Why We Wreck Dive

Diving Philosophy with Capt. Bill

Why We Wreck Dive!!
With Saturdays seas predicted at two feet and Sunday at 2-3 feet, as Gillman says "I'm licking my chops to dive.”

For all you folks that don't understand my obsession for New Jersey diving, I thought I’d try and explain why I’m addicted to it.

Each time I roll over the side it's a thrill, as I never know what the dive will bring. Shipwrecks all have a story of how they became wrecks. I can feel the aura of what transpired as the ship was in its death; bending, breaking and settling to the bottom. Man has been sailing off of New Jersey for many, many years. Equipment boats have today are relatively new comparatively. In the days of old, all they had was a compass, sextant and dead reckoning to tell them where they thought they were. Dead reckoning at best was a guess on where they thought they were. Fog had to have been a horrible thing as they cruised the coastline. There are many tales of ships coming out of a fog bank only to see another ship bearing down on them.

Most wrecks we dive really haven't even been identified. For instance, the Gloria is thought to be the Kennebec; or maybe the Lake Frampton. Who knows the name or the story behind many of these wrecks? I always think of Mel Fisher's "today is the day", will some lucky person be the one to put a name on the wreck? Next time, as you're underwater cruising a wreck think about what was happening as a good ship became a shipwreck; the attempt to save the boat; maybe even their lives; the loss of cargo; and even the boat. Deep Sea Detectives always tries to explain this and determine what could have been the cause. This is something we all should look at as we are down there.

Warships are the best/worse for me. Each time I pull up on one I swear the wreck is screaming at me to feel the pain, the suffering of the people on board and the loss for no valid reason. The ocean bottom is a junk yard littered with many of mans best and worst ships. As divers we only visit for a short while as the ocean does its work, constantly tossing, churning and changing the wrecks. Today you'll see one thing; perhaps tomorrow it will be all changed. Each time I bring up something from a wreck I wonder, “who last touched it?” The rough hand that used it, what was it? Everything has a story a purpose. When I’m not diving I can see this stuff and my wonder continues. The copper wreck is a prime example, is it the Huntsville or just another 19th century steamer?

I am going to go to the Huntsville's sister ship the Montgomery to see if they're alike. Of course many times my wrecking gets interrupted by some lobsters, mussels, scallops or fish then I need to decide, fresh seafood or exploration. While I’m visiting on the bottom, all my surface issues are left behind to wait for me and rejoin when I get back. The grass mowing; the painting; the projects… all are jobs. I’ll deal with them after a short saltwater recharge.

Now, I’ve heard all the excuses for why people don't go ocean diving, and all are valid to them. Its hard work, you can get sick, it's cold, there’s not always great vis, it's expensive, and of course we all hate to get up early. I can't do anything about the hard work, but I’ve always felt the best things in life are never easy. You get sick there are tons of drugs to help. The vis is what it is, but for me, I think 20 ft is very nice.

Now, there’s Dutch Springs, which is open, easy, and they have the comet, the helicopter, the school bus, etc. It seems like you’re getting what you expected, right. New Jersey diving is about those expectations getting thrown out the door while you get bombarded by a completely unexpected change in the wreck itself and suddenly you find yourself in awe from the shear magnitude of the situation. Your mind shoots in ten different directions as you act like a kid in a candy store. “Should I shoot fish, look for artifacts, grab some lobsters, just enjoy the new scenery, etc.” Suddenly your brain waves change just like the wreck did and your new mind is set on the wonder and excitement that diving can bring into your life and your hobby has just become a passion. This is what New Jersey diving is all about – passion.

I always find it interesting people complain about the costs and than go to dinner, or a movie, and spend how much for so little. Yes, you spend $100, but you may come home with a doormat for a flounder like Chris Lynch did a few weeks ago. Or maybe you’ll grab a nice 12 lb lobster like Renee did just a couple weeks ago. How much does a 12 lb lobster cost at your favorite restaurant?

This is a very special hobby, perhaps not for everyone. But to touch, to feel, and to experience is far better than sitting at a computer or chasing a little ball around a golf course. Ocean diving is challenging; you need some skills best developed from pure experience, training and reading.

I welcome any questions you all may have about this, as does John, and/or Paul in the shop. It's very hard for me to explain this all by computer. I'm an old dog that's challenged by spelling, typing, and even the basic computer skills. Now, when I hit the water, all that stuff just doesn't matter and that’s where it all happens! Come join the excitement.

Dive safe, dive often. Capt. Bill and the crew of the Tunaseazure arrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.















From a Wreck Diver
I have a friend from the gym that I used to work out with. He is a wreck diver. I had been thinking about learning to dive since my honeymoon. On our last day in paradise, I tried on the equipment and went in the pool at the resort with what may or may not have been a divemaster. If Senor wanted to go diving, then there was a boat leaving later in the day. The problem was that Senora was not interested, and I could not abandon her on our honeymoon.
    I thought about diving intermittently for the next several years, until a convention came up that was to be held in Puerto Rico. That was a golden opportunity. One of the attendees that I am friends with is also a diver, so it was just too much to pass up. I took the course and finished the quarry dives in time to get certified for the trip.
    The diving was great as far as tropical diving goes. I could not know what it was at the time, but something was missing. Sure the fish were pretty, as was the coral, as were some of the scantily clad divers. Still, after a few dives each fish looked pretty much the same as the previous fish and the reefs could have been copies of each other. There was no “wow”. One of the divers told me that I looked like I had been diving for years. What he took for relaxed was more like bored.
    When I got home I signed up for a dive charter out in the Atlantic.
We went to the wreck of some unknown schooner about 30 miles out. It is a very unsettling feeling until you get used to it. Most people have never been out of sight of land on the water and if I had then I don’t remember when. It makes you feel tiny. You feel tiny right up until you roll over the side and are swallowed by dark water; then you are microscopic. Just a piece of human plankton in an ocean too enormous to comprehend; but I get ahead of myself.
    It takes plenty long to ride 30 miles on the Ursula. The converted commercial fishing boat makes anywhere from 8-12 knots depending on who you ask. A little math will tell you that 2 and a half fun filled hours of bullshitting divers later we arrived on site. I can only guess what the reasons are, but I have noticed that North Atlantic divers are a very extroverted, type “A”, over the top bunch. 20 of them together on the same boat can be quite an experience, especially when they are all pumped up for the dive. I can’t say that I was pumped up. I was uneasy about the dive and I was not too crazy about doing it so far from land. Of course, none of this manifests itself as a conscious thought. It is more like uneasiness.
    Whatever uneasiness I felt on the trip out was not cleared up when I hit the water. Wrapped in a constricting 2 piece wet suit (“it has to be tight to keep the water in”) and wearing what I thought at the time was an awful lot of heavy equipment, I rolled sideways over the rail as instructed.
I fell for 6-7 feet and landed on my back, sunk a few feet and then floated to the surface. The cold water crept into my suit, the regulator felt foreign, my field of vision was very narrow and I certainly did not feel like I had things together. Never the less, when my partners joined me at he anchor line I let the air out of my BC (buoyancy control device, a vest with an air bladder to control buoyancy), and started down.
    What felt like cold water was not really that cold. It was late June, and the water had to be pretty warm because we were enveloped in a green fog. I could not see much of anything. All I could see was the anchor line underneath my gloved hands as I pulled myself along it. What was I doing there? My ears hurt, I was cold, I could not see where I was going, and I felt like at any moment something important was going to break.
I must have passed through the thermocline where the warm surface water sits upon the colder bottom water, because the algae bloom cleared. I could see clear down to the wreck, and what a sight greeted me. In all of the dives that I have made since, I have never seen local visibility as good as that day. Spread out beneath me was the hull, sunk into the sandy bottom almost to its gunwales, a mast spilled out over the port bow, and a large stone wheel rested off the port side too. Writing this, almost 5 years later, the sight is still vivid and breathtaking. I had found what was missing in Puerto Rico.
I changed that day. We are shaped by our experiences and that was no different. I fell in love with a sport/hobbie/whatever that attracts a certain type and makes them into more of what they were all along. I have made many friends that range from colorful to eccentric to bizarre. I went on to spend a boatload (pardon) of money and continued my training through the technical level. I have seen things that few can appreciate and fewer still will ever see. I have littered my office and am working on littering my house with what I call artifacts and my wife calls junk. We are both wrong; they are trophies; tokens from the places that I have gone.
I look back on that day with a clarity; both of the memory and of the analysis. I now know what it was that I saw, the names of the different features in the water and the wreck. I also know that a 100’ dive is not the best choice for a first ocean dive. That doesn’t matter. Things changed that day. Diving has helped me grow in ways that I can’t explain. As I said: I am more of what I was before. My experiences have enriched me. The cards show that I took the classes, but divers don’t really need them. After a few minutes of talking, we know all that we need to know about the other diver.
We are mirrors to each other, and our exaggerated stories tell more than just the dives that we have made. They tell who we are, how we view ourselves and what is important to us, as well as our proficiency. I guess that the old adage of being what you do must be true. In addition to all of the other things that I am, I am a diver. No, not just a diver; a wreck diver.