Tales of the Brass Bottle Opener

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Tom Smedley

Tommy
ScubaBoard Supporter
Scuba Instructor
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Location
Montgomery, AL
# of dives
I think that one of the things I miss most in dive trips is that element of adventure – something that is getting progressively harder to find. Few and far between now are those destinations that have no direct route to get there, no air-conditioned hotels, no restaurants that require long trousers. Some place where there are no twist-off caps and beer requires an opener. In the old days, one such place was Hurghada, Egypt.

Once, it was almost impossible to visit the continent of Africa without going through Cairo Airport – if the Earth had an armpit, Cairo Airport would have been a good contender. The transient lounge in those days was a simple chicken wire cage that folks stood in and sweated until their next flight - sort of a complimentary Sauna. One had to change from the larger jet that brought travelers from latitudes north and climb on a local commuter for the short hop to the coast. The shared military airfield with anti-aircraft missiles lining its postage stamp size runway was far short of being able to handle an Airbus A380.

There were two hotels then – The Meridian (which looked then much as it does now) and Hydrotec Dive Center (owned and operated by Karl Heinz Bühner) - A total contrast in standards of living. Air conditioning was the constant breeze from the seventy degree Fahrenheit waters of the Red Sea – hot water came from a solar heated holding tank on the roof – the bomb-sight toilet doubled as a shower - food in the open-air restaurant was good. One fully expected to see Bogart and Bergman sitting in the bar with Sam pounding out a love song on his piano – but that only happened in our imagination. If you look at a map of Hurghada on the web, Hydrotec Dive Center was a short walk south of the deep-water port.

One of the highlights came on the second day – just after the first dives. Everyone came back to the hotel and hung neoprene wetsuits on the balcony to dry. Those living on the first and second floors came back from dinner to discover all their suits were missing. After an initial roar and rumble denouncing the local thieves, we happened to notice a very large, very fat Billy Goat lying atop a pile of brass zippers and buttons. When the group ran at him yelling obscenities and waving their hands – the goat just hopped on the roof of the nearest house, stared at his accusers, proclaimed loudly “BAAAAA,” and farted. It’s not like you could run to the store and buy another one so part of the adventure was diving in the chilly Red Sea without a suit.

Each morning the group awoke eagerly and made a hike through town to the deep-water port. Here we boarded our trusty vessel and struck out across seas unknown to find wonderful dive sites. Those ones with large pelagic animals, pristine corals, and millions of colorful hoodoos of all sorts waiting to entice like the song of a Siren. - So wonderful that each dive placed you in sensory overload – too much to see – too much to experience – I need a lifetime I only have a week!

The boat was wonderful – a modest wooden hull – one that you would never look twice at in a beauty contest – but it was large and comfortable. There were three members of the crew. The Egyptian Government required that each vessel operating in its waters have an Egyptian Captain. We had a Bedouin who served as Captain, cook, floor scrubber, deck hand, diesel mechanic, lookout, dishwasher, tank filler, and whatever else was necessary. Karl Heinz drove the boat and showed us around the dive sites. There was one younger Bedouin who did whatever it was that the older gentleman and Karl Heinz didn’t want to do.

The desert was not user friendly – in the morning the sun came up and the sand heated quickly – warm air over the sand rose and left way for the cooler ocean air to rush in to fill the void. So every morning we went out against the wind and into the waves. Every afternoon the sun went down and the sand cooled quickly. The cool air over the land mass settled and forced the breeze back out to sea at about the time we were returning to port. So every afternoon we came back in against the wind and, you guessed it, into the waves. I am one who believes that all life’s journeys should be on a trailing sea so after a day or so this got very old. I also know that you cannot change the wind – however you can adjust the sails so I suggested that instead of rolling around on deck for several hours a day we could just anchor in a quiet cove and stay (the hell) out there. The suggestion was given the old unanimous and we became maritime campers. The Captain turned out to be an excellent cook.

After another unbelievable day of diving we anchored on the leeward side of Big Giftun and prepared to have a great evening. Some of us wanted to go ashore but Karl Heinz said that we would get in the way of the Egyptian Soldiers working over there. Being inquiring minds we asked what the soldiers were doing. “Disarming land mines that were left over from the Six Day War.” Mused Karl. We decided to stay on the boat. The soldiers soon realized that we were there and that we had women aboard. They sat on the shore and stared at the boat. One girl claimed that one of them exposed his privates to her while she was snorkeling. This put us on guard all night prepared to repel boarders. We just sat on the deck looking at stars and eating snacks of melons and fruits – wondering what the poor people were doing – not really caring. I’m sure that there was some Stella Beer involved – Stella (the golden liquid in a green bottle with a yellow label and blue star) required an opener and may have saved some of our lives.

During conversation and between bites of melon, Dave and I decided that the proper thing to do was awaken around two in the morning and do a night dive. We did impulsive things back then – come to think of it we still do when the opportunity arises. We arranged our gear so that all we had to do was tiptoe up to the deck, throw the gear overboard, and jump in after it. The thing that we didn’t figure was that with the stuffy conditions in the cabin, everyone had moved upstairs and were sleeping all over the deck. We stepped over blankets, careful to maintain complete silence, hung a small light on the kingpost, and entered the water with our gear much like commandos departing on a raid.

Before dark we had set the bezels on our compasses for a direct shot at the point and the deep-water reef. Our plan was to go around the point at say 70 feet until one-third of our air was gone, ascend to above 40 feet and come back to the point. Here we would surface and recheck the heading to our “anchor light” and return to the boat looking for bottom dwellers in the sandy cove. The thing about Dave and me was that we were both very relaxed divers in excellent physical condition (then) and one-third of our air supply lasted a very long time.

We made it back to the point and surfaced to verify our heading to the boat. During the ninety minutes or so that had gone by since our secretive entry, someone had gotten up and discovered our light. Brilliantly thinking that another someone had hung the light 20 feet up on the kingpost to dry, they climbed up there and turned it off – believing all along that a favor had been done, after all batteries were expensive.

Have you ever been in serious darkness? So black that it almost sucks the eyeballs right out of your head. Well, Dave and I have. Far off toward the west we could see a faint glow in the sky that we believed to be the lights of Hurghada. We knew that if we went north we would find Big Giftun with its ageing land mines and soldiers with guns – last possible option. We also didn’t have any visual reference to tell if the current was carrying us to Saudi. I’m sure at this point we were discussing how long they would look for us and who would get what when they divided up our stuff. We were also feeling sorry for Joe, knowing that he hated filling out all that paperwork. Then it happened – the remnants of eight to ten bottles of Stella trapped in someone’s bladder was demanding to be set free. That wonderful person who stood up and turned on a light to make his way to the rail. That split second of night piercing light was all that it took for two compasses to be aimed and set. On the road again, we descended and headed off in the direction of the boat.

After what seemed like hours of enjoying rays, scampering crabs, small coral heads with colorful fish, and other denizens of the sand we came across a wide field of strange creatures. Small, black, crustacean appearing dots that were scattered about over the sand brought visions of discovering a new species – our names in the books. Tenderly I scooped one of them up with my hands – careful to keep it atop a pile of sand so as not to disturb its delicate skin. I held it close to my face trying to see its features – watermelon seeds (Citrullus lanatus). I shined my light toward the surface and there was the boat.

It seems that the greatest challenge was getting back on the boat. The folks on deck were convinced that we were the Egyptian Soldiers coming to relieve them of their baubles. After convincing them of our identities, we were back on board. I looked at my watch and pressure gauge – two hours and fifteen minutes had elapsed since we slipped from the boat and I still had 250 psi – I remember thinking that I should have stayed longer.

I moved to the front of the boat, leaned back, and propped my feet up. A warm, almost hot breeze was blowing off the desert and felt good against my skin. I reached in my pocket for the ever-present bottle opener and the swallow of ice cold Stella felt good against my insides. The lights of Hurghada had disappeared from the west and a gentle orange glow had begun in the eastern sky. A new day, a new adventure – life was good.
 
Wonderful story! You're a natural story teller. What did the people on the boat say when you turned up?
 
What a great start to our new forum!
Thanks a ton, Tommy.
Love,
Rick
 
An excellent read - eagerly awaiting the next part of the story (especially now that the opener has been subtly introduced).
 
Thanks for sharing the story with us.

I was in Hurghada back in the early '90 of the last century (sounds odd, doesn't it?) and while we had direct flights, it still had some of that way-off quality and just a few places to stay at, even if I had a/c in my room...

When I last saw the place I was amazed at the number of hotels and ressorts that had been built. The standard history of what used to be insider-spots, I guess.
 
One of the interesting things about travelling back then, compared to today, was the lack of security checks to get onto a plane.
I will never forget my first security check back in the 70s. I was standing in line waiting to board at an airport in the Canaries and they suddenly announced that there would be a security check & body search before boarding. Anyway everybody looked at each other and all of a sudden there was a loud crashing noise. So people shuffled through the check point and when I looked back to where the line had been, there was a long line of personal defense objects on the floor, ranging from stilettos, flick knives, folding knives, penknives, pieces of chain, bits of sharp metal, sharpened coins, a couple of Rambo style hunting knives and even a couple of old looking handguns.
I looked around at my fellow passengers and found it hard to believe that such a civilised bunch of characters was carrying so much hardware - it was more like the end of a prison riot in the films!

Of course after that, security checks became more common but even so it was hilarious to see how many times I was asked to raise my arms so the guard could pass a metal detector while I had in my hand a full sized pneumatic speargun which could blow a hole in the side of a plane. Those days are also long gone.
 
Are you implying that Ricky and I would do anything subtly?



MB:
An excellent read - eagerly awaiting the next part of the story (especially now that the opener has been subtly introduced).
 
Great story!!

Looks like some of us get up early or stay up pretty late!

Regards,
 
Cudabait:
Looks like some of us get up early or stay up pretty late!
...yawn...
 
Excellent story. You have a real talent for putting the reader right along with you. I almost felt obliged to fill out my dive log after reading it.
Also much of what you wrote struck a cord with me, while I never had the pleasure of diving in Egypt, I spent a week there in 1995. I know what you mean about the airport; not Cairo, it was pretty modern in 1995, but Luxor, where I flew in was a dual purpose military/civilian airfield too. It was somewhat disconcerting to see Mig 21's parked at the side of the runway surrounded by sandbags for protection. When you deplaned you walked down a stairway to get on a bus waiting for you on the tarmac, which was there to take you to the terminal. As for the "Terminal", well lest just say it was well named. A long, squat concrete building with no air conditioning. There was a small baggage carosel, an area to get your passport stamped, and a duty free area which consisted of a few folding tables with some cologne, some alcohol, and a few cheap radios and portable TV's for sale.
Also, Stella Beer. I had quite a few of those after a hot day of stomping around the desert. I started with the Export, but switched to the domestic. I couldn't taste too much of a difference, but there was much less "stuff" floating around in the Export.

Hopefully I will be able to return to Egypt some day, and after your story I know now that it will definitely include some diving.
I'll be sure to bring a brass bottle opener too.
 
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