All day Saturday we watched the weather radar and saw a massive line of thunderstorms that were just hanging out over Mobile and Pensacola. The front appeared to be heading northeast so we just hoped it would go far north of Panama City.
Sunday morning we awoke to loud thunder and rain pelting the windows. As usual in the southeast the storm passed quickly but the fracas delayed seven oclock boats more than an hour. We talk constantly about the need to pack your sense of humor for such things as this. We were prepared and planned for things to fill the gap between scheduled and actual departure time.
We signed in at the dive shop and headed to Billys Oyster Bar for a grouper salad sandwich. If you havent had one of these you should. Meantime Captain Jerry foresaw that the waters would be a little choppy and combined a couple of small boats into one trip on the Island Diver. Shes old and elegant and long and wide and is an outstanding ride with lots of room.
Captain Rambo and Paul tended to the old lady as we practically glided across three to four-foot waves into the wind. Most everyone on the boat was new to Panama City diving and amazingly enough none had been to the Black Bart. Not in the daytime anyway so away we went.
I learned of a new truism. Jim asked me if he could tag along and I told him sure he could get lost with me. Jim looked at me with a serious expression and said, Tom, you aint lost if you dont care where you are. Ill remember that one forever. We circled the Bart and looked at all the usual residents. We ventured out on the sand and looked some more. I began to hear an eerie, shrill sound almost like a human scream. The sound repeated over and over and I had never heard a marine animal that made that particular noise. Sort of a muffled, echoing moan. I convinced myself that it was coming from within the wreck.
In the wheelhouse we found a jewfish at least 250 pounds. It hung out and never moved throughout the entire dive. What a revolting feeling to be on the one dive forever when I didnt bring my camera. I looked along the deck and in the open holds for lead weights. Found a few and headed for the ascent line. It was then that I realized that the sound was being transmitted from a pulley on the Island Diver down the anchor line and resonating in the wreck. I felt better that I wasnt abandoning a trapped creature or that I hadnt encountered tortured moans of Black Barts ghost.
During the surface interval Captain Rambo presented me with my final birthday cake of the weekend. Chocolate cake and milk is really good after a salt water dive.
We moved to Bridge Span 14 for our second dive. The variety and abundance of marine life on this structure always amazes me. We saw an octopus out walking in the daytime, shells, huge schools of jack and spades and yet another great big jewfish. My computer saddened me when it insisted that my bottom time was spent and I needed to go up now.
Again the barracuda were stacked in their method of pecking order. The squiggles abounded in the plankton layer and the Island Diver danced and pulled against the anchor line. We returned to land on another trailing sea. The hardest part of the trip was the usual long drive home.
Sunday morning we awoke to loud thunder and rain pelting the windows. As usual in the southeast the storm passed quickly but the fracas delayed seven oclock boats more than an hour. We talk constantly about the need to pack your sense of humor for such things as this. We were prepared and planned for things to fill the gap between scheduled and actual departure time.
We signed in at the dive shop and headed to Billys Oyster Bar for a grouper salad sandwich. If you havent had one of these you should. Meantime Captain Jerry foresaw that the waters would be a little choppy and combined a couple of small boats into one trip on the Island Diver. Shes old and elegant and long and wide and is an outstanding ride with lots of room.
Captain Rambo and Paul tended to the old lady as we practically glided across three to four-foot waves into the wind. Most everyone on the boat was new to Panama City diving and amazingly enough none had been to the Black Bart. Not in the daytime anyway so away we went.
I learned of a new truism. Jim asked me if he could tag along and I told him sure he could get lost with me. Jim looked at me with a serious expression and said, Tom, you aint lost if you dont care where you are. Ill remember that one forever. We circled the Bart and looked at all the usual residents. We ventured out on the sand and looked some more. I began to hear an eerie, shrill sound almost like a human scream. The sound repeated over and over and I had never heard a marine animal that made that particular noise. Sort of a muffled, echoing moan. I convinced myself that it was coming from within the wreck.
In the wheelhouse we found a jewfish at least 250 pounds. It hung out and never moved throughout the entire dive. What a revolting feeling to be on the one dive forever when I didnt bring my camera. I looked along the deck and in the open holds for lead weights. Found a few and headed for the ascent line. It was then that I realized that the sound was being transmitted from a pulley on the Island Diver down the anchor line and resonating in the wreck. I felt better that I wasnt abandoning a trapped creature or that I hadnt encountered tortured moans of Black Barts ghost.
During the surface interval Captain Rambo presented me with my final birthday cake of the weekend. Chocolate cake and milk is really good after a salt water dive.
We moved to Bridge Span 14 for our second dive. The variety and abundance of marine life on this structure always amazes me. We saw an octopus out walking in the daytime, shells, huge schools of jack and spades and yet another great big jewfish. My computer saddened me when it insisted that my bottom time was spent and I needed to go up now.
Again the barracuda were stacked in their method of pecking order. The squiggles abounded in the plankton layer and the Island Diver danced and pulled against the anchor line. We returned to land on another trailing sea. The hardest part of the trip was the usual long drive home.
