Ship Wreck

Well, here was something new. To date, my diving experience had been just tropical reef diving.  Living inland, in temperate Australia, meant that I’d had few diving opportunities since my Exmouth adventures.  Now a conference had brought me to southern Queensland and with it, the chance to try diving in more challenging conditions.

But did I remember the vital skills to keep me safe in the water after my extended dry spell?

I admit that shipwrecks had never appealed to me.  To me, diving had one purpose only, to see critters. However as I was to learn, people were drawn to diving for many different reasons: the technical aspects, a sense of adventure and challenge, an interest in particular underwater features such as cave or wreck diving. Most of these special interest areas required a higher degree of skill, training and equipment.

The HMAS Brisbane had only been sunk a few months earlier, yet it had already attracted a diverse range of marine life. I decided that the opportunity was too good to ignore. It was time to get my gills wet, see new critters and get another tick in the box towards becoming a more competent diver.

I geared up, donning the first of the scuba equipment I was to own: a face mask, fins, and a brand new dive knife, a present from my ever practical guy I had been seeing at the time. With a slight adjustment of the tank on my back by the Dive Master, I was confident, ready, and excitedly telling the open water students on the boat how they were about to have the most amazing experience of their lives.  With a splash, I hit the water, signaled “OK” to the boat, and waited for the others to join me, and for the adventure to begin.

With the guide signaling "DOWN", we held our inflator hoses up to let the air out of our jackets. The group began to sink out of sight.  Except, that is, for me.

Embarrassingly, I was still bobbing on the surface like a cork.

Panicking, I looked down for my companions, who were rapidly disappearing into the depths.

Not wanting to lose the group, I did a bad thing.  I breathed out, duck dived down, took another breath in and expelled it immediately to force myself further down. I continued on like this until the pressure at depth caught up with me, crushing the remaining air in my vest down, allowing me to sink naturally.  However, my forced propulsion approach wasted a considerable amount of tank air.

We reached 17m (18m was the limit for my dive accreditation), and started to look around.  The current was strong and rough, the visibility poor, and I was having trouble keeping up.  Then I became aware of another problem.  The tank had been moved too high on my back and the valve was now knocking the base of my skull. I was quickly developing a headache.

The importance of the of divers hand-signal language to communicate problems became all too apparent. As learner divers we were closely watched at all times throughout our dives to ensure we didn’t get into trouble. This limited our need to communicate any difficulties underwater.

But as a qualified diver, I was now fully responsible for me.

Ten minutes into the dive and I had already experienced two significant problems, and had not been able to ask for help because I didn’t know how. 

The first thing they teach you in diving is that you can’t just go to the surface when you have a problem. If you do, you could risk serious injury, even death. Problems should always be sorted out underwater in the first instance. Scuba therefore teaches you discipline, focus and problem solving under pressure (literal and physical).

Unable to communicate my tank problem, I continued on, trying my best to ignore the headache.  There weren’t nearly enough critters to totally distract me from the pain.

We moved through the lower deck and onto the bridge of the HMAS Brisbane when with a jolt, I realised I was stuck!  Heart thudding in my chest, I remembered my training. When stuck, don’t twist. Twisting entangles you further, particularly if it is kelp or line that you are ensnared by. Just reverse back. I reversed and set myself free and was able to look at what had caught me. I had tried to go between two railings and my tank had somehow got in the way. Silly me.

A lone surgeonfish passed by the gun turret, its angular form complementing the curves of the cannon, silhouetted against the murky blue depths.

Now the eerie appeal of wreck diving was apparent.

We moved on from the gun deck, up the side of the wreck to the bridge deck, and smack into strong wave surge and current.

I was making no progress against the current and tiring fast.   My companions were getting fainter in the distance as I slipped further and further behind and the visibility worsened.  The next wave was coming, and when it did,  I knew that it would wash me down the side of the wreck and lost to the depths unless I did something.  I grabbed for the handrail as I felt the wave come through, and held on for dear life. As the wave passed, my hand was lacerated by the sharp shelly growth encrusting the rail.  Mental note to self: next gear purchase would be gloves!

The wave passed, and, while painful and no doubt deep, I discovered that my cuts were barely bleeding at that depth. I caught up with my companions and we made our way up to the surface.

Exhausted, I clambered onto the boat, and dumped my gear into the gear bag.  Now at the surface, the cut began to bleed profusely, and it stung like hell.  I wrapped my towel around my hand, then I felt faint and dizzy, and barely made it to the side of the boat before throwing up.  

Exhausted and miserable, I slunk back to my seat.  I was wrecked, emotionally and physically. As a final insult to injury, I realised I’d lost my new knife at some point during the dive. It hadn't even been used.

I didn't believe the Open Water instructors when they said that you could have bad dives as well as good ones. However, this dive was more than a world away from my Exmouth experience, and very definitely a bad dive day. I felt sorry for those on the boat doing the open water students, and realised how spoilt I had been learning in the calm of the Exmouth Gulf.

I realised I had now entered the most perilous phase of my scuba training.

A five day beginners scuba course teaches you the essentials and the dives you do are under the watchful eye of qualified instructors in controlled conditions. My real education had just begun with those problems I had encountered in this dive. Most students new to scuba learn in the relative calm, easy diving of the tropics.  But what happens to those students when they go home? Buoyed by confidence and enthusiasm, many head out to try temperate diving.  There is wide variety of quality when it comes to ocean conditions, dive groups, diver and dive master proficiency and hire gear. It is hardly surprising then that accidents happen. Or, as in my case, a bad experience can lead to a complete loss of confidence. 

It would be a long time before I had the courage to don the wetsuit again. It took me longer still to realise that this dive was actually the most important in my life, because I had had:
1. to a greater or lesser degree, successfully sorted problems out underwater;
2. recognised my shortcomings and the need for further training; and
3. the importance of being alert and aware of the conditions I was diving in. 

Eventually, with the encouragement of some highly proficient and amazing dive mentors, I did return to scuba.  Along with the  many lessons learned, came some incredible experiences, adventures and life long friendships with people I would not have otherwise met.  As a final twist of fate, this dangerous sport also ended up saving my life. But that is another story!

Afterword:
Writing this has made me realise I really must try HMAS Brisbane again, some ten years after my initially bad experience. Maybe I'll  even find my knife and blog a sequel.

This short video produced by the Australian Broadcasting Cooperation shows how good the  HMAS Brisbane wreck can be on a clear day.

Diving the HMAS Brisbane video_ABC Sunshine Coast 2011