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I hope
everyone had a great summer like my dive partners and I had. It seemed
that we were blessed with good weather and favorable sea conditions on
most weekends. This year we did more diving in Boston Harbor, Cape Cod
Bay, and around Cape Ann, in Massachusetts than anywhere else. We got to
explore some new wrecks – new to us anyway – as well as re-discover some
old favorites.
The following is a recollection of some of this summer’s dives and a
brief description of my experiences and observations of the various
wrecks.
The Pug Wreck
One of
our first forays to Massachusetts waters this year was to dive on a
little wreck known as the Pug. It was a cool overcast day with light
winds out of the north-west when we set out from Weymouth in the middle
of May, perfect conditions for diving in Boston Harbor.
Jan and
Harry dove first and came back with a report of good visibility but
dark. I suited up and went to see for myself. The Pug wreck, according
to various sources on the internet, appears to have been a steel work
lighter that was stripped and scuttled. I descended the anchor line and
fired up my OMS Phantom light to punch through the darkness that was
quickly swallowing me. At a bit over 95 fsw the wreckage came into view.
I saw
that we were tied in amidships on what looked like a steel beam
traversing the width of the wreck. I turned right upon reaching the deck
and followed the beam to the port rail. With my light I could clearly
see 12 to 15 feet, the water was in fact quite clear but due to the
overcast conditions, I was in complete darkness. What I found was a
steel hull, about 120 feet long and 30 feet wide, with a barren deck
littered with openings into machinery spaces and the engine room. The
most notable features are the elliptical stern, the large rudder buried
in the sand and shell ash, and the huge steel cleats along the rail. I
easily circumnavigated the wreck in 15 minutes; with a 20 minute dive
plan I had time to poke around below deck.
I
crawled around what appeared to be a small boiler and steam engine. The
space was cramped, covered with silt, and adorned with stray wires and
piping, not a good place to be hanging around alone at 115 fsw with my
planned bottom time getting close to the limit, so I decided to leave.
While I found it quite easy to get down below the deck, attempting to
get out caused a brief elevation in my respiration and anxiety level. It
seems that a bird’s nest of wire on the overhead had decided that
hitching a ride on one of my first stages was the thing to do. All that
it accomplished was that I was stopped dead in my tracks. Fighting the
initial urge to spin around, I cautiously reached up and freed myself
from the offending debris.
An
uneventful time of decompression stops and rejoining my friends on the
boat capped off a good dive to a pretty little wreck. When we visited
it, the Pug was free of any entanglement hazards – except inside – and
had good visibility. I would bet that on a sunny day one could dive her
without the use of a light. I consider this a nice easy wreck to break
into diving in Boston Harbor. One word of caution; the large commercial
shipping traffic can be unnerving as the wreck sits just outside of the
channel. Maintain a lookout and be ready to radio any ship that appears
to be getting too close, as we had to do.
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The Chester Poling
(Stern) & the Chelsea
In the
first week of July we were pleased to have Gary G. join us for a couple
dives around Cape Ann. Early on July 2nd, we again set out
from Weymouth to look for the wreck of the Baleen. We had some numbers,
but we did not have a good deal of confidence in finding the wreck with
them, as they came from a few internet sites that typically have
questionable location information. We were not disappointed. After
searching in the designated area we decided that time would be better
spent diving on wrecks that we could locate.
First,
we headed to the Chester Poling’s stern. I will not bore you with our
experience diving on the Poling, as most, if not all divers that visit
this site have done a dive there at least once, many have done near
countless dives there over the years. To the uninitiated, I’ll explain
that the Poling – as it is know – is the stern half of what was once a
282’ steel hulled, coastal tanker that sank in 1977. It is by far the
most popular dive site around Cape Ann. The dive was nice and
uneventful, however I must say that Gary and I had about the best
visibility that I have ever seen in my nearly two dozen dives on her. I
think it was over 40 feet. And, Gary attempted to teach me to blow
bubble rings while decompressing, a skill that I have yet to master!
After
the Poling we proceeded north, past Thatcher’s Island, off of Rockport,
MA, to find the Chelsea. We were armed with old numbers that were last
used ten years ago. Luckily we found a mooring buoy in the approximate
location of our numbers.
Harry
and Jan splashed in first to explore whatever we were tied into. As luck
would have it, they returned to report that we were indeed on a piece of
wreckage, but not a big piece. The main part that we were looking to
dive was the bow, which is intact in about 65 fsw and nestled between
large boulders, making it difficult to find with most depth recorders.
Gary and
I prepared to go in next. We formulated a plan in which we would head
out and spend our dive searching for the wreck until we either found it,
or had to surface due to our pre-set time limit or gas supply. At the
end of our dive we would shoot a bag to mark our location, and Harry
would come and get us.
Upon
reaching the bottom we spread out as far as visibility would allow us to
remain in sight of each other – about 20 feet – and started to descend
down a gentle slope of large sedan and compact automobile sized
boulders. About ten minutes into the dive we came across the bow wedged
between several cottage size boulders.
The
Chelsea was also a steel hulled coastal tanker that sank almost exactly
twenty years earlier than the Poling. Her bow now lays canted pointing
slightly towards the surface and listing dramatically to its starboard
side in about 55 fsw. There are numerous areas to penetrate the wreck,
as well as large sections of broken hull to swim under and around. About
80 feet aft of the bow’s stem the wreck flattens out into a jumble of
steel frames and hull plates. Swimming aft I recall that the wreckage
takes a dogleg turn to the left, breaking up into smaller pieces and
making it more difficult to actually navigate around the wreck. However,
with visibility in excess of 20 feet, we were easily able to return to
the section that we started from.
Returning to the bow Gary and I found several sections of old mooring
line that were lying about. We tied several together and affixed a lift
bag to it to mark our location and provide us with a line to ascend to
the surface.
Back on
the boat we pulled the makeshift mooring line taught to achieve the most
perpendicular angle to the bottom as possible, and marked the site in
the GPS to acquire accurate numbers to an interesting and enjoyable
wreck to dive in clean shallow water.
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The Crane Wreck
A little
over a week later, on Sunday, July 10th, we found ourselves
back on Cape Ann. This time Harry, Jan and I dragged my boat up to
Gloucester, MA to find and dive the Crane Wreck. It seems that Harry’s
charm flowed through an e-mail that he sent to Heather Knowles at North
Atlantic Dive Expeditions, in which he asked her for some numbers of
area wrecks. He explained that we were from a little club that was just
starting to dive in the area and wondered if she could provide any
information on area wrecks. She graciously gave us numbers for the Crane
that would get us close. From there we would search for a buoy marking
the wreck. Thank you Heather, we found it!
After
we tied in, Harry and Jan prepared to dive, and I was to follow when they
returned, as is our typical routine. However, the plan changed quickly
when in the choppy conditions, Jan’s rig landed on his mask and damaged
it, ending his plan to dive.
Harry
and I suited up and rolled into the cool emerald colored water, thankful
for the heat quenching action that Atlantic water has on an overheated
dry-suit diver in July. I chose not to take my video camera, since this
was the first time on this wreck and I wanted to explore as much of it
as possible during my planned bottom time. It is a decision that I still
regret today.
At
around 135 fsw my eyes started to adjust to the reduced light working
its way into the depths, when the crane’s massive boom started to take
shape in my field of view. This was one of these rare times in New
England diving when one can unleash themselves from the mooring line
well before reaching the wreck and gently glide down over it.
The
Crane Wreck is just what the name implies; it is the wreck of a crane
that fell off of a barge. It lies as if it attempted to pick up a load
that was too heavy and it toppled forward. The tracks are angled up off
the bottom while the boom lies almost parallel to the bottom.
On this
day, the ambient light was sufficient to easily navigate around the boom
and crane body, however, using one’s light revealed the magnificent
rainbow of colors produced by the various anemones, hydroids, sponges,
and vast number of organisms covering every inch of this otherwise
nondescript wreck. With no current, clear water, and the profuse marine
coloration, I cursed myself for not taking my video camera. Most of the
dive is done in the 140 to 145 fsw range with a touch near 150 fsw when
checking out the end of the boom in the sand.
Looking
up between the boom’s cross-bracing into the green glow of water
filtered sunlight, I could see the mooring line pointing the way back to
the boat. With my allotted time on the bottom drawing near, I made my
way to the line, checking over my shoulder to see that Harry was doing
the same. On the surface we each commented that we should have planned
for a longer bottom time, sometimes you truly wish that you could stay a
while more.
The
Crane Wreck, with its small size and ease of navigating around, makes
for an easy and interesting acclimation dive to deeper wrecks in the
area.
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The Baleen
The
wreck of the Baleen is a prize that eluded us for a good part of the
summer. We had numbers that got us close, and we did cursory searches
for it, but with limited time (and patience) we did not find her until
September. On a spectacular Friday morning in early September, under
cerulean blue skies, zipping along emerald colored, flat clear water as
fast as the 200 ponies bolted to the back of my boat would carry us,
Jan, Harry, and I set out from Gloucester to take a good hard look for
the Baleen. The day got even better when, as we approached the wreck
site, we came across another boat also attempting to get on the Baleen.
The Captain of that boat, unlike me, knew exactly where the wreck was
located, and he was preparing to affix a buoy to it. With a boat already on the
site, we decided to head elsewhere and let them have the wreck to
themselves, but not before Capt. Marcoux of the Daybreaker graciously
pointed out exactly where the wreck was and allowed us to mark it on my
depth finder to enter the position into my GPS unit. Thank you, Capt.
Fran Marcoux.
The
following week we arrived on the site and found the new mooring buoy.
Harry and Jan readied their gear and splashed in to explore what lay 170
feet away on the bottom. When they returned, they reported good
visibility, and as one would expect, it was quite dark. There was also a hazard to contend with. A gill net was snagged over the stern
of the wreck and was draped over the mooring line. Both divers had
avoided it upon arriving on the wreck, but Harry was grabbed by it as he
started up the line. He had to cut himself free, adding to his bottom
time by five minutes which increased his run time by almost
twenty.
On
shipwrecks, we typically find two types of netting; dragger nets and
gill nets. Dragger nets are woven of line which resembles cord that one
finds in a hardware store. They are not usually difficult to see, nor
generally buoyant, and settle on or under wrecks and get covered with
slime and silt, thereby becoming dirty monsters to get tangled in. Gill
nets, on the other hand, are made of clear monofilament line, and are
designed to be invisible. It takes a powerful dive light to detect mono
line under water, especially if the visibility is poor. Gill nets are
typically suspended by floats, and even when they are in pieces, with
the floats missing, they are near neutral in buoyancy and can be as
difficult to evade as smoke. If dragger nets are the scary trolls in the
realm of wreck diving, then gill nets can be horrifying demons to be
avoided at all costs.
The only
course of action when attacked by a gill net is to stop; slowly
unsheathe a sharp knife or shears, and cut away at the creature that has
you in its grasp. Calmly and slowly are the only two ways to extricate
one’s self, just as Harry had successfully done. It was now my turn to
deal with it; but I had a leg up on it; I knew where it was.
As I
followed the line down into the fading light, I fired up my light to
spot the net that was blocking my route to the Baleen. At 150 fsw I saw
it. I would have to swim over it and down onto the wreck to avoid it,
but not before attaching my strobe to the line to mark my way home. I
settled onto the wreck, just to the port side of the massive, pickup-truck size winch that occupies the deck aft of the engine room bulkhead.
The
Baleen was formerly a tug boat which sank on November 1st,
1975 after a “mysterious” fire broke out in the engine room. Today the
102 foot long wreck, with a beam nearly 25 feet wide, sits intact and
upright, 170 feet from the surface, approximately eight and a half
miles, east of Nahant, MA. The most notable features are the massive
winch, large prominent stack, and elevated pilot house which is perched
atop the engineering and living spaces.
After
orienting myself to my location on the wreck I proceeded to explore
along the port side while hugging the rail, at about 2/3rds of the way
to the bow I dropped over the edge to the bottom, and headed aft to
inspect the screw and rudder. On a subsequent dive with my brother Jim,
we followed my same path along the port side, this time to the bow, and
then ascended to peer inside the pilot house. We then descended back to
the deck and worked our way back down the starboard side to, and around
the winch. This wreck is another example of how man’s foibles can be a
benefit to nature, as most of the surfaces of this wreck have become an
anchoring point for countless anemones as well as becoming a home to a
numerous variety of fishes.
Once I
reached the screw and rudder, I gazed up into the pea green abyss. I
could see the mooring line shooting up off the stern and I caught a
faint glimpse of my pulsating strobe. I knew that my avenue of retreat
was a mere 20 feet above me and to my left. As I started my ascent
towards the line I instinctively cast the beam of my light over my head.
Suddenly, for a brief moment of horror, I realized that I was nearly
surrounded by the gill net that I so cautiously avoided during my
descent. Immediately, I exhaled as forcefully as possible and raised my
left arm to vent my suit, knowing that my best route of escape was
directly from where I came from; towards the bottom. Regaining my
bearings, I retraced my route to the point at which the stern’s port
side curve straightens heading forward. I ascended at this point, up
over the port rail and arrived on the deck, very near to the point that
I first set down onto the wreck. From there I swam up and over the net
and carefully retrieved my strobe that slid down into a piece of netting
during my dive. With 25 minutes of deco time as payment for this foray
to the bottom of Boston Harbor, I had time to contemplate how close I
came to diving head first into the invisible monster. I hate gill nets.
These
are just some of the many dives that Harry, Jan, Jim, Gary, and I got to
enjoy this summer.
Be Safe,
Dennis
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