Reflections on a Red Sea Adventure
28 March 2004

Trip report by Bob Rodgers, photos by Joe Hesketh
First published in London Diver, May/June 2004

It was an October evening at the Percy when we gathered to celebrate the BSAC's 50th Anniversary. A lot of the "old" crowd were there including me, who likes to stay in touch with the Branch and what a great atmosphere—just like the old days. Little did I know that before the evening was out I would be committed to a unique experience with TJ's Magical Mystery Tours Inc. and half way to parting with the best value for £450 I have seen in years.

A bit of background. Another October evening in 1973 I was walking past the pool from my office, which was in Baker Street, when I espied a Mk10 Jaguar with the boot lid open. Inside was a very interesting sight—diving cylinders… I paused, having lived on a diet of Lloyd Bridges and Sea Wolf from an early age and anything vaguely "diving" was of great interest to me.

Those days diving as a sport was barely known about apart from the select "few" who did dive but little was known in the public domain—so a boot full of diving cylinders was a great curiosity. Within moments I was approached by an energetic, smiling individual . "Are you a diver mister?" he said with an infectious smile (yes you know who this was). "Well, err, I was just looking, err sorry", I replied". "Well do you want to be a diver?". "Well, err, yes", I replied. I had taken an immediate liking to this man.

He gave me two cylinders to carry (aha that was the reason) and told me to follow him to the "equipment room". Twenty minutes later I was in the pool doing an "A" test. This individual was—in case you hadn't guessed—our very own TJ and we have been friends ever since.

By the way an "A" test then was 200m free style + 100m backstroke (all without a stop) + 50m with 5 kg weight belt on—phew—tread water with hands above head for 1 minute—flipping hell—and collecting six objects from the bottom of the deep end (big pool)—gasp/splutter.

I had joined the famous London No.1 Branch and my life was literally transformed as the underwater world unfolded, new friends were made and new skills acquired.

Reel forward to October 2003—having a beer and laughing over those old times and I was just in the middle of, "do you remember that underwater explosives course when Keith G nearly dropped the....", when TJ nabbed me, plied me with beer and persuaded me to get my name down for something called Sharm el-Sheikh which seemed like a good idea after a few beers. Not so in the cold light of day but TJ was determined, "You have put your name down on this ere paper and that's it, no backing out now". So I was committed.

My first port of call was the shed - my faithful dry suit of many dives "Fred" was in a sorry state. After much rummaging I unearthed the rest of my kit and presented myself to the equipment room with my valve. Keith diplomatically suggested that my "pool" valve go in the junk bin and my treasured US Diver valve rig be downgraded to "pool use only". However, my jet fins still worked so I was on my way.

Eventually the 21st of March arrived and we gathered at Gatwick for our epic voyage of discovery at the crack of dawn. The ace "Team" comprised Gina & Bob, Keith, Joe, James, Alex, Tobias, Pete Morris and our irrepressible leader TJ.

The flight was surprisingly civilised for a "cheapo" and the arrival at Sharm went smoothly, the hotel a very pleasant surprise being clean, comfortable, freshwater swimming pool six strides from the sliding bedroom door and only a short walk from the boat jetty—how far does £450 stretch. We quickly got settled in with a cold beer in our hands and registered with the Camel Dive Centre which is part of the Camel Hotel.

The next day we were introduced to our guide Charlotte, dive boat and crew and off for a gentle warm up dive to check gear, buoyancy (and for those of us a bit out of practice, generally get back up to speed). This dive, though the easiest, was an incredibly pretty reef called Ras Katy managing a 35 minute dive with a max depth of 21 m.

We all got along fine apart from my stab which was sneakily self inflating and caused me a bit of head scratching (where is my ABLJ) and Charlotte quickly got the measure of this London Branch Crew. I found the water much colder than it looked and I quickly scrounged a hood to go with the natty (or is that tatty) wetsuit I had hired.

The dive boat was spacious, with a good open dive platform. We had unlimited water, tea, coffee and the crew experienced and helpful. Charlotte our guide who has been with Camel for three years really knew her stuff and the good sites. Her dad was DO of Hastings BSAC so she has quite a diving pedigree and I think we were very lucky to have her to run our trip.

The next dive was at the rum sounding Ras Umm Sid (Sids Head?) where we clocked up another 35 minutes of mind-boggling scenery, marine growth and exotic fish life - but no sign of Sid himself.

Notwithstanding that most of my diving experience has been in Britain, I have dived a few other places including the Med, Florida and more recently the Caribbean, I have never seen such prolific fish life. The whole peninsular of Sharm is now a protected national Park with ALL fishing banned. Clearly recognition that divers bring more revenue than a few fishing boats and the whole economic structure of the area dependant on tourism driven by diving at its focal point was realised some time ago. The legacy for us today is that the reefs are literally teeming with life of all types and sizes despite a lot of divers.

That evening we all had big smiles from ear to ear and fell into bed exhausted. Even Keith's melodious snoring could not interrupt my well earned sleep in Room 109.

Day 2 dawned with a 06:00 hrs kick off with a more adventurous trip in the direction of the Gulf of Aqaba to Tiran, to dive sites including Jackson Reef (with 800 m drop off walls), Woodhouse Reef and the exotic sounding Ras Nasrani with interesting above water views of shallow reefs and stranded rusting shipwrecks as well as the below surface exotica.

As the week progressed we dived walls, reef platforms, drifts and wrecks, all providing breathtaking scenery and a heady mix of adventure and anticipation.

We had two wrecks in our itinerary. The SS Dunraven is a spectacular and classic wreck dive. A steel hulled steam assisted sailing ship built in 1873, 85 m in length and displacing 1,800 tons, she is upside down in 30 m. It is about 2 hours cruise from Sharm.

En-route to India in April 1876 she struck the southern end of the fringing reef Sha'ab Mahmud. She was fatally holed in the bow section but sat on the reef for nearly a week before bad weather led to the break-up of the bows and the ship slipped slowly down the reef to her present position. We can assume that thankfully there was no loss of life on this occasion.

We dropped on the bow swam the length of the ship, round the rudder then inside through a convenient hole to explore the full internal length including the two boilers, exiting through the torn open bow section. The deepest part is around 30 m with the reef stretching up at a gentle gradient to about 5 m which gave us a gentle decompression profile with an overall dive time of around 40–50 minutes.

You can see some stunning photos, especially of the rudder and prop, taken by the team on the website. [er, well you might do eventually… Ed]

The second wreck demanded a 04:00 hrs start (yes 4 AM) and we saw dawn break over the desert as we steamed in a Westerly direction breakfasting on coffee and omelettes made by the crew. We were heading for the famous Thislegorm sunk by a German aircraft in 1940. The bomb ignited munitions in Hold No. 5 which almost blew the stern off. She lies in 30 m and is a spectacular dive. The windy conditions and heavy swell made entry and exit a bit of a challenge, but it was certainly worth the early start. Despite being a heavily dived wreck it was an experience not to be missed.

We dropped on the stern and swam over a massive wreckage field including vehicles and boxes of shells, then along the main deck where there are railway carriages strapped, marvelling at the completeness the size and the marine life. There was a moment when a school of fish zoomed past in a big hurry, attracting our attention (Alex and I). Sure enough a whopping tuna appeared in hot pursuit. Alex went for the camera but it was over in a flash—literally—but an exciting moment.

Dive 2 was spent dropping through the open hatches with penetration into the wreck examining jeeps, trucks, rows of motorcycles, and racks of rifles, exploring the full length of the vessel inside and at different levels. After what seemed a very short time, our planned bottom time was up and we made our way back to the shot line for a couple of minutes of chilly decompression stops.

This is probably the biggest complete wreck I have been on, and certainly "in", a bit like the James Egan Layne before it started to collapse on itself only much better viz, with door-to-door service and hot coffee at the end. I seem to remember we only ever "did" the Egan Layne in the depths of English winter, freezing cold, battering along in an old Zodiac inflatable with a miserly 40 bhp Mercury in full kit Force 4–5 gusting 6 (no RIBs then). It took over an hour to get there with a blasting Sou' westerly and about an hour to get back in the heavy sea. I seem to remember we didn't thaw out until about 10 pm after a few (few) pints of fine ale and a rousing chorus of Dina Dina in the Casement Bar at Fort Bovisand.

After lunch—again by the crew who worked wonders in the odious little galley—we snoozed and read our way back towards home base finishing off with a dive in a place called Jackfish Alley. I am convinced Charlotte had us dropped on the "reserved" part of the reef because she knew we would respect the coral and keep our fins to ourselves. Other boats were diving this area but much further along. This proved to be the best "shallow" dive of the week logging some 50–60 minutes in a max of 15 meters (most at 3-5 m) in a virtual fish tank with a huge range of colour, species and size of fish, caves, fissures and spectacular corals. This was the last dive of the trip and a fantastic way to finish.

But it wasn't over yet. Our leader had arranged yet another "treat", quad biking in the desert (at reduced price). We are all duly instructed in the quad bike operation and the discipline expected of us. "You will travel in a line and no acrobatics please", said the bike man. We of course were only following orders from one leader—TJ who looked like a cross between Rommel and an Arab terrorist—who had already instructed us into what to do. Off we went into a blizzard of sand and anarchy as the bike wheels spun and TJ was off, closely followed by a maniac who I think was James (couldn't really see for the dust cloud) all being chased by the bike man who kept waving his hands in despair.

The all up cost of £450 which included everything except lunch, dinner and beer was truly unbelievable. Lunch on the boat was excellent at EGP5 (about 50p), dinner out was typically about EGP 100 (about £9). Keith discovered a falafel shop, the equivalent of an Egyptian "greasy spoon" full of local building workers, and managed a full three course meal including fresh orange juice for about 75p—excellent. I got hooked on the hotel curry bar (Kashirmir) and I reckon this was some of the best curry to be had anywhere (appetite enhanced by some serious diving and a couple of beers = paradise) with the full monty for about £10.

Memorable moments…? Well err…

Charlotte's face when she met us all for the first time and saw Alex's "popeye" hat, James' jungle shirt and Peter's tee-shirt/shorts ensemble.

The king-sized napoleon fish which swam into the middle of our group and eyeballed everyone in turn before swimming off into the "Big Blue".

Tobias chucking everyone in the pool.

Alex's face when a huge Spanish dancer sailed by the shot line and his camera was switched off [though as anyone forced to watch it over and over will attest, he did manage some video footage of it – Ed]

Gina & Bob surfacing with more air than they went in with (OK well almost).

All in all, we had some memorable dives, an interesting environment, the hotel and organisation excellent, and Allan justly carrying the sobriquet of TJ "Top Johnny" for organising it all. This has to be a regular London Branch fixture, always providing you can get TJ's Mystery Tours to do it again—and maybe a few of the "old timers" out of diving retirement.

My thanks to London Branch and the 2004 Red Sea Team for making it such a pleasure for me and a special thanks to TJ.

Happy Diving



Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

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Dollar Deal on Darwinian Diving
01 December 2003

Trip report by Megan Peat
First published in London Diver, March 2004

Any interest in going scuba diving in the Galapagos later this year?" Well, I wasn't exactly going to say no…

Complicated by the fact that the friend I was going with lives in Boston, we decided to book everything over the internet rather than pay extra for the services of a travel agent that only one of us would be able to utilise. Extensive research took place – consisting of accosting people at the Perseverance and typing in "diving + Galapagos" into Google.

The Lammer Law seemed to be the boat of choice, but was booked up, so we ended up going with Peter Hughes, who run the Dancer fleet of liveaboard boats. Our boat was the Sky Dancer, newly refitted and very luxurious – a daily delivery of early morning coffee to the cabin; endless supplies of towels; hot drinks and fresh food after every dive.

Arrival in the islands was awesome–after completing the airport formalities, we boarded a minibus for the five minute drive to the port, where everyone rushed to the shore to gaze at the sea lions, pelicans and blue water.

The first dive was a checkout dive, to iron out problems. I took in my camera case, minus the camera (top tip, thanks Alex), crystal clear water at 22°C, angelfish and sea lions—all a bit of a change from Scapa Flow!

That afternoon we went on a land visit, where I realised that all the stories I'd heard about the Galapagos were true. It took our party of fourteen about ten minutes to disembark from the RIB, as there was a family of sea lions, with feeding pups, basking on the pier and we were all too scared/amazed/busy taking photos to pass! The islands themselves were nothing to write home about, rather lunar and barren, but the birds and animals were in no way scared of humans, giving the rather bizarre impression that you are walking around unnoticed in the middle of a David Attenborough wildlife programme.



The diving in the southern islands was lovely, water temperature ranging from a low of 19°C to a high of 23°C and an average viz of 20 m+. Dive sites ranged from wall dives with rare black coral (which is, confusingly, green) to scenic coves. On the whole, the underwater topography was not what I'd expected – bare rocks and sand rather than coral, but for someone who's done the vast majority of their diving in the UK ("what did you see?", "a grey fish…") the sheer variety of underwater life was amazing. Triggerfish, puffer fish, a stonefish, hundreds of morays, lobsters; one of my favourites was the aptly named chocolate chip starfish, which resembles a cookie with chocolate chips embedded in a star pattern. The sea lions were friendly, nibbling fins and peering though air bubbles, and for once I was the old hand, having dived with the seals in the Farnes.

On the second dive of the trip, I saw my first seahorse, which was a beautiful red and surprisingly big (they are supposed to be the largest type) and also my first marine turtle. The turtles, like the land mammals, weren't scared of humans and seemed to take great pleasure in playing chicken—swimming in a statesman like fashion straight at you until you were forced to duck. The snorkelling was also amazing, seeing penguins and marine iguanas in the water and for once, I didn't feel like it was a poor substitute for a dive.

After a couple of days in the southern islands, with two to three dives a day, a land visit and a snorkel we began the twelve hour journey up to Wolf and Darwin Islands, where the hammerheads hang out and no-one, other than divers, visits as no land visits are allowed.

Waking up in the morning, I went on deck and immediately saw a pod of dolphins playing in the wake–they followed us until we dropped anchor, when they got bored and went off, but I counted 100+ and that was only on one side of the boat.

After breakfast, the first dive in the northern islands. I've done drift dives, I thought I'd dived in currents before. Not like this I hadn't. You basically rolled out of the RIB and dropped as quickly as you could to the bottom, where you grabbed hold of a rock and tried to find your buddies. Down there it was like some bizarre children's game, hiding behind a boulder and occasionally, gripping your reg. between your teeth and holding on to your mask, sticking your head up to play peek-a-boo with a hammerhead. After thirty minutes or so of this, the guide would bang on his tank and we'd all let go and get dragged by the current into 'the blue'.

In the dive briefing, this sounded like the boring bit, drifting along in the current and carrying out any necessary safety stops. In reality, it was possibly the best part of the dive, with schools of hammerheads passing below us and dolphins flashing by in a blur.



We'd been warned that we had very little chance of seeing a whale shark as, in early December, we were in the wrong season. That didn't stop the jokes—as we were diving in two groups of seven, each would claim to have made a sighting to the disbelief of the other. One amazing dive, however, we were coming to the end of our time in the blue when I heard someone shouting through their reg and looked down to see a huge white-spotted back passing majestically just below me. Dive plans be damned—I immediately started finning down to try and catch him up, along with everyone else, needless to say. However, the shark's stately progress belied the actual speed of movement and one by one we gave up trying to keep up and returned to do our deco stops, cheering and whooping at each other through our regs and dancing bizarre jigs. Unfortunately, no amount of wishing, hoping and peering off into the distance earned us another visit, but I think the memory will stick for a few years to come.



The water temperature here was a balmy 26°C but felt colder than in the south as you spent so little time finning. We'd do four to five dives, averaging an hour each and towards the end of the day I was starting to clock up deco time, despite the fact that we'd rarely go deeper than 25m. Most of the rest of the group were diving on nitrox and I'd recommend that anyone who goes get certified first.

Geographically, we were 50% US and 50% European, with most of the others having done several exotic liveaboard holidays before. I met one of the few people of whose lives I can genuinely say I am jealous—the North American Rolex scholar—who gets to spend a year (and a bursary) diving. The bad news being that the age limit for application is 25!

The boat was very comfortable, the food good, plentiful and fresh and the crew friendly. The drinks free flowing, although no one took full advantage of the alcohol. The accommodation was pleasant, we had the cheaper cabins, but the above deck ones were more spacious and airy (but not worth an extra $200 pp). I became blasé about so many things that before the trip had seemed so exciting, seahorses, turtles, hammerheads, sea lions, reef sharks, Galapagos sharks, white-tips…



The diving was world-class and so were the land trips, if it's not heresy to say so. I could almost wish we'd had a more even split between the two or, even better, would recommend spending more than a week there. I won't pretend it's a cheap holiday—the boat, with all diving and food included, cost $2,150, flights to Ecuador £540 and from Ecuador to the islands $390, but with the current dollar–pound exchange rate, now is a good time to go and I can truly recommend it as the experience of a lifetime.

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Port-Cros National Park
15 September 2003

Trip report by Jennifer Soffe
First published in London Diver, October 2003

France was very lovely, and for those of you who couldn’t make it this time around, you missed an extremely good trip. Good diving, incident-free, and some lively boat rides.

For me, it was interesting to go in September as my three previous trips to Port-Cros had been in June, when conditions and marine life were slightly different. So, what was particularly good about it?

Highlight 1: Warm water—23 degrees, so even I made an appearance in a wetsuit and was rarely cold, and that beautiful deep blue colour that makes you want to swim out into the open water and pretend to fly, well it does me anyway.

Highlight 2: Shoaling barracudas, which were a fantastic sight and something I hadn’t seen on previous occasions. They were close in to the walls we were diving on, and circling around in vast numbers—sizeable beasties too, some of them must have been 80+ cm long. I have read subsequently that they’ve been known to bite people, especially when shoaling, so I might not have been quite so enthusiastic about swimming at them had I known that. Also (top piece of barracuda trivia coming up...), apparently they’re attracted to yellow things, so choose your diving companions with care.

Highlight 3: Walls covered in life—lots of anemones and, as you got down to around 25 m, gorgonia too.

Highlight 4: Dinky little purple nudibranchs, otherwise known as flabellina affinis, which hold a particular appeal for me in my role as Nudibranch Queen… these are covered in delicate spines tipped with mauve, although I failed to spot any of my previous faves, the brown-and-white spotted flat variety. I’ve seen a lot of those on other trips, so I don’t know whether their absence was a seasonal thing, or whether there’s been some change in the marine ecology which has caused their demise.

Plus, this was the first year I’d managed to see anything of the surrounding area—one day was blown out due to strong winds—and Favière is at the end of a particularly attractive stretch of the Côte d’Azur, so driving along the corniche is a Very Fine Thing.

So, a great week, thanks in particular to Nigel and Gillian who organised it and everyone who towed the boats down and ensured they performed perfectly in some quite difficult seas. If you get the chance to go diving down there at some point in the future, it’s highly recommended—staying at home looking at seaslugforum.net just isn’t the same.

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Scapa Flow
24 August 2003

Trip report by Morgan Peat
First published in London Diver, October 2003

Towards the back end of August, ten members of London Branch left town for the lure of Northern Scottish diving. All our gear was tossed into the back of a rented minibus and the three drivers (Alex, Tobias's friend Iain and I) took it in turns to drive through the night. Our journey was rather eventful; indeed we were lucky to make Stromness at all.

The first incident occurred in Leeds at about 11 pm. While performing a three-point turn, the minibus stalled blowing the main engine fuse. Nothing worked - engine, hazard warning lights and headlights were all kaput. Fortunately, the nose of the minibus was pointing into the drive of someone with a movement-activated security light. While we waited for the RAC to arrive, our caffeine-fuelled fidgeting kept the light constantly lit and the poor residents, whose drive we were standing on, peering through the curtains.

Now about three hours behind schedule, we zipped through Northern England and Scotland, pausing for only a few minutes to stock up on fuel, food, duvets, school jumpers and birthday cards (I kid you not). Most people slept soundly through the night, only waking up when we passed speed cameras: "Gatsco" being spoken in dulcet tones from Jeff's GPS, sharp braking followed by heavy acceleration.

On arrival at Scrabster, we had a few minutes spare to visit John O'Groats and have our pictures taken before heading for the ferry. It was a pretty surreal experience: it turned out that Cameron from Big Brother (remember him? nor me) was returning home for the first time since winning the show. The party for him on the ferry was huge (as huge as a party in the Orkneys can get), with dancing, singing and free champagne! When the ferry arrived at Stromness, a thousands-strong welcome party was there to greet us. Well, not us exactly, but we pretended they were.

Diving started with a vengeance the next day. That consisted of a morning dive to a fairly deep wreck lying on its port side, broken away midships. Lunch was taken on the island of Hoy with a trip around the war museum. The afternoon dive was a little bit shallower to a wreck lying on its port side, broken away midships. This was repeated for six days. The dives got progressively deeper, the ships got progressively larger, the holes amidships got progressively wider.

The war museum was interesting for the first few days, after which we started to find alternative lunchtime entertainment. We went to see a military graveyard one day; slept through (sorry, watched) a film about The Orkneys another day; listened to Jeff moaning about walking long distances (1 mile); I got told off for climbing 80-year-old gun emplacements and Tobias filmed cow porn.

Unfortunately for us, a couple of things conspired to make the diving not as great as it could have been. Most trips to The Flow tend to dive a deep battleship or cruiser in the morning followed by a blockship in the afternoon. The blockships are relatively shallow boats sunk to block the entrance to Scapa Flow, intended to stop enemy U-Boats entering. Slack tide is relatively short so that while you go down on slack, you surface in a 5 knot tide. Skippers only let you dive in these currents when you will drift back into the flow—the week we were there we would have been pulled into the Atlantic, with obvious risks. Our only opportunity to dive one of these ships was in the morning, which meant no second dive (skipper's rules: second dive MUST be shallower than the first). We did this once and it was (in my opinion) one of the best dives of the week.

Tides are something I would never have thought could be a problem in Scapa Flow, but having been caught out once I will certainly check next time.

While we managed to work around tidal limitations, we could not avoid the plankton bloom. The unusually hot weather we have had this year caused the plankton to arrive earlier than usual, and we managed to catch it full-on. The expected 20 metre visibility ended up being somewhat less.

Despite all my doom-and-gloom reporting, the diving was superb. For those of us who were relatively inexperienced, the diving was both interesting and challenging. Some of the ships were so large you thought you had hit the ocean floor and it was narcosis making you see rivets holding the ocean bed together. The swim-throughs were interesting and the massive guns were fascinating as they appeared out of the murk.

After our morning's dive on the blockships, we had an afternoon off. Jeff and Chris decided to spend it in the pub, while the rest of us took a short stroll along the coast to visit Scarra Bray, a prehistoric settlement. I was leading the way, and whilst my navigation was spot-on (keep the coast on the left), my estimation of distance left a little bit to be desired. We all worked up an appetite for dinner, but I don't think Tobias has forgiven me yet…

On our final day, the diving was almost called off. The seas were so rough that Iain spent most of the trip leaning over the rail, not helped by Jeff's descriptions of his greasy fried breakfast. We managed to find a fairly sheltered cove for a scenic dive made all the more entertaining by trying to climb back up the heaving ladder afterwards.

Our last evening in Stromness coincided happily with the 10th anniversary of the Orkney beer festival. As the ferry was departing after midday the next day, we all made the most of it.

On the last day we had a morning to work off our hangovers. Some went cycling, some went on a visit to Kirkwall (and its distillery). The ferry crossing and journey back were much quieter than those out, and we again travelled through the night back to London.

On the whole, the trip was great fun. Everyone had a great time and a lot of diving experience was gained. Despite the less-than-perfect conditions, the diving was sufficiently challenging and interesting to keep us going all week. Chris and Damien (who ran the boat) were great (thanks guys), and made sure that we did the best possible dives we could. Thanks to Tobias for organising everything, too.

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Cornwall
27 July 2003

The Goldsithney Karst Rain Project
a.k.a. DIW (Doing It Wet)

Trip report by Joe Hesketh
First published in London Diver, October 2003

July 19th 2003, and a crack team from London Branch embark on an exploration push deep into the Treveneague Sump (known locally as the soggy end of Phil's campsite). To reach our objective of breaking the record for saturation-camping, we would have to have the weather on our side and keep all diving activity down to a bare minimum.

Preparation had begun early, with the support crew of Bernie and Keith having arrived the previous day to deliver vital supplies (kettle/gas stove) and position the safety boat, a large RIB to be used as a bail-out craft in case of severe flooding. One by one, the team arrived and laid out their Hogarthian tent systems, ranging from Jon W's streamlined bungee-less single dome to Bernie's friend Mike whose closed-circuit marquee sported an isolation zip between the twin sleeping areas, fold out table, back-up chairs and integral 18W HID lighting.

The mood was anxious by nightfall and we just hadn't seen anywhere near enough rain to make our project a success. But by sunrise, our fears were allayed as the team awoke to the first of many dismally wet mornings, and by lunchtime, after a tough swim-through on the traverse to the bakery in Marazion, we sat clutching our soggy pasties thinking to ourselves how lucky we were to have planned the expedition during the wettest Cornish week that summer.

As a relative newcomer to DIW (though countless washed-out holidays as a child to Filey and Bridlington have undoubtedly accelerated my education), it was an honour to spend time with some of DIW's grandees, from whom I learned a great deal. "The first rule of DIW", explained Keith, "is never camp with strokes". A stroke is someone who has no regard for dampness while camping, and who, despite maybe knowing of ways to avoid staying dry and comfortable, nevertheless chooses not to. If you camp with strokes, you are risking your own wetness. What may start out a simple exercise in going to borrow some milk from their caravan can easily escalate into having a chat whilst in this dangerous waterless environment, or even watching some TV, and by that stage, it's too late. Even short to medium term exposures at such elevated dryness levels can have irreversible effects on overall wetness.

Unfortunately, several of London Branch who were also in Cornwall that week fall into that category. Perhaps the worst offenders were Jeff and Tobias, and I cite them as examples for you all to learn from. Despite staying on the same campsite, they chose to spend the whole week under a hard roof, with electricity, onsite toilet and kitchen facilities. Unfortunately, such ideas are now being actively pushed by the outdoors industry and are gaining favour amongst the less experienced no thanks to a lowering of standards amongst the recreational camping agencies. However, an equipment configuration such as this will do nothing to keep you wet. For instance, even if you switch from your primary WC to the outdoor facility, due to the up-field positioning of your caravan, there will simply be too small a moisture gradient between clothing and skin for the short dash to the lavs to result in accelerated drenching. A mistake that could easily be avoided by staging your quarters (a simple sheet of nylon) at the opposite side of the site, thus maximising the precipitation window.

However, in spite of such ignorance, the project was a resounding success. We were only unlucky with the weather once or twice and due to clear skies had to resort to jumping in the sea to get wet. But other than that, I'm pleased to be able to report that conditions in these wonderful Cornish fields were consistently abysmal and this period of commitment and sacrifice ultimately led to a redefinition of technical camping and extreme tea making.

This was all made possible through the dedicated surface and knee-deep-in-water support teamwork required to stage such an expedition under very difficult conditions. My thanks go to all involved.

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Skiving from work to go diving? Never!
11 June 2003

Trip report by James Astrop
First published in London Diver, July 2003

James Astrop proves that life beneath the waves in Brighton is just as varied as that above them as he reports on the first of this year's skive dives…

What were you doing on Wednesday 11th June? Did you struggle to work on an over hot tube train, spend the day looking out of the office window, wishing you were somewhere else? Did your van get stuck in traffic on the way to the job and you spent your day inside some ducting cursing the heat and the fact the delivery parts had not turned up. Well just to make you jealous four of us went diving.

Okay, so to get on the wreck for slack we had to leave London at quarter to six, but that was the day's only hardship. Nell, Jane, Tobias and I arrived, bright eyed and bushy tailed, well okay then half asleep and in need of coffee, on the harbour in Brighton at 7.30 am to join the hard boat Nauticat for a days diving.

Steve Johnson, the skipper, got us away as soon as our kit was on board and steamed at full speed to the wreck site and hit slack perfectly. The wreck was that of the Fortuna, a 1,200 ton Dutch steamer that was sunk after striking a mine in 1916, lying at 50 41 38N; 00 02 16W, that's about five miles due south of Newhaven. Only one of us was sea sick on that leg of the journey and I'm not telling who.

The pairs were Jane and I then Tobias and Nell. As non of us had done any diving this year we kept to a fairly conservative profile, planning not to go below 30 m and not to rack up any deco. The wreck lies upright at 35 m with the deck rails at about 30 m; Steve got the shot line almost on the prow so our dive was restricted to the fore sections on the boat. Jane and arrived on the wreck to be greeted with about 3 m viz and a mass of tompot blenny. Tompots just have this "what are you looking at" face and it was like walking into a pub where only locals ever go, I'm sure I heard one say "stick to the path lads, don't go on t' moor".

We worked our way sternward keeping to a depth of about 30 m but this was fine as the Fortuna is relatively intact and is awash with wild life. We saw all of the normal wreck species, bib, poor cod, balleen wrasse, goldskinny wrasse, edible crab etc. We also saw some more unusual gubbins such as leopard spot goby and a flat fish, unusual on a wreck. I think it was a top knot though Jane thought it was a lemon sole as we cannot agree on which side it eyes were.

One of the holds had a cargo of bags of cement, which have hardened into rounded square rock like structures. The view reminded me of Fingles Cave or the Giant's Causeway in that they looked natural but also man made and repetitive.

As we were readying ourselves to return up the shot, I tried to waft some detritus from my arm and it started to walk sideways. It was a decorator crab, a gubbins which is about 5 cm across and rather spider like in appearance. The decorator crab is so called because it disguises it self by sticking bits of algae about its body and hence looking like flotsam or jetsam in the water.

Before the second dive another of our group succumbed to mal de mer: it takes a day to get your sea legs. The second was a drift dive about a mile off Brighton beach. It was fun but unremarkable. The viz was only about 3 m and it was running at about 1.5 knots, so one did have the occasional surprise. Jane and I did the biggest conga in Christendom, it was about five feet long and ten inches wide near its pectoral fins; honest it was a sea monster.

The next skive dive is on Friday 29th August, see advert on the following page, so book early to avoid disappointment.

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Plymouth – The Truth…
21 April 2003

Trip report by Megan Peat
First published in London Diver, May 2003

Easter weekend saw some twenty-odd of us, plus Percy, Percy Too and the majority of the populace of greater London heading down the A303 to Plymouth where, back in the dark ages, TJ had taken the far-sighted precaution of booking accommodation at the Mount Batten water sports centre.

Contrary to the rest of the UK, we had good weather and reasonably calm seas, although some may argue the (pitch and) toss over the latter—special thanks go to Chris Cole for running through the list of the greasiest foods he could think of on the way back from Darren's first open water dive (aka OW fish feeding).

Dives were made on the Mew Stone, Hillsea Point, the Mew Stone, the breakwater, the Mew Stone and then, for a change, the Mew Stone. That said, we saw lots of starfish, kelp, anemones, crabs, wrasse, cuttlefish and even a thorny-backed ray (or maybe not!).

The viz was good, the water wasn't too cold, the accommodation was clean, with plentiful hot water and friendly staff, the beer was plentiful and the Easter eggs most welcome (thanks Sarah, Gillian and Nicky!). Many thanks to the marshals for managing to see that everyone got the option of two dives a day and, as ever, the instructors were ready, willing and able to ensure that buddies were available for the less experienced. Some quick turnarounds were made and there were some interesting techniques adopted for pulling the trolley from the pontoon back to the centre—suffice it to say that I wouldn't want to be in the car with certain people if that's an example of their driving technique! [guess who had to share with one of the culprits…only kidding Alex - Ed]

Richard and Morgan formed a team to strike terror into all sea life—amazing how the enthusiasm grows with the prospect of hands-on marine biology and a demonstration of 'dogfish darts'. Percy, in best Plymouth tradition, broke down at sea with remarkably similar problems to last time and limped back to shore to be tenderly looked after by Nigel and TJ—we appreciate it, guys! Alex tried to imitate the Michelin man on the surface when his drysuit dump valve reversed and filled the suit with a mixture of air and water. Morals: don't let Richard drive the boat (when it breaks down twice when you're driving it begins to look too suspicious to be an accident…) and don't let Tobias fix your dump valve!

Having kindly volunteered to tie my reel to my SMB, Bernie then undertook to demonstrate how to tie a bowline—rabbits, holes, trees, etc.—a knot which he proudly claimed, "could hold the Queen Mary". Much amusement then when I took the SMB out to find that the knot had come undone!

After the stories from prior years, a visit to the fish and chip shop on the Barbican had to be made to check out the waistline and toupee of the proprietor—one had obviously grown and one was just obvious. Valiant efforts were made to eat things seen on the dives, although top marks have to go to anyone who consumed the hideous 'Nepalese cocktail' we were given at the Indian… great idea to pour it into the flower vase, Alex, shame someone else had thought of it first!

The Plymouth scene lived up to reputation (think Goth come Rocky Horror) although the drag queens didn't seem to pose a deterrent to returning into town after the girl with the pierced belly-button, improbable clothes and open-toed sandals ("Sandals…? I hadn't made it past the midriff!") got off the ferry as we were getting on to return back to base…

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