Diving the Ghost Ship

We should have known we were in trouble when the dive boat captain ordered the dock lines cast off and immediately opened the cooler by his bench seat. Before the boat was out of reverse, and the gears on the big diesel switched into forward, everyone watched as the captain’s hand snaked into the cooler. When the rough and weathered hand came out of the icebox, Captain Ron cracked open his first beer at 10:00 AM.

After our initial open water certification dive and the later dives out to the Mississippi paddle wheeler, where the Marco Beach Boys explored the old shipwreck in search of gold coins and evidence of Tampa cowboys on their last boat ride, everyone decided we were ready for greater challenges underwater.

When we found the captain and the dive boat that was willing to take eight divers out to a shipwreck well offshore, we had no idea how close we were to a bad accident and an episode of near disaster under the waves.

After Captain Ron reached again into his cooler for the third beer of the morning, the old and battered dive boat churned, rolled, and plowed onward through the rising sea. With the low profile of the Florida Keys disappearing astern in a haze of diesel smoke, Captain Ron became concerned when he could not locate the big orange buoy that marked the deep-water shipwreck: The Duane.

“Okay,” our captain jerked a thumb out over the waves. “There’s a big orange float that marks the wreck. The line is tied to the ship. All we gotta do is find the buoy, swim down the line, and find the ship. The Duane is an old coast guard cutter, and she is resting right side up in 120 feet of water. The trouble is these waves. The wind is against the current and pushing these waves up higher than normal.”

As we took in the information and began scanning the waves - that seemed to be getting bigger - one of the divers that was not with the Marco Beach Boys called out above the wind, the breakers, and the churning of the old diesel, “There is the marker!” The diver, dressed in his wet suit, pointed, and Captain Ron turned the wheel. The bright orange float marking the shipwreck appeared and then disappeared with the next set of waves.

When the captain pulled up alongside the big orange marker, we could see the buoy was quite large and about five feet across.

Captain Ron then addressed his divers after another beer cracked open to celebrate the discovery of the wreck site. “The current can be running strong out here,” we were warned. “This wreck is not for beginners. This is an advanced dive for experienced shipwreck divers.”

Everyone paused to look and evaluate each other and silently debate the prospects of our offshore shipwreck adventure.

Captain Ron continued the briefing as he gestured with his beer. “Even on a calm day it can be dark down there. Pick a strong swimmer and have them go first. Once you get to the buoy rope, do hand over hand, and go down to the ship. When you’re down there don’t let go of the rope or the ship or the current could sweep you away. If we had a hard time finding this orange marker, it would be real hard to find a diver that had to come to the surface and was bobbing around on these waves.  Ok let’s get started and get some divers in the water.”

After we jumped into the water and began swimming like crazy to reach the buoy in the strong current, it was almost a panic to find a gripping place on the rope attached to the big orange float. No one wanted to be the lost diver on the surface in the waves with a captain who was impaired and most probably ready to make some bad decisions.

When we were all finally clinging to the rope that was rapidly disappearing into the depths, we at once were horrified to see multiple stacks of large barracuda swimming steadfast in the current. The predator fish with the long menacing teeth were stationed along the descending rope like warning sentries and with every hand over hand move toward the bottom of the sea, each of us in our own mind was screaming “This is much more adventure than I want!”

As we continued down the current became stronger. When turning your head sideways in the current to check for barracuda that were beginning to show some excitement, the strength of the flowing water would try to pull off your facemask. When looking directly into the current our mouthpiece regulators would free flow as if we were pushing the purge button with the force and pressure of a pushed finger.

When the washed-out sunlight from above was only a faint gimmer, and the descending rope appeared to lead only into inky darkness, the ghost of The Duane suddenly appeared and demanded all attention. The old shipwreck was stretching out before us fore and aft with the rope from the surface buoy tied to a barnacle-encrusted handrail on the side of the wheelhouse.

After finally gaining the ship’s handrail and transferring our life and death grip from the buoy rope to the old wreck, everyone must have believed we were at a clear milestone and hopefully, at a halfway point in the underwater adventure that all of us wanted to be over.

Luckily, for all of the eight divers that descended to the wreck, our diver master was our original master diver and instructor Jim Mosley.

With all of us hanging onto the ship’s handrail and blowing out our precious air supply - as were like human flags with wet suits lifted horizontal by the current - Jim took control and motioned all the divers to enter the open door of the pilothouse on the old ship. Once inside, the very strong current was blocked by the large cabin of the wheelhouse and Jim had time enough to check on everyone.

The results of our dive master’s examination were alarming. Normally, on a safe dive, scuba rules insist that divers start with 3,100 pounds of compressed air and finish with at least 500 pounds of air remaining. Because of the frightening descent, with the current that wanted to rip every diver away to be lost at sea, and because of the scary barracuda, the darkness of the ghost ship, and the knowledge that someone might truly be lost, every one of us had used up almost all our air by breathing way too fast. Dive Master Jim, however, still had about 2,000 pounds in reserve, but the rest of our near panicked group had less than 1,000. The first diver on the rope had used the most air during the descent and was dangerously low and down to 700 pounds.

When Jim saw the gauge on the diver with the least air, he motioned to change tanks and buoyancy vest in the pilothouse on The Duane. Then with hand signals, he directed the divers with the least air to go first back up the rope to where, hopefully, Captain Ron was not too impaired to help everyone back aboard.

The assent to the surface was not as frightening. The diesel boat was waiting - with a few more empty beer cans - and on the way back to the docks no more than a handful of words were spoken. Everyone learned a valuable lesson. Our dive master and instructor, Jim, announced after we were back on shore: “Out of 30 years of scuba diving, The Duane was the scariest dive I have ever done!”

Tom Williams is a Marco Islander and the author of two books: Lost and Found and Surrounded by Thunder—the Story of Darrell Loan and the Rocket Men. Both books are available on Kindle and Nook.