Scuba Duba with Klaus

The local resort won’t take the dive boat out with less than two divers on board. Tourist numbers are down at this time of the year, meaning that us divers are often outnumbered by dive boat crew (three) and scuba guides (one or two).

One of the regular divers over the last week has been a German resort guest called Klaus. He resembles a German folk singer I have seen on an album cover, but I am afraid to ask his family name in case it in fact turns out to be him.

Klaus is here with his wife – also a keen diver, but with a dive-stopping arm injury. I feel sorry for her – it must be murder being in this dive-paradise and being resort-bound – but I am happy to have a dive buddy. I don’t speak any German beyond being able to buy a three-day ski pass or order up to three beers, and Klaus has patchy English. In fact, I find it easier to understand him underwater by sign language.

Klaus has an underwater camera, although he has developed a reputation for forgetting it (on the dive when twelve eagle rays passed us in formation…) or his battery dying (on the dive when we spotted an Octopus emerging from its hole…). I have got into the habit of carrying my large dive torch- great for looking into crevices, corals, and just for seeing the natural colours of objects that seawater strips of the sunlight as it passes through it. Using a standard flash on an underwater camera simply lights up the particles suspended in the water between the lens and the object, so if we see an especially interesting subject, I’ll light it from the side.

Klaus gave me a thumb drive full of his photos; some of them enhanced by my lighting input. I’d given up underwater photography after my first underwater camera died, but some of Klaus’ photos turned out brilliantly.

Helen has shown signs of interest at getting into underwater photography and I think a few days ago I accidentally committed myself to buy a camera for her for a future birthday/Christmas gift. Until Helen’s efforts come out, I’ll let Klaus’ (with my lighting expertise) ‘speak a thousand words’.

30 May 2009 – CHILLIN’

My mum flew into Gan a couple of days ago. She’s staying with me on board Aroha until my sister, brother in law, and nephew arrive in a few days time when we’ll all move into the local resort for one of those ‘family reunions in funny places’ I mentioned in an earlier blog.

Unfortunately, small scratches on my left foot became infected at about the same time as my mother’s arrival so we’ve had a fairly leisurely few days, leaving the boat on two of them only to visit the two cafes (internet and food) opposite the quay.

On the first two days that mum was here, I was still in denial about my ballooning foot and we set out to explore on a rental scooter. It’s a brilliant place to be an observer, hanging back and watching life go on, observing the differences and the similarities. The Maldivians here are not bothered by an audience- they just get on with the task at hand as the audience grows. We saw a car offloaded from a small wooden supply boat the other day and I half expected applause to break out when it was successfully unloaded. I often find that I have to hold judgement on seeing things that don’t make sense to me, but may, all the same, be the best way of doing things, such as unloading groceries off the supply boat single box by a single box.

My left foot started to take on the dimensions and appearance of the elephant man’s appendage, so it was off to the local doctor – a likeable old Maldivian gentleman. It’s the first time I’ve been examined by a doctor dressed only in a singlet and a dhoti (sheet-like undergarment). For a second opinion, I photographed the offending foot and sent the least attractive holiday snaps to Dr Mike in Dubai for a long-distance consultation. The doctors agreed, and I added 1000mg of Zinnat antibiotic to my daily diet.

Bernd left this afternoon for Chagos. He’s been trying to leave for the last few days, so each evening we’d have yet another ‘farewell dinner’, and delve deeper into the depleting booze cupboard. Last night we struck near the bottom of Bernd’s stash, some sort of rather potent schnapps, so it’s probably in the best interests of our livers that he managed to leave today.

21 May 2009 – BRITISH LOYALTY

I’ve mentioned the ‘British Loyalty’ a few times in this blog. It was a small oil tanker, sunk by the Japanese, Germans and Brits in 1944-46. Today, it’s a great dive site which I’ve dived a couple of times over the last couple of weeks.

I first became interested in wreck diving in my early days of diving in Jersey, Channel Islands. As the Channel Islands were occupied by Germany in WWII as you’re constantly reminded by the locals in Jersey, there are more than a few lumps of steel lying around under the sea there. The problem with wreck diving around Jersey is that they’re all fairly deep-ish, around 30 meters, giving you limited air and non-deco time at the bottom. You basically drop as fast as your ears will allow, scoot around, and rise as fast as your dive computer will tolerate. My first wreck dive lasted all of twenty-five minutes from start to finish- I was so nervous I was panting like a Doberman.

Finding the local wreck here is an interesting task in itself – these wooden dive dhonis don’t have ANY instruments – definitely no fish finders- the usual method of putting divers on wrecks. The captain simply looks for oil patches on the sea surface – yup, this old hulk is still polluting the oceans sixty years after its sinking!

The resort dive guides don’t like diving the ‘Loyalty. It’s on a silty sandy bottom in a spot inside the lagoon with limited tidal circulation, with correspondingly low visibility – less than ten meters each time I’ve been there.

The colours are very flat, just varying shades of sepia with a green tint. It reminds me of the sepia ‘colour’ film we used I used as a cash strapped architecture student, to get the black and white ‘artistic’ effect without the cost or hassle of black and white film.

But it’s the low viz and sepia colour range that gives this wreck its character. You are only exposed to a section of the wreck at a time so you’re constantly linking the pieces together from recognisable features- the funnel, handrails, winches, etc, to form a picture in your head of what the whole must look like. Each consecutive dive allows you to slot a piece or two of the jigsaw puzzle together.

Thanks to a gaping hole, apparently the same one that finally sunk her, it is easy to swim inside the cargo hold itself. There is a distinct lack of life inside, sharply contrasting with the profusion of life outside. The moodiness of the ruins, combined with the wealth of life now calling this manmade structure its home, and the history and stories that took this ship to the sand at the bottom of the sea, add another dimension to the scuba experience.

The biggest challenge of diving this particular one, is keeping the waste oil off your expensive dive kit!