When we first arrived on the shores of Wastwater an icy wind was blowing from the hills, stinging my ears and nose. Flakes of snow (unknowingly a hint of what was to come!) swirl in the air as we made our way to the waters edge. A knowing look and we decided to can the dive there and then.
A short journey along the shore and we had a great time taking photographs of this spectacular area.
Slowly I made my way down the gravel beach into the clear, still water. I feel the ice cold of the first trickle between my suit and the boots, making me shiver and curl my toes. The chill nips at my fingers through my ancient gloves, held together with aquasure and sheer stubborness. The painfully cold water reminding me that it is actually only March, and we are indeed utterly unhinged for even contemplating diving in a semidry in a lake.
Tentativley we make our way deeper, until we can put on our specialised long fins and make our way out from the shore. We lower the lead block from the small round smb and reel to the bed of the lake below, the pale green tendrils of weed and small jagged stones marking out the gradual slope into the dark, still depths.
The thin white line our marker and guide, the lead block our target.
The shrill bleep of the pager cut through the music playing in the background. Geoff pulled his hands from the soapy washing up water and grabbed a towel, a trail of glistening bubbles alighting gently on the floor in his wake.
A hurried phonecall to Humber Coastguard established his unit had a job, and struggling into his blue boiler suit and boots, he made his way out into the pale blue of the fading evening light.
For many years, the Coastguard have assisted with maritime emergencies all over the UK. Geoff is a member of the unit stationed at Boulmer, a stones throw from RAF Boulmer, where Sea-King 131 is stationed, poised for action should any member of the armed forces or public need assistance.
This time, however, it was the rescuers who needed rescuing.
Ok, so I didn’t actually mean to get bent. But shit happens (mostly to me as it happens) and as a great mind once said “the only way to never get bent is to never go in the water”.
The first thing I noticed was the rash over my chest, red blotches, itching and screaming at me “I’m bubbles for gods sake woman, get yourself to a chamber!”. But me being me said “oh shut up” and carried on. An hour later, a mere trace was left, and I convinced myself I was ok. However, the guy from the chamber who was doing the survey work wasn’t so easily convinced and as I stepped up into his 4×4 on the cold windy quayside, a hurried explanation garbled to my friends, it dawned on me that I was taking the first steps on a road I had feared ever since my friend had said “So do you want to come scuba diving then?”.
The Clyde is steeped in history, running through Glasgow, it links what still is a very busy industrial and military port with the Irish Sea. Littered with wrecks, many of them gloriously intact, what keeps the hoards of divers away from this area?
Well, mainly it is the visibility. Anything from 6m-8m to zero, all on the same dive is easily possible. Also it is black, not just dark, but black. Think moonless night, in a cave, in blacked out glasses and your eyes closed and you are close. So, poor vis and dark….why are we diving here again?
The wrecks which litter the floor of the Clyde are remarkably intact, a few having been wire swept, but most lie intact, free from major salvage and comparatively un-dived. The aforementioned poor conditions putting off all but the most hardened divers from seeking out these majestic relics, preserved until the sea finally takes them.
Scapa? Where is that then? Well, head north, then north some more, and then maybe some more north. Ok, so thats not actually that helpfull is it? :D
Scapa Flow is one of the jewels in the crown of UK diving. The remains of the German fleet, scuttled in the closing days of WW1 now lie entombed in the icy depths of the flow. Their legacy is some of the best diving in the world, the behemoths of the battleships rising from 45m to 22m, guns pointing skywards, on eternal patrol.
St Abbs is one of the top diving sites in the UK, offering fantastic shore and boat diving, everything from tunnels, archways, gulleys, wrecks and fantastic wildlife. It remains one of my favourite places to dive.
Struggling against the slight swell as it washes over the barnacle encrusted rocks, we spot the opening. Wordlessley we drop into the black foreboding slit, into the darkness which is Tye’s Tunnel.
Our torchbeams illuminate the smooth rock walls as we drop through the shaft and then into the tunnel which runs through the huge splinter of rock. Smooth stones, worn by an eternity of pounding winter seas litter the bottom. We follow the path of the cave, green shafts of light showing us the way out. Mirror drops of exhaled gas, flow like mercury on the stone ceiling, the only legacy of our passing.
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