This incident happened on a live-aboard trip out of La Paz, Baja Sur, Mexico. We were diving at a site known as El Bajo (The Shallow). It is a sea mount about 5 miles from the nearest land, and the bottom consists of 3 peaks that reach to about 60 feet from the surface. At about 160 feet there is a large, flat plateau on the north side of the peaks, which gives a good reference, but is unreachable for normal diving. On the south side of the peaks, the bottom rapidly drops off into the depths. The big attractions here are huge schools of fish ( jacks and others), and a decent opportunity to see schooling hammerheads. We were planning on 2 dives here that day.
The first dive went very well, minimal current, reasonable (80-100 ft) visibility. The sea mounts are packed with large green morays, and the schools of fish are everywhere. To see the sharks you swim out to the edges of the shallow, just out of sight of the sea mounts themselves, but still within sight of the deeper bottom. You hang in mid water and wait, and hope. On this day we were amply rewarded with dozens of hammerheads, mostly just drifting in and out of visual range, with one occasionally coming over for a closer look. It was one of those dives where you come back to the boat just bubbling with excitement, barely able to stand the SI wait for the next dive. During the 2 hours of SI time, the wind shifted to the north, and the seas picked up a bit... not yet unmanageable, but something to be concerned about. The crew checked the current, which had picked up from north to south, and was becoming more of a factor. The small boats took us about 150 yards upcurrent from the sea mounts and we rolled off and dropped quickly to 80 feet. Looking at the plateau 80 feet below, we knew we were really moving... the strongest current any of us had dived in. With me in the lead, we turned to quarter into it and kicked steadily, trying to keep our compass bearing and drift toward the peaks and the anchor. It seemed to take longer than it should, but exhausted and getting low on air we hit our mark perfectly. And as a reward, just as we got to the middle peak, a large hammerhead swam under us, and up the rock face in front of us no more than 20 feet away. I made all the work worthwhile. By this time the seas were about 10 feet and the current was fierce, and getting back on board the boat was a challenge. It took an act of faith to let go of the anchor line and drift the 120 feet back to the safety line on the back of the boat.
It wasn't until we were all safely back on board that we found out that a second group of 6 divers had been dropped off after us, and nobody had seen them since. They were lead by a certified divemaster, a man who had been in my class, and who was far more experienced as a diver than I was. But he made a nearly fatal error in judgement. Apparently he was not aware of just how strong the current was. When they had dropped down to 80 ft, they could not see the bottom (which should have been an urgent warning signal), so they just hung out waiting for something to happen, instead of immediately returning to the surface. By the time they decided that something was wrong, they were almost a mile away, low on air, and getting farther every minute. They surfaced in high waves and no boat in sight. Two of them had sausages, but they were of no help under those conditions.
Two things saved them. The expertise of the crew members who manned the pongas (the small outboards) and the fact that one of the divers had a whistle. Even with binoculars from the main boat, we could barely see the pongas when they crested a wave, and they had little chance of seeing 6 divers bobbing around the sea. But Luis knows the currents there, knew the general area to search, and he would stop the motor every couple of minutes to listen. Finally, he heard Deanna blowing her whistle, and was able to home in on that, make a difficult pickup, and struggle back to the boat, threatening to be swamped all the way. In all, it was well over an hour that the group of divers was out of touch.
It shows that 2 brief hours can be the difference between an easy and exciting shark viewing dive, and a dive under extreme conditions that puts your life on the line.
The first dive went very well, minimal current, reasonable (80-100 ft) visibility. The sea mounts are packed with large green morays, and the schools of fish are everywhere. To see the sharks you swim out to the edges of the shallow, just out of sight of the sea mounts themselves, but still within sight of the deeper bottom. You hang in mid water and wait, and hope. On this day we were amply rewarded with dozens of hammerheads, mostly just drifting in and out of visual range, with one occasionally coming over for a closer look. It was one of those dives where you come back to the boat just bubbling with excitement, barely able to stand the SI wait for the next dive. During the 2 hours of SI time, the wind shifted to the north, and the seas picked up a bit... not yet unmanageable, but something to be concerned about. The crew checked the current, which had picked up from north to south, and was becoming more of a factor. The small boats took us about 150 yards upcurrent from the sea mounts and we rolled off and dropped quickly to 80 feet. Looking at the plateau 80 feet below, we knew we were really moving... the strongest current any of us had dived in. With me in the lead, we turned to quarter into it and kicked steadily, trying to keep our compass bearing and drift toward the peaks and the anchor. It seemed to take longer than it should, but exhausted and getting low on air we hit our mark perfectly. And as a reward, just as we got to the middle peak, a large hammerhead swam under us, and up the rock face in front of us no more than 20 feet away. I made all the work worthwhile. By this time the seas were about 10 feet and the current was fierce, and getting back on board the boat was a challenge. It took an act of faith to let go of the anchor line and drift the 120 feet back to the safety line on the back of the boat.
It wasn't until we were all safely back on board that we found out that a second group of 6 divers had been dropped off after us, and nobody had seen them since. They were lead by a certified divemaster, a man who had been in my class, and who was far more experienced as a diver than I was. But he made a nearly fatal error in judgement. Apparently he was not aware of just how strong the current was. When they had dropped down to 80 ft, they could not see the bottom (which should have been an urgent warning signal), so they just hung out waiting for something to happen, instead of immediately returning to the surface. By the time they decided that something was wrong, they were almost a mile away, low on air, and getting farther every minute. They surfaced in high waves and no boat in sight. Two of them had sausages, but they were of no help under those conditions.
Two things saved them. The expertise of the crew members who manned the pongas (the small outboards) and the fact that one of the divers had a whistle. Even with binoculars from the main boat, we could barely see the pongas when they crested a wave, and they had little chance of seeing 6 divers bobbing around the sea. But Luis knows the currents there, knew the general area to search, and he would stop the motor every couple of minutes to listen. Finally, he heard Deanna blowing her whistle, and was able to home in on that, make a difficult pickup, and struggle back to the boat, threatening to be swamped all the way. In all, it was well over an hour that the group of divers was out of touch.
It shows that 2 brief hours can be the difference between an easy and exciting shark viewing dive, and a dive under extreme conditions that puts your life on the line.
