In the hope that others can learn from my mistakes........
Background:
This true story is set in the mid 1990s. As you read this please keep in mind that things in the wreck diving world have changed greatly since this time. Helium mixtures were not yet commonplace. Wreck diving was not yet strongly influenced by cave diving, our techniques were influenced by the wreck divers of the Northeast. The plan and profile we were diving was not unusual for the time.
We were conducting a dive under the auspices of the Northern Light Project, a NOAA permitted archaeological expedition to document a deep water shipwreck off Key Largo. During the 2 year duration of this project our divers conducted over 50 man-dives on this site without injury to any personnel. We did have several incidents which could have resulted in injury or even death. This is the story of one of those incidents.
Some of the details have faded with time in my memory, I may even have a few things wrongly documented here but the basic storyline is intact and accurate.
This story is told as a cautionary tale, to illustrate how things can quickly, and sometimes irreparably, go wrong. At the end is my analysis of what happened and why. Names, other than my own, have been omitted. Of the divers involved, only I am still doing deep shipwreck diving. I have learned a lot since this day, and also because of this day.
The Story:
The time was somewhere in the mid 90s, the day bright, calm, and warm, a postcard Key Largo day. The mission was to document, on video, the interior of the inverted stern of the vessel Northern Light lying in 190 fsw off the Elbow Reef. As a NOAA permitted archaeological project we were required to document the site as well as was possible.
The plan was that I would lead a slow thorough tour of the area inside the inverted stern while the camera focused on me. The dive team would be a three man team, myself as lead diver, a videographer, and a safety diver who would trail the video team. I had dived this site many times, the safety diver had several dives on site, the videographer would be making his deepest dive to date and his first on site. Max depth was to be 190, BT 15 minutes. The dive was to be conducted on air with EANx for deco.
Arriving at the site we grappled the wreck and entered the water. Conditions could not have been better, flat calm, no current, and visibility well over 100 feet. We reached the wreck without incident and chained in the hook to the winch debris on the bow of the wreck. From there we headed south, to the inverted stern.
The Northern Light sank in a storm in 1930 while under tow with a cargo of phosphate rock taking with her 4 of her 5 crewmen. At some point in the sinking, possibly on the surface, possibly after her bow struck bottom, the ship broke in two about 2/3 of the way back. The bow section now lies upright, pointing to the north, while the stern lies inverted, partially on top of the bow section and at a slight angle.
Reaching the area beneath the fantail I verified that the other divers were ready and we fired up our lights. Each diver carried 2 large lights and a backup. All lights were turned on at this time to facilitate the video work.
The inverted stern is penetrated from below. The path leads first upward, then south, then again up into the boiler room. The ship's massive Scotch Marine boiler lies inverted but intact, fire tubes and gate clearly visible. The ship's engine and second boiler were removed long before her sinking when she was converted from a Great Lakes steamship to an ocean-going schooner-barge. Besides the boiler the only machinery remaining is the large steering engine and gear which turned her massive rudder.
From the boiler room the path leads again to the south, into a massive open cargo hold. The phosphate rock which once filled this hold has dissolved leaving only this huge dark cavernous area. Looking down one can see daylight streaming in through a small gap at the sand and again at the far south end where the hull was broken. To the left is a tangled mass of cabling and pipes blocking entry into what was probably the galley and crew berthing areas.
We slowly swan through the area, following this now familiar penetration route. Everything was going according to plan as we turned and exited the wreck by the same route we had followed in. Since two of us had run this route many times and had installed a permanent guideline in the most critical portion, we carried no lines or reels.
As we settled to the deck I noted that we had used only 10 minutes of our allotted bottom time. A quick check showed that everyone was well within gas consumption limits. I decided to utilize the remaining 5 minutes on detailed exploration of the mid-deck area near the inverted stern. It was at this point that things started to go off the wire....
As I studied the area which I had seen so many times before I somehow got a different angle on things and saw something I had never seen before, a small hole, more of a gap really, which somehow, this time, looked bigger. I will not give details of the location of this area for reasons which will become obvious soon. Suffice it to say that in the hundreds of dives which have been conducted here, before and since this day, it has never been found again to my knowledge.
Without much excitement, yet, I approached this gap and directed my light within. What I saw was surprising, at least. Beyond the gap a passage stretched into the darkness, easily large enough to accommodate a diver. The gap itself promised entrance with just a little wiggle....
Now excited, I realized that I was, in the waning days of the project, on the verge of a major discovery. I quickly called my team to the gap and motioned that they were to wait right in this spot, outside, for me and that I would return within 2 minutes. Heads nodded in agreement and OK signs were exchanged. I turned to the gap.
As I had expected, I was easily able to gain entrance. The corridor opened before me, and I began to slowly make my way backward in time, knowing that no living man had been this way since the night of the sinking.
The corridor ran just a short ways then turned to the south. After making this turn I could see that the corridor would dead-end about 20 feet farther down. Disappointment filled my heart but I decided to go to the end anyway. When I reached the end my wildest dreams were fulfilled.
At the end, with a slight turn to my right, I encountered a window, to small to allow access to a diver. Through this window I gazed upon the undisturbed wheelhouse of the Northern Light, her massive helm suspended in the crystal clear water. A massive Goliath Grouper sat serenely next to the helm. I paused here for about a minute, drinking in the details, then turned to go.
My exit was blocked by the videographer who had clearly, and against instructions, followed me in. One look into his eyes and I knew that he was highly narced yet still responsive. OK signals were exchanged. I glanced at my depth gauged and realized that we were at 200 feet, below the level of the natural bottom. OK, now it's really time to go. I motioned for him to lead and began my swim behind him. The silt cloud then turned the corner and descended upon us.
Visibility went from unlimited to absolute zero in the blink of an eye. Fearful of losing my spatial awareness I immediately put my right hand against the side of the corridor. With my left hand I searched the darkness for my friend. Finding nothing I assumed that he was already on this way out since he had gone before me.
Maintaining contact with the bulkhead and continuing to feel through the silt with my free hand I quickly made my way to the gap through which we had come. Outside the safety diver waited faithfully, alone.
When I looked back at the gap, expecting the now missing diver to emerge at any second, the view was like an open door into hell itself. Silt billowed from the opening like smoke from a burning mine shaft. After about 30 seconds of fruitless waiting I knew I would have re-enter. The only option was to lose a friend for whom I was responsible, no option. I quickly re-entered into the billowing silt.
Putting my left hand against the outer bulkhead I swam slowly inward. Thinking that the diver had likely settled in to wait out the problem I kept myself low and felt out into the corridor with my right hand. For long moments, nothing. I began to fear that he was too far to the center of the corridor and that I would be unable to find him without giving up my tenuous grasp on spatial awareness gained by maintaining contact with the bulkhead. Then suddenly I had him.
As I had guessed he had settled to the bottom to wait out the silt. Unfortunately, due to the enclosed area we were in, this silt out would last for days, not minutes. After attempting to reassure him by squeezing his shoulder I took a firm handful of wetsuit and simply hauled him out, all the while maintaining my contact with the bulkhead. We exited into the clear without further incident, unhooked and headed up to the warm sun so far away. What takes so long to tell took only brief minutes to happen. We left the bottom on time.
During debriefing I learned that he had not realized I wanted him to wait outside, regardless of the fact that he had acknowledged my signals to do so. I also learned that throughout the incident he had remained calm, never realizing the grave danger we were in. Such is the power of nitrogen at depth.
Analysis:
There were several mistakes made this day. The most critical ones were mine. As project leader, and leader of this particular dive, the full responsibility was mine.
First, I should have slowly worked this diver up in experience or utilized a more experienced videographer. I let myself be persuaded and the result was nearly catastrophic.
Next, I broke the dive plan by entering the gap. I should have noted the location and returned another day with proper equipment, primarily a safety reel, and with an experienced penetration diver to accompany me. Exploration of this area should have been made as a dive of it's own, allowing ample time, rather than on a whim with little time to spare.
Finally, when the silt-out began I should have ensured contact with the other diver prior to making my way out. I should not have made the assumption that he was continuing out.
All told, we were extremely lucky on this day.
Tom
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