Travel and Verse

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Tag: California

In Memoriam

September 5, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Tragedy in the Channel Islands

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 2nd, 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

Travel Journal, 25

August 8, 2019 / / 0 Comments

Prologue to a Night Dive

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. And the gentle rocking back and forth had lulled me to sleep. 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. The 80-foot Truth listed gently and the diesel engines continued to hum. We boarded last night and shortly thereafter, made our way to the Channel Islands where we would be diving the cold kelp forests of the California coastal islands.

I swung my legs off the upper bunk, trying not to kick my dad in the face. Each step on the wooden ladder creaked under my dirty bare feet. 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 a nearby island. The sun was up and warm, but not hot. Smalls 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.

In fact, I would be going on my first night-dive tonight. And with the two of us indestructible dudes diving together, what could go wrong?

anthony forrest

Read Night Dive, chapter 1 here
Read Night Dive, chapter 2 here

Travel Journal, 24

August 1, 2019 / / 0 Comments
Be sure to check out chapter 1 of this series by clicking here.

Night Dive, chapter 2

Underwater navigation is fairly straightforward. At least, it’s usually straightforward. Our goal for this night-dive was to descend along the anchor line and dive along a wall in one direction. When our tank pressure read the agreed upon psi, we would simply turn around and go back to the anchor line leading to the boat. The boat light suspended right above the water would also assist us in finding our way back.

But we ran into an unexpected current. We decided to end the dive early. The strong current fought us the entire way. So, as we turned around to head back, the same current we had been swimming against tossed us around like underwater windsocks. The flashlights in our hands flicked back and forth announcing our distress to nobody. We straightened up and got our bearings only to discover that we were moving at an incredible rate. Who knew how fast we were going, and how far? I caught my dad’s eye and made the “something’s wrong” hand motion. He agreed. And through further dive signs, we decided to surface. The good news was that the boat light from the Truth was right over head.

Perfect. It was looking like our navigation wasn’t wrong after all.

Each dive should be ended with a “safety stop.” When the diver surfaces, he or she stops the ascent at 15 feet and waits for a few minutes. It’s an extra measure of caution. And as we hovered at 15 feet, something seemed off. The boat light overhead shinned much brighter that I remember. And when my head cleared the black surface into the above-water night, I realized that the boat light was nowhere to be found.

I had seen a blazing full moon the whole time. My heart dropped into my fins. As my dad surfaced, both realized what had happened. The current had dragged out passed the Truth and we missed the anchor line. We looked around wildly for the boat and saw it far in the distance, more than a football field away. And with each passing moment, the current pulled us farther and farther out, into the open ocean.

Our only hope was a drift line that the boat crew threw out after they had apparently realized that there was an unexpected current. At the end of the line was a buoy, but it was still some distance from us.

We did the only thing we could do, swim.

And swim some more.

We finally reached the buoy, and had begun pulling our way back to the Truth. But it was taking forever. We would wear out long before we’d make it back. With my light, I signaled the boat crew that we were in distress. And they were ready. In fact, the crew had a zodiac boat in the water. We were not the only divers having trouble. Several minutes later, our relief arrived.

Back at the Truth, we offloaded our BCs and heaved them onto the deck. Flopping ourselves back onto the boat, we simply groaned. What was supposed to be a fun, adventurous, exciting, and new experience, turned out to be all of those things—with the exception of fun.

But adventure ofttimes comes at a cost. And it’s often only fun when you look back on it. A friend of mine calls that “type 2 fun.” And that night-dive certainly qualifies.

My dad and I sat, still in our wetsuits, dripping onto the deck.

I turned to my dad and said in an only semi-sarcastic tone, “well, it’s no fun unless somebody almost dies.” 

 

anthony forrest

Travel Journal, 23

July 25, 2019 / / 2 Comments

Night Dive, chapter 1

Just off the coast of California lies the Channel Islands. The most popular island in the Californian chain is Catalina. My dad and I had boarded a dive boat, the Truth, the night before. One of the most interesting ways my dad and I can spend time together is through scuba diving. Though I have only been diving for a few years, he has been certified for over 30 years. We were in the middle of our three-day dive trip and things were going swimmingly (forgive the pun). 

After a fantastic steak dinner with all the fixings, a night dive opportunity was announced. Our captain had anchored us against a sheer rock wall that led to a point, then eventually, to open ocean. The sun dipped beneath the horizon, revealing Van Gogh colors on a twilight canvas. But soon, those colors were gone and the night came, accompanied by a raging full moon. On the deck, we hung our buoyancy compensators (BC) on fresh tanks and connected regulators. After testing our equipment, we each tied a glow stick to our gear. I had never done a night dive. My dad had the experience, but it had been over 25 years. Wetsuits on, gear applied, masks over face, we put on our fins, flashlights in hand. One after another, divers waddled to the side of the boat. At my turn, I stood on the edge of the boat and looked down into the opaque water. At night, the ocean does not look like the ocean. It looks like a liquid surface to another world. The surface of the water looks like it could, in fact, be solid; moving, but solid. I held my fingers to the face of my mask and pressed my palm against the regulator in my mouth. With one big step into the nothingness, I fell, gracefully, I might add, deep into the water. Everything disappeared, with the exception of the beam of light protruding from the flashlight in my right hand. I pressed the button on my vest to inflate my BC, and slowly floated to the surface. 

Soon, my dad was in the water as well. Our plan was simple. We would follow the anchor line to the ocean floor, which was about 65 feet below the surface. When we got there, we could look for lobsters, explore, or do whatever we wanted. But we must not get separated. We agreed on this plan at the surface, then began our descent. We followed the 30-degree sloping line to the bottom of the ocean. By this time, I realized that I could see a light. This was a comfort to me. The dive crew on the Truth had told us that a flood light would be hung just above the surface to assist our underwater navigation. Some divers love night diving. They swear that it is simultaneously the most peaceful and the most exciting time to dive. Ocean life that you don’t normally see, comes out for the night life. 

At depth, we began to swim along the wall, seeking out lobsters to fill our game bags. But there were no lobsters. And we both knew why. As soon as we got to the ocean floor at 65 feet, we realized that a massive current was making swimming very difficult. We struggled and kicked against the current for several minutes. I was struggling to maintain heading and control. No lobster in his spiny little mind would be out in this. I turned to my dad and we both seemed to understand what the other was thinking, “we are in over our heads.” I made the motion to turn around and head back. But as we did so, the current pushed us hard in the other direction. Flashlight beams bounced off of rocks and kelp got tangled in our tanks. Any grace we had at the beginning of the dive was now gone. 

We were in for a wild ride. 

anthony forrest

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