Old Timers Remember

I remember once meeting a salty old sea-dog who ran the Lleyn Peninsula compressor in North Wales. Unaccountably, his compressor was located on top of a mountain, so that any diver who ventured to the peninsula's only air supply risked, not just alarming brake fade on the decent, but a case of the bends as well. This old worthy claimed that there were only three things in life worth doing:- Diving, drinking and bonking. With a twinkle in his eye, he added that he was just too old for diving any more. With his nose pulsating like angry beacon, and his knees audibly creaking, this relic of the deep would whack 270 bar into any Heiser cylinder that was on offer. "Don't make 'em that any more". Pass him a Japanese equivalent, and you'd be lucky to get 150 bar. "Foreign crap" he would mutter. Testing standards, and the occasional devastating explosion, meant nothing to this man.

When the dentures can't hold in the mouthpiece any longer, it's time to prop up the bar and bore passersby senseless with your tales of the 'good old days', when lobbies were the size of springer spaniels, and a dive without recovering a porthole wasn't even logged. None of this namby pamby 'leave the wrecks alone for others' malarkey. As a marine biologist once said of a London club's DO (after a less than agreeable dive trip), "When he's not raping the seabed by day, he's raping the women by night"!

Rodney's Tale (kindly donated by Rodney Calvert in 2003. I might add that Rodney is nothing like any character mentioned above). Miri 1974 - 1979.

Our first site was the nearest Lutong jacket.  I remember being struck by the amount of life here.  It was almost a religious experience drifting down inside the area of the legs and cross beams with light streaming down through the blue, like a cathedral.  The structure was covered in soft coral, “dead mans finger” which was inhabited by beautiful lion fish and puffer fish.  I remember being fascinated by lighting up the drab looking soft coral with my first dive torch and seeing the bright pinks emerge and bringing the lion fish to spectacular glory.

This got me into underwater photography.  After some failures with a cheap camera inside a cut up beach ball with a face mask I bought a Calypso camera, later versions of which became the Nikonos series.   With this I was able to record some sights after many trials at getting a standard flash gun to flash and synchronise under water.  My best subject was a very friendly bat fish which always came to us and seemed curious.  He/she seemed fascinated by the camera and had to be pushed away to be far enough for me to focus.

The Lutong jacket also seemed to attract pelagic fish which were often circling around.  There were also many barracuda, sometime large shoals which would circle round us looking – for food?  After this Chris and Piet-Hein purchased spear guns and tried to chase them but without success.

My dive buddy was Peter Fleimisch, a tall strong Austrian, who wore glasses and was rather shortsighted under water.  I remember one great incident.  I was above Peter, who was horizontal and close up looking at things on a wide jacket cross beam.  On the other side of this crossbeam was a huge grouper, at least as long as Peter, so at least 2 metres.  This grouper and Peter were unaware of each other, hidden by the beam.  Slowly they drifted upwards until they were facing each other!  Then in a sequence of near perfect symmetry they noticed each other.  The grouper opened its great mouth as if in surprise.  Peter, not really being able to see what this was, other than a mouth capable of swallowing him turned tail.  From above I could see the two both turn 180 degrees and swim off in opposite directions, very quickly.

This site was subject to marginal visibility at times.  I remember one dive in clear blue water when the Baram water came through.  The brown wall came across looking like a slow motion angry looking avalanche before enveloping us in brown soup.

I think our greatest source of diving delight was “the reef”.  We had seen on a chart an indication of a reef some 5 km offshore in Siwa bay, so one clear calm Saturday with compass in hand we set out to find it.  Taking bearings on the Tanjong Lobang headland we searched and searched.  Just as were about to give up we saw beautiful coral beneath us.  We had an enchanting dive.  The little reef was in only about 10m of water depth and covered with fresh, unspoiled coral and teaming with colourful reef fish, lobsters and shrimp.

We took bearings for our new site but we really did not have sufficient precision and we were too excited to realize.  The next Saturday when we used our bearings to find it again we couldn’t.  The following week we tried again and this time only found it by seeing a swell rise extra high and give away the shallow reef position.  This time we looked for better bearings and found two site lines, one lining up the roofs of two houses and another a tree and a roof.  After this we were pretty good at finding our reef.

I remember another nice Peter incident.  In a little trough of the reef a large nurse shark was resting.  The short sighted Peter came upon this without seeing the big picture.  He poked this gray-brown thing and proceeded along its body until he came to the large nose where he recognized a very large nose and an eye looking at him.  Again Peter managed to disappear very quickly.  I suppose in retrospect, I cannot have been a very good buddy, but I did enjoy diving with Peter.

Our nearest site was “the wreck”.  This we visited when visibility or weather were not too good.  We have to own up to some taking brass portholes off this wreck one day.  We levered them off rather easily and air lifted them to surface tied to an upturned bucket.  My porthole with its thick glass still intact is still a treasured possession.

Our trips were often made exciting by the boating adventures to and from the dive sites.  Initially the only boat available was an old orange water ski boat with a very temperamental outboard.  This was used by skiers in the river and was not really ocean going class.  We used to launch in the river on Saturday morning as close to 8.00 am as the Friday night activities would allow.  I discovered that diving is an instant cure for the unpleasant hangover.  Below about 10 m all the nasty toxins must go back into solution, happiness returns and headaches disappear until one comes up above 10m again.  I am sure there is good business to be had with a hyper-baric chamber.

After launch we would then motor down river to the fearsome bar.  Only on very calm days could we avoid taking this little boat through sometimes large breakers.  On more than one occasion we had a wave break over us.  We developed some skill.  We could pick the low wave cycles and would speed hard towards the wave and cut speed just at the wave to reduce impact, get thrown up and then accelerate hard towards the next peak and repeat the process, thus spending as little time as possible in the big waves.  Coming in was usually less eventful.  We would just drive slowly in on the back of a wave, and this worked fine unless we chose a slow one which got overtaken by the wave behind.

Many was the time after a dive when the engine would not start.  We would all take turns pulling, with our custom pulls and choke setting.  Then the spark pug got a cleaning etc.  In the end however it always started.  After a year or so the boat club acquired a Boston Whaler, a basic aluminium open boat with a new outboard as a safety boat for the sailing activity which was then growing in Miri.

This reminisce would not be complete without mention of “the” boating incident.  Peter and I were out together and had a nice dive on the reef.  As we were coming back the drive shaft on the outboard broke.  It must have been about 11 am.  We decided the best thing would be to anchor and wait as surely someone would come looking for us as we were expected back for lunch at noon.  As we were so far offshore we found our little anchor would not hold on the soft bottom.  When we dived down we could see our little anchor ploughing through the sand, unfortunately in the opposite direction to which we wanted to go.  We were drifting down the coast to the south west, away from Miri.

We left the anchor down, hoping it would slow us, and waited.  And waited.  And waited.  We thought the very latest someone would come looking for us would be 2.00 pm.  But 2.00 pm passed and now we were back past the reef, hot, thirsty and headed towards Kuching.  Thinking ill of mankind we pulled up boards off the floor and decided to try to paddle to across the current towards the coast.

Meanwhile it so happened that after 1.00 pm our friends had indeed missed us, had dutifully checked the bars and Piet-Hein had got another boat out and come looking for us.  By 3.00 pm he had established we were nowhere between base and the reef.

So we paddled and paddled.  By 5.00 pm the coast was definitely getting closer but as Peter said, “all the laughing had died down.”  Darkness came down and with it relief from the sun.  Then we saw lights out at sea, then more lights.  A complete air/sea search was now in progress!  Big rig supply boats were now spreading out in a major search.

Eventually one was headed towards us, directly towards us it seemed with its search light sweeping ahead to the right and left.  We realized they still had not seen us and that if they did not see us on the next sweep they would either run us down or pass us by.  Then the beam locked onto us and we were found, about an hour from shore we estimated and a 15 mile hike back to Miri.  It was two very embarrassed divers who sat in the “full enquiry” on Sunday.

Diving in Miri was fun. 

Peter's Riposte

I do like Rodney's story, however, I do feel that we behaved rather more responsibly than described. In fact, prior to the first dive, when it all started, we had several weekends of pool training the intensity of which I never experienced again, even in professional diving schools. We were trained by a Sedco mechanic, Vernon Stone, who used to be a US Navy Diver and took things rather seriously.

(Indeed, the old BSAC training was reminiscent of the Army, and we considered PADI divers a bunch of woosies. These days, you can qualify through either agency in a matter of days with a measly six lengths of the pool and virtually no knowledge of how to snorkel - Editor's comment)

Diving in Miri was fun, but mostly on reflection while sitting safely at the Piasau Boat Club bar for an après dive drink.

I wasn’t completely untrained for the experience as Rodney and I had almost completed a British Sub Aqua Club certificate at a swimming bath somewhere in London. In fact he had proposed to me in that very same swimming bath, as I surfaced.  There was also, I seem to remember, an open water dive in freezing, murky Lulworth Cove waters.  I can still picture those enormous strap seaweeds looming out of the fog.

In Miri we started our diving experiences in the awe inspiring underwater world of the massive legs and cross beams of a rig. We dived fully clothed to reduce stings from jellyfish, although my fashionable blouse, buttoned at the wrists, exposed a chink of flesh which the tentacles regularly found.  It was scary, yes, but it wasn’t this that freed up my equipment for John to borrow (John's Tale). Nor was it that I thought my end had come as I rose dizzy and alone from 100ft, surrounded by fish that appeared to be swimming round in circles. Boringly it was allergies that caused swelling and prevented me clearing my ears. When I married Rodney I was game for anything. I’m not saying I wasn’t scared most of the time, but I was game, and what’s more I actually thought it was fun.

However, I can’t deny that I was heartily relieved when we discovered the shallow reef off Miri. Unlike the rigs the maximum depth I was required to dive was 30ft. At last I really started to enjoy diving. It was beautiful, like being in another world, and with the surface not far above I felt safe.

Yes, I was there on the epic bucket and porthole dive. I remember being scared then too, but this time for Rodney’s safety. The method used to salvage the portholes seemed risky, to say the least, but you have to admire a man with so much determination and ingenuity.

My patience didn’t even wear thin while peering into the night clutching he railings at the bow of a rig tender. The mission was to find the waifs of the South China Sea, Rodney and Peter, cast adrift in a dive bat with no working engine.  Standing in the wheel-house I estimated that the tender was traveling too fast to stop should the search light pick up the dive boat.  It was from my precarious post hanging on at the bows that I was able to pick out the dim shape of the dive boat with its occupants before the search light reached it and alert the crew.

But fortunately my diving days didn’t end there. Many years later while living in Houston the whole family trained together and were properly certified, the safe way. As all parents can confirm what’s okay for you isn’t okay for your off spring. We had many wonderful family dive holidays, including the ultimate holiday diving from a yacht while sailing in the British Virgin Islands. The comfort and comparative safety was a far cry from the Miri dive days. But one thing middle age teaches us all is that we're not immortal.

John's Tale  Miri 1978 - 1981; Brunei 1993 - 1994, 2002 -

I first moved to Borneo in 1978 when I joined Sarawak Shell as a new recruit, fully determined to explore the world. I remember that scuba diving was high on my agenda as ‘something I had always wanted to do’ and very quickly I was introduced to Rodney Calvert who promised to take me diving since (I realise suspiciously now) his wife had given up and I could use her equipment. “Isn’t there training required ?” I asked naively. “ Rodney just looked at me and replied “Don’t worry, I’ll explain the rudiments on the way out in the boat!” Since this was the way that many skills (including those required on the job) were taught in those days, I was not overly concerned.

We dived perhaps a dozen times, however, I quickly realised after a few ‘hairy’ moments that I was a liability to both myself and Rodney, and my diving lapsed until I could receive some formal training. Nevertheless, I was struck by several features of this new underwater world. The weightlessness was highly appealing, the sheer diversity of life, far more than is apparent on the surface world, was mind boggling, and the wreck of the Atago Maru lying just off the Piasau boat club fired my imagination with thoughts of sunken treasure. (Did you know that a household bucket will lift a porthole?  I didn't until Rodney Calvert showed me in 1978. The result of this little exercise was quite farcical. As the bucket hits the surface carrying the porthole, it tips, the air comes out, and the porthole begins its descent passing the ascending diver. This can repeated ad nauseam; in fact, Hoffnung wrote a similar tale about a lift and a bucket of bricks as I recollect).

In 1979, an event was briefly recorded in that font of all wisdom and knowledge, the Borneo Bulletin. It described how some divers in Brunei (Ed Ehlman) had discovered the wreck of a tanker’s stern believed to be the Toho Maru sunk in 1944. I thought little of it at the time and was fortunate enough to be posted to Oman in 1981 where I could at last learn to dive with the British Sub-Aqua Club.

Diving quietly continued in an informal way for some years in both Miri and Brunei and in the 1980’s the certifications of the British BSAC and American PADI systems were introduced. Theo Kontou who dived out of Miri in 1984 found out much more about the wreck of the Atago Maru, like the Toho Maru, also bombed and sunk in 1944.

Like so many wrecks, the location of the Toho Maru was forgotten as the divers were transferred away and it wasn’t until the late 1980’s that Bob Lowe and Pius Cagienard (amongst others) painstakingly searched the area described by the recorded coordinates and re-located the wreck. Repeated searches for the bow of the Toho Maru were unsuccessful until Ed Ehlman, whom Pius and myself visited in 1997, explained that the bows never sank and were towed to Singapore. Their future after that episode is unknown.

In the late 1980’s at the other end of the country diving was flourishing too and the Bandar branch heard about, located, dived and mapped four large wrecks in a amazing feat of skill and persistence. Diving these wrecks actually spawned a company, Borneo Divers, who would subsequently identify Sipadan as a world-class diving resort.

A welcome posting to Brunei in 1993 allowed me to join in the huge success of the BSAC clubs in the district with the Panaga Divers recording over 1000 man-dives each year and an amazing 1700 in 1994. The club’s boat, ‘Wave Dancer’ was very successful, despite its alarming handling qualities, often making four outings every week. 

The fundamental reasons for the success of the Panaga Divers and the Garrison Divers during this period, are the same as any other dive club. There were good dive sites easily accessible; there was a strong and active committee, and the dive boat was reliable. During this period, Bob Lowe was Diving Officer. He set an example that all DO’s should follow.

For Panaga Divers, the offshore installations operated by Brunei Shell were our regular sites. For over 25 years, management has allowed recreational diving on the platforms and it’s a jealously guarded privilege. These platforms attract the most diverse fish life and are festooned with sponges and corals. In the early days, all oil companies used to remove the growth fearing that the weight would damage the platforms, however, in the 1980’s it was realised that the whole system was self sustaining and self limiting. The company has left these growths alone ever since with the result that beneath the utilitarian topsides, there’s a magical garden of colour and life just waiting to be visited.

Returning once again to work in Brunei in 2002, I was surprised at the change in the size of the diving scene. Two clubs had folded and where there had been 15 instructors there were now only two. If not for the hard work of the diving Club committee lead by Steve Holyoak, sport diving might have vanished from the oily end of Brunei completely. Nevertheless, the club has in the meantime purchased a more stable dive boat and Steve had a plan to do something positive for Shell and the community as a way of saying thanks for the privilege of diving the platforms enjoyed for so many years. At the end of 2002, the plan came to fruition as a two year environmental project designed to show the inter-relationship of the platforms and the neighbouring reefs along the lines of ‘industry and nature sustaining development together’. The project was sanctioned by top management and will run during 2003 – 2004.

The Purple Willie Award

The only 'Lifetime Membership of the Purple Willie' was awarded to Russ Peterson, a great enthusiast, whose misdirected energy caused just too many gaffes to mention.

The Case of the Missing Tender

Louisa Reef 1993. After a heroic trip across 120 miles (actually 160 miles since the skipper didn't really know where the reef was), we arrived 15 hours late at this wonderful oceanic reef offshore Borneo. We decided to get in a dusk dive which typically was excellent. On returning towards the boat, Mark spotted a piece of line in quite good condition. He followed the line to an anchor, also in reasonable nick. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, he cut off the line where it vanished under a rock and, not without difficulty, struggled the anchor to the surface. He got no help from those on deck to lift the anchor on board, since they were all pre-occupied with the tender boat that was drifting off into the sunset!

The Motorbike Keys

Fairley, Brunei 1994. Marco was immensely proud of his new Suzuki 1400 cc Intruder motorbike. He turned up to go diving one day, but had forgotten his hat. Before we could stop him, he leapt on his bike and roared off back to G5 to pick up his headgear. He returned 20 minutes later. This time he had forgotten his bathers, however, we restrained him from another pointless journey, and bundled him on the boat. Marco elected to dive in his shorts. On surfacing from his dive, he was beaming from ear to ear. He waved a set of keys wildly at us. "What prat dropped his keys then?" He looked closely at them.  "Oh God, they're mine"! He was lucky. The bottom of the platform was at 60 metres and the keys had fallen from his shorts onto the 30 metre bracing.

The Search for the Anchor

Tying up Wave Dancer one day in 1993, I decided to remove the rusty old grapnel anchor from our bow locker. I tossed it onto the quay where it hit the railing and fell into the nauseating filth of the Belait River. I quickly put on a cylinder and lowered myself gingerly into the muck. I realised two things simultaneously. One; I hadn't turned my air on; and two, I was standing on the grapnel. Fortunately I managed to retrieve the grapnel with my foot and was able to surface without anybody realising my mistake. I tossed the anchor onto the quay once again, and I swear it hit the same piece of railing and it tumbled back into the river! Time was against us, so I decided to recover the offending anchor later, at a lower state of the tide. Next week, I returned to said quay and discovered that some kind soul had recovered the anchor and put it in the boat shed. The next day, as we prepared to go diving, I noticed Marco on the quay with the grapnel on a rope. He was tossing it into the river and dragging it too and fro. 

"What are you doing?" I shouted. 

"Searching for the grapnel" he replied. 

"What's that on the end of your rope?"

The look on Marco's face earned him the Purple Willie Award rather than myself who should have got it.

Can you do this?

Truk Lagoon 1994. Relaxing after a day's diving, and more than a few beers, we were into the sort of rugby club silliness that seems to afflict the male population on holiday. There's a neat trick, if you can do it. You throw yourself at a vertical pole and rotating as you fly, grab the pole firmly in two hands and end up off the ground at right-angles to the pole. Gymnasts do this all the time at the Olympic games, but it does require practice. We'd never seen this trick, and Mick said "Hey, I bet you can't do this"! He ran and threw himself at the pole supporting the roof of the bar. His approach was good, the rotation excellent, however, it was shame that the pole was not actually attached to anything, which apparently is vital for the success of the performance. Mick, the pole and part of the roof crashed to the ground in a heap. 

"No. I don't reckon I could do that, Mick. Don't reckon I'd ever want to either".

Bev and the Battery

Otterspool 1994: Beverley was making her first and quite ambitious attempt to marshal a dive. The trip took us to a rarely dived reef for which Beverley had measured the coordinates. Delegating the task of checking the echo sounder to an Advanced Diver, Beverley drove the boat towards the GPS location. “A mile to go” she announced. “Nonsense” replied the echo-sounder vigilante. “We’re in 12 metres already, and the depth is 30 plus hereabouts. We must be on the reef”. Although it wasn’t said, “What do you expect if you let a woman drive the boat” hung in the air. Beverley looked puzzled. People looked over the side of the boat. The senior divers sniggered. Eventually, she slowed the boat and looked at the echo sounder. “I think that’s the battery voltage you’re reading; the depth is the figure at the bottom left!”

The Belait Bar

With the breakwaters in place, it's hard to believe the raw fear that 'crossing the bar' used to imbue in the poor coxswain. Huge standing waves, breaking waves, currents and precious little water at low tide made for eventful crossings. If you look at the tide charts today, the red areas still exist to indicate low water on the bar; 'thou shalt not pass'. Sometimes, in good weather, you might not even notice the bar, however, it still had some tricks up its sleeve. We were going out one morning. It was flat calm and I knew the tide was marginal, so it came as no surprise when I felt the engine revs drop and the boat came to a standstill on the mud. No problem; this had happened before and the solution was to get the divers to jump off and push the boat over. I shouted "All out and push; it's not deep", forgetting that I had a bunch of marines on board. Unlike normal sluggardly civilians, these guys jump to orders and in a body they threw themselves overboard. Unfortunately, the current had now taken us beyond the bar and all the marines vanished to re-appear behind the boat spluttering and cursing civilians.

The German Tourist Fiasco

Sipadan 2003: Everybody’s friend Russ, the big American, was diving with us on Sipadan. Typically on this sort of dive, we would follow the guide until a change in current dictated that we retrace our way back to the boat. As the signal was given to turn, Russ (kind soul that he is) realised that Shona had missed the signal and was swimming on. He chased after her, grabbed her, rotated her and virtually frog-marched (frog-swam) her back to our group, where Russ observed the real Shona regarding him strangely. He looked at the woman he had rescued only to realise that she was a complete stranger; in fact a German tourist from a separate group. His attempts to apologise repeatedly for the rest of the holiday only seemed to make matters worse.

The Dashing White Sergeant 

AMDP27 2003: Dale emerged from the water carrying his fins and torch. As he attempted to climb the boat ladder thus encumbered, he dropped a fin which began to sink. The marshal, a young flight sergeant, grasped the situation and sprang into action. He grabbed Dale’s mask from his face and leapt into the water. After a few seconds he surfaced, not only having missed the sinking fin, but without Dale’s mask as well.

Of course, the advent of Technical Diving has almost exponentially increased the potential for inadvertent 'mistakes'.

31^st July 2004: Our first technical dive was about to begin. The boat was ready, the decompression trapeze stored, the divers briefed and all the bottles required for this sort of diving were securely stowed on the boat. During the assembly of all the gear, one of our divers was heard to say, “I think I’d do far better on this dive if I had remembered to bring my regulators along!!”

8^th August 2004:  Our keenest proto-tekkie, arrived on the boat with some of the tastiest gear I have ever seen. Twin 80’s, expensive regulators with the hoses all corrected routed, reel, carabiners, all long-hose, Holgarthian configuration and then some. Staggering under the unaccustomed weight, his Ikelite housed camera and flash were draped around his neck. (No; he didn’t fall forward like the Japanese tourist in the film ‘Airplane’, although it was close). He strode off the stern into the water with panache, however, bobbed to the surface with somewhat less panache, “Could somebody pass me my mask please?” The situation wasn’t helped by Terry’s “All the gear and no idea!!!” We all came up with rhyming couplets at this point (and there are many). Our poor diver thankfully submerged before the chorus of “Why was he born so beautiful”.