About 5:00 pm on Saturday, just after dinner, I received a phone call from Ocean Horizons, a charter agency that had never returned my messages about a Sunday dive. The lady on the phone obnoxiously demanded to know why I hadn't sent my credit card number to them so they could bill the dive already. I should have said, "No Thank You," right there, but high off the morning's fun (and several hours alone with my wife), I asked Connie if she minded me going on a dive Sunday after all, she said OK, and I confirmed the booking with the caveat that they needed to provide me gear. The lady on the phone rattled off the number of the gentleman running the dive boat, told me to tell him my troubles, and promptly hung up. The phone number was an answering machine.
Containing my rising frustration, I called around and found a local Sport Chalet was still open. Taxi rides were going to eat up more than a rental car, so we enticed the concierge to help us find the cheapest rent-a-wreck available. We ended up with what I am affectionately calling a Suzuki Suicide. It is a sub-compact Suzuki thoroughly scratched up by previous renters. The young man who rented us the car turned out to be on his third week on the job, fresh from Whitewater, WI.
Rental car secured, we made our way to the Sport Chalet -- clerked, it turns out, by a nice young lady from Franklin, WI. She rented me a BC and regulator on generous terms. On sale were numerous wet suits. A duplicate of my missing Pinnacle Kodiak cost a mere $299. A form fitting 7mm Body Glove was a mere $150. United Airlines still had not found my missing dive gear, so I bought the Body Glove figuring a week's rental on a suit is a good fraction of that and I don't have to worry about the previous renter's potty training. Restored to diving status, Connie and I headed back to the hotel room for a second night's sleep.
At about 10pm, Martin from the dive boat called me back to tell me he could not rent anything and insisting I was paying for my seat on the boat whether or not I turned up. I let him know that I was coming and that I had secured some dive gear. Relieved, he thanked me for my "honesty," told me to be there by 6am, and hung up.
At six the next morning, I was the only non-crew member there who hadn't spent the night on the boat. Apparently, several individuals had paid for an multi-day liveaboard only to spend the night at port. At least they let me have breakfast with eggs for free (until I got the galley bill later at the end of the cruise).
Most of the people on this boat were experienced divers from California with the exception of one 10-year old lad getting his OW1. They had Nitrox available in an EAN32 mix, so I was hoping for some new, deep sites to explore.
Our first stop was
The Lobster Shack, where my second dive was yesterday. OK, it was a great dive spot, so I had no trouble with it. However, the current was up and it made for a strenuous dive. This time, I paired with a nice gentleman named "Todd" from Hemet, CA who non-diving wife also came for the ride. We picked up a third when the 10-year old wisely decided to sit out the high-current first dive and his partner/instructor joined us. We played with the dolphins some more and worked our way against the current.
All was fun until, Todd swatted one of the sea lions on the backside. Now, these are wild and intelligent animals. Up till now, they had not tried to touch us, despite being curious. Todd got his fingers nipped in response. I would later find out the puncture was shallow, but drew blood despite a 7mm glove. Suddenly, the sea lions were getting
too close to me and I backed away from one who seemed overly interested in my camera. All the way back to the boat, the aggression continued. I got nudged, pulled, and prodded by various sea lions several times on the drift back and discovered my tank strap was undone upon surfacing. An interesting dive, to say the least, but not quite on plan. Oh, and we saw no eels or octopus this day either. On surfacing, we discovered we were one of only two groups who came back on the anchor line. The rest had to be recovered via a quarter mile safety line and a skiff. I didn't know it yet, but current was to play a significant part of the other two dives scheduled for today.
The second dive of the triple was at
Moonlight Cove. Apparently, this is a favorite anchorage for night diving. During the day, it was interesting primarily as a junk hunt. It is sandy bottom interspersed with car-sized rocks made for a pleasant dive -- if a little low on native life. None of the promised rays were present. I suspect they are nocturnal visitors. Again, currents and tide batted us around, but Todd and I found a pattern to take advantage of them. We hid behind a rock to weaken the surge against us and slipped around the rock when the surge reversed -- hopefully reaching the next rock's shelter before the waters reversed again. It was like riding a sled over the sand. If we wanted to spend time at a particular rock for a while, we would look at alternate sides. We saw some sand dabs and the usual local fish.
While swimming around the bottom, I found a lot of stuff at this site -- part of a fishing pole, an alternator, a sump pump, some insulated pipe, and a scuba tank! We tried bringing it all back, but it got to be too much. Low on air, I abandoned all except the fishing pole and headed for the boat. If only I would have had my dive sausage! I could have marked the spot and had it hauled up on the way out. The captain let me know the only way we were going to recover the tank was to lose the third dive location as we were the last aboard. Had I known the quality of the last site, I might have insisted. The metal value of a steel 100 almost would have paid for the day's dives -- and it looked like new. Unfortunately, I conceded defeat less than a hundred yards from the boat. Someone else will have to find my treasure cache and recover it.
The third dive was a "wear 'em out and put 'em to bed" dive at the
Three Fingers. A tunnel near the anchor chain supposedly ran through the island. There was no warning to avoid the tunnel, only stories about walking back over the top of the island as the current made it "one way only." Todd and I agreed to avoid the tunnel. Once in the water, I discovered a nearly impossible current. This should have been a drift dive. Todd and I fought it forward until we reached a narrow where, with my camera and rental gear, I could not make any further forward progress. This is the only time in recent memory I wished for my old blades. Todd was able to creep forward without me for about another 10 feet in
his blades, until he looked around and saw me pumping furiously just to stay in place. Even moving an arm to signal him to return resulted in me being sucked back a couple feet. We drifted back to the boat, crawled up the line, and wearily packed up for home.
Immediately after the dive, we were hustled into the main cabin, ostensibly to get us out of the way so they could load the skiff. We were handed an evaluation form with a heavy emphasis on tipping if we liked the experience. After collecting our survey results and tips, we were hit with the
galley bill. I personally hate such nickel-and-dime tactics. My bill was a mere $9.00 for food and Nitrox, but others were much higher. I almost asked for my evaluation and tip back, but stayed my tongue.
Even a bad dive is a good dive, but I don't think I will dive with this established charter ever again.
Labels: scuba
