The Colour of Adrenalin

It was a perfect sunny morning in Brixham, the harbour was quiet, sea like glass and the last traces of mist were burning off. We skimmed past Berry Head, dazzling white cliffs and blue sea, we could have been in the Aegean. The Decca read 6 miles to go. A scary, dark, muddy pile of metal 50m below beckoned, the lure of the "Unidentified" was irresistible. She was a steamer of about 3000 tons, sunk WW1, name unknown.

In no time at all we were plummeting down the shot line, vis getting better all the time, it was going to be a good one. Eventually we landed with a bump. The crusty metal was a familiar sight. We paused a moment, sorted ourselves out and floated off exploring the gloom. I was reasonably familiar with this area amidships and after about 10 minutes came across a feature commonly known as the "greenhouse". GREAT! In my mind I had long pondered over these frameworks and had come to the conclusion that they were the remains of the engine room rooves with the hatches and ventilators missing, fallen inwards perhaps? Lots of portholes for the taking, lots of engine room goodies. A quick signal to my buddy, a line fixed in seconds and I was in.

It wasn't quite as I had imagined, I was in a smallish room which I had entered through the ceiling and dropped about 2m. I could also see the faint green glow of another aperture below me. I moved around the room and quickly decided that this was not what I was looking for. I turned and started winding in my line. After a couple of seconds I realised that I was snagged on something in the room. I looked back, couldn't see anything, the vis was now about 12 inches. On the next attempt to wind in the line it became apparent that it was also now tangled around my pillar valve. Bad enough you may think until giving a tug my foot goes through the rotten floor and in the ensuing moments my weight belt ended up around my knees. Oh dear, I think, or something like that! All of this activity is also greatly impaired by the fact that both my hands are full; the reel, a large torch and a chisel. I am now rather worried and mentally take stock of the situation, the stiff upper lip is twitching not to mention the bottom BOTTOM LIP!

At this moment I wished a few things.

• I wished I was somewhere else,

• I wished I was religious,

• I wished I had been out when the phone rang inviting me along!

I am now holding myself steady by my lower legs, straddling a beam to prevent my weight belt going walk-about. I have a rusty steel plate about 4 inches from my face and it is covered in horrible slimy things. Will this be the last thing I ever see?

I don't want to be recycled into a plankton bloom, Mum!

The most important thing, I decide, is to get my weight sorted out. For this I will need hands. Methodically chisel goes in pocket, reel is clipped onto jacket and torch, already on a strap, is released from my grip. It falls into the mud and everything instantly turns from red rust to blackest black - nil vis. My heart and stomach are in my mouth. I swallow hard. I manage to recover the lamp and position it suitably. It's amazing the comforting effect of a light even if you can't see anything!

Hands free now and after some fumbling the belt is secure. With myself a little better sorted out I check the gauges.. 46m, 55 Bar, Shit! Fortunately I also have a pony cylinder. I thought about cutting the line but had awful visions of me following the wrong end or fumbling around and dropping it in the mud. NO, I would try and force my way as close as possible to the exit, the direction of the line was clear, hopefully I could get close enough to be able to see the faint green light and then cut the line. As I moved the strain got tighter and tighter, I had to pull myself by my hands. The wreck did not want to let me go, she was pulling me in like an awful nightmare. As it happened I managed to get out up to my waist and then felt the very welcome hand of my buddy. A blade flashed and I was free, up signals and we were away.

The feelings of terror slowly faded as the effects of nitrogen and the darkness receded. I turned off the torch. On reaching 9m or so I checked the times. I had been 7 or 8 minutes in that hole and including the ascent was now off the submersible table by a few minutes. I decided that as much decompression as possible was the only answer: 10 minutes at 9m, 10 minutes at 6m and 5 mins between 5m and the surface. As I broke the surface I took a deep breath, felt the sun on my face and thought, what a lovely day.

"Everything alright?" was the call from the boat.

"It is now" I quietly said.

I'll not bore you with what I learned that day, its probably not applicable anyway. I'll not go on about rights and wrongs, safe diving practices or any of that waffle, you can read about that in a number of books. You really learn by doing. Make what you will of this story, bear it in mind, draw your own conclusions and learn your own lessons.

A Dodgy Diver