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A week in Scotland for a wedding, with three days diving out of Oban on the West coast. This was the scariest diving I've done to date, and things were in danger of turning into 'The Muppets Dive Trip' at a couple of points, but all turned out OK in the end... Water temps were a consistent 12-13 degrees, visibility poor by usual west of Scotland standards at 3-4 metres. the weather was patchy sun and showers, the water green and gritty, but the wind stayed away and the seas were calm. Tanks, weights, trilaminate drysuit and thinsulate were all rented.
Dive 1 - The Breda My buddy on the first day is Vicky, a doctor at Oban hospital.
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This is Vicky's side of the story...:
As I approached the jetty I looked down into the boat and was dismayed to see that i was going to be the only woman on the boat. Most of the men looked like serious heavy duty divers. I had visions of being buddied up with someone who was planning to dive to 70 metres then fin at break neck speed. So I was relieved when I was introduced to Huw as he seemed to have the same kind of diving as I had in mind.
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...and this is my version of events:
The rest of the large, comfortable and extremely fast RIB is taken up by a club from Newcastle of the 'traditional UK diver' (beard and beer belly) variety, all of whom are planning on serious wreck penetrations and clinking chisels, so I am relieved when Vicky turns up. However, when we are entering the water, I manage to completely cock up my backwards roll and land on top of her. What a way to introduce yourself to a buddy! I'm completely mortified, but there seems to be no permanent damage done. Is that Gonzo I hear in the distance? |
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I had dived the Breda twice before and thought it should be a breeze. The RIB was packed and gearing up in 2 foot square was interesting. Amazingly we all managed and were perched on our backsides ready to roll back on the signal of the skipper. Huw and I didn't quite manage to synchronise and by the time he started to roll off, I was already submerged. The current pulled me directly in his path and the tank knocked me on the head as I surfaced. All neurones still firing, I stuck the reg in my mouth to minimise the chance of escaping expletives. We descended. |
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At the bottom of the shotline, 18 metres down and letting eyes ajust to the dark before dropping over the rail and down the plumb-vertical side of the boat. My little torch isn't really up to it's job. Down below the top storey, huge holes have been torn into the side by the Navy, looking for a missing diver (who was never found). Round the bow, and back up to the deck which is leaking bubbles from divers inside. |
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We managed to follow the hull round in order to get some depth then climbed back on to the deck area. As we followed the structure round I began to realise that my recollection of where the shot line was at best vague. How hard could it be? - I'd been there twice before. Huw gestured about finding the line and we finned aimlessly for another minute before I finally confessed that I had not a clue where it was. |
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At 70 BAR, ask Vicky if she has any idea where the shotline is. Not a clue, neither do I. No problem, unclip my DSMB and, ever the gentleman, offer Vicky first pick of reel or inflation duties. 'huh'? she replies. Now I have to teach a buddy to fire a blob underwater! :-) I opt for getting her to hold the bottom of the SMB open while I control the reel and inflation. |
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Huw then produced something I recognised as an SMB from courses I'd done before. In the past I'd always ignored what the instructor had done with them. Huw then passed the reel to me. I suddenly realised I was about to have to fire one off, being instructed by mime. Given my lack of co-ordination and visions of disappearing at speed to the surface, I passed the reel straight back to Huw. It is very hard to read someone's body language when they are suited up and hooded especially when surrounded by silt, but Huw's was plainly saying "stupid bloody woman, I can't do this own my own!". At this point he handed the buoy over and opened it up. I thought maybe even I could manage to let a buoy go at the appropriate time and so the buoy was fired. |
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Blob fired, as we start to reel in, I can't dump fast enough - I'm so close to being underweighted, I can't get air out of my cuff dump fast enough to really keep control of my ascent - it's not exactly a runaway ascent, but it's not really under control either. I do the whole ascent in an arrow shape with my left wrist at the top, my lungs as empty as possible and still don't manage to stop at 5 metres, cruising gently but unstoppably to the surface. Kermit bobs next to me, chuckling, while Vicky follows at a safe rate. What I could have done better? Another 2 kilos on the weight belt to allow me to get negative more easily. No safety stop - this is where breathing nitrox on air tables does make for a worthwhile safety margin... Above all, take more care when rolling off a RIB in a current!
Dive 2 - The Hispania. |
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The following dive involved an hours trip up the Sound of Mull. We passed several porpoises, or rather, they passed us. The Hispania lies in a fairly narrow part of the sound and the current is too swift to dive except when the tide is turning. Alarmingly there were another 5 or 6 boats with divers all suited up waiting for the same slack tide. |
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We are supposed to be here at slack tide, but if this was slack, I'm a banana. Vicky and I haul ourselves down the near-horizontal shotline against the current to the wreck. About half way down, a jellyfish the size of a dinner plate trailing stinging threads out past the limits of visibility lurches out of the murk on a direct collision course. Vicky ducks left, I duck right, but despite the fact that our only exposed skin is our lips the bugger still gets us both. The boat crew have a good old chuckle handing out sachets of vinegar later. |
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After a rather dull head-injury free entry we caught hold of the shot and quickly started to descend. The current was very brisk and I was having to work hard just to hang on to the line. By the time we'd passed through a jelly fish mine field and reached the deck I was already knackered. The current was still pretty strong and I was trying to decide whether I could cope with it or not. During the course of a mimed discussion about the relative merits of continuing Huw wrenched his reg out of his mouth and passed it to me. Confused, it eventually dawned on me that I'd been waving my hands around in front of me during the course of my gesturing, doubtless indicating "out of air"! Ooops. |
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I notice Vicky's octopus dribbling small bubbles as we haul ourselves within sight of the shadowy form of the wreck, and as we are catching our breath clinging to the rail she appears to give an 'out of air' signal. Duck my head to release my long hose and she has a working reg in front of her... which she looks at blankly. False alarm! |
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Feeling more than a little silly I decided to continue on for the moment. The wreck was very clean. And so it should be with all that current. Sadly I was still too worried about the current. Also there was the possibility that we might not be able to find the shot again. Pictures of the two of us disappearing at speed attached to a buoy and drifting into a passenger ferry passed through my mind. Having strayed 10 metres from the line I decided to call it a day. |
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The superstructure of the wreck is a beautiful and fascinating jumble of posts, ribs and and frames trailing kelp and dead mans fingers, huge funnels large enough to lie in descending into the dark. I'm having fun dodging the current from shelter to shelter, but after a few minutes Vicky indicates she has had enough so we abort to the shotline. Our generous safety stop is spent, as one of the Geordies puts it, 'flappin lika unyon jack in tha fookin wind!' |
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Climbing back up the line hand over hand along with numerous other divers some of whom were still apparently trying to get down was interesting. On returning to the boat I felt mortified at ending the dive. I could imagine a buddy might loose patience at getting dragged away from one of the notable wrecks in Scotland. However, there were several buddy pairs who emerged cursing the current so I felt slightly less of a "big girl's blouse". All in all 2 interesting dives. Jim Henderson's Muppets in Mull? Not sure whether I would be cast as Miss Piggy or perhaps one of the singing chickens!
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Dive 3 - The Breda. 24.5m for 34min, 12l of nitrox 32. Back on the Breda on day two, and my buddy is Alan, a chippie (joiner) from Inverness, dive plan much the same as yesterday. All goes to plan until about 25 minutes in when we have risen back on to the deck area at 15m or so. I'm feeling a bit positive, so first try to dump my wing (empty) then try to dump from my suit. Though I can feel the gas sloshing around in the arm, despite arm waving and bashing the valve with my fist, it's just not coming out! I grab at the cuff, but I've put my compass strap over the seal, and for one very nasty moment I think I'm on the fast track to the surface. I manage to grab a handhold, and wedge one knee under a piece of wreck, Alan looking on concernedly. I hand him my torch, get my compass off and in a pocket and yank open the wrist seal. Get a cold arm, but who cares. When I'm nicely negative, we had for the shot, and I dump from the cuff the whole way up. Miss Piggy circles us at a distance. What I could have done better? Not having my compass over the wrist seal for a start. I also roll the sleeve of the thinsulate up to my elbow for the following dives. Top tip of the day, given on the boat afterwards, is sucking a blocked cuff dump to try and release it.
Dive 4 - Ard Na Cuile (scenic) On this dive, I drive my drysuit so empty I come up with squeeze bruising across my shoulders. Our plan is for a nice, easy multi level profile along the submarine cliff, but no sooner have we hit our maximum depth and started to crawl back towards the light than Alan starts to get floaty. He seems to have controlled it, stops to signal OK to me, but is then off up again. I dump my wing and try to grab his fin but I'm too slow, and he floats up out of sight. I follow, crawling up the wall, get to the surface after about a minute and look around for buddy. Nothing. Signal OK to the boat, who comes over. After a further minute or two, the boatman gets my weight belt and I shrug out of my gear, at which point Alan's head appears some distance further down the cliff, having re-descended to try and find me. Well, the dive is over, and here come the Muppets - badumadum - ba - ba - badada!
Dive 5 - The Shuna For my final day, my buddy is Ronnie, a commercial diver from the East Coast, and today, at last, the Muppets stay away... My deepest wreck to date, the bottom of the shot is at 25m. As we arrive the combination of quick descent, depth, dark and anxiety gives me a buzz of narcosis, but after a moments pause my head clears. We swim a full circuit of the 90-metre long wreck, I'm more than happy to let Ronnie lead. I hang at the rail above the impressive cut-away stern while Ronnie drops down to shine his lightsabre on the remains of the rudder. Several sea scorpions lurk in the metal, surprising to see them in water this cold. We are both back at the shot with nearly 100 BAR, so take another short tour, finding a spare prop on the deck. A brief pause on the ascent lets another jellyfish sweep magisterially over our heads.
Dive 6 - Ard Na Cuile (scenic) Back to the Majestic Meadows for the last dive. Having an opportunity to relax means where before the rocks seemed bare today I see Octopus, Edible Crab, Urchins, Squat Lobster, Common Sunstars and Biscuit Starfish - Ronnie goes after a Hunting Lobster but the brute escapes. Our safety stop is drifting through the enchanted forest of heavy, drooping Kelp covering the upper slopes. |