BSAC London No. 1 Branch

Portland 2005
09 October 2005

Trip report by Joe Hesketh
First published in London Diver, May 2006

When Claire took over in the editorial hot-seat she had a few questions about how the magazine worked. Mostly mundane stuff about printing and distribution, etc., but in answering those questions I also passed on some of the wisdom that was handed down to me when I picked up the reigns three years before that. Foremost amongst these pearls was the need to badger and hassle people to write things like trip reports as, without editorial intervention, these rarely happen by themselves. So it was with a mixture of satisfaction that she had grasped the concept so quickly and dismay at my having been duped that I found myself unable to refuse the "suggestion" (made on her part whilst my sage words of advice still rang in the air) that I write up the then fairly recent Portland trip for a later issue. Grrrrr, and I thought I was smarter than to fall for that. Anyway, here it is, though a little later than planned (see what happens when nobody chases you for it…). [I am obviously just too nice… Ed]

In October 2004, a few hopeful souls from London Branch congregated in Weymouth on what turned out to be an extremely windy weekend. Following no diving on the Saturday, we had a slap-up meal that evening and indulged in one or two shandies, pretty confident that the word from the skipper the next morning would be as it was the day before. It was, so we packed up and went home and that was that. The skipper, Paul Pike who ran Dive Time, offered Mel an alternative weekend as it was he who had made the cancellation, though the first one he could offer was a year down the line. She took it, and a few of us made vague promises to come back again next year thinking we would most likely get blown out again.

Well, the year passed and when October finally came, the weather actually wasn't all that bad. It looked like we might even get to dive. There was of course the slight problem of the boat, Dive Time, which Paul had in fact sold in the intervening period. He had found us another skipper though who could honour the booking and we found ourselves with Ivor Janson on his boat, Protector.

Protector is a RIB, though aside from the sponson it doesn't have much in common with even a large RIB such as Percy II. This one is 11 m long, has a fair sized wheelhouse with a kettle, heads, a diver lift, kit benches, oh and 430 HP of inboard diesel on the back. Not bad for a dinghy! Whilst there was a fair amount of room on deck, the benches only had room for six sets of double tanks, and whilst it helped that four people had singles rigs and could kit up on the floor, we still had to do a bit of shuffling round to get everyone in and out of the water. However, it really wasn't that bad, and Ivor's affable manner, knowledge, skills and his simple but ample lunches made us all soon forget about any issues over space.

The line-up for the trip had, I am told, gone through various changes during the year. With some spare places remaining right up until the last minute, these were finally filled, giving us a full complement of twelve divers. The line up was Mel, Jamie, Dave, Angie (a friend of Dave's and whose trips some of us had been on that year), me (Joe), Kevin (a mate of mine), Tobias, Angus Saunders (an ex-member of London Branch), James Astrop, Morgan, plus Beavis and Butthead (sorry, I mean Richard and Matthew…).

With a range of different kit and experience on board, Mel had decided to restrict the diving to wrecks in the 30–35 m range. First up for Saturday morning was the St Dunstan, a bucket dredger and a victim of WWI which I'd dived at the start of the previous season with Jamie. Lying in 28 m of water in Lyme Bay, I'd forgotten just how far away this wreck is, with Portland Bill only just visible on the horizon by the time you reach it. Andy Lawrence, who skippers Goose, once described it as "not so much a trip, more of a voyage" when one of my buddies suggested it to him as an alternative dive. On Autumn Dream the previous year, as I recall, we'd all managed to keep ourselves entertained on the way out there with a copy of The Guardian and a lively discussion on the key differences between "dogging" and "cottaging" (I seem to remember Morgan knowing the most about the subject, though I'm sure that's just because he's so clever…). Nothing quite so bawdy this year, well not until the Sunday at least.

Anyway, with a bit more time to poke around this year, we had a pleasant dive ambling round what's left of the wreck. There was an amazing amount of fish life sharing our dive too, large shoals of bib and pollock and even a lone bass (we think, though it didn't hang around for too long). Unfortunately, not everyone got to enjoy the wreck. The long journey, whilst not overly rough, still took its toll on both Dave and Angie who succumbed to seasickness and wisely chose to sit out the dive. Angus too had to miss out on the St Dunstan due to a technical problem with his rebreather which only became apparent in the water (he had brought with him a large tool box though, and managed to get it fixed before the second dive).

As the weather closed in and the stomachs of yet more of our number began to violently disagree with the lack of a stable horizon, enthusiasm for a second dive wasn't exactly running high. Options were limited and the final choice of the Dredger in Balaclava Bay further cut down the number diving to just four. My buddy Kevin welched on me, as did Mel on hers, so Jamie and I mooched around the scant wreckage together (two small lumps of metal, the larger of which the other pair missed) and then moved off to practice some S-drills and valve drills.

On the Saturday evening, we'd made a group booking at an all-you-can-eat buffet style restaurant. Several people had been there before, including myself, and were aware of the dilemma awaiting. The buffet serves Indian style starters and mains, plus Chinese style starters and mains, and that's before you get to the soups and salads. The problem was that, even ignoring it being a buffet, the quality is uniformly excellent and the only sure fire way to avoid the problem of choosing which to have, was just to have all of it. Five platefuls seemed to be the minimum the indecisive diner could hope to get away with (if one includes a course of crispy duck, which being "free" we all slightly overdid…). Various methods were employed, from stuffing everything down quickly in the hope that your stomach wouldn't notice what was happening, through to a methodical pacing of dishes over the course of the evening. None of these worked particularly well and so, bloated, we staggered the short distance back to the B&B (the excellent Aztec House, now a regular favourite) and an early night, all slightly concerned about the 6:00 am breakfast (not so much that we'd have to get up early but that we'd have to force down yet more food).

Sunday started with some unpromising weather with a light drizzle to top things off. Matthew had made the journey down from Cardiff that morning and (despite the 7:30 am ropes-off time) seemed to be raring to go. Angie didn't feel up to diving much that day so chose to drive home and make the most of the rest of the day. As Dave was sharing a lift, that left ten of us zooming off at full speed to try and make slack on the Elena R, a Greek steamship mined in November 1939 en route to Antwerp. Again in just shy of 30 m of water, it's now pretty broken up after being salvaged but makes a pleasant dive, and Kevin and I managed to find a neat little swim-through to keep us entertained.

The weather really seemed to pick up during the morning, and by the time we had all surfaced from our dive, it was to glorious sunshine and fairly calm seas. Following a relaxing lunch on deck whilst moored up in Lulworth Cove, we tried to decide on a site for the afternoon dive. The bow of the Black Hawk was put forward, although Ivor mentioned that, given our preference for a short-ish surface interval, the tide might still be running a bit too much there. Instead he suggested another shallow wreck, which wasn't often dived. He said he wasn't exactly sure of its identity but he'd always known it by this name. The name—which I'll get to in a minute—begins with "P" and rhymes with 'tennis'. "OK, sounds good", we said. After a while talking about this, it dawned on someone to ask, "er, how do you spell that?". "Ah, yes…" Ivor chuckled, "I think it is spelt how you think it might be…". Naturally, being the responsible and mature divers we are, the conversation that followed wasn't at all puerile and we obviously steered well clear of asking Mel (unluckily for her the only female still on board) such questions as whether she fancied "going down on the Penis" and whether she'd prefer to "do the Penis whilst it was still in full flow or wait until it went slack". No siree, we didn't stoop to that level at all…

After all that, we went to look at, and actually ended up diving, the Black Hawk bow anyway. A cargo vessel, the Black Hawk was one of the 2,751 so-called Liberty Ships all built to the same design as part of an emergency ship construction program in the US at the end of WWII, with the express purpose of carrying much needed supplies for the war effort across the Atlantic. The SS Black Hawk was hit by a torpedo from the U-772 on 29 December 1944, the explosion from which blew the stern section clean off. That part sank further offshore in about 48 m of water and makes a great dive, being fairly well preserved and still an impressive size (when afloat these ships used to displace 7,000 tons). As an aside, the sub which sank the ship, was itself sunk nearby the very next day, most likely by a Wellington bomber. Listed as the U-772, there are some doubts as to its identity and I have been helping with a project diving on this wreck to try and uncover clues as to which U-boat it might actually be.

Anyway, our site for today was the bow section of the Black Hawk, which following the hit was towed inshore and now rests in Worbarrow Bay in a much more manageable 17 m or so. It's a great little rummage dive, though not nearly as well preserved as the other half due to the shallow water and the fact it was salvaged and then blown up again! The current was still fairly strong, but you could easily pull yourself around and find shelter from the worst of it. The time I dived it before this I saw a dead conger out in the open and draped over a beam. Quite an eerie sight as we tentatively studied it up close, still with half a thought that it might suddenly rear up and surprise us. The conger corpse had gone (nothing goes to waste in the sea), though we did see one of his chums in the boiler, hiding but still very much alive.

All in all, a great weekend. As it turned out, this was my last sea dive in 2005 and a great way to round off the season. Thanks to Mel for organising.

Posted byUnknown at 2:32 PM 0 comments    

Labels: photos, portland, trip report

10 Things I Learnt In The Farne Islands
18 September 2005

Trip report by Hannah Bleakley
First published in London Diver, November 2005

As a relatively new member of the club I found that the trip to the Farnes was the perfect place to learn about the club and diving, as well as somewhere to do some fantastic diving, so instead of the usual trip reports I decided to pass on my new found knowledge.



1. SMBs
You can never have enough practise with an SMB. Possibly one of the first things I learnt (having found out what one was in Plymouth) as, after a dive to settle into the conditions (and the cold), I was handed an SMB and reel to look after. I also learnt that there is no way to get out of this duty until you are diving with a less experienced diver and can ask the famous question "Have you ever used an SMB before?".

There is no answer you can give to this to avoid being the SMB bearer. Not even snapping a supposedly indestructible reel will get you out of this duty, as I found, I was just handed a new reel a the beginning of the next dive.

2. Food
One of the most important land based activities is eating. It ranged from the daily all day breakfast, the perfect way to warm up between dives, to the fantastic lobster feast prepared by Nigel and Dave (with all their helpers) one night. It was the biggest and oldest lobster I have ever seen (apparently about 50 years old) and had to be de-clawed before cooking in a bucket. That was probably the first time I have seen my dinner merrily boiling away in a bucket. Staying in the same house as Keith I also learnt how to get all the meat out of a crab, as every day there would be more crabs he had caught or acquired from fishermen to be cooked in a variety of pans, the baking tray being the most imaginative and interesting as the crab kept trying to escape along the work surface!

3. Drink
The other important land based activity and a pleasant way to the pass the evening was sampling the local tipple (Farne Islands Bitter) in the best pubs Seahouses and Beadnell had to offer. Special mention has to be given to Paul at this point who looked after the kitty all week and made sure that our glasses were always full so thank you from everyone for this service!

4. There is no dignity in diving
As we all have to find out at some point, whether it is being bent over so someone can put your weight belt on because you have forgotten to, diving in your waterproof having forgotten to take it off before kitting up, trying to haul yourself into the RIB, spitting into your mask, trying to get in and out of a wet wetsuit in a car park or going out in the boat for the ride wearing possibly the least effective lifejacket in the world.

5. Seals
The main reason for diving in the Farnes is surely to "play" with the seals. We were luck enough to have them on at least three dives where they did everything from just swimming past and showing off their underwater skills to nibbling and playing with our fins and SMBs. It made those dives just magical, although they didn't like being looked at for some reason so you had to watch what was happening to your buddy. The juveniles were particularly playful, a big fan of fin eating and showing off their acrobatics.

It is only seeing them so close you realise what skilful and fast swimmers they are, as well as realising how big they actually are, slightly scary when they get territorial and have a quick bite of your arm or leg. Luckily, they are scared of one thing, torchlight, as Joe demonstrated with the light sabre on his dives (mind you most things were scared of that).

6. Other sealife
There is lots more to the Farnes than seals as we saw on some of the other dives when we were not quite so distracted. We saw lots of crabs, some of which were edible ones and so went straight into the goodie bags along with a few lobsters. Richard and Nigel even managed to catch a flatfish in Richard's BC pocket! We didn't catch all of the sealife though, and left plenty of sea urchins, starfish, sprats, wrasse and even a few octopi for everyone else to look at.

7. Weather
All diving is dictated by the weather as we all know and apparently the likelihood of being blown out in the Farnes was very high. We were very lucky to get in five good days of diving before the inevitable happened on Friday and the wind changed to blow onshore. We dived in the rain, sun and wind and even saw a sunrise one morning thanks to Morgan's dive planning. Luckily, the dive was excellent and justified the early start, although it did meant that the breakfast/lunch venue had to be changed as we were too early for our regular haunt!

8. Getting to know people
There is no better way to get to know the people in the club than to go on a trip, and if that is a week long trip, so much the better. Of course some people you will get to know better than others, and I now feel like I know Claire very well having shared a bed with her for a week and given and received a fair amount of cuddles in the middle of the night (sorry Claire!).

9. UK diving
This trip was only the second time I have dived in the UK, having learnt in a nice tropical place and I was very surprised by how good UK diving is. There is so much to see, not just the seaweed and occasional fish through the murk I had envisioned. The only thing I still have to get used to is the cold. The North Sea in September did not seem very attractive and I was ridiculed at work for even contemplating it but it was slightly warmer than I expected. Now I just have to get used to having a dive dictated by whether you are shivering yet rather than how much air you have left.

After that (and having to struggle in to a very wet and cold wetsuit most mornings) the drysuit has quickly made the top of my "kit to buy" list.

10. Communication
This is vital whether you are trying to signal something to your buddy underwater or deciding whether the early morning dive will take place. However, all communication can very quickly fail. The mobile phone signal is Seahouses is pretty much non-existent so at least one person had to leave their bed to find out whether the morning dive was actually taking place and then tell everyone else what the plan was. Also buddy signals tend to fall apart underwater if you are not careful, it is no good getting excited over something and trying to show them if your buddy has no idea what you mean (as we all found at some point).

We did learn some new signals on the surface, but knowing all the signals for different types of sharks was not that useful in the Farne Islands. Seal was usually just signalled by wide eyes and excited pointing, unless it was a baby seal in which case a mime of clubbing a baby seal was used by some people (no names mentioned!).

The Farnes was definitely a memorable trip for me and I am just sorry that the season is over so soon, but at least it ended on a high with lots of brilliant diving and on land experiences to rival those in the sea. Hopefully some of my new found knowledge will be put into use soon…

Posted byUnknown at 5:34 PM 0 comments    

Labels: farne islands, photos, trip report

August Bank Holiday In Plymouth
29 August 2005

Trip report by Tristan Hassan
First published in London Diver, November 2005

Morgan, Tobias, Keith, Richard, Mathew, Hannah and I met up on a beautiful and sunny Saturday morning last August bank holiday, after a good night’s sleep at the Mountbatten Centre. After a hearty full English breakfast (including a cherry tomato) we headed down to met the skipper from Deep Blue Diving. Due to past events including a certain Land Rover we would be using Deep Blue Diving’s RIB and after a quick-debrief we were flying across the water to our first dive for the day. The first dive was very special, especially for Hannah and me, as it was our first ever in English waters (I hadn’t ever dipped my toe in the English Channel let alone dive in it!).

Apart from being my first ever UK dive it was also my first time dive off a rib, and before I knew it we were gently sinking into the deep abyss. When we finally got to the bottom I was amazed at how clear the visibility was, a lot better than I ever expected, but more importantly how much life there was. I think a lot of this praise has to be given to my dive buddy Keith who looked under every rock and crevasse to find more and more interesting things to see including my first ever Cuttlefish.

When the dive had finished and we were all safely back on the boat I found out (to Keith’s amusement) that the big junk of debris on the bottom was in fact the Glen Strath Allen and apart from being my first rib and UK dive was also my first ever wreck dive too!

After lunch, I was eager to get back out there and before I know it, we were again skimming across the water to Hilsea Point.

If I thought the first dive was good then this was 10 times better, a lot of this praise has to go to the skipper from Deep Blue diving who dropped us right on the point. Again, I was teamed up with Keith and had an enjoyable dive swimming in and out of the gullies.

That evening we ventured across to Plymouth Old Town and headed to the infamous Platters. After enjoying the biggest portion of fish and chips EVER while trying not to stare too long at the guy in the doggy wig, it was time to head back for a last minute beverage before getting a good night sleep for tomorrows dives.

If there was some confusion over the Glen Strath Allen being classed as a wreck dive then the same could not be said for the James Eagan Lane, know as being the most dived wreck in the UK. Now this is what I call a wreck! Budding up with Tobias we delved in and out and even saw my first John Dowry. What a fantastic dive!

After lunch, and with everyone back on the rib about to head off for the second dive of the day Tobias’s dry suit zip broke and unfortunately he was unable to dive. This bit of bad luck was unfortunately going to continue, while I was diving I appeared to have a leak from my first stage, much to Matthew’s distress. This meant that the dive was made a lot shorter than my poor dive buddy Keith and I wanted.

Back on dry land the leaked didn’t appear as severe as it must of looked underwater and just involved tightening up my hose pipes so luckily (unlike Tobias) I was able to dive tomorrow.

That evening we again ventured to Plymouth Old Town and after negotiating our way through the hordes enjoying the sunny evening weather found ourselves a place to eat.

The next morning was very different and unlike before where we had had bright sunny weather we instead woke to very thick looking fog. I guess I can’t complain too much as the weather and conditions had been perfect up until now, still this wasn’t going to put us off as everyone (especially me) was excited as we were going to dive the Scylla today!

Now my knowledge of UK diving is pretty poor at the best of times, but even I had heard of the Syclla, which was sunk about three years ago to become a natural reef. Having heard many stories about this dive, one being how popular it is with divers / boats everywhere, it was to everyone’s joy we turned out to be one of the few boats there. Budding up with Morgan we stayed mainly around the first and second floor decks swimming in and out of the cabins, and holes that had been cut specially for divers.

I have to admit that I didn’t enjoy the dive as much as the James Eagan Lane which apart from being a much older ship had more aquatic life on and around it. Still the Scylla had only been sunk recently and in places was already looking to provide its objective of becoming a natural reef. Upon surfacing it became apparent, to the delight of the skipper, eagle eyed Keith made the first ever sighting of a conger eel to make its residence on the Scylla!

The last dive of a very successful trip was back to Hilsea Point. Budding up with Morgan again we had a nice dive in and around the gullies, but it appeared to be Richard and Matthew that had the final find of the trip by stumbling onto a small cave, again much to the joy of our skipper who had been looking for this cave for ages!!

On reflection, I can’t thank Tobias, Keith, Morgan, Matthew, Tom, Hannah and Deep Blue Diving enough for making my first ever UK dive trip a most enjoyable and unforgettable one. I honestly had no idea that there was so much life, colour (and debris) right on my door step and honestly saw more interesting and wonderful things on those 3 days than I ever did in six months diving in Turkey! I’m afraid that I’ve got the diving bug now and can’t wait for my next trip with BSAC No.1.

Posted byUnknown at 5:41 PM 0 comments    

Labels: plymouth, trip report

My (Almost) First Dive
02 May 2005

Trip report by Tom Butler
First published in London Diver, August 2005

Finally, the day had arrived. My first real dive in the ocean. Ian picked me up at my flat early Saturday morning for the drive to Pembroke. Bank Holiday weekend, but the traffic was light, the sky clear and the sun bright. The omens were good.

Driving through Wales, I reflected on my odyssey from desk-bound banker to club member and soon-to-be "scuba diver". Residing near the Seymour Centre, I joined the facility to socialise and to minimise the caloric consequences of too many business lunches and dinners. I spotted the BSAC ad in the glass display case at Seymour [instantly becoming quite possibly the first person ever to do so… Ed] and memories of the 1950s American TV hit, Sea Hunt came back. Lloyd Bridges, the star, somehow surviving adventures from "attacking killer whales" to unexpected bouts of "narcosis of the deep" had mesmerised me then and I still imagined myself in his shoes (or rather wetsuit). After a couple of wrong turns into the "sun parlour" and the squash court, I finally found the clubroom. Jim offered a trial dive and I was hooked. Weightlessly swimming in the pool, I had become Mr. Sea Hunt. I signed up immediately and paid my dues. Now almost a year later I was on my way to the real thing.

Ian and I arrived at the slip around 11:30 am and started scanning the horizon for sight of the RIB returning from the morning run. What a beautiful sight as it came into view and tied up. We helped unload the kit and I felt like a long time member already. A light lunch and we prepared for the afternoon expedition. Jonathan was not due until later in the day and Keith was in charge until then. He decided the afternoon dive would be a shore entry at St Brides Bay. As I heard this I felt some relief, thinking it would be a leisurely walk across the pebbled sand and a smooth transition into the water. Keith must have taken pity on this novice and figured it would be safer and easier for me. Of course, what I didn't realise was that beaches in the UK don't look like beaches on Long Island!

Ian managed to drive the car past the parking lot and half way to the "beach" where we unloaded the gear and I kitted up as he returned the car to the parking lot. By the time everyone else had arrived and kitted up, I was just figuring out how to snake my left arm through the dry suit sleeve, which somehow had disappeared. Finally, I got everything on and found I felt more like a beached whale than Lloyd Bridges. Making my first ocean dive in my spanking new DUI drysuit, I wanted to make sure I wasn't too light… 15 kg on the belt, 2 kg around the ankles and a few more kilos in the BCD pockets. I was determined to get under. What I hadn't anticipated was the sheer exhaustion brought on by kitting up, traversing down the slope across slippery rocks, and then balancing and putting on my fins. I felt like I had just run a marathon, trying to catch my breath with my heart rate accelerating off the EKG chart. Too late to turn back…

After everyone else had gone in, Keith took me under his wing and explained clearly, "… just turn around and back in until we're ready.". I pulled down my mask, put the regulator in my mouth and suddenly felt as if I was in a tunnel unable to catch my breath. My expensive mask immediately fogged over and I was on the verge of sucking the bottle dry before we had even started. Keith's words floated over, "just lie back and try to relax.". OK, I'll give it a try. All that damn weight… My mask was half in and half out of the water. Panic takes over. Despite the fact that I'm breathing, I feel like I'm drowning. I can't find the inflate valve on my BCD to try to put more air into it, as I keep grabbing my pressure gauge instead. Can't be me, must be the stupid Cressi design. Keith still very patiently asking, "Do you want to try to go under?". That was the problem, I felt like I was going under! Calming down a bit, I signalled Keith, "Not today, let's go back.". Ever patient, he instructed, "Just stay on your back and fin toward shore.". Still gasping for breath and my heart pounding, I realise I can fin and get back ashore… just need to calm down… and gradually I did, a bit. Keith gave me a hand, practicing his towing technique. Then, I was on my own to fin. The shore was only about 30m away, why was it taking so long. My legs were getting tired. Finally, Keith's voice again, "You're going around in circles.". Now, I remembered… look over your shoulder from time to time (practical lesson for me!). Looking over my shoulder, I spied stern-eyed Joe up on the rocks looking down. Of course, this being BSAC No.1, we had to have a safety observer [that's right Tom, my altruism in volunteering for shore cover had nothing whatsoever to do with my reasoning, "a shore dive, on sand, with no viz, balls to that idea…" - Ed]. Somehow, I thought my display of skill might go unnoticed, as if it had never really happened. Of course, as I finally did make it to shore I realised that all the other divers had already returned and were pretending not to take notice of me. Kind folks.

What went through my mind as I unkitted. First, I'm too old for this sport; and why didn't I just PADI it! In fact, I might have just quit then if everyone hadn't been so supportive. "Don't worry about it… those things happen… it'll be easier rolling off the RIB… not so unusual on the first dive…". By dinner that night we could even laugh about it as we planned for tomorrow's try at a first dive. The experience did give me some lessons. First, listen to your body; if it's telling you to wait and catch your breath or even skip a dive, don't be hard of hearing. Second, it takes a lot of dive experience to get comfortable in the water. Third, try a little less weight next time; and finally, BSAC No.1 is a great bunch of people. In terms of expedition history, though, I really don't think we should characterise my effort as an aborted dive. I never got under the water; let's just refer to it as an aborted swim.

Postscript
I did manage to make two dives the next day, first down the anchor line in 8m of water in an adjacent bay to the previous day's fiasco; and more memorably 16m off Skomer Island, both dives under Keith's guidance. Both dives also offered the benefit of search experience for Keith and then Joe and Morgan as my weight belt mysteriously dropped from my fingers both dives while boarding the RIB. Thanks to everyone who made Pembroke memorable for the right reasons.

Posted byUnknown at 5:48 PM 0 comments    

Labels: pembrokeshire, trip report

Hard Hat Diving Oop North
22 February 2005

Trip report by Jamie Obern
First published in London Diver, April 2005

There is something about UK divers that makes the ultra-stylish Italians cringe. Maybe it is all the garishly coloured fleece and GORE-TEX® we insist on wrapping ourselves in. Maybe it is our insistence on functionality over elegance. Perhaps it is because the average BSAC male diver is a pasty white colour, of stocky build and has more hair on his bottom than his head (no guessing why I haven't described the average BSAC female—besides you are all gorgeous...). But if divers are on average a little odd then it is the nautical archaeologists who are helping to pull the average towards the weirder end of the scale.

For those of you that don't know, a few of us have been creeping off to do NAS courses since last year. We've been measuring boats and fixing lines, learning about protected wreck status and dendrochronology and trying not to laugh at some of the other students' dress sense. Just like the BSAC run courses, some of the NAS courses are more interesting than others—but when we first heard about the technical diving weekend we were unanimous in thinking that this would be one of the most interesting. It was a weekend playing with all the commercial diving equipment—hard hats and under water comms, surface supplied air and helmet mounted video cameras so that the dive supervisor can see whatever you see. As soon as the annual course dates were released Ricky, Mel, Dave "the Skid" and myself booked in.

It was based at TWI in Middlesborough, a purpose built commercial diver training and exam facility, complete with a 6 m deep tank containing an underwater structure resembling part of an oil rig. The facilities were excellent and if it wasn't so far away I'm sure that southern UK divers would be regularly trying to arrange weekend courses there. However, for those of you that don't like to venture much past the Watford Gap I am convinced that Middlesborough is the reason for the phrase "It's grim up north". It's not the people, well, it's not just the people, it is the landscape—a modern day equivalent of Dickens' Coketown. So to avoid the grimness of the city we were staying about 10 minutes drive away in the "sleepy and picturesque market town" of Guisborough.

As you might expect, nautical archaeologists are not well known for being party animals so when we arrived at our NAS recommended B&B, the Three Fiddles Public House, we were somewhat confused. It was heaving. Taxis bringing in the locals for their Friday night out on the town were arriving every 10 minutes, such was its popularity. The temperature may have been below zero, but the locals seemed immune. The 'blokes' were all in short sleeved shirts, un-tucked and with the top three buttons undone of course. The women all seemed to be in a competition to parade as much flesh as possible. And they weren't just skinny young things either—Hattie Jacques would have fitted in perfectly. I would have said that their mothers would not have approved—but I reckon the mothers were also in the competition. By stripping down to just jeans and a T-shirt I almost fitted in—but then Mel gave the game away with her big baggy jumper and complete lack of exposed flesh. We left to get some dinner as quickly as possible—our blatant open mouthed and amazed gaping was not going down well.

Just before we left we quickly scanned the pub for any other members of the NAS contingent. They were not hard to spot—oddly coloured fleece covered islands in a sea of lipstick, hair gel and cleavage. Now that we were in tune with the local tribal dress it was a relief that Dave and Ricky had not laughed louder on entering the pub. The sandal wearing, toe-ringed man by the door turned out to be their NAS room mate.

The actual diving was very interesting. After a very brief overview of the kit we were pretty much left to get on with it and learn as we went along. All of us got to dive twice in the full kit, plus the chance to dress the divers, act as tender, as comms supervisor and do a pot dive. Having the four of us in the same team was very reassuring, especially when the first diver of the other team was seen to be making frantic jelly-fish impressions immediately on having been clamped into her helmet. No one had turned on her air, or showed her where the bail out supply was located. Upon querying how this could happen, the answer was simple—well, she hadn't asked for her air to be turned on. Obviously an optional extra, then. Even by the last dive on the Sunday the same team still hadn't quite got it together—sending in their last diver without the bail out gas supply turned on.

Ear clearing turned out to be more complicated than expected. Encased in a 10 kg helmet with integrated comms and air supply meant that a simple nose pinch was impossible. The solution was a 'V' shaped neoprene covered prong which could be moved in and out or rotated through 360 degrees by the diver. With no clear explanation of how to use this devise everyone seemed to come up with different ways of wedging it against (or even up) their nose so that they could clear. Cleaning the helmets after each dive became very important.

We worked with one diver per team diving at a time. The plan was to spend some time getting used to the kit (no fins to aid movement and a natural tendency to topple over due to the weight of the helmet) and the rest of the time practicing survey work on two blue plastic boats that we purposely weighted down and tied to the bottom of the tank—it was an archaeology course after all. Some of us spent more time than others pretending to be spacemen, trying to do somersaults and generally giggling, shrieking, shouting and creating havoc (no difficulty guessing who...). Roger, a university lecturer and the most popular member of our team, was the opposite extreme. He only wanted to do the survey work and whilst the rest of us measured to an accuracy of 1–2 cm he insisted on measuring to the nearest millimetre. Not very successful when certain other members of our team were spending time deliberately hijacking the survey exercise by loosening the boats so that they were able to move about by about 20–30 cm. With the computer modelling afterwards proving difficult (unsurprisingly) Roger was spotted in the corridor re-measuring the boats that we had now recovered from the tank.

The other amusing game was to torment Dave "the Skid" whilst he was diving. Having settled him at the bottom of the tank with my reassuring tones coming through the comms system, he was less than amused to hear Mel's cackling and realised that 'the mad woman' now had control of his air supply. But it could have been worse – I had to deal with Roger as my comms supervisor.

Finally for those of you wondering why I keep referring to our current club president as Dave "the Skid" I will explain. It had nothing to do with the snow and ice that greeted us on the Sunday morning. On the Friday night, their toe-ring wearing room mate had gone to bed early and Dave and Ricky, being considerate chaps, decided not to switch the lights on and just got ready for bed nice and quietly. Unfortunately, an earlier occupant of the room had not been so considerate. Having had a nasty bowel accident, he had avoided the inevitable embarrassment by switching beds and making it look like the original bed was unused—hence the chamber maid had not changed the sheets. Dave woke to discover that he had spent the night lying in a rather large and ominous looking brown stain. Whilst he has our sincere sympathy for the mental trauma he must now suffer, we still struggled not to laugh—probably much like you will struggle not to laugh the next time you see Dave "the Skid" Marks.

Posted byUnknown at 3:09 PM 0 comments    

Labels: NAS, trip report

More Boat Handling
06 February 2005

Trip report by Morgan Peat
First published in London Diver, April 2005

February is generally a bit too cold and murky for a proper diving weekend, so a handful of London No 1-ers ventured off early this year on the next best thing: a boat handling course.

Megan, Alex, Jonny Wilmot (a.k.a. "Sicknote") and Jon Chapper (as an 'observer') signed up for the RYA Level II course, which covers boat handling up to a level equivalent to the BSAC boat-handling certificate. Joe, Tobias and I had already completed this course. We instead opted for the RYA Intermediate course combined with a BSAC Diver Coxswain assessment.

The weekend kicked off (as always) in the pub. Failing to find anywhere decent near our B&B in Selsey, we chose the nearest pub that had passable real ale. Unable to talk much over the pumping music we indulged in a pool competition, several pints, and a curry. Saturday morning took us to Wittering Divers, our base for the weekend. Taking a course run in a diving shop is definitely not to be recommended. Although the standard of tuition is high, the staff are all friendly and the tea and coffee flow like water, it is nigh-on impossible to walk past rows of shiny new dive kit several times a day without feeling at least tempted. I don't think anyone got away without buying something, and Sicknote walked out with several hundred pounds worth of new drysuit!

Our course kicked off with a few hours of theory. Since we had all completed our Day Skipper theory course (or were in the process of doing it) this was fairly straightforward. We went over our knowledge of collision regulations, lights, sounds, buoy shapes, etc. We did quite a bit of chartwork, calculating set and drift of tide, and depth of water.

The last task before lunch was to form a passage plan between two points in 'unfamiliar waters'. We were each given a start and end point on the chart. The job was to determine a route between the two, calculating tides, depths, etc. We had to write ourselves notes adequate to navigate the passage without resorting back to the chart. This was done by noting compass bearings, items of interest that we would see (slipways, buildings, etc), and the buoys and markers we would pass.

After lunch we went onto the water for an afternoon of practical skills. This started with a quick 'play' to get used to the boat, learning how she handled. We then completed the Level II assessment course (coming alongside, reversing, picking up buoys) to prove that we were competent enough for the rest of the weekend.

After that we took it in turns to follow our passage plans, one person behind the controls while someone else gave directions. I am pleased to report that we all successfully reached our destinations and all navigation (even mine!) was spot-on. The only slight incident was a minor argument with a sandbank, where our instructor's final directions, "You're getting too close. Turn to port. Turn to port. TURN TO PORT!!!!!!!!" were misconstrued as a turn to starboard. We got off the sandbank OK though thanks to a nifty bit of boat handling by the instructor, and the whole incident was watched with wry amusement by the twenty-or-so people racing dinghies nearby.

Saturday evening was a fairly muted affair. Everyone was so shattered from their day afloat that we were all in bed shortly after dinner.

Sunday took us straight back out onto the water to complete our BSAC Diver Coxswain assessment. This consisted of various tasks culminating in locating and shotting a dive site, putting divers into the water, then retrieving them. Joe went first, using transits to find a small WWII vessel just off the South coast. The transits were fairly dodgy to say the least. One was to line up a withy [local word for a wooden stake in the water, Ed] with a water tower, a task not helped when the withy is about two inches wide and half a mile away through haze. The second transit involved lining up a yellow buoy with a block of flats, only the buoy looked black on a grey sea, and was only visible every third or fourth wave.

Still, he found the wreck easily (as verified by sonar), threw in the shot and sent Tobias and I after it. That was probably not the best dive I have ever done. At two metres (never mind the bottom at 10m) visibility was down to zero. We could only communicate through touch. Luckily the only requirement for Diver Coxswain is that divers do actually submerge: no particular dive time is required. So we effectively 'bounced' off the bottom and back to the surface, thus ending Joe's exercise.

My dive site was somewhat easier, being a small drop-off in a channel near Itchenor. To find it was simply a matter of motoring out from the shore (after finding the correct point using the chart) and watching until the depth on the sonar dramatically increased.

One shot placement, however, had to be seen to be believed. Dropping a shot is quite a tricky task for the boat handler, really. You have to drive in on one transit while keeping your eyes on one or two others, watch the sonar and control the boat. It shouldn't be a surprise if at least one job gets forgotten about, so forgetting to slow the boat down and put the gears into neutral is entirely forgivable. Mind you, I wasn't the one who had to toss a large shot weight overboard while under way at 10 knots. I just wish I'd had a camera handy to capture the look on our instructor's face.

Once we had finished that exercise, had lunch, and the shotee's nerves had calmed down, we navigated some more complex passage plans. These required much more careful preparation since we journeyed up tributaries that dried out, and we were bang on low water. All went smoothly again, besides one minor surprise. The boat handling mantra of "always keep a good look-out" was forgotten by all (including the instructor). It does rather shock you when you turn around to see a vessel five times your size right behind you!

Despite our few minor mishaps, we all passed both our RYA Intermediate Powerboat certificate, and the BSAC Diver Coxswain award. Those on the Level II course all passed too. I have been assured there were no mistakes or mishaps on the other course – either they are all naturally gifted boat handlers or they have made a vow of silence to each other. I'm sure we will find out one day. You will also note that I have chosen not to name the high-speed shotters or boat grounders, in order to protect those who can't answer back for the next three months…

It was a thoroughly enjoyable weekend, for us at least – I'm not sure about our instructors. It was also very educational, and taught us a lot both about practical boat handling and general seamanship. I do however now realise why the club is not keen on us using Percy Too for boat handling courses!

Posted byUnknown at 5:58 PM 0 comments    

Labels: boat-handling, RYA, trip report, wittering