It was paradise, plain and simple. My family and I were vacationing in the U.S. Virgin Islands, St. Thomas to be specific. I was probably 11 which would have made my brother 13. The place was absolutely beautiful. Lush tropical vegetation, plenty of hills, cerulean waters. Our hotel was situated so that it afforded a spectacular view of the bay. My brother, Chad, and I were just old enough for our parents to be comfortable giving us a little independence.
One morning my family and I took the puddle jumper over to St. John, which is part of the British Virgin Islands. It was just different enough to be funky. Different money, driving on the opposite side of the road, etc. We rented mopeds and tooled around the island all morning. My dad and I crashed and my mom lost her key, but all in all, it was a lovely day.
That afternoon, we hopped a ferry to Tortola, another of the British isles. As we strolled along the beachfront, we decided we couldn’t pass up the opportunity to snorkel in the impossibly blue water. Right at that moment, a man popped his head out of a doorway and asked, “Hey, you guys wanna go scuba diving?” His name was Rick and he was straight out of Woodstock. Curly, sun bleached blond hair, too small Speedo, flip-flops, sun glasses, and a really nice tan. We immediately accepted figuring that if snorkeling was good, scuba diving would be better. Rick escorted us into his shop where he and another equally hippie fellow began the process of outfitting us with scuba gear.
Scuba diving is not a particularly difficult sport, but it does require a certain grasp of the physics involved. Basically, air volume gets smaller under pressure and expands when the pressure lessens. If you hold your breath while you ascend, your lungs will explode. Of course, there are several ways to die while scuba diving, which is doubtlessly one of the reasons it requires a license. In 1982 you couldn’t get that license until you were 14. To Rick, however, these were minor setbacks. In place of a certification class, we watched a 30 minute video from which we gleaned the fundamentals: Never hold your breath and don’t come up too fast. This was very much a “you get the picture” type of thing. With these new pearls of wisdom fresh in our minds, we grabbed our gear, hopped onto Rick’s boat and set off.
On our way to our destination, we made a quick stop by Salt Island, a tiny slip of land with a shack and a picnic table next to the pier. My brother asked Rick, “What’s on Salt Island?” Rick answered, “You’re looking at it, pal.” Now I can’t be certain, but looking back, I’d be willing to bet some contraband may have exchanged hands.
After that, we proceeded to our dive site. At the time, I had no idea that we were bound for one of the world’s premier shipwrecks, the R.M.S. Rhone. You may know this wreck from the movie The Deep. It’s where all the underwater scenes were shot and where Lou Gossett, Jr. has his unfortunate encounter with a large green moray eel. However, you boys are more likely to remember Jacquelyn Bissett’s sheer wet t-shirt as she’s coming out of the water.
With Rick’s help, we donned our gear. It’s hot and heavy, there’s a lot of it and you need every single bit. We aired up our buoyancy compensating devices and made the big splash. As we followed the buoy line down to the big shipwreck, I began to realize we were in a completely different world. The water was so clear, you could see for 100 feet or more. There was no current, nothing to disrupt the serenity of the experience. I was enrapt. The shipwreck was situated upright on the bottom offering a spectacular glimpse of how she had appeared in life. It will sound trite to refer to it as a watery grave, but that’s exactly how it seemed. The Rhone was lost during a storm, so there was virtually no damage to the structure of the ship. Her guns were still mounted on the deck, her mast was still intact, even the crow’s nest was still in place.
I spent my first open water dive in 80 feet of water exploring this magnificent spectacle. I was weightless, completely self-contained. There was no sound except that of our breathing, which sounds rather like Darth Vader, incidentally. We explored the Rhone from bow to stern and even penetrated a few feet below decks. So many amazing creatures had made the ship their home. Her surface was entirely covered with sponges and coral. The resident fish seemed oblivious to us, even the big barracuda hanging out at the crow’s nest.
These days, my parents and I take dive trips at least once a year. We see amazing things with each excursion into the ocean’s depths. I am every bit as comfortable at 100 feet deep as I am at sea level. I am also an amateur underwater photographer. Looking back, I would have loved to have had a camera with me on the Rhone.
My brother, however, never developed the zeal for diving that we did. Even in casual conversation, the subject of scuba diving elicits such disparate responses. A person is either dying to try it or the very idea freaks them out.
To this day, diving is one of my very favorite things. I am now a Master Scuba Diver with certifications in Rescue Diving, Search and Recovery, Compass Navigation, Reef Fish Identification, and of course, Wreck Diving.
