at it, trying to work out from its size what it must have been, it suddenly dawned on me that this was the massive funnel of this 550-foot long ship. When she sank initially it would have jutted out of the deckhouse at right angles. Made of lightweight steel to keep weight down, the funnel would soon have rotted and collapsed to the seabed, crumpled and flattened.
Exploring further I came across a small rectangular opening set in the hull. In full exploration mode, I swam into this opening and found that I was inside a room or space, which went down below the level of the seabed.
There was little of interest in here, but as I turned to ascend towards the bright light of the entranceway, now above me, I saw that there were a few antique looking medicine bottles still part filled but buoyant from the air inside them. The bottles with their mysterious contents seemingly danced in the invisible current of disturbed water from my passing. I wondered when these bottles had floated free to be trapped against the roof – had they been suspended here since World War II.
After leaving this room we pressed further aft. Here we came across another far larger opening into the hull. All three of us swam inside together and moved into the wreck itself heading astern. In the distance I could see a small, bright green rectangular opening and bright green free water outside.
In front of me were the rails of a narrow gauge railway now set one above the other in this on-its-side world. I realised that we were in one of the four-fabled railway lines for the mine trolleys that ran through the entire length of the ship, connecting all the holds throughout it together.
We must have swum for about 100 feet along this corridor in complete darkness, following the rails as they led us astern. As we did, the bright green patch of open seawater at the end of the line got larger and larger. Before long we were each popping out of the corridor cut in the rounded stern of the ship itself. The openings for the three other corridors were all open for inspection here, one of which had guide ropes rigged in it by some serious wreckies.
Richard led us up into shallower water and then guided us back along the length of the ship passing a devastated area where the wreck lost its ship shape - where the explosion had taken place. Very soon we were back at the foremast and moving out along it to find the buoy line to ascend.
Once back on the surface I checked my dive watch, the dive time had been 45 minutes and in that time we had completely circumnavigated the whole 550-foot long wreck. That was a big swim indeed in our heavy cumbersome gear.
As my head broke the surface beside the dive boat, I took off my air tank and willing hands in the Zodiac, eager to get in the water hauled it inboard. Unclipping my weight belt I held it up and it too was grabbed and taken into the boat.
Grabbing hold of the grab line running along the top of the sponson I kicked my feet and propelled myself upwards getting my chest onto the tube like a beached whale. In a rather ungainly fashion, I rolled into the Zodiac and pulled off my mask. Then the three of us exploded into excited chatter about what we had seen and where we had been.
The warm water slowly drained from my wet suit and I started to feel the wind chill. Reaching into my gear bag I pulled out a long cagoule and got that on to get the wind off me. A mug of hot tea was thrust into my hands, which shivered and shook with the cold as the hot tea burned at my numbed and insensitive lips.
This had been my first wreck dive proper and it had been a formative experience. I was turned on there and then to a branch of diving - wreck diving – one that would last me throughout my whole diving career without ever ebbing. The thrill of exploring a relic of a time gone by, preserved underwater and hidden from general view was sensuous.
The second wave of divers splashed into the water and the three of us sat and chatted the next hour away - oblivious to the cold until the other divers returned and we could make the short dash back across Loch Alsh to Kyle. There, I stripped off my wet suit on the pier and got into some warm clothes before a welcome lunch at one of the local cafes. We strolled along to the front of Kyle’s main hotel beside the ferry ramp, which has stunning views out across to Skye. There, a wartime mine and trolley system has been preserved and displayed - a fitting reminder of Kyle’s importance to the Royal Navy as a mine laying base for the Western Approaches during World War II.
That afternoon, six hours later, the second dive of the day would be on Port Napier again. My memories of that dive consist solely of the trouble I had getting on a now freezing wet, wet suit in bare feet on the wet tarmac of an open, wind swept car park above the pier. The wind had picked up since the morning and it had started to rain. The old hands, used to this form of sadomasochism, produced a thermos of hot water, which was poured into the wet suit before you put it on, easing the initial shock.
Whilst wreck diving was it for me from now on, I was realising the limitations of diving in a wet suit in Scotland. Although it was the prevailing way of diving at that time, a new type of diving dress, called a dry suit, was just hitting the shops. The drysuit was essentially a dry bag that had waterproof seals around your neck and wrists. The prospect of diving dry promised warmth both underwater and in dive boats. Until then only a few people had used old ex-Nato attack frogmen black rubber Avon suits - which were usually very easily holed and held together by Isoflex patches.
Dry suits were being very heavily criticised by the diving establishment at the time. The diving magazines were full of articles about how dangerous they were and how ‘real’ divers would never use them. There was also one headline I remember well “Throw the dry-baggers out of BSAC”. But right now standing soaked and cold on a windswept car park on the west coast of Scotland in what seemed like sub zero temperatures, in the driving rain, it seemed the way to go.
I struggled vainly to get the wet, wet suit up my legs. A dry wet suit is far easier to pull on than a wet, wet suit and my tight fitting second skin seemed to have turned into a version of superglue inside. Things were going to have to change.
As the dive boats arrived back at the slip at Kyle after the afternoon dive it was already starting to get dark. The trailers were backed down the slip and each boat was pulled onto its part submerged trailer and strapped down before the car drove forward. Wet suits were gleefully pulled off and warm clothes pulled on. Luke warm day-old tea from thermos flasks was passed around before we loaded up the cars once more and snaked our way back to the Duirinish chalets.
Back at our base, we all piled into our chalets and started cooking up all manner of food in the kitchens. Outside, the air compressor we used for filling air tanks, which we had towed from Ellon, was fired up and empty tanks put in line to be filled one after the other. Whilst this was going on someone, amid the cacophony of sounds, piped up
“Anyone fancy a night dive?”
All sound in the chalet stopped at that. A night dive was something only ever rarely done on our native east coast because of the distance of getting to the coast combined with the difficulties of getting access to the sea. There were often difficult rocks to clamber over in the darkness, fully laden with tanks and weights - as well as the difficulty of finding an exit point and getting back ashore. That coupled with strong local currents, which could sweep divers a long way away, very quickly, all prevailed against local night diving.
“Look,” the voice continued “Ok – so we’re all cold and wet - but we are all here – as is our kit. The slip at the pier would be a great entry point for a shore dive. We could then swim round to the left following the built up side of the roadway towards the harbour. There will be light around from street lamps and we’d know to keep the land on our left side as we go out. Then to come back, we turn around, until everything is on our right hand side - and just come back. Easy enough.” the omniscient voice said brightly.
The prospect of pulling on a cold,
