In Memoriam

My stomach dropped as my thumb scrolled over the screen on my phone. I read in horror about the 75-foot dive boat, the Conception, which caught fire and consequently sank to the bottom of the ocean. At first, details were sparse. But over the course of 2 days, clearer and clearer information was revealed. California and scuba diving communities throughout the US were shocked to hear 34 of the 39 passengers and crew members had died in the tragic accident that occurred September 2^nd, 2019. On the ocean floor in the Channel Islands lies the remains of the Conception.

The Channel Islands off the coast of California are wild and windblown. Cold water and ethereal kelp forests make for a very unique diving experience. The Channel Islands are not a convenient place to visit. They are out of the way and nearly inaccessible. And maybe that’s what draws us. A couple of years ago my dad and I dove the Islands. We boarded the Truth—sister ship to the Conception. Truth Aquatics hosts many live-aboard dive experiences a year. There’s just something about being aboard a ship in a rural area.

We dragged our gear onto the deck as the sun set the distance. Each passenger boarded that evening and settled in for the three-day excursion. We hung around on the deck, excitedly. Everybody eyed each other’s gear and chatted about the upcoming dives. It may be cold in other areas of the country, but in Santa Barbara California, the sun always shines. Although it is a little cool, it’s still my kind of weather, shorts and a sweatshirt.

I can imagine what was going through the minds of the victims the night before the Conception caught fire. I laid there and excitedly waited for sleep to come as I thought about diving that beautiful piece of ocean. The waves rocked me to sleep and the gentle hum of the diesel engine lulled my mind into unconsciousness.

Before I opened my eyes to see my surroundings, I could hear and feel and smell my whereabouts. My sleeping bag was wrapped tight around my neck and shoulders. The three-inch pad on which I slept the night before provided shocking amounts of comfort. When we boarded the Truth, my dad said that we needed to pick out bunks close to the front of the boat. Not only would the boat’s listing and swaying feel gentler, but the nearby engine compartment would give off a drone that would muffle all other sound.

And he was not wrong.

From above, smells of coffee and bacon floated down the hatch. I opened my eyes and saw the California sunshine peeking into the boat. My watch read 6:30 a.m. I could tell that others were up and moving about. And from someplace, I heard music. The 69-foot Truth listed gently and the diesel engines continued to hum.

I swung my legs off the upper bunk, trying not to kick my dad in the face. Each step on the wooden stairs creaked under my dirty bare feet. As I climbed stairs to the top deck, the music wove into focus. The Red Hot Chili Peppers were singing about the various subcultures of a Southern California lifestyle. On the counter by the stereo sat a boxed-set CD anthology. Topside, I was met with smiling faces of neo-hippy dive masters and deck hands. They live for this.

“Coffee?” asked a 20-something with blonde dreadlocks.

“My people,” I thought.

I wrote my name with a dry erase marker onto an aluminum mug. Taking a sip, I looked out at the nearby Santa Cruz island. The sun was up and warm, but not hot. Small ocean swells promised lovely diving. And misting saltwater somehow made the black coffee taste even better. We would be diving for two days, all day. The crew of the Truth knew how to give their divers a good time.

Coffee anytime.

Tons of food.

Comfy bunks.

Hot showers.

Gear setup.

And bottomless tanks of all the air you could breathe.

This was going to be incredible. My dad had roused and breakfast was getting under way. This was the life. We love to dive together. We know how each other thinks and we are very comfortable as dive partners. We love the adventure. And we love the ocean.

The dive community is tight-knit and comes together for two things, for love of the ocean and to experience it together.

Nobody expects the worst to happen.

Nobody expects a fire to break out aboard your ship at 3 AM.

All the safety measures in the world can’t fight against unforeseen tragedy.

Because bad things happen.

The best we can do is to pray for the families, support the community, and remember the lost souls that sank that terrible night aboard the dive ship Conception.

Rest in peace, fellow lovers of the ocean.

anthony forrest