“See, you’re picking it up. There’s 360, you know, degrees in a full circle. If you knew your exact heading from a chart you could line that up. We know we want to head north-north-west so you can line the lubber line up with north-north-west on the inner ring there. Do that and see where we head.”
Ainsley started turning the wheel bringing the north-north-west point around to the front of the compass, aligning with the line Whitey had showed him. The boat swung around and faced back towards George Town.
Whitey laughed so hard he thought he’d never stop. “That’s the reciprocal brother,” he choked out. “The heading should be on the far side of the compass cos that’s where we’re heading. That’s why it’s called a heading!”
Ainsley swung the wheel back around, glancing at the beach and wondering who was watching him turn around in little circles in his new boat. “Well that’s bogus,” he mumbled.
Finally, they managed to navigate their way to the north-west point of the island and Whitey remembered as best he could a few landmarks on the island to line up their position over the wreck. There’d been two large palms to the east he saw lined up. Once they were aligned, he had Ainsley motor slowly straight for them until the cemetery at the top of Seven Mile Beach lined up with the north-west point of the island.
“Here,” he said. “Where’s your anchor?”
Ainsley looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “They come with one? I’ve only been at a dock so far.”
Whitey shook his head and cussed his friend under his breath. At the rear, tucked behind the engine cover, he saw the metal top of the anchor. Relieved, he grabbed it and was even happier to find it had a decent length of chain attached to a long section of rope. He carried the anchor to the front of the boat and tied the rope into a cleat on the bow.
“Okay, start reversing slowly, I’m going to throw the anchor over, and we’ll hopefully grapple the wreck.”
Ainsley carefully selected reverse and moved the throttle forward lightly and the boat began to reverse, much to his surprise. Whitey dropped the anchor over the bow and began playing out first the chain, which appeared to be about twenty feet long and then the rope. He tried to judge how much rope he was sending over to get an idea when the anchor had gone too far and was on the bottom, but it was hard to judge.
After a few minutes he shouted back to Ainsley, “We missed it. Hold her steady there while I pull the anchor back in.”
Ainsley pulled the throttle back to idle and selected forward on the drive. He gently nudged the throttle forward again until it felt like the boat was holding station against the current that was clearly trying to carry them towards deeper water. Whitey heaved the anchor back aboard and started measuring out the rope by stretching sections across his chest with both hands extended. He knew the human wingspan was close to a person’s height, so he rounded to six foot per section. Adding the twenty-five feet of chain to twelve lengths of rope gave him over ninety feet of line, which he figured ought to grab the railing or the cabin structure, allowing for the trailing angle the line would take. He had Ainsley motor forward again and this time they let the current drift the boat back out. With his measured line tied off on the cleat they drifted and waited. After a few minutes he was sure they’d missed it again until the little boat jerked to a stop.
“We got it!” Ainsley shouted, almost falling over when the anchor bit.
“We got something,” Whitey said with a grin. “Guess I’ll dive down and see if it’s a big boat called the Raptor.”
Chapter 34
November 2019
It was mid-afternoon by the time AJ steered her RIB boat away from the dock and headed north-west. Now, as they finally made their way to the wreck, the atmosphere on the boat was filled with nervous energy. The chatter happened in small bursts, surrounded by bouts of silence, with everyone running through their personal checklists and looking over their gear for the umpteenth time. Carlos, the young Cuban man engaged to Thomas’s sister, wouldn’t be diving, but he sensed the intensity. He had his own concerns, as he would be in charge of the boat and would have the responsibility of making decisions if anyone was blown off the wreck site. AJ loved the tingling sensation and tightness in her stomach that approaching a technical dive brought on. She knew part of it was the unknown, but she didn’t like to think about the part she knew was the danger. After a few scary situations she’d been in over the past couple of years, she’d promised her parents she’d avoid walking into dangerous situations whenever possible. They might consider this one of those situations.
AJ brought the RIB off plane as she slowed on approach to the wreck site. At least her best guess at the site, since she’d been unable to find GPS coordinates for it anywhere.
“Let’s check the gas in the tanks, guys, while I do a lap or two and look at the depth around here, see if I can get a ping off the wreck.”
Thomas produced their Nitrox tester and started at the first green-topped tank down the row stacked in the starboard racks. Each of the other divers joined him to witness the test on the tanks they’d be using. Each tank was tested by slightly opening its valve and blowing a small amount of gas into the receiver of the tester, which would return an oxygen content percentage. Similar to the U-boat dive, AJ had had the tanks custom-filled to 29%. Once the content was confirmed, the diver wrote the percentage on a piece of tape stuck to the tank and then set their dive computer to the corresponding number so its calculations throughout the dive would be based off the accurate breathing gas. The higher oxygen content meant a lower nitrogen content, which was a diver’s nemesis. They were breathing from compressed gas to combat the increasing surrounding water pressure as they descended deeper. If they didn’t, the higher water pressure would crush their lungs smaller and smaller as they went down. The by-product was substantially more molecules of the gas entering their system that their body had to dissipate. After a while the body reached saturation and the nitrogen in the system became dangerous, causing bubbles of gas to circulate in the bloodstream. No-deco time was the way divers referenced that point calculated by their computers during and after the dive.
AJ’s depth finder showed the slope of the reef down to around 140’ before going rapidly off the wall to nearly a thousand feet. Once she’d found the line of the wall, which was also noticeable by the water colour change to a deeper blue, she moved up the slope a bit and ran parallel to that line. It took a couple of passes until she found a spot where the depth pinged 120’ fairly consistently and then changed to 90’ for a small section before returning to 120. Passing back over to verify, she marked the spot in her GPS. It was either a huge coral head or she’d found the wreck. Reg had left her alone while she ran her search pattern but now joined her at the helm.
“Reg, bow’s up slope and pointed towards the shore, right?” she asked quietly.
“Last time I saw her it was. We can only assume she slid backwards on her same path,” he replied, squinting at the shoreline trying to recall some landmarks.
“The depth change was right for its beam, so I think it is,” she confirmed. “I’m going to try and grapple it coming from shallower; maybe we’ll get lucky and hook the bow rail.”
She had turned the boat to face the shore after turning back over what appeared to be the wreck. Now they both watched the depth continue shallower until it jumped 30’ deeper again, which she presumed was the drop from the bow of the wreck to the sea floor. She marked the GPS again and now had two points she could use to make a line along the length of the sunken boat. Trolling about a hundred yards ahead she turned the RIB around and aimed at the two points she’d marked on her GPS. The depth under keel was 80’.
“Let’s try 110’ of line Reg,” she shouted to the big man, who’d moved to the front of the boat. He nodded and began measuring out anchor line to the grappling anchor they’d brought along which had three big, curved prongs rather than the two fatter flukes of a sand anchor.
The boat drifted deeper as they flo
ated while Reg prepared the line. AJ watched her GPS and once Reg waved to indicate he was ready she piloted the boat back into position ahead of the wreck. With a nod from AJ, Reg dropped the anchor and some of the line in the water off the front of the boat, then played out more line as the anchor sank towards the bottom. This way the extra line wouldn’t float uselessly under their boat and get caught in the prop. They could have reversed over the wreck dragging the line behind them off the bow, but it made manoeuvring much more difficult and AJ had decided she’d try this way first.
The GPS showed them passing over the first mark right when Reg had all the line played out. AJ shut the throttles and let the boat drift with the current, which she noted was probably around two knots. Significant, as predicted. Halfway between her two GPS marks the bow dipped suddenly and the boat began rotating around until they were facing the shoreline and no longer moving. The divers all looked at each other with that jolt of nervous energy as the adrenaline was released in their systems. They were hooked on the Raptor.
Chapter 35
June 1974
Whitey sat on the port side as close to the cabin, and more importantly the bow, as he could get. He knew the current would try to rip him away as soon as he got in and he needed to get to the anchor line, tied to a bow cleat. He’d considered stepping over the railing on the bow and jumping in, but it was a long drop and he worried about losing gear with a big impact in the water. He shuffled his rear end close to the edge, had a last look to make sure he had everything, and back-rolled off the boat into the Caribbean Sea. The froth cleared and Whitey could make out the side of the boat and the surface as he clutched his Dive Bright lantern and the oil filter wrench firmly in his left hand and used his right hand to claw at the water and orientate himself. Kicking hard with his fins, he struggled towards the front of the boat in search of the line. The surface current was strong and for a moment he wished he’d explained to Ainsley how to extricate the anchor in case he needed to be picked up if was carried away. A few more long, full leg kicks and he saw the taut rope disappearing into the darker water below; a few more after that and he held the line in his right hand with great relief.
The Soto’s guys had anchored in a sand patch north of the wreck and relied on the group’s ability to swim back to the line. They had a crew and could easily pull anchor to chase divers around if needed, as indeed it had been. Whitey only had Ainsley, who didn’t know the bow from the stern, and would likely run him over if he had to come retrieve him from an open ocean drift. Grappling the wreck seemed a safer plan, but next time he needed to find a better way into the water.
Hand over hand Whitey pulled himself down the line. Almost immediately he could make out the wreck below and realised they’d snagged the railing on the starboard side at the stern of the sunken boat. They’d damn near missed it again but at least he only had to haul himself a third of the length of the boat to the rear of the open cargo hold. When he reached the anchor, caught on the railing, he pulled himself along the starboard side around the edge of the cabin structure which filled the stern section of the boat. With a firm kick he dropped into the void of the empty cargo hold and descended to the engine room door he’d discovered on his dive with Soto’s.
The door opened, but not quite as easily as it had done a month ago and Whitey made a mental note to address that. He checked his depth. Just over one hundred feet. He switched on his lantern and entered the engine room, his light throwing a beam around the crowded space and forming wild shadows across the back wall. With the aid of the lantern, he swiftly found the oil filter on the side of the big diesel engine and set the Dive Bright down, shining on the area he needed to work. It was awkward, hanging over the side of the motor, but his long arms could reach and he was sure his large frame wouldn’t fit any closer. He slipped the strap of the filter wrench over the smooth cylinder of the filter and pulled the strap tight through the adjuster. It took barely a tug on the wrench handle and the filter began to spin on its thread. Oil seeped out as the filter came loose, making inky black trails floating in the water. Whitey hoped they’d successfully drained most of the oil from the motor or it would soon be like the Sea Star in the Gulf of Oman in the small room. The filter came free of its threads and a few small clouds of oil wafted into the darkness beyond the light beam. He removed the strap wrench from the filter and set it down below where he was working; he figured it could stay there until he came back down. Retrieving the lantern, he carefully turned himself around amongst the lines and cables above the engine and gently finned towards the door. It was awkward carrying both the lantern and the slick filter in one hand; he wished he’d brought a bag down with him. He shoved the door farther open from the inside and it dragged as it met sand and silt built up at the edge of the cargo hold. He left it open – he’d be back down shortly.
The swim back to the line was much easier with the current, he just had to make sure he didn’t drop anything, and most importantly, didn’t miss or let go of the line. Once he reached the rear railing, he looped his right arm around the anchor line and let the current ease him up the angled rope, held taut by Ainsley’s cuddy cabin being pulled by the surface waters. Whitey checked his air pressure gauge and his dive watch for his time underwater. He’d only used a thousand psi and been under for fifteen minutes, so he decided to leave the same tank on his rig for the second dive.
Surfacing at the bow of the little SportCraft, he heard Ainsley jump.
“That you Whitey?” came Ainsley’s voice from the cockpit.
“No, it’s King Neptune. Of course it’s me, you plonker. Get up here and take this stuff from me,” Whitey replied with a chuckle.
Ainsley scrambled to the bow of the boat, taking careful steps as the boat rocked lightly under his feet. Whitey handed up the lantern and the filter to Ainsley, who was lying on his stomach in order to reach them.
“What the hell’s that?” Ainsley asked, looking at the filter.
“You’re truly a man’s man, Ainsley,” Whitey said in a serious tone.
“Ain’t I though?” Ainsley answered, a little surprised.
“No,” Whitey replied, shaking his head as he let the current pull him alongside the boat to the swim step.
Chapter 36
November 2019
AJ led the group as they pulled themselves hand over hand down the anchor line. The current held the line taut against the pull of the boat and the tension in the rope could be felt through their bare hands. If the grapple came free now, they’d have four divers hanging on a line trailing behind a loose boat, drifting with the ocean current. It would be a mess. She hoped the prongs had a good hold on the wreck, and furthermore she prayed it was the wreck she’d hooked. If they descended to find she’d stuck a grapple hook in a coral head, she’d be mortified. A few feet farther and her fears subsided. The dark shape of the cargo vessel loomed out of the depths below a large school of young barracuda that seemed oblivious to the current affecting the divers. The top of the cabin structure appeared at about the same time as the bow. Both had lost their hard lines to the coral that grew prolifically in the nutritious waters rushing over the wreck. They were grappled to the side railing on the port side, behind the bow, where the sheet metal dropped and the side was guarded by a handrail. That railing can’t be very secure after forty years of decay in the sea water, AJ thought. As she pulled herself closer, she saw the grapple had snagged the first vertical pole down low which she hoped would be less corroded than the top. The whole centre of the wreck was a gaping cavern where the empty cargo hold had lost any covering it may have had when the boat was unceremoniously scuttled by her crew.
As she reached the railing, AJ scanned the wreck and could see the Raptor was indeed hanging stern over the wall, and at quite a steep angle on the slope to the drop-off. The rusty boat appeared to be clinging to the island by her fingernails. AJ eased into the top of the hold in the lee of the bow, clear of the current, and Reg followed her, looking around. She checked her depth:
a hundred feet; everything worth exploring was deeper. With the angle of the wreck, they’d have to continue deeper to stay in the shelter of the hold. She looked at Reg, his thick beard floating around like a creature attached to his face. His eyes were calm, but he shook his head and tapped his dive watch, clearly thinking the same thing. AJ signalled back that she planned to start towards the stern in the top of the hold and watch the depth as she went. The other two had joined them and, seeing her signals, returned an okay sign. With everyone following, she finned her way towards the cabin structure watching her depth drop steadily despite staying towards the top of the hold. Below them they could make out the floor of the hold, which was now littered with clumps of coral growth and humming with fish life. Ahead, the rear of the hold was still lost in the darkness from the shadows of the sides and the cabin structure, but slowly revealed itself as they continued deeper. At 115’ AJ reached the base of the cabins at the back of the hold. On either side, narrow, steep steps led from the bottom of the hold to the second level of cabins, which were just above them. The angle the wreck sitting on the sloped reef made it hard to judge depth accurately, and they both kept checking their dive computers for reference. AJ rose to the top of the steps on the port side, the structure shielding the current, and came back up to 105’. The door into the structure was covered in growth but she could make out the handle and tried turning it. It didn’t budge at all and she looked around for other options to penetrate the wreck. Reg finned over to the door on the starboard side and tried it with the same result. Thomas hung just above them looking around and taking in the experience. AJ swore she could see his big smile and could hear his joyful chuckle in her mind. She envied his ability to absorb himself so completely in his environment and exude every ounce of elation and wonder in that moment. His positivity emanated into the water and AJ felt the awe and beauty of the old wreck. Hazel must have felt it too as she gave AJ a double okay sign then put her hands together in a sign of gratitude.
Wreck of the Raptor Page 12