Emerald Sea

  The air was warm and the water was perfect. It was six a.m. Saturday morning and we were ready for our first dive of the morning. The boat we were on was the Dive Addict. Everyone’s gear was out and organized to their liking as I stood looking out at the pristine water off Cape Ann, Massachusetts. The month was June and the ocean called to me.

  Boat dives are different. They require everyone to descend using the anchor line to dive and ascend. A safety measure used to locate your vessel.

  We began to draw a timetable for our dive. It was a seventy-foot dive with a bottom time of thirty-minutes. We had one deco stop at about nineteen-feet. A decompression-stop before you break the water to allow the necessary nitrogen levels to escape our bodies to avoid the bends. We also planned the necessary surface interval in between dives of about another forty-five minutes just to be sure. There were four of us, two teams to explore the bottom of the sea. A wreck was there. A fishing vessel lost at sea by a fire and storm three years ago. Emerald Sea was her name. A forty-foot ship lying on her side, barnacles’ and sea life occupied her now. Story goes two men lost their lives that night while aboard her. As the engines caught fire, causing her demise the story goes crippling her at the mercy of Mother Nature’s wrath.

  We were using single tanks for this dive. Rated at three-thousand psi and I had fifteen-hundred pounds of air. Seven-millimeter suits designed for this type of dive and waters. New England waters are cold. Gravity takes control around thirty-three feet as you decent more rapidly, this is where the Buoyancy Compensator or BC comes in to play.

  I connected my first and second stage regulator and octo onto my tank then securing it to my BC. I checked the level of air as you would hear the famous, “pssssssst,” like in the movies. I then checked my regulators to make sure they were working properly. All was ok. As we began to enter into our wet suits, we kept talking about procedures and safety. Who would be where and what we were looking for.

  I had found personal belongings on other dives. I collected one gold Medallion off the Florida Keys years ago. Off California, I dove with others on a retired Navy vessel, a true beauty even at her old age and condition. A WWII battle ship sunk on purpose at a hundred and thirty-feet, a manmade reef designed to complete an undeveloped barrier.

  We all were ready to enter the water. Both teams checked one last time the other partners gear and assembly just to make sure. Depth gauges, compasses, computers, if used, octo’s, snorkel, dive knife, dive lights; we were a go. Training, you would learn in any professional basic scuba class, one you never forget to do. Rule number one, always have a plan and never deviate from it. You depend on your partner as he or she; rely on you.

  Each team turned the others air on by turning the valve to open as we all checked our regulators one last time before entry.

  “Psssssssssst,  Psssssssssst, Psssssssssst, Psssssssssst,” we were ready.

  The first team entered as my partner and I readied our selves to follow. The water felt nice as I entered and the relief of over bearing body heat from wearing the wet suit and gear declined significantly.

We slowly without much effort swam towards the front of the boat. Always swim effortlessly to avoid unnecessary fatigue and effort before you need to save it for the dive. Checking my compass, I see that the bow of the boat is facing south, the anchor line stretching north and away meaning that the current should be flowing south. We must first swim into the current and away from the boat allowing us to arrive below the boast at the end of the dive. For the current will naturally take us south. This is where you need to use strength and stamina to swim into the current allowing yourself the air and time enough to descend to your planned destination. The Emerald Sea was our destination target.

  We begun our decent as we positioned ourselves accordingly, I was number three in line. The visibility was nice and clear, probably around fifty feet. We hit the Thermo-cline about thirty-eight feet and the coolness of the water chilled me a little, yet it felt good. Using the anchor line allowed us not to worry about the natural gravitational pull Mother Nature would use on us.

  My ears popped several times as I slowly dove further and further. Pressure that builds inside near your eardrums need to be equalized, if not, your eardrums could burst losing your hearing forever. As we slowly dove down into the murky darkness, the lead diver signaled to the group, and pointed us to the east. There she was, the Emerald Sea on her side. We stopped to look for a moment. A gloomy shadow lurked before us. Her silhouette faint, but evident. She had history; she had death marked in her hull. One could see from the cracked hull and at the stern, the fire that had ripped through her stern weakening it and allowing the ocean storm too eventually, submerging her to the depths.

  As the teams approached her, her hull was most dominant. The first team went towards the bow and my partner and I to the stern. Swimming up to her, the excessive damage was shocking. This much damage must have been a nightmare to the men onboard her that deadly night. She took was too much water, too quickly, straining the engines and causing them to burn. The diesel gas surely did not help.

  The only remaining part of her name left was “Sea” scorned as well, but visibly readable. The other half had burned and was lost forever. Only until I raised my dive light to the word could I see that the word was etched in green. Looking in you could see remains of the two destroyed diesel engines, various rusted tools; whatever else was in the engine room before the fire broke out had vanished. Blackness filled the room now.

  We swam around to what would be her upper deck, cabin and bridge. Lobster cages scattered the ocean floor near her, some remained on her deck, trapped in time the moment she hit bottom. Sea Bass and Cod swam by us as they used her as their new home now. The embedded side of the vessel lying in the mud had slowly sunken down from her weight and strong ocean movement. Slowing the ocean was eating her away. Her massive rigging laid rusted, broken apart, sea life encrusted her frame.

  Checking my air, I had a thousand pounds to go on the safe side. The teams gathered on the center deck as we planned to enter the underbelly and bridge. The door was unlocked leading to the galley and quarters. An eerie sense came over me; death had been here, so close. What happened in those final last minutes on her, panic, fear, distress, a sense I would never know.

  Scattered rusted pots and pans cans of food lay all over the floor. Articles of clothing like a pair of boots, a few shirts, and assorted cold weather gear. A savage act ruined what remained. A large blue sea-bag completely intact found near the corner. Another team member collected the bag. A sailor once, an angler he was. Fishing poles found on a rack, laid back down to rest. Maybe their spirits would return to fight for the biggest catch of the day. Her sailors would come home as well. Team one continued gathering the personal items with care.

  As I approached her bridge, port-side the door closed, yet unlocked; the weight of the ocean had kept her shut all of these years. Slowly I opened it to view her insides. My light scanned its belongings as I swam inward. Any wooden fixtures before once were eaten away by now. A red and black wool jacket draped over the captain’s chair. Damaged magazines and books ruined over time spread all over the floor.  A coffee much marked, “The Emerald Sea” found on the floor near a corner. What looked like a map at one time clipped to a board survived neatly covered in plastic. The ships radio’s handset dangled from the receiver. Its last communication must have been hell, a teary-eyed mayday. The voice, that was of the captain. Story goes he sank with her below.

  I found a cracked framed picture of the captain, his family on board; found near the front window. The picture showed a smiling young man and beautiful wife; an innocent young daughter, somewhere wishing for him to come home on the dreadful night.

  My breathing slowed as I collected his things. Maybe I would help to end the sadness, on the nights when neither mother nor daughter could sleep, to bring a small bit of closure to his family all unknown.

  I could sense his being around me at that moment, as I said, “I hope you hear me for I am taking you home.”

  I checked my air; I had less than six-hundred pounds left. I left the watery grave with the captain’s belongings and signaled to the others that it was time to ascend. I said a prayer for the spirited men. I hoped I was doing the right thing.

Both teams started to climb to the surface, slowly leaving the experience behind. I silently looked back and watched her disappear into the shadows of the sea.


Written by E. Roman aka Boston-Fiction 5/26/07