Diary of a deckbitch…

They think its all over……it is now!

And with the turning of a key, the dive season for 2007 comes to an end. The rumble that has been a pivotal part of my existence for the past months slowly comes to a stop as the 500hp engine falls silent a few feet below us. A high five is exchanged and i feel strangely empty in the pit of my stomach. Suddenly i am no longer the deck hand on the Valkyrie, well, for the next 6 months anyway. The boat has been moved to her winter berth in the harbour safe and sound, all ropes doubled for extra safety. Soon enough the contents of the galley is packed away into boxes and i leave for the farm.

I guess the question is now where do we want to go next?

October 27th, 2007 Posted by helen | Uncategorized | no comments

A week off

Well, for a few days I find myself back on the farm, doing lots of little jobs to help the world carry on turning. Well, the little bit of the world that is Northfield anyway.

Today the flow looked like a mirror as we drive towards Stromness to move the boat from one berth to another. Some days the dive boats out on the fleet look like tiny toys lost in a steely gray infinity. Other days they seem so close that if i shouted loudly the divers would turn to see. Sometimes Hoy is the same. From certain views it seems distant, almost smaller than it really is. Other times it looms over Stromness and the flow like a sleepy giant, lazily surveying all that lies below its rocky slopes.

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Well, due to a severe lack of funds, the holiday to somewhere warm has been consigned to the dustbin. Maybe next year.

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After many people said i should submit an article to the diving press, I did. Sitting with baited breath, the email landed in the inbox……and it was a polite no thanks which read very much like a standardised response to when people submit an article - its great, but not what we are looking for right now. Uh huh. So a few weeks later i put together another bit of something and send that off too. Another no thanks followed suit. So i tried. Maybe i am not destined to have my words put into print. Hell, you get to read the uncensored, un-spelling-mistake-corrected version on here for free! Hurrah!

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It has been years since i dived out of a rib. I did all my training diving out of one, many moons ago, so when the opportunity arose to dive with Kevin Heath, a thoroughly nice bloke who has a total and utter dedication to finding and identifying wrecks, i nearly ran all the way to Stromness to hug him and say YES PLEASE! Kevin has his own rib, and since the boaty will be doing a whole load of bugger all from a week from now, it seems like an excellent way of keeping diving over the winter. All we need to do is run the engine to run the compressor, we can even use the lift to lower gear into it. Hurrah for easy diving! I dont really want to dive a new wreck for the “glory” or for the spidge (thats the tatt people bring up off them to let rust in their garage), because wrecks really dont do an awful lot for me. They have to be a “special” kind of wreck. I enjoy reading and learning about the human aspect of a wrecking. Who were the people who worked on this ship, how did it end up at the bottom of the sea and is this really the wreck people think it is? Im a fussy moo too, i like them to still look like a boat. Hopefully diving with Kevin will allow us all to keep wet over the winter, and for him to look at some marks he has been working on.

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A year ago someone left my life. It amazes me how much a part of who i am this person actually influenced. Splicing a rope, i cant help but let my mind wander. I recall him showing me how to push the strands over and under, and i am still utterly incapable of doing a crown knot for an end splice.
I remember the passion he had for everything he loved, and i remember the day it all ended. The surf was huge, a strong easterly wind had piled the grey water up into huge rollers which crashed with their fury onto the beach. Kayak surfing is something i was never good at, but i did enjoy playing in the soup. But he was a natural, choosing the wave with fearless vigour, paddling like mad until the surge picks you up and launches you forward, the acceleration pushing you back against the back rest in the kayak. I remember that day as i was unable to even get to the soup, the waves even here were too unpredictable for me. The yellow boat, sat on the drying sand, seeing the paddler within it struggle to even get themselves free from the leg braces inside the plastic shell. I recall the air thick with swearing, the agony etched on his face as the vertebrae in his back finally gave up. From then on the passion was gone. He swore never to get into a boat again, something i could never ever do. That took courage, to give up something you love to allow you to stay mobile.

Years later we shared fishing trips from a friends boat, but the fire had gone from inside. Maybe it was the knowledge of what he was missing. I will never know. This was only a small part of the reasons why he took his own life. But he lives on in all of us who knew and loved him.

Rest now, we will never forget you.

October 18th, 2007 Posted by helen | Uncategorized | no comments

The Tragedy of the Irene

Grabbing some binoculars from the drawer I peer with some difficulty towards the shore of South Ronaldsay. We were making for Kirkwall, Orkney, a five hour journey by sea from Stromness via the Pentland Firth. A rolling easterly swell gently pushed us to a five degree roll, severely diminishing my ability to focus on what had caught my eye. But, despite the roll, I could make out a huge rusted boiler pushed up onto a rocky beach below the patchwork of green fields dotted with cows.

This sighting remained forgotten about until we met up with Kevin Heath, a local diver with a huge talent for finding and researching wrecks. He informed me that the boiler was that of the Irene, a 2,300 tonne Liberian steamer which was wrecked after issuing an SOS that she was drifting out of control in a force 9 south east gale. The vessel finally went aground on the shore of South Ronaldsay on the 17th March 1969. The whole crew were taken off the stricken boat, with no harm coming to any of them. But this is only a tiny fraction of the story.

As you would expect, the lifeboat had been launched to assist with any rescue, named the TGB after an anonymous donor, it battled from its home port of Longhope, a small community in South Walls, Hoy. To get to the position of the Irene, it had to pass through the Pentland Firth.

The Pentland Firth is a fearsome stretch of water that separates Orkney from the mainland. The tide surges through this narrow space, rushing around the now abandoned islands of the Swona, Stroma and finally the Pentland Skerries with their characteristic double lighthouse. Working on the liveaboard the Valkyrie has meant that we have to through the firth occasionally, and each and every time it makes the hairs stand up on the back of my neck. These days it is filled with the vast bulk carriers heading east or west, channel 16 alive with their calls notifying the coastguard they are entering or leaving the Firth. These turbulent dark waters have become the graveyard of many a ship, and making 2 knots backwards against the current in a back eddy, I can see why.

The comparatively tiny lifeboat entered this wild stretch of water in the raging southerly gale, finding that the tides had met with the awesome opposing force of the wind and created a terrifying situation. At 8.40pm, forty minutes after launching the lifeboat gave her position as 3 miles south east of Cantick Head Lighthouse on South Walls, five miles from her launching place.

At this point she would be entering the tidal race which can make nine knots, versus the gale force winds whipping the sea to a fury. At 9.30pm the TGB was sighted by the lighthouse keepers on the Pentland Skerries, around four miles south east of her previously reported position.

The last reporting signal from the TGB was picked up by Wick Coastguard as she still ploughed north to assist the Irene. This was the last that was heard from the TGB.

The following afternoon after a massive search Thurso Lifeboat found the TGB floating upside down four miles south west of Torness with extensive hull damage. Once righted in Scrabster harbour seven bodies were found in the wreckage. Six of these were in the cabin, one in the Supernumerary and the coxswain still at the wheel with a broken neck. The eighth member of crew, the motor mechanic was never found. Coxswain Daniel Kirkpatrick, Second Coxswain James Johnston (son of Mechanic), Bowman Daniel R Kirkpatrick (son of Coxswain), Mechanic Robert R. Johnston, Assistant Mechanic James Swanson, Crew Member Robert Johnston (son of Mechanic), Crew Member John T Kirkpatrick (son of Coxswain), Crew Member Eric McFadyen. They left seven widows, one widowed mother and eight children, all of whom were pensioned by the RNLI.

Picking our way down the grassy slope to the pebble beach we can see the remains of the wreck poking from the glistening smooth water. Soon there are sections of plate, twisted and unrecognisable as any part of the ship. Two huge boilers lie among the jumble. A complete section of what was once the deck has been bent over, the wooden planking still attached to the underside where it has remained protected from the weather. When the Irene was run aground she was totally intact, what little is left of her is testament to the awesome power of the sea.
Sitting quietly on a section of plate I can’t even imagine the fear felt by the guys in that lifeboat in their final moments. The sheer bravery of going out in that kind of weather is unimaginable to most people, the irony that the stricken vessels crew actually walked ashore is never far from my mind. Somehow it seems so unfair.

Leaving the wreck to her peace, she seems an unlikely monument to those men lost attempting to save her.

Sometimes it is easy to forget the impact the sinking of a boat has. Not just on the people on board, but on those who go to their aid. The tiny community of Longhope was devastated by this tragedy. Fathers, sons, brothers all lost going to the aid of others.

Photographs are here: -

http://picasaweb.google.co.uk/porgthediver/TheIreneSouthRonadlsay

October 11th, 2007 Posted by helen | Uncategorized | one comment

End of the season looms

September blog

Concrete wet from the nights rain reflects the gray of the sky above and drips are blown from their rest by the wind, torn into droplets of spray and carried off to fall elsewhere. Tides ebb and flow, leaving the harbour walls darkened from their passing and life surges on surrounded by the ever moving waters.

A group not turning up for their booking is a new concept on me, but a very welcome week off. Batteries are recharged, jobs caught up on. Sleep.

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The Girl Mina has been a regular sight in Stromness harbour and around Orkney for many years. Skippered by Terry Todd, she has probably been over the Pentland Firth more times than the Hamnavoe! Sadly after a mishap on the slipway she fell, and despite valliant efforts to keep her afloat with pumps and ropes and to later mend the broken planks, it slowly became clear she was beyond repair. I hope Terry finds himself another boat, the harbour would never be the same without him.

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The wind swirls around the outside of the Stromness Hotel, catching a small scrap of red paper and tumbling it end over end in a ceaseless spiral. The pier head cat soon is in hot pursuit, bouncing, prancing and pouncing on its helpless victim only for it to escape the claws and paws and continue on its journey fluttering skyward.

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Hazel at the museum at Lyness. The propeller is from the Hampshire which is wrecked off Marwick head. It is now a war grave and no diving is permitted.

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One of the best things at the moment for me is my bike. The last time I used to zoom around on a bike I was about 12, I guess I had forgotten how liberating it is to be able to go out and simply go to places you wouldn’t have the time to walk to. In the mornings I load up the basket on the front with my groceries, the handlebars also providing space to hang bags full of bread and milk and meat for the day.

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Aftermath of the trimix course.

I cant really remember the last time I actually bought some dive gear I really needed. Sitting here I struggle to even think what it was, possibly my dry suit, unless you count consumables like zip wax and silicone grease. Maybe it was my camera….

Anyhoo, suddenly I have a diving shopping list again. I would like (note its like, not need) an ali stage, probably an ali 40 or a 7l, some regs to go on it - I suspect eBay might happen to the regs I have for deco as I really liked the ones Rob lent me for the course. I would also like an argon bottle setup, but they are megabucks too. Hazel wants me to get new regs, as she has a distinct dislike for my current ones…possibly something to do with Ben saying they are franken-regs, but they work just fine.

The last thing I need to do is to get the fourth element top a very special person bought me altered. It fits ok in the body, but is way too long in the arm which makes it impossible to wear under my dry suit as the excess material bunches around my forearm and cuts the circulation off to my hands. Numb hands are never nice, but you try doing anything useful when you cant feel below the wrist….oh dear.

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Diving by feel.

Imagine a dive where you feel your way around a wreck, trying to work out from the jumble of rust and jagged edges quite what it is you have found. Imagine putting your gear on with your eyes closed, tightening straps by feel, listening for the click as the plastic finds its home. Imagine using your every sense other than your eyes to monitor depth, time and ascent rate. Sound like an advanced course where the instructor has taken your mask? How about doing this every time you dive.

This is what a dive is like for Mark, a blind diver who dives an inspiration unit, a feat of achievement for anyone, let alone someone who cannot see. I was unsure of what to make of the whole thing - having a disabled diver on the boat. In the past I have worked extensively with young people with all kinds of disability, including partially sighted and blind people. Despite this I was worried that he would have problems that I couldn’t ever help him with. However, after a few hours he had worked out the layout and bumped his head just as much as every other person over 6ft tall does.

The diving side of Mark’s holiday was a well rehearsed super slick operation. Kitting up was made easy by him putting his kit in exactly the same place each time, gloves inside one fin, mask inside the other. A familiarity with his equipment which I envied meant that more often than not he was first into the water ahead of everyone else.

Diving on his inspiration with a talking computer attached to his mask strap allowed him to keep a constant check on what was going on, it telling him the time every two minutes and the depth every meter. A buddy line to whoever he was diving with also allowed a safe amount of freedom, along with held hand signals to avoid bumping into anything underwater.

Finding a gun, a chain, a porthole and placing Mark’s hands on it means he has a good idea of what he is diving on. At the end of the dive more held hand signals indicate that it is time to ascend, Mark’s talking computer keeps him safe with his ascent rate.

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End of the season

November looms on the calendar. The day we haul the ropes onto the pier for the last time this year. Giving 100% all of the time means that by default there has to be a time where you cannot. Maybe I have arrived at this place, but I know I am struggling.

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Waking up and knowing something is not right, I struggle up the ladder and into the galley. A cup of tea usually helps to settle my nerves, but as I sit in the wheelhouse in the chilly air I gradually recognise what is wrong. My bike is gone. Groaning with the acknowledgement that someone has taken it, I resign myself to having to walk to the shops again, to carrying the huge heavy bags. It is only on my return as I step over thegap I glance down to see a familiar yellow shape in the green of the harbour. Someone has thrown it in. A grappling hook is found and soon it is retrieved from the bottom of the harbour, the saddle oozing water, I just know I am about to get a soggy arse for a few days. A good spray with grease and I hope the damage is not permanent.

Less than a week later and the same happens again. I wonder if it is the wind, but it would have to be some wind to manage to throw a bike four feet into the harbour. Maybe it was, ,maybe it wasn’t. I don’t know. I just struggle to know what I have done to offend someone that much.

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