Pembrokeshire
31 May 2004
Trip Report by Joe Hesketh
First published in London Diver, September 2004
This year's Pembroke trip got off to an inauspicious start with nearly nowhere to stay. The regular campsite, Foxdales (rubbish toilets, great breakfast bar…), had suddenly decided this year that it didn't like divers, or at any rate was of the opinion that they didn't mix with families. Those keen on maintaining a rufty-tufty image would no doubt derive some satisfaction from this expulsion (a certain Groucho Marx quote springs to mind). However, despite the charm offensive mounted on 'Mrs Foxdales' by tough city lawyer (and assistant marshal on the trip) Jon Chapper (I believe the argument ran along the lines of, "…no, but we're really very nice, honestly…") local obstinacy won out and we were forced to go elsewhere.
An alternative campsite was found closer to Martin's Haven. One of only a few groups on the site, its unpopularity was not hard to fathom as you trekked a quarter-mile across knee high grass to a shower block even more condemned than the one down the road.
Only five of us were around on the first day's diving, though conditions being pretty marginal we restricted our diving to sites around the Haven (just out from Dale Harbour). After some judicious guesswork (abandoning the GPS marks which seemed accurate enough only to place you in the correct hemisphere, we followed some ill-remembered details about a couple of southerly cardinals) we 'located' the wreck of the Dakotian. At around half the stated depth and somewhat less impressive a vessel than the description Jon had read from the book, my dive (with Tobias and Gillian B) was pleasant but a little disappointing. Uncorroborated by Jon and Keith who followed us in only to spend half an hour on a featureless bottom, it wasn't until later that evening when Jon checked his guides that we worked out that we'd located and dived a different wreck (that of the Behar) completely by chance.
Much later that evening (thanks to some apparently awful traffic), everyone else arrived. Morgan, sensing it was getting late and that he was leaving civilisation behind him had sensibly stopped off to buy some sustenance at the last petrol station before Marloes. So what do you buy when you are tired and hungry after a seven hour drive—a 12 pack of beer obviously! Equally prepared was Tatiana who, on arriving at 1:00 am, then stood in the driving rain reading the assembly instructions to her tent. The girl guides clearly never made it as far as France…!
Not a bad trip all round, and despite some Olympian faffing (even by London Branch standards) on a few days we even made it into the water before noon… Some other highlights:
Gillian B wading back out to the boat with her drysuit zip undone. Those of us who'd spotted this from the beach might well have been able to shout out a little sooner/louder, but where's the fun in that…?
Megan, who after three or four unsuccessful attempts at climbing into the boat whilst it was held in the bay, finally managed to clamber in, receiving tumultuous applause from the assembled crowd of bird watchers waiting to catch the Skomer ferry.
Jon playing underwater swapshop, managing to lose two knives and one glove but find a UK400.
Alex, who after many months free of gastric calamity at sea, finally succumbed to old habits and was left helpless as his lunch did an encore in the waters of South West Wales. Those who might for whatever reason like to keep track of such things will be pleased to know he has since completed the tri-nations by polluting Scottish and English seas as well.
Tobias, who most embarrassingly got lost on the drive home. After phoning me to chart my progress and receiving the response, "I'm on the road to Fishguard" then proceeded to drive all the way to Fishguard himself, miles out of his way and in completely the wrong direction. He has since been forced to spend hundreds of pounds on an 'Anti-Fishguard Device' (a GPS unit for his Palm Pilot) in order to maintain enough navigational dignity to be able to continue to bait Morgan for his now legendary directional dysfunction. He'll no doubt try to tell you that I got lost too, though this is, of course, complete rubbish! Ha ha, to (mis)quote Mel Brooks, sometimes it's good to be the editor…!
Posted byUnknown at 6:22 PM
Labels: pembrokeshire, trip report
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