I dove the MkV in my first year of dive school down in Florida.
I'll always remember my first dive in that storied but cumbersome rig. It was July 5th...the day after the good ol' fourth of July holiday & I was a hurting unit.
As a 19 yearold Canadian boy living & schooling in Florida it was deemed necessary by my American classmates that I experience all the pomp & pagentry of their nation's birthday. To that end we made our way down to the Jensen Beach Causeway to join in the annual revelry. The day was hot & humid as thousands of people gathered on both sides of the bridge connecting the mainland with Hutchinson's Island. The time was wild & the American beer was goin' down easy...way too easy.
Of the few grey cells that survived that day, one contains the memory of the moment (about 5:00 a.m.) I realized I had to get back to my dorm room to get ready for the dive day. The pedals of my trusty 10-speed turned faster & faster as I imagined the dressing-down I would get from my former-navy-diver Instructor should I be late for my date with the MkV. Though somewhat wobbly on my wheels I unerringly picked my way between the parked cars & sleeping souls until the inoportune opening of a car door forced me to take evasive action. While congratulating myself on my deft manouver to avoid the door I did not notice the hydro pole rushing towards me..."Hard-a-starboard" my addled brain screamed as I spun the bars to the right. My front wheel missed the pole by inches; unfortuneately, my left shoulder connected with a climbing spike protruding from the pole & the impact sent me flying from my perch & on into the mangroves.
The dawning day held promise of soaring temperatures & stifling humidity as I stumbled down the hill leading to the campus pool & deep tank. The spike had scoured a short but deep swath of flesh from my left shoulder but I was reasonably sure nothing was broken, seperated or dislocated. The entire shoulder throbbed with pain & was a welcome distraction from the pounding in my head. As I rounded the corner of the Dive Locker my first sight was the imposing bulk of "Big Joe" Kaspin (no real names in this yarn). "Vale!!" he barked, "You're late & you look like @#$%&*!!" "Sorry sir, I was attacked by outside agitators trying disrupt the celebration of ol' glory so I stood with the lads & repelled all borders, sir!!"Thats the most!@#$%&* I've heard today but I'll give ya points for originality...now git yer sorry butt on deck & get to work!!" "Sir, yes sir!!" I croaked & then made for the bushes to barf out my barley breakfast.
By 1100 it was 110 degrees on the concrete deck & it was my turn to dive. I pulled on the canvass dress & watched as the tenders laced up the legs & struggled to fit the 35 lb./pair of boots to my feet. Next came the heavy copper breastplate that dug into my bruised shoulder, making me sag with pain. "Sit up diver, you're makin that suit look bad!!" Big Joe growled. I sat bolt upright & vowed to remain straight if I had to die trying. Next, they pulled & aligned holes in the collar of the diving dress over the 12, 1/2" threaded studs rising from the breastplate collar. They then placed 4 shims (copper washers), one over the front-center stud, back-center & left/right center studs. Four tobin bronze straps ( called "brales" ) were laid over the studs & are used to make a water tight seal between the breastplate & the dress. The brales are secured in place with 4 flanged bronze wingnuts ( over the shims ), & 8 regulars wingnuts over the remaining studs. Next, they laid the straps of the 84lb. weight belt in a cross pattern over the breastplate & secured the belt around my waist. That hurt, but wait...we have to secure the "jock strap!!" The jock is seperate from the wt. belt; it maintains the wt. belts position on the diver & holds the helmet group on the diver's shoulders. Finally, the copper helmet was slowly lowered over my head. After sitting in the hot sun, it was like sticking your head inside copper pressure cooker. The helmet is secured to the breastplate with interrupted Bayonette threads & forms a watertight seal. From two padeyes on the front of the breastplate hang 36" long halyards (ropes). One halyard secures the air hose on the left side while the other makes fast the communications wire on the right. Air supply enters the helmet through a "gooseneck" on the right back side of the helmet, the "telephone connection" (comm. wire) enters a gooseneck on the left side. The helmet has 4 viewports, with the front port being the "faceplate", which is mounted on a hinge pin and can be opened. With the faceplate open & air ciculating in the helmet, inside temperature was a bearable 140 degrees! A "Dumbell" or safety lock is secured & prevents the helmet from turning on the breastplate & coming off. An exhaust valve on the right lower side acts to release excess air from the helmet & dress, it also functions to maintain a constant air pressure. There is also a supplementary exhaust valve called a "spitcock" on the left lower front that will exhaust air when the diver is working on his right side & is a handy portal for ejecting your chewing tobacco spit. You can also suck in water & spit it on your faceplate for defogging.
The front tender sets the exhaust valve 2 1/2 turns from the fully closed position, opens the spitcock & informs me these things have been done."Button me up!" is my time-honored response & the tender closes & secures the faceplate. Air supply to the helmet is controlled by a valve on my chest that is not unlike a water faucet in appearence.
Time to dive! I stand & groan as the full wt. of the rig & the legendary status of this fabled dress sits upon my tortured shoulders. All of a sudden I am suffused with pride...I'm a Mk. V diver! Gone is the pounding head, the brutal burps, the shaky legs! I strut to the ladder like my brothers of yore...erect, proud, and boiled like a Maine lobster.
The tank water begins to cool the helmet as I push my chin against the "chin valve" ( a flat disc connected to a rod that acts to open the primary exhaust ) to start my decent. "Diver leaving surface" I say & topside repeats the message to confirm they understood. By manipulating the chin valve I control my rate of decent; if I wrap my lips around the disc & pull I close the exhaust & air pressure builds to provide positive buoyancy. "On bottom" I say & the tender gives me one pull on my hose to signal "are you okay?" & I answer yes with one pull back.
Its pretty neat to have your head totally free to move inside the helmet. Communications are scratchy & the noise of the air circulating makes hearing difficult. It takes many dives to become proficient in the use of this rig & to be able to perform work efficiently. My dive that day was to assemble a "pipe square" from several joints of threaded 2" pipe & 4 90 degree elbows. Before long it was time to surface & once again bear the full wt. of the rig but I was unconcerned...I was a Mk V diver now & no minor flesh wound was gonna make me disgrace the honor of this fabled diving system!
As the helmet was lifted from my head I had a smile ten feet wide. "Hey Vale, you made that suit look good, thats what I like to see" complimented Big Joe. "Thanks sir, coming from you that is high praise indeed" I replied. "Cut the crap & get your ass in gear, we got divin' ta do!"
Ahhh, the deep sea, ain't no life like it!
D.S.D.
