave worth dying for”. This is true. When your light is out and there is no sound, and a dark so black that not a hint of the outside world pierces it. You need to touch your eyelids to see if they are open or closed but you cannot for there is a mask in the way and help or harm could be but an arms length away and you cannot see it…. You want to know what to do and how to do it.

I think of this each time I pass one of these signs and go over in my mind what I need to do. Then the cave is there and I swim on. Past rocks and boulders of all shapes and sizes as you slowly go deeper and then there above is again a small slit, ledge like, and as you approach it you see it extends to the left in a low narrow like passage. Through the Chute and into the Breakdown Room we go.

As we pass along the rock encased tube of a tunnel you can see it is not just wet rocks. There are fossils, some lying on the bed of rocks, small perfect scallop shells permanently embalmed in stone and bits and pieces sticking up from the rock floor. You can scoot along through here pulling on the occasion and riding it like something at Disney or you can march on through eyes forward, finning perfectly not touching floor nor ceiling and making your way along looking for the end and anticipating the rooms farther back, or you can meander like a drunk down a hallway with no straight line and check along the floors and walls for the fossils. Little treasures, time capsules of a time gone by and long past. The sea was here, starfish and sand dollars dotted this floor. Maybe great sharks swam this same passage, maybe it was not always a cave. So many maybes, so much wonder.

This gives way to larger and larger spaces and once again boulders of rock line the floor and as we turn to make our way back I listen…. Can I hear footsteps…. Are there people walking, children running just above our heads? The silence is deafening. But they are up there, in some spots not more than 20 feet above…. There are squirrels scurrying and snakes slithering and maybe even people following the trail…. And reading those signs…. Planted 30 inches deep…. I know cause my arm is 29 inches and if I couldn’t touch the bottom of the hole than it was 30 inches and deep enough.

Ahhh, the surface. We are on our way.

Terry is in the lead now. Beams of light bouncing off white rock in every direction as we take one last look. Silvery pools pock the ceiling. They are pockets of trapped air waiting their turn to make their way slowly up to the surface through the porous limestone rock. And if you drag your finger through them they shimmer and tiny bubbles appear. Almost as good as poking fish…. Almost.

I pick up my reel and crank my way to the light, the haze of blue green marking the entrance to the cavern and the exit to the surface and home. I am a poker….. I hang for a few moments before surfacing and there are a few fish I now know…. On an intimate basis….. they will learn.

We stop to pay our bill and pick up the dog…. Another Twix….. STILL no donuts…. And we are on our way home…. A long day…. But sweet dives….

The Blackthorn

I shall go the way of the open sea, to the lands I knew before you came, and the cool ocean breezes shall blow from me the memory of your name.

~Adela Florence Nicolson ~

The 180 foot U.S. Coast Guard cutter Blackthorn, was built at Marine Iron & Shipbuilding Corp., Duluth, Minnesota, on May 21, 1943, launched in July of 1943, and commissioned in March of 1944. She served in the great lakes doing rescue, salvage and breaking ice, off the coast of California and finally at ports along the Gulf of Mexico. She had just been refitted in Tampa and was heading to Galveston, Texas on January 28, 1980 when she collided with the 605 foot freighter S.S. Capricorn just outside the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. The blending of lights from vessels, land and the bridge, inexperienced crew, lack of proper response, wrong side of the channel …… it doesn’t matter what the reason was, that doesn’t change the fact that 23 of the crew of 50 on the Blackthorn were lost that night in 40 foot of water due to an unbelievable chain of events. Such was the impact of this tragic loss that it prompted changes in the Coast Guard including special schooling of officers who would command ships and raised standards for emergency training and equipment. It also fore fronted the improvement of navigational aids in the shipping channel and systematic of tracking vessels in Tampa Bay.

The collision alone did not spell disaster for the Blackthorn, but one of the anchors of the Capricorn pierced their hull, at the crews showers, and dragged the coast Guard cutter along with the huge freighter until the Blackthorn pulled up aside the Capricorn causing slack in the anchor chain which folded under the cutter. Seconds later, when the chain went taunt again, like pulling the string on a top, it rolled the Blackthorn and she sunk in less than 3 minutes trapping 23 crew members inside.

In 2000, Seaman William Flores, was posthumously awarded the Coast Guard Medal for heroism. He had opened the life jacket locker as the Blackthorn capsized, and secured it open with his belt making sure that his shipmates were able to get to the life jackets as the vessel sank. His quick thinking and ingenuity and the time he took on a sinking vessel to complete this selfless act helped save many of the 27 survivors.

The ship was raised but so damaged that it was scuttled on January 28, 1980 just 300 feet from the Sheridan on Pinellas Reef #2. Today, the site remains a memorial to those Coasties who perished that night and a coast Guard flag “flies” at the wreckage and a yearly memorial service still takes place.

Topside, Dave is having computer troubles and opts to join another group for this dive. Mr. Bravo and I ready to dive and with a grace few others will ever know, I launch myself, like a big ole cannonball into the warm green swells.

We drift down onto the broken portions of the Blackthorn and begin our dive. She sits broken and turtled on the sea floor, covered in life from the sea bottom. There are not as many moon jellies here but swarms of bait fish still dart about and the ever watchful barracuda eye us like rent-a-cops at the mall.

A portion of the hull has given way and you can slide in and hover with the cool kids as they eye you with distrust. If you ask me, I think they hang in here and have a little toke outside of the prying eyes of ‘cuda gendarmes. That’s what I think…

We swim all about checking the nooks and crannies as fish swim freely all about. We head out into the sand to look and come across some oversized pipes. Shining my light inside all I see is Jens shining his light and waving from the other side. No one is home.

We head back to the anchor line where there are fish in need of petting and poking flitted in and about. Black sea urchins beckoned to be decorated with small shells. So much to do, so little time.

It is unfortunate that we missed the loggerhead turtle that was seen by other divers, but it was still a great dive and I mused as I made my way back to the boat how different yet the same this Florida diving could be.

As I surface I grab the tag line and as I pull my way over to the ladder, I remove one fin and place the spring strap over my hand and as I reach the ladder I pull back the spring on my second fin. Two large swells pass under the boat and the ladder bucks beneath me and I reach to hold my unsecured fin…. But I have a bad feeling….. a real bad feeling…… and before the next swell comes through I toss my spring strap and only my spring strap on the dive platform…… and then bang….. I am bounced on the ladder once more. Some days……..

The captain offers me a spare fin to go retrieve it but Tracy slips into her gear and steps off the back of the boat….. thank God for heavy fins….. straight down and in less than a minute she is back…. Fin in hand. Thank you Tracy, thanks.

The ride in is a pleasure. As all the men folk sit huddled beneath the canopy, trying to keep warm and dry, Tracy, Heidi and I sit near the transom drowned and drenched with the proliferation of waves and water clearing the gunwales of the boat. We make the best of it, laughing with each drenching. There is not much else you can do. We talked, and laughed, and rested and contemplated warm, dry land.

 

As we cleared the pass I looked back and it was like a crazy movie….. boats of every size, shape and color were heading in behind us. It looked like we were being chased….. boats going in and out, coming up port and starboard, huge cabin cruisers on our stern, jet skis zipping across our bow……. A traffic jam on the water. Expertly maneuvered through by our illustrious captain and safely tucked into our slip at the dock we unload and head home…..

There are more places like this out there…. There are….. I want to dive them…. I really do.

 

The Sheridan

Far across the ocean,
Far across the sea,
A faithful jelly doughnut
Is waiting just for me.

Its sugar shines with longing,
Its jelly glows with tears;
My doughnut has been waiting there
For twenty-seven years.

O faithful jelly doughnut,
I beg you don't despair!
My teeth are here with me, but
My heart is with you there.

And I will cross the ocean,
And I will cross the sea,
And I will crush you to my lips.
And make you one with me.

~Dennis Lee~

Excitement was in the air, a wreck dive, a real wreck dive in the Gulf and I was going. It is hard to explain why I feel the way I do, but wreck diving is special to me.

To know the history, no matter how slight, to see the remains and put it whole again in your mind….they become real and fire the imagination and feed the soul. Real people walked her decks, events played out below her decks, tragedy and history, stories and sights sometimes beyond the imagination. And finally they rest on the ocean floor and sea urchins walk the decks, large fish hold court in the empty holds, barracuda circle the broken rails and feed upon small fish trying so hard just to survive. And creatures, ones others only get to imagine, lay hidden among the nooks and crannies just waiting to be found as these once proud ships melt slowly into the oceans floor. I love these dives.

Fall, or at least Florida’s version, has arrived and as I drive in the early morning hours towards the marina I see … green. No changing leaves on the trees to shades of rust and brown, the yellows and reds of chrysanthemums do not dot the sleepy yards, no new palette of color to herald in the change of seasons and passing of time. I miss this.

But my mind changes focus as I approach the dock for Tanks A Lot and the Cantankerous. I am diving, a real wreck, and Jonny is bringing donuts….. and coffee….. and familiar faces will be on the boat….. and there will be donuts….. did I mention the donuts?

As I load my gear onboard I call out morning greetings to MissD and Captain Mike and Captain Heidi. Bob and Tracey arrive with their students for the day. There are new faces, Verne and Javier, soon to become new friends. And then Dave pulls in with his new Nitrox cert….. but no donuts. Hmmmm. No donuts, no cookies, no tic tacs, no gum….just a nitrox cert. Hmmmm.
Finally Jonny arrives….with coffee….. and donuts….. boston creme donuts….. they have no holes…. donut holes are such a waste of space….. life is good….. let the day begin!

We all climb aboard and Captain Mike takes our picture, takes several actually. I am still somewhat shy being new to the group and hang back a bit, but I think he got me in one of them. We will see.

The ride out is a long one, 2 hours and as we lose sight of the shoreline conversations turn to diving and dives past. The time passes quickly, donuts are eaten and soon we are approaching our first site…… the Sheridan.

In 1951, Ira S. Bushey & Sons, Inc., of Brooklyn, built a 180ft tugboat, the D. T. Sheridan. For 35 years she moved barge and boat and finally, based out of Tampa in her final years, her job included hauling barges to New Orleans and the Caribbean. As sleeker, stronger and more fuel efficient barges moved in to take her place she sat for several years in a shipyard before being donated to the Pinellas County Artificial Reef Program.

On November 17, 1986, she was towed 20 miles out off of Clearwater, to Pinellas Reef #2, and sunk, without the usual fanfare of blowing the holds, by simply opening her valves. She came to rest upright and intact with her propeller in the sand at 80 fsw. This reef program uses a mix of materials shapes to provide the most diverse habitats and you will find the Sheridan surrounded with an array of tires and cement culverts which add its diversity of sea life.

Jonny, Meg and myself once again joined forces, like the 3 musketeers of diving, or maybe not, were Moe, Larry and Curly musketeers? Anyway, at their urging I quickly joined them on the wet side of the boat and we were on our way down to a fish pokey time on the Sheridan.

The water was 84 F and while visibility was in the 80 foot or so range, the water had a slight green tint to it. Moon jellies are flat jelly fish resembling both a sand dollar with their teardrop center markings and a round table set with a centerpiece and fringed cloth. They are clear in color and the dozens that floated round the wreck gracefully flapped their “fringed” edges in unison as if being blown by a sudden fall breeze. A few small sea nettles made their way round near the anchor line and large shiny barracuda circled round as we made our way through throngs of small baitfish.

The Sheridan sat, as promised, the lone prop lying half buried in the sand while the rest of the tug sits upright though slightly off kilter as if listing to with the swells above.

Bait fish swarmed the upper structures and I find it ever amazing that you can swim through hundreds of them and never get bumped. Why weren’t people blessed with such agility. I can’t walk through a near empty Publix without someone bouncing off of me.

As we make our way round the structure I am antsy to see inside. I imagine the crew scurrying along the narrow walkways flanking the wheelhouse and swells of water clearing the gunwales as the lone propeller spins its way round moving tug and barge forward through the water. I am antsy to see inside, imaging the crew living and working on this spartan workhorse of a vessel. As Jens and Dave peek in porthole shaped openings I duck into a doorway to have a peek myself. I am in a small barren room with another doorway ahead, through that opening I can see ambient light and move forward figuring to poke about and emerge the far end right next to my dive buddies.

Who but I could choose to explore….. the head. Yes, through that tantalizing opening was a small narrow room, barely wide enough for a swarthy broad shouldered mate with 5 o’clock shadow covering his strong square jaw to turn both ways. And there filling the small narrow alcove of this space was ….intact porcelain. A potty, sans seat, bolted securely to the deck and harboring naught but small coral, sponge and an errant tiny fish thank goodness. And through that second door, another small room with the sink, long since fallen from its berth on the wall, laying haphazardly on the floor. I need not use my imagination here a minute longer and exited the doorway meeting my own crew and moving on with our dive.

A few yards off in the sand I come across an anchor….a gift for the captain!!! A rescue and salvage!!! But alas, while there is little to no growth on the anchor, but the chain and rope hold a whole new neighborhood in the making. While they are relocated a few feet, they remain below the water. Another time I will surface bearing gifts. It will happen…..it will happen.

MissD made a great find along one of the outer stairways….. a small octopus blended in almost perfectly and inching his way along. How very cool. And Captain Heidi led me to the hiding place of a scorpion fish….. absolutely amazing…… so much to see.

Jens and I dropped down in the hold, two levels to the bottom and….. as I spun in a circle looking for a place to go, to get out of the way, Jens who was patiently hovering just above my head got tired of waiting and squeezed in past me and circled also….. nowhere to go. Oh well…This must have been the engine hold, the oil run engine long ago removed. And so we make our way out and onto the line and up to water’s surface.

Our next stop is just 100 yards away, the U.S.C.G. Blackthorn.

The Vandenberg Revisited Two

Where no great fish venture
nor small fish glitter and dart,
only the anemones
and flower of the wild sea-thyme
cover the silent walls
of an old sea-city at rest.
~Hilda Doolittle~

Cindy Bill and I spend the evening with a bottle of wine, relaxing on the deck and I get a sneak preview of pictures and stories to come from their trip to the Philippines. Dinner, once again, makes me too full for dessert and lulls me into a lazy comfortable haze calling out for a soft bed and softer pillow. I oblige and come morning we are once again on the dock of the Sea Eagle loading tanks and gear for our dive. Bill is using his old booties and a new dive friend, Mike, today. Cindy and I are doing a diva dive and plan on checking out the elevator shaft and poking some fish. At least I do.

Upon surfacing from our last dive yesterday, I discovered I had lost an earring, I am not sure how I feel about the pirate look and have skipped the earrings this morning while I decide. Bill suggested that the glitter of light on my silver hoops were the tantalizing draw that kept the barracuda so close to us yesterday and here I thought it was just my sparkling personality. I asked everyone aboard to keep an eye out for my earring, how hard could it be to find? It’s not like there are that many down there.

I like diving with Cindy, she, like me, loves to peek about and enjoys the small treasures each dive has to offer. We gear up and she gracefully steps off the port side and into the water. I follow with a launch and plummet as only I can do….. maybe this is what made me so memorable to the crew….. it is my signature move…..

We are again tied to the stern mooring ball, our second dive we will move to a mooring closer to the bow, and as we drop on down we can feel that the current has picked up ever so slightly since the day before, Earl is on his way. I follow Cindy as we make our way forward and she suddenly points and picks up a lone earring from the deck. What are the chances….. it is a pearl stud, not my loop but I tuck it into my sleeve before continuing on. It can only enhance that pirate look I am beginning to embrace, and oh the story it will add to it.

We come to the elevator shaft. The water is hazy and you cannot see all the way down. Cindy slips over the side and down we go slowly dropping towards the dark. At about 110fsw the first opening appears and it is completely dark, no light from a swim through cutout reaches this spot. I turn on my light and poke my head in but Cindy is not carrying doubles and chooses to explore other areas this dive and signals up and we head on back to the deck. She has much she wants to see and today she is not carrying her camera as she did on yesterday’s dives, it is the size of a small sofa with arms and strobes and gidgets and gadgets…. I have no idea how she does it, but I do love her pictures.

I have been soaking in all the changes in the 10 months since I was last here. Like each of her past unique services, Vandy is embracing her new position, this time beneath the water’s surface. Her final retirement duty is possibly her greatest success. She has settled upright on the seafloor sturdily riding out the currents without wavering. Soft corals and sponges are tentatively laying claim to her nooks and crannies. And fish…. Well the neighborhood is filling out. Size is the most notable since my last visit. The small parrotfish that last time nibbled at the algae on the radar dish are now gi-normous. They have little fear as they nibble their way along, their colors flashing against the still bland colors of the hull. Regal sized queen angel fish swim about the tie in and large blue ones flit about.

The grunts swarm the higher parts of the superstructure and the barracuda have bulked up dining among these plentiful schools of fish who dart about in an unimaginable unison. Like Dancing With the Stars, with no noticeable signal, they quickly take off and make a chain of graceful precision turns as if choreographed to some music only they can hear and practiced in the long warm water afternoons. I found myself in their center several times during these dives and just stuck out my hand as they washed over me, marveling at the scene unfolding around me.

The small damselfish still puff out their chests and protect their “hood” as if they were the size of small whales and not goldfish and as I dropped between two railing to escape some of the current I came across the telltale squiggles of sand leading to a black and brown sea cucumber the size of a size 10 Nike doing what sea cucumbers do best.

There were midsized fish also. Large yellow and black butterfly fish swimming in and out of doorways, neon blues with their single vertical white stripe outlined in black, and the rest of the rainbow of colors that mark fish that call the warm southern waters home. These, I am sure, were the tiny fish we saw last October, just hatched and hiding among the safety of structure below deck in their new home. Large spiny legged shrimp try to blend in with the butt hinges of the doorways as they await their next meal and tickle as they scurry over your hand.

And there were new hatchlings and small fish varying size and color. They have replaced the parrot fish grazing on the grate like structure of the dish.

All are now schooled in poking 101 and I imagine the ship makes a small sigh as she settles farther in.

While the interior porcelain still shows white, the thinner pieces of metal are slowly bending with the waters currents. The frames of shelves and bunks are slowly showing signs of buckling and the salt water and changing currents have made the thin pieces of grating fragile and starting to fall from the radar dish in spots.

It will be many long years past the time of my visits to her that her decks and sides fall away but the sea is very upfront with her intentions and has begun to slowly refit the Vandenberg in what will be her final wardrobe. Soldiers and sailors no longer scurrying about her decks, no radar dishes vacillating to and fro and the hum of electronics scanning the skies above are quieted and the strange glowing lights of aliens will no longer haunt her halls, just the TV screens of sci-fi enthusiasts. They are replaced with the vigilant sentries of barracuda, herds of colored fish and the glow of bioluminescent at night.

She will give up her battleship gray for the fields of color the corals and sea flora and fauna bring. She will sit in the center of the sea as its diversity washes over her and stick out her hand and marvel at the scene unfolding around her, just as I did, seeing what goes past and what catches and stays.

We end our dive day once again at a small table on the deck, this time I have dessert first, I do love key lime pie, and we marvel at the wonders we have seen and make plans to do this once more…….. we sit at the pier and watch the sunset in stripes of pinks and blues and look out over the water and I remember the words of Lord Byron ~ Roll on, deep and dark blue ocean, roll. Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain. Man marks the earth with ruin, but his control stops with the shore.

I’ll be back, I can’t help but to.

The Vandenberg Revisited

My soul is full of longing
For the secret of the sea,
And the heart of the great ocean
Sends a thrilling pulse through me.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow “The Sound of the Sea”

In 1944, the USNS Gen. Harry Taylor served as a troop transport ship. In 1958 it was decommissioned.

In 1963, the USAFS Gen. Hoyt S. Vandenberg served as a missile range instrumentation ship. It was retired in 1983.

In 1996 the Akademic Vladislav Volkov did double duty as a Russian science ship and love nest for electrical aliens. It was dropped faster than Jamie Lee Curtis and Donald Sutherland’s Oscar dreams. <1999 movie VIRUS>


So goes the history of a single floating steel structure, just over 522 feet long, 71 ½ feet wide and 10 stories tall. But her story doesn’t end there. Once again claiming the proud name of the General Hoyt S. Vandenberg, she began her final service assignment.

May 27, 2009 the Gen. Hoyt S. Vandenberg became the second largest artificial reef in the world when her bow touched sand 130fsw just 6 miles off the coast of Key West, Florida.

Now affectionately referred to as the Vandy….. she has begun her final transformation on the ocean floor to ocean habitat, sea life sanctuary, fishie nursery, coral and algae magnet and dive site…. A little bit of fish pokey heaven in my book.

There are big ships and small ships. But the best ship of all is friendship. ~Author Unknown…. Bill and Cindy are my ships and I count myself lucky. They are just winding up a dream vacation and spending the last few days of it diving and shopping with me. I won’t bore you with the shopping part, although I did get a great little picture for my hall but did not get to hold the one eyed chicken. Stories for another day, but will say that I arrived in Key West mid evening and after a short stroll we settled in a small Cuban restaurant with mojitos and the Cuban version of nachos to catch up on news and goings on.

The next morning we head out on the Sea Eagle with Captains Corner and as we load onboard, the mate remembers me from my last trip with them…… not sure if this is a good thing or not….we will see.

Bill and I dove the Vandenberg in October, just a few short months after her sinking, and I am excited to return and see how things have progressed.

We are lucky to hit a small window of diving before the arrival of Hurricane Earl in just a few short days. The seas are choppy and we are thoroughly drenched when we arrive at the mooring ball. There is a brisk current from surface to sand and while the water registers at 89F the visibility is just 60 to 80 feet.

We drop down on the stern and as we descend the line we pass some of the largest barracuda I have ever seen. They slowly circle as drop on down and spend the remainder of our dive just out of reach with one unblinking eye on us at all times. A thickening coating of growth envelopes the ship and we set off on a grand tour. The current seems to run both sides of the ship and we do not get to the bow this dive. I head over the rail and while the impending storm has stirred up the waters I can just make out the anchor chain stretching out into the sand. We enter the first set of cutouts to get out of the current and check out the changes below. The carpet of silt on the ships interior is deepening quite quickly and we pass an array of disabled machinery before heading back out. We pass the radar antennae and dish which are also deteriorating much faster than I expected. You can easily spot small cross pieces already fallen away. We look down the gun turrets and in and out of doorways, drop back over the sides and again traverse the ships interior using the large cutouts in the ships sides. The Coast Guard flag still flies proudly flapping in the current and just below it is a new addition, a sign post from Duvall Street and we stop to pose and take pictures with it.

Noting the time, we head back up with just short of an hour’s dive. Our SI is very short as is our next dive as the captain plans to pull anchor in an hour. We regroup and plan a short dive to finish the day.

Cindy hits the water first and drops down to wait for us. As we begin to make our way down the line with me leading and pulling hard through the current down the line. Before I reach the mooring line Cindy has gone back up due to an O ring which had suddenly began leaking and Bill and I continue on. We enter through a doorway on deck and move through a passage heading down and passing by abandoned bunks, off kilter shelving and slender rooms filled with surprisingly still white porcelain. There are narrow oval openings with ladders spaced throughout the deck leading to decks below but I question squeezing my doubles down them and move onto larger openings.

We again exit near the radar dish and as we hover above it a tap on the shoulder scares the bejesus out of me. Here is Cindy back with us. As she hit the ladder and explained her dilemma, the mate in one swift move reached down and plucked her out of the water, gear tank and all, placed her on the dive platform, switched her tank out and pushed her back in in record time. Oh to be young again……

We continued on peeking and poking and as you can imagine….the poking does live on…. Did you know parrot fish have teeth?

We end our afternoon with burgers and drinks and back to our rooms to change before some wine, shopping, and a Key West sunset. And I swear….. I will not play tricks on Bill anymore…… the “great dive bootie incident” will be my last…. I am pretty sure…. I think….. kinda….. yea.

Jersey Diving in FLA

Why do New Jersey divers roll backwards off their boats?
Cause if they rolled forwards they would land in the freakin boat!

Hello…. My name is Cheryl and I’m from New Jersey …. we did things a bit different there…….
First off, we didn’t start a dive trip without breakfast….. there is a reason Dunkin Doughnuts is open 24 hours….. but I am in Florida now and there is a Florida way….. Hmmm………

All dive boats leave at O’Dark Thirty…... why is that? At least that part didn’t come as a shock. I loaded up the truck the night before and was on the road before first light. The black quickly gave way to the dark blues and deep reds of predawn, slowly morphing into the pinks that give the first hints of sunrise. As I make my way to the marina, the colors of morning wash over me and with the help of hot coffee I slowly awaken to a new dive day.

It’s been a while since I made a dive boat trip. The reasons don’t matter, just the time….. and I have missed it …..a lot. There will be people I know on this trip, friends old and new, and I look forward to the day.

Today I am diving on the Can-Tank-erous with Tanks-A-Lot Diving. Captain Mike and Captain Heidi are my hosts and MissD aka Tracy, the dive master. [In NJ, someone, goes down and ties in and a Styrofoam cup or empty water bottle is sent up when the hook is set and ready to dive. When the cup is up, the pool is open and divers roll off the sides of the boat like rats abandoning ship and the diving begins.] Dive masters are new for me. They go down and set the hook, come up and give a report, and as each diver steps off the platform into the water they stand by to retrieve errant gear and divers. Interesting.

Dive boat rosters are always varied and interesting and this one no exception. The requisite young couple, a father/ daughter team from New York, two brothers who looked almost like twins (although one claimed his brother got youth and he got the good looks), a very quiet local diver, and the ruffians from FDF who were to be my buddies for the day, Jonny Bravo aka Jens (who has been in a baby induced dry spell) and Megaladonbite aka Dave (who is renewing his love affair with diving after a lengthy hiatus). I round out this group of merry divers and quite the group we are. The Captain took a group picture before we left the dock so he could pick us out of a line up or maybe it was for his online gallery, I forget.

It is a long ride out and the time passes quickly with dive stories and chat. (no Danish just dive stories and chat). The air is warm and the water warmer and with just rash guards and dive gear we head for the stern and step off the platform one by one and make our way to the anchor line. The water is warm, 89F warm. And the viz looked suspiciously like 40-50 foot as we make our way down to the ledge. [Please don’t ask me which ledge, I am new here and still trying to figure out the difference between a reef and a ledge…… ]

We are greeted by colorful corals and fish. [NJ has colors, there are many different greens and browns…but the history more than makes up for it] I bought a set of books (the Humann/Deloach Reef series) so I could identify what I saw when I dive, unfortunately it didn’t help. There were mounds of corals that reminded me of giraffes with their shapes and markings and stripes of purple coral lining the ledges edge. Green leafy algae floated just above the sand and pink and green corals filled in the spaces. Collar shaped egg casings sat in the sand. Could there be moon snails in Florida? Like a little retirement village of moon snails with little white belts and shoes scurrying along to the early bird special at the Krusty Krab.

We peeked under and over as we swam about and small grouper and bait fish flittered back and forth. A large arrow crab sat in one opening and small blue and yellow butterfly fish ventured out into the sand. As we moved along Jonny motioned for us to look and tucked in a large cavern under the ledge sat 2 small fish. And behind them swam a giant grouper. In the 200-300 pound range I believe. Let it be known the silt cloud around us was not diver induced.

As we swam on back I poked and chased the fish and they darted in and out. Fingers of sponges waved in the current and I began to look for a shell for my bucket. As I picked a large piece of broken conch shell from the sand something jumped. A small leopard crab had been comfortably nestled underneath and I snatched him up and had a look. I had never seen one before and he was a beauty. I placed him back in the sand and the shell back on top and moved on to catch up with the boyz.

The good captain had limited us to an hour this dive and at 52 minutes we headed on up. We were met topside by choppy seas and pummeling rain. As I arrived on deck the captain was taking pictures and I nearly drowned smiling for the camera. Hey I was getting wet!

With everyone aboard we headed on to our next site another ledge and this time I know the name! Bent Knife Ledge. [so named cause some biologists bent their knives trying to get some samples…. In NJ they use a crowbar….]

Once again we lined up to step off the swim platform and this time I held my nose as I jumped off exhibiting my usual grace and agility as I plummeted into the water. What can I say, it’s a gift.

We again dropped down in the water and arrived on the ledge to be greeted by groups of blue tube corals dotting the sand. Joined by MissD we made our way up the reef in search of turtles but alas none were to be found. But I did spot a hogfish snuggled up against a wall of coral and apparently napping. I made a perfect poke to the midsection taking him totally by surprise. With an annoyed look in my direction he prepared to swim off and I reached out and grabbed him by the tail. As he darted away I got one last poke in….ahhh I still got it.
We turned and swam back still looking to and fro, at times hanging almost upside down to peek under the ledge.

There were several more hogfish dotted along the route but they must have gotten the memo we were about and kept their distance. Tucked in one small cave and nestled into the sand sat a midsized toadfish with what appeared to be leopard like markings. Jungle animals seemed to be the theme today.

As we continued on we passed over a small abandoned anchor and MissD pointed and giggled. Now I remembered Captain Mike mentioning his retirement plan of collecting anchors and decided to gift him this little beauty. No longer carrying my wreck diving lift bag I needed to improvise and slowly unfurled my safety sausage. A little puff of air and I clipped off my spool and began to wrap line on the anchor. Another puff of air but nothing happened…. Hmmmm……. I picked it up and began to jump it over to the anchor line…… this was not going to work……hmmmm.

I put two more puffs into the sausage and it began to strain….. like the Little Engine That Could, it pulled and reached its way upward…..you could hear the faint echoes of “I think I can… I think I can…” but alas, it could not…..

I don’t think so…… I am a Jersey girl….. I pumped air into that puppy til I heard the seams scream and then….. we had lift off!! And up it went. I swam over to the anchor line towing my prize behind me.

As I broke the surface of the water, the squall had ended but the black clouds still loomed around us. The sun peeked through the clouds to the west but our day of sun had ended. We loaded onboard and headed home snacking and chatting, telling stories of dives past and to come. [ Jersey divers pack a breakfast and a lunch and often grill on the back deck of the boat too….]

MissD makes a good dive master, Meg has returned to diving as if he never left, Jonny…. he will be given another chance to redeem himself with Guava Danish, and me…….. well, I might be a Florida diver now….. but I guess I will always be a Jersey Girl at heart…… and no Captain Mike….. I don’t have an accent…..