Vintage Diving Stories?

[Paladin]

Psiborg1812,
LOL Yeah, Ol' Mothman was hangin' around Point Pleasant about that time, though he was also seen as far away as Braxton County and Kanawha County occasionally. Some people claimed that they saw him gnawing on the eye-bars that supported the bridge the day before it fell. He sure was an ugly-lookin' cuss! There's a statue of him in downtown Point Pleasant, if you're ever through there!

Feliz Navidad, mi amigo!

 

[Paladin]

In late August of 1976, I traded my '74 Yamaha RD 350 for a 1961 Bertolli runabout and a Winchester 94. It was a 15 ft. fiberglass boat with a four cylinder Johnson outboard that looked as if it had been used as an auxiliary for the Mayflower. It was a scruffy-looking rig but it didn't leak and the motor ran smooth. That was the summer I got my first C-card and also the year I met my friend, Fuzz. The weekend after I got the boat, Fuzz and I took it up to Summersville Lake to try it out and do some diving.

There was no dive shop at the lake then so, to go with our own, we rented a couple of 72s from the local shop the day before heading out. It was two hour drive to the lake, so we left an hour or so before sunup. At the lake, we put the boat into the water and tied it up to a dock to load our gear. Out in the cove, a couple of hundred feet from the marina, a pontoon boat was anchored, flying a dive flag. We learned later that the boat belonged to the owner of a dive shop in the northwestern part of the state and group of his students were doing their open water that weekend.

We finished loading the boat, fired her up and cast off. Right then, I heard a whistle and looked over to see a diver in the water. He was waving at us and gesturing for us to come over. Thinking he might be in trouble, I idled over to him and put the motor in neutral a few yards out so that we could coast up to him without the prop spinning. Fuzz put the boarding ladder over the side.

The diver put his mask on his forehead and gave us a big, toothy smile. He tossed his fins into the boat and climbed in after them. I swear he looked like a walrus! I mean the man was huge! He was wearing a well-worn gray wetsuit and he had fiery red hair and this droopy, red, handlebar mustache all slicked down with grease. He introduced himself as the owner of the pontoon boat and invited us to dive with him and his students. We thanked him but said we didn't want to intrude. Fuzz asked him if he knew of any interesting spots where we could dive and he pointed to a spot not very far away. He said that, before the dam was built and the valley flooded, there had been a town there by the name of Gad, WV. Then he told us a story. It seems that when the Army Corps of Engineers builds a new dam, they usually name the dam, and the lake it forms, after the closest town to the dam site. However, in this case, they only considered the name Gad Dam for about half a second before naming the dam after the next closest town, Summersville. We talked for a while longer and he guzzled a six-pack of Mountain Dew before rolling over the side and sinking into the depths, his fins in his hand.

A bit disconcerted by our new friend's the whirlwind visit, Fuzz and I motored over to the area he had indicated, dropped anchor and fixed a dive flag to the stern. We were both still using DH regs then and our equipment was minimal; regulator, steel 72 with J valve, weight belt, knife, capillary depth gauge and watch. No wetsuits, just cut-off jeans and tee shirts. And all rubber, full-foot fins. Mine were USD Otaries.

The visiblity was around 50 feet and the bottom of the lake was made of a fine, soupy mud that silted up very easily. We leveled off at about forty feet, ten feet above the bottom. At first, we didn't see anything of interest; just a barren bottom with the occasional waterlogged tree trunk. Then, Fuzz pointed and I saw some masonry work sticking up out of the mud. We swam over to take a look.

It turned out to be what looked like the remains of a building's foundation. We cruised around it, checking it out. At the inside of one corner, there was something rusty-looking half buried in the silt. I dug it out and it was the hand-forged head of a mattock. In spite of the rust, it was still solid and in good shape. I stuck it into my weight belt. We were running low on air about then, so we surfaced and got our bearings so we could return to the spot.

After lunch, we swapped our regulators onto the rented tanks, grabbed a couple of mesh potato sacks we used as goody bags and went back to the old foundation. Sifting through the muck inside the foundation, Fuzz found an old girl's bicycle with the front wheel missing and a rusty metal box with a small, brass lock on it. The lock was green with corrosion. He put the box into his bag. Not far from where Fuzz found the box, I found the rusted door from an old pot-bellied stove. When I looked underneath, I saw a small, round black disk that looked like some kind of medal or medallion. I stuck it in my pocket and kept looking. Other a few lumps of coal and some rotted wood, we didn't find anything else. I wanted that stove door, but it was too heavy and our tanks were almost empty. I promised myself I would come back the following weekend to get it. I never did. That dive was my last one of the season and the next summer the whole area was declared off limits to divers.

Back on the boat, Fuzz pried the top off the box. It proved to be a child's jewelry box full of a mixture of mud and corroded toy jewelry that crumbled into pieces when he tried to take it out. He shrugged and dropped the box back over the side.

My "medallion" turned out to be a Liberty silver dollar, dated 1921. I brought it and the mattock head back home and gave the mattock to my dad. He cleaned it up with a polishing wheel and put a new, hickory handle on it. He used that mattock until he died in October of 2000. It is in my garage now. I gave the silver dollar to my mother. She cleaned it and added it to her coin collection. She still has it.

The dive shop owner we met that day became a friend and we dived with him several times over the next few years until he closed his shop and retired from diving for health reasons. Although, because of his weight, he was clumsy and ungainly on land, he was graceful and almost elegant in his movements underwater. He loved to dive and he loved to drink beer. It was difficult to tell which he loved more. He once declared that he was working on a way to dive dive doubles with one tank full of air and the other full of beer. I don't think he was joking.

 

[Tom Holmes]

In 1957, I was serving as a staff member at a Boy Scout camp located at Barton Flats in the mountains of San Bernardino, CA. I had served there the the previous summer where we found a diving helmet that somehow the Scout district had enherited from the military. It had a hand pump and enough weights on the front and back to keep a diver down.

As scouts, we used it in the pool for the entire summer and were actually pretty good at putting it on and off in the pool.

When arriving in 1957 on the very first day, we were greeted by a family that announced that there had been a drowning at Jinks Lake only a few miles from Camp Arataba where we worked. They knew that we had a helmet and in fact had loaded it into their car for transport to the lake to assist in the rescue. Unfortunately until I arrived, no one knew how to use it.

I was asked if I would go and being young and dumb, I agreed.

After getting our gear to the lake shore and wetting the rubber in the pump, I entered the water. Fortunately for me, they were also dragging the lake with a grappling hook. The recovery on the young boy meant that the hook caught him in the jaw. I was only 10 ft from the recovery and the very scary way in which he was recovered. It happened right before my eyes as I witnessed it through the windows of the helmet.

I didn't know it, but that became my first rescue even though I didn't actually recover the body. For years starting in 1960, I was part of many recoveries both during my Air Force association and later with the San Bernardino CA Sheriffs dept.

I can share with you that the helmet recovery stays with me to this day. It was without a doubt the worst recovery experienced.

 

[Tom Holmes]

My first serious regulator was a Sportsways "Waterlung" Navy Unit (Single Hose). I dove with the San Bernardino CA Sheriffs dept from 1960 and it was their regulator of choice. I was 19 and couldn't even be considered a member of the underwater recovery unit. But they were great guys and took me along on non-dept dives.

Moral of story is that SH were alive and well in 1960 which is noted by Ricki II

 

[Paladin]

Single hose regulators are the spawn of Satan and those who use them are his evil minions out to get us all!

 

[Thalassamania]

Here are three from the 1970s:

Monterey, sharks and 3/8" suits

Sharing air at Lobos

Lago de Nicaragua

 

[VooDooGasMan]

Samuel Mather, august 1978

I was in town with my mom and at the elks club, and I just got my tanks filled, we were having lunch there, and a diver seen our tanks in the back of the jeep, and said he new where a new shipwreck was, if we had a boat. Well he did not really know, but when he showed up, to take us to the vacinity, My mother asked how he knew, he said bob smith found it, mom called Mr zebelka, at the marina down the road, and he called bob up for location, or some one he knew. So we took off and found it, being close to shipping lanes, was an easier find. Now this diver, said it was in 55' of water, no it was 155' of water, and the bottom more like 185'. Dan was the divers name, and when the anchor took so much rope, my mom did not like that, and said I could not leave the anchor line once I got down. I had my wreck dive tanks, al 50's doubled up, at 13 years old thats alot of air, and the last time I dove them it was alot of air, of course I pump them ta 3500, there 1973 tanks.

Once down there My light did not glow that far, dans light was brighter, we spent like 5 mins about 10' from line with visibilty of like close to 40', I could not get his attention to come back with my light, and knew I had to go release the anchor line. he slowly faded as he keeped going. the anchor line was not tight so I knew it needed to be released, so I went to the bottom, and boy did I get rapture of the deep. Now the anchor was going up quickly, and as I was leaving this huge wooden ship, it had a mast still on it, and dan was comming up it, I could see his light, as I waved my light to get his attention, he left the mast and was trying to catch me. The motors shut off, and we hung on for a while and slowly came up, when we could see the bottom of the boat, we just hung out with the line, cause of the line on the bow and the waves it would go up and down 3' ta 6'. Once on board, dan had a beer, and ma let me have one also, for I was one of the first divers to dive this old steamer. Me and dan dove it and a few others that month, and dan never come back after that. He was an older fella, probably dead bye now.

Samuel Mather was a great dive for where we lived, it was reachable with our boat. When we did whitefish point wrecks, we would go to the boat ramp at whitefish point.

Now with all the dir divers and there configurations, we had so simular gear also at are prehistoric time. look at my aquarius reg with strap , and then I had the other with a strap for around neck. and this was my wreck dive doubles set up. And since got them out, Here is my mk7 scuba pro set up.

And here is my old royal aquamaster, since I have drug out the vintage regs, I should get new hoses and start diving this thing, with a ser num of 4199.


Happy Diving

 

[Paladin]

I like the Aqua Lung Aquarius. It's my favorite single hose reg. Simple and virtually indestructible. I bought my first one new in 1978 and it has served me flawlessly ever since. I now have three of them.

 

[RickI]

Great stories, please keep them coming.

What follows is a different kind of story, really concept with a request to divers who may have been active shooting still and movie images in the 1970's and before. It deals with irreplaceable, vintage images to go with what may well be vintage, lost coral reefs. Many people I meet, have no idea about what coral reefs looked like less than a few decades in the past. I think this is wrong but potentially fairly easily remedied.

Coral reefs are being changed, degraded in major ways in many areas throughout the world at present. Some have concluded the extensive reefs of healthy corals we saw commonly throughout the 1970's and before are being lost and are likely not to return in the foreseeable future. Vast coverage of healthy, vibrant unblemished reef building corals have often been replaced with extensive coverage of dead colonies with more isolated colonies often showing signs of distress. Algae covers over much of the former living coral suggesting reefs of the future may be algal dominated. Climate change seems to be a major factor in this among other causes. The common lack of awareness today of the former incredible appearance of reefs is startling.

Here is the concept, to create a publicly accessible Internet archive of coral reef images. Images of formerly healthy reefs are fairly abundant in private collections at present. Thing is celluloid and even prints are vulnerable to effects of time. Also, the photographer may appreciate their significance but it is less likely that family members that follow may have the same awareness. It would be necessary to scan in the images (still and movie) of course. Might even video interviews with the photographers about recollections of the reefs and their images for inclusion in the archive. Coral reef researchers and institutions also may possess large quantities of images and documentation to go with which could be a valuable addition.

The primary and most achievable goal would simply be to preserve for public viewing, images of healthy reefs. They would be indexed in a GIS database along with what locational and time specifics could be collected along with credit for the photographer. I think it would be nice to have a short bio for the contributing photographers that would live with their images in perpetuity. You could go a lot further with collecting related documentation and archiving and perserving donated original images. Have spoken briefly with some in regard to this concept at NOAA, Smithsonian, RSMAS, etc. receiving supportive comments. Could make it large and housed at some large recognized institution, which it deserves or start small and just get it done. Need to contact some other existing coral reef databases in this regard tomorrow. Usually prefer the latter approach in most things. This time though, it deserves some in depth coverage I think. We're talking about unprecedented loss of unique resources over vast areas.

Input, ideas?

Rick Iossi
flkitesurfer at hotmail.com

 

[Paladin]

Mid May, 1977.

The weather had been warm for three weeks straight and I was itching to get back in the water after being cooped up all winter. I called my friend Fuzz and we made plans to meet up at the lake the next weekend.

Before sunup that next Saturday, my gear was in the trunk of my Impala, my boat was hitched to the back and I was on the road to Summersville, where I met Fuzz at a restaurant called Po' Farmer's Wharf. Great food and mountain man-sized portions.

By ten o'clock, we had the boat in the water and were loading our gear when several cars pulled into the marina parking lot, followed by a beat up old Dodge pickup pulling a pontoon boat. The driver climbed out of the cab of the truck and we recognized him instantly. Fiery red hair, droopy mustache and carrying around 400 hundred pounds of bulk; it was the dive shop owner and SCUBA instructor we had befriended the previous summer.

"Joe the Walrus" waddled up and shook hands with us, nearly crushing our hands in his bear-like paws. He invited us to dive with his group of students and wouldn't take no for an answer. He clinched the deal by offering free air fills for the day. We agreed and sauntered over to check out his latest batch of new divers as they assembled their gear.

All the gear was being provided by Joe and the regulators were of a type I'd never seen before. They resembled the old USD Aquamatic of the late '50s in form but looked to be better constructed. The group was discussing another student, who was not there yet, when we walked up. One of them said "I wonder if Barney Fife will show up wearing his uniform today?" This piqued my interest. I was a fan of "The Andy Griffith Show" and I knew that Don Knotts, who had played the character Barney Fife, was a native West Virginian and, for a moment, I thought they were talking about some sort of public appearance that I was not aware of.

But this was not the case. The "Barney Fife" they were talking about was just another SCUBA student and they had hung the moniker on him out of derision. It seemed the lad was employed as a hotel security guard and the SCUBA classes had been scheduled immediately prior to his midnight shift at the hotel where he worked and he customarily wore his uniform to class. This, however, was not the sole reason for the nickname. The boy was your typical blowhard and continuously regaled his classmates with his crime fighting exploits.

Fuzz chuckled and opened his mouth as if to say something and I shot him my most menacing "Talk and you die!" look. Fuzz kept quiet. You see, at that time, I was employed as an armed security officer at one of the banks in my home town. The last thing I needed was to be labeled "Barney Fife II" or such like.

Okay. Back to Barney Fife. The boy was also one of those know-it-alls who are forever bragging about themselves and his fellow students had quickly tired of his self-proclaimed mastery of SCUBA lore; this in spite of the fact that it had taken him three times as long as the others to complete his pool work. They ended the discussion by declaring that none of them would consent to be his buddy for the day's open water dives. A few minutes later, a blue and white Ford Grenada with a light bar on top and the word "Security" stenciled on the side pulled into the parking lot. The driver's door opened and a skinny little guy of about five foot four climbed out. Fuzz and I lost it. It was a good five minutes before we could breathe. Sure enough, the kid had showed up wearing his security uniform and, so help me Hannah, he DID look like Barney Fife!

The students grabbed their gear and headed for the boat as fast as they could go. Joe and his assistant had the boat in the water by this time and his students piled on board and signed the buddy sheet. One student, a girl, began looking back toward the parking lot with a look of horror mixed with disgust on her face. It didn't take a mind reader to know that she had drawn the short straw, so to speak.

Joe and his students had to wait while the latecomer went to change his clothes. Fuzz and I escaped to the safety of my Bertolli runabout and the open water of the lake. We waved at the others waiting on the pontoon boat and headed for the rendezvous point. Once there, we dropped anchor and put on our fins, masks and snorkels and dropped over the side to get used to the water (no wetsuits) and pass the time snorkeling until Joe and the rest arrived an hour later.

Once Joe's boat was anchored next to mine, his students listened to his briefing, helped each other gear up and splashed two by two. Barney and the unfortunate girl were the last to drop in. Joe and his assistant checked their gear and rolled over the side and into the water.

Fuzz and I checked our DA Aqua Masters and double checked that our J Valve rods were in the "up" position and dropped over the side. The water was warm and clear with visibility of about 50 feet. Joe's people were over by the cliff and we swam over to join them. I immediately noticed that the girl had joined up with a couple of the other students, leaving her unwanted buddy to go it solo. I looked at Fuzz and he shrugged. We swam over to Barney and motioned to him that we would stay with him.

Things went okay for that first dive and we all got back onto Joe's boat without incident. Joe's man lined all the tanks up and started refilling them. We spent the next hour eating a lunch of Mrs. Joe's chicken salad and tuna salad sandwiches, potato chips and ice cold Pepsis while suffering through Barney Fife's advice as to how we had all been doing it wrong and what we should actually be doing to dive the right way. After lunch, Fuzz and I were the first in the water, just to get away from Barney's motor mouth.

Again, Barney ended up diving solo and, to be perfectly honest, I couldn't have cared less. I wanted nothing more to do with the boy. No doubt Fuzz felt the same. But Fate intervened and Fuzz and I were her targets. We were about thirty feet away when, somehow, Barney lost his regulator. He was holding his breath as he spun and thrashed about looking for it and it was obvious he was about to panic. I knew what was about to happen. I'd seen it before. The boy was going to rocket.

I got over to him as fast as I could and grabbed for his regulator. Just as I grabbed it, he did exactly what I was afraid he was going to do: he shot for the surface, still holding his breath. I grabbed him first by an ankle, then pulled him back toward me until I could get a good hold on his tank valve. He was thrashing violently and completely ignoring the mouthpiece I was trying to cram into his mouth. His eyes were wide with sheer panic and he started hitting me with his fists.

Being as close as I was, I didn't see what he did next. But Fuzz did and he saved my life. Barney had pulled his knife and I have no doubt that if Fuzz hadn't grabbed his wrist I wouldn't be here to tell this.

By this time, Joe had arrived and he rared back and punched Barney Fife in the stomach. Bubbles erupted from the boy's mouth and Joe shoved the mouthpiece into his mouth and pushed the purge button. It took all three of us to hold onto him until he finally calmed down and realized he could breathe. Fuzz and I let go and Joe took him to the surface. I headed for my boat with Fuzz at my side. We climbed back on board, took off our gear, raised anchor and headed back for the marina. For some reason, we were no longer in the mood for diving.

Back at the marina, we left the boat tied to the dock and went into town for a beer. I have never been a drinker and I've never been drunk but, that day I felt I owed Fuzz a cold one. Back at the marina, we found Joe handing out temporary C-cards to his students. We waited off to the side for him to finish because we wanted to give him our regulators to be serviced.

The last in line for a C-card was, you guessed it, Barney Fife. He was obviously expecting to get his card! When he stepped up to Joe, the instructor shook his head. He said "I'm sorry, but you're just not ready. If you want to join my next class, to try again, there's no charge. But if I certify you now, I'd just be signing your death warrant."

Barney let loose a loud torrent of obscenity and threatened to sue Joe if he didn't get his C-card. Joe shrugged and shook his head. I could tell it pained Joe to have to flunk the kid because he loved to teach SCUBA and get more people into the sport. Barney stormed off and climbed into his car. He burned rubber as he left the marina.

Fuzz and I left our regulators with Joe and left. That evening, a sheriff's deputy came to my house and arrested me for the assault and attempted murder of one Barney Fife (I'll not use his real name)! Joe and Fuzz, I learned later, had also been arrested. My parents came to the jail to bail me out and, a couple of weeks later, the three of us had our preliminary hearing. When the judge heard our story, backed up by depositions from Joe's other students, he dismissed the case and ordered our arrests to be cleared from the record.

But Barney Fife wasn't through with Joe yet. He filed a lawsuit against Joe for not issuing him a C-card, which he said was owed to him because he'd paid for it. Joe offered to refund his money but Barney was adamant. He wanted that card. Against Joe's advice, the judge ordered that Joe should give the idiot his C-card. He went on to say that Barney Fife was to never set foot in Joe's shop again, in perpetuity, and that Joe would have absolutely no responsibility for any consequences which might befall Barney when exercising the privileges of said card, also in perpetuity. He had Joe and the boy sign papers to that effect and Joe mailed him his card the next day.

"Barney Fife" drowned later that summer. Joe's enthusiasm for teaching was dampened after that and he was never really the same.