Horseshoe and the Sea Hag

Horseshoe and the Sea Hag

This is a partial view of the area while entering the harbor

      One day I got word from Dan Brainard that it was going off in San Pedro. It seemed unlikely that Dan would want to do me any favors. A few years before I was involved with a little scrape with him in Ft Bragg. His “girlfriend' Nora, an attractive local with 4 children, but still young and adventurous I recruited her to drive one of my trucks from Pt. Arena to Ft Bragg. It was my 65 step side International pick-up. I was headquartered in Ft Bragg, so I drove her down and then followed her in my 1960 dually International pick-up. She asked Dan to babysit and we took just a little longer than he expected. Well Dan was fairly angry because he suspected that Nora and I had more of a relationship than just employer- employee, anyway when we returned he confronted me in the bar and I slipped out to my truck avoiding his uncomfortable questions and as I began to take off in my truck he appeared with Nora's brother., they did not appear to be just wanting to exchange pleasantries so I revved the motor and headed in there direction and I swerved away from at the last moment. He was jealous and I figured he would get over it. It was not like I was going to try and take Nora away from him.

           At any rate, after I saw him again he was not too upset. We talked about the incident and shook hands. I was still a bit surprised he would offer such valuable information. I was more than a little skeptical. When he went on “Just a few miles out of the jaws of the breakwater in San Pedro he said..'just jump on anything that floats' I was incredulous....how could that be? , so close to the harbor. After nearly 20 years of diving, I had never heard of sea urchins out in front of the breakwater. I knew the coast from Palo's Verde was worked some and the coast north. I made it there and witnessed a dozen or so boats working out deep and the urchins were fat with yellow roe. This diving area was dangerous, especially on the weekends. The Catalina Express vessels speeding 20 plus knots over around and through the little fleet, were in danger of running over someones hose. There were more than a few of these “accidents” that occurred. They had no idea what a Bravo signal flag meant, and even the red flag with the white diagonal  bar did not slow them down. It is a wonder more divers did not get killed with all the boat traffic that traveled over the fishing grounds named “horseshoe” after the shape of the combined reefs that made up the area.

        Fish Harbor was not my favorite place,though over the years I had worked out of the harbor when San Clemente Island was ripe for the picking. The drive is about 2 hours from Oxnard ...Hi way 1 south through Malibu then jump on the 10 going east of Santa Monica, then 405 south. Passing the San Pedro exits, and over the Vincent Thomas Bridge and you arrive Terminal Island. Terminal Island is not exactly a vacation destination. From the abandon Tuna canneries and bleak run down office buildings to the Federal prison there is a feeling of foreboding. Not a lot of pedestrian traffic, you pretty much had to have a vehicle, because there were no grocery stores and 1 restaurant that doubled as a meeting place for the fishermen and truck drivers that would line up and load up from the rail cars. There were also the drug dealers and other unsavory souls. Parasites that preyed on those same fishermen and truck drivers. The single Bar now since shut down Joe Biffs was a lively affair with pool tables, that attracted a few sailors as well.They served food, but I heard the story of the fly paper above the grill, so my appetite was not so good when I was there.  To top it off If you were not already attracted to the area the stench of the Pet food cannery, on the days the wind was blowing in the right direction just gave me the inspiration to name TI the toilet seat of the West Coast.

      There also was a Coast Guard Station that was the home port of the buoy tender Walnut. I was familiar with the station, since while aboard the USCGC Glacier the lone Icebreaker home ported at Naval Station Long Beach, now since shut down. We had the privilege of using the massive sand blaster that Terminal Island Station had available. Part of a 4 man crew Ist Class TC convinced us this would be fun duty, hauling these massive lockers off the ship and gearing up to sandblast them to clean metal then painting them for reinstalling them on the Glacier. Not too much fun.

        My dislike of Fish harbor was not going to deter me from making some money. My feast and famine existence had been in the famine stage for a little to long so off I went went trolling for a boat.

          I found an old Korean diver. There were a few of them, no nonsense , broken English speaking middle aged, but willing to let me stay on his boat, Sea Hag. It was an old 30 ft something old wooden fishing boat, but sea worthy enough to go 2 miles out. So off we went, and I was amazed at about 70 ft patches of good size urchins eating the bottom growth. We got paid cash as the Korean was happy to to that for us. I lost my bag one day trying to basket too far away. I had given up on the bag when the old Korean said he was a navy diver for the Korean navy and he could find it, and he sure did after several attempts. I got to hand it to that old Korean diver he was tough and persistent, The fleet had a couple of months of work out there , and even some boats from Channel Islands boats started to show up. I am not sure if that area had ever been worked, and I can see why, while on deck I had to wave of several boats racing thru the area.

        I was reunited with the Fuji 3 the last trips I made out to horseshoe. I was also reunited with an old friend. Mike Fair and I had a history but I had not seen much of him in recent years. He was running the boat for Mick who became a Merchant Marine, as I did later on, partly due to his example. He was happy to put me on , as I was familiar with the boat and a little desperate.  He bumped another diver, to my benefit, which happen to me before, and I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I had the scare of my life when I was live boating Mike and a sport boat ran over his hose. I was watching and waiting for him to pop up. It seemed like an eternity as I was practicing what I was going to say to the Coast Guard and all our dive comrades about how Mike drown. Then all the sudden he popped up much to my relief when I motored up to him he said “yay I am still alive”. He took it stride which I would not have.  I would have been been madder than hell at the sport boat. We motored over to the boat and told them what they had caused. Of course they were sorry they always are. Mike was so non-nonchalant about it , but this was the second life-and death episode we had been involved, the first being the sinking of the Fat city 15 years before. Horseshoe was a big shot in the arm for me. However I was about to get a 3 year break from diving and not by choice, but that break ended up being good for my state of mind. Stay tuned.

Adventure in Pt Arena

Pt Arena.

        When I pulled into Pt. Arena an 8 ft set of nearly perfect waves were just rolling in one right after the other. A surfer who I found out later was none other than Michael Fair once close friend of mine, caught a nice one on the south side of the pier and rode it all the way in, classic, there were 25 or 30 boats on moorings outside the pier and a crowd of people on the shore . Surfers and divers. The divers not working because of the huge swell. Some people think underwater would not be affected, but trust me it is. Though if you can find the right kind of bottom, and the urchins in the right place you could work it, but you will be thrown around some, hopefully in the right places.

       I was in my 65 International pick-up with my Alaskan camper in the bed, stocked with food, propane, gasoline and all my dive gear. I got word that it was going off here, so I needed to find a boat.

       Now Pt Arena was a one horse town along the north coast of California, Nothing much going on except logging and fishing, long since past the heyday of those industries. Marijuana growing was big, but not legal. The local young people wanted to get out of town as soon as possible, except now the place was inundated with young southern California divers with lots of money to spend, and they did. The urchin fishery gave that town a big shot in the arm economically.  That little town sure needed it.

       In a day or two the swell came down and the fleet was underway. That night there were 5 tractor trailer refrigerated lined up on the pier, awaiting to load the urchins. As many as 5 to 10 boats waiting, impatient divers and tempers, bags swinging boats clanging ,divers jumping to the ladders and spectators. There were even groupies ...well sort of that's what some of us called them. The local girls hanging out giddy with excitement at all the activity suddenly going on in there boring little town

       I was trying to hustle a boat, I found one right away. The vessel looked OK from a distance out on the mooring, but as I realized this old wooden sinker was not what I had in mind. I picked 1 bag and I was not about to contribute any more weight to this operation. I ended up on the Reefer Star a boat I was familiar with from Channel Islands, and I knew the skipper well, Mike Moore was a good skipper and I made a few trips..but I guess he overbooked and I was kinda bumped off. Well Mike apologized to me, and that was kool.

So I targeted Vince Pulio on the Sea Breeze. Vince said sure, he had Franco but he could work all of us. Well the following day Vince reluctantly told me that Franco was so upset about me joining the crew, that he threatened to quit. He explained that Franco had been with him a long time, blah blah blah. I was livid with anger at Franco and when I saw him, I confronted him..calling every name I could think of and I flicked my cigarette at him. He did not like me anyway, and being on the boat was threatening his position. He did not take the bait and walked away, but I insulted, and disrespected him in front of everybody. I know he was embarrassed.

       Vince Pulio was a short tempered Sicilian, who had a reputation of treating his crew like Capt. Bligh. However he was very successful and a hard worker. He also had a nice east coast style boat, and Franco was messing with my livelihood and I was not going to take that lightly. I guess there was a meeting of the minds, because the next day Mike Moore approaches me and suggested that Franco and I trade boats. Even though I was bumped 1 day off the Reefer Star I was still in the rotation, so to speak. So Franco went to the Reefer Star and I was on the Sea Breeze. Vince said he was so embarrassed and upset he had to tell me no after he already said yes. He made Francos life a living hell for giving him the ultimatum. He also said he was so relieved to get rid of Franco, putting up with his tardiness and other things.

I did well with Vince, he was not too bad to work for, the temper was there but not too bad and I made a lot of money. He also proved he could defend his boat. The tender on the Reefer Star was Jimmy Grant. I knew Jimmy had some dealings with him, but I was not his favorite person after he tended me. He was a good tender, but a little pushy and a aggressive and I was not in the mood for that. Any way the bad blood between me and Franco metastasized when those two started talking and it came to a head one day. I was driving my Truck threw town and Jimmy was behind me tailgating in his 1950 something jalopy. I braked suddenly to get him off my ass and he rear ended me. His radiator was gone , but my truck was fine he hit my huge beefy bumper..he was so mad he took a swing at me and I just got in my truck and bailed.

        Well the next day he was insisting I pay for the damage and I just laughed. “You rear ended me, so its your fault for being to close.” I avoided him because he was a hot head and he was telling everyone that would listen he was going to collect one way or the other. Then out in the moorings one day he sees me on the Seabreeze and jumps on the dinghy and motors up to the boat, yelling like he is going to attack me. He puts one foot one the boat and lets go of the line to the dinghy, sets it adrift. All of a sudden, over my shoulder Vince flies and chest tackles Jimmy who was much larger. Jimmy falls back SLAM on the deck both feet in the air. He was done, he had to wait for someone off the Reefer Star to retrieve the Dinghy, as he sheepishly withdrew. Mike Moore apologized to me again for letting that happen.

       So began the Saga of point Arena. I camped out by the pier for awhile until the cops started hassling us so I found the Rollerville campground, where a bunch of divers had settled in. Known for its night raccoons and grouchy owner. It was a hook-up and a shower so it sufficed while I continued my musical boat escapade. Turns out Vince was getting ready to sell the SeaBreeze so he had made plans to accommodate the prospective buyer with a spot on the boat. It was true I had heard second hand but I will have to give Vince credit , he found me a boat before he let me go.

       The Fuji III was owned by Mick McHenry. I was well acquainted with Mick and the Fuji III, although not this version. The boat was solid aluminum and Mick had inherited it from his father who was an early pioneer. I had worked on the boat when it was 3 feet shorter and had a mid-engine Chrysler marine gas engine that was constantly breaking down.

       There was a huge fish hold and a pipe frame sat on top to accommodate the cargo net. The pilot house was open, except for the canvas cover that kept out the worst of the weather. Tough and sea worthy, the boat sat on blocks for years after Mick quit the business for a few years to pursue more steady consistent employment.

When the urchin business started to become more lucrative, Mick had to resort to hardball tactics to retake ownership of the Fuji III. Jumping a fence and some harsh language were involved, but he retained ownership, then lengthened the boat 3 feet and installed a V-drive, with a Cummins diesel package that Toni Athens installed. Much improved the boat and when I headed up to Fort Bragg where the Fuji III was docked, I felt satisfied that I was taken care of with continued employment.

        Mick was a curly blond headed, blue eyed southern Californian, with enough tough Irishman to complete the package. He could charm the pants off many girls as his daughters grew up to have movie star good looks, to prove that. He married a local fort Bragg girl who came from one of the logging clans in the area and she used to tend for us once in a while, which was in keeping with his family oriented operation. I worked on his boat longer than most, but he was a sporadic worker. I wasn't getting rich but I had a steady boat.

       Mick kept his boat on the mooring in Pt. Arena for a while that summer, but he was nervous about it and we ended up working out of Ft. Bragg at the end of the season. That fall he planned to take the boat back down south, so off we went. He said I could park my truck in his back yard but when I flew back to retrieve it he had locked the gate so I was trapped in. So I just locked up the hubs and 4 X4 right over the top of his old fence and out the bushes till I hit the road. He was not too happy about that , but I was not too happy about getting locked in either. I helped him build a new one the next summer, so his feelings were not too hurt. 
      I went back to Pt Arena towing a 35 ft house trailer and a wife, and a pure bred Golden Retriever. Shadow was able to climb those bull pine trees, when I placed the Frisbee strategically up in the branches, sometimes getting down was a problem.  We ended up at the Manchester KOA, which was a beautiful place about 5 miles north of Pt Arena.  There was an idyllic trail through the wetlands, down to the black sand beach.  Shadow would just barrel through the tall grass and then charge into those 4 ft waves after the Frisbee.  He showed absolutely no fear of those waves and sometimes I would worry about him until I saw his head bob up with his teeth clenched around that Frisbee.
      When winter came that year, my wife Linda did not want to leave.  She had been working at the fish market and was meeting new friends.  I told her the weather would turn and the tourists would leave and the off season would be rainy boring and nothing to do.  I left the big trailer there , since we had a smaller one stored in the trailer park in Buelton.  I did not relish the thought of towing that beast of a heavy trailer back down to Southern California, and this set up was more convenient. Never did make it back to dive after that, just was not in the cards and that new July closure, rendered the northerly migration less desirable.  I think that was by design. Turn the Page.

 

heads i win

Heads I Win

         Upon arrival in Long Beach, the USCGC Glacier was in need of an overhaul. All summer long keeping McMurdo Sound free of ice, took its toll on the aging vessel. This was after taking over the main break-in from the Polar Star. The Polar Star, Flag ship of the polar class Icebreakers, and pride of the fleet. Brand spanking new, Icebreaker. The trouble seemed to be located in the engine room spaces, or more specifically the reversible pitch screws that allowed less strain on the transmission than going in and out of gear, as the Glacier had to do.

      The Glacier now relieved of scientific ops, could now get back to the main work of Ice breaking old school style...that is Back and Ram....Back and Ram 24/7...Intense vibration throughout the ship during Ice Breaking Ops was nerve racking at its best. If you were not already stressed from the 24 hours of daylight. Freezing ass cold temperatures, The ongoing vibration, especially during chow would certainly challenge your reservoir of patience, trying to get those peas from your fork to your mouth, then imagine the frustration with, only a few female scientists aboard to fantasize sexual relations with. When they came aboard in Long Beach they appeared plain, overweight and not too excited about dressing that up with some make-up and a little cleavage. After all 19 years old.. I think I had a consistent hard -on all day. Now they were looking like the Kardasians. Having to navigate around 300 shipmates, some of whom you would rather not see out on deck at night around the equator, had an irritating quality, since you were positive it only took about 50 sailors to operate the vessel.

Even so we were happy and proud to be able to come to the rescue and engage in the operations that the Glacier was designed at built for. State of the art at her christening, in 1957 she was a Glacier class Icebreaker of one. Admiral Richard Byrd ..famous polar explorer and aviator was aboard her maiden voyage and this is the 21^st trip to Antarctica the Glacier has completed.

       As we approached the, dead in the water, in this case fast ice Polar Star, someone authorized the deck force to construct a sign 10x20 feet. When we approached close enough for there deck force to be able to read our sign we raised it on the flight deck and the message was clear. FOLLOW US......IF YOU CAN...........We could see the crew scrambling around on the flight deck like there was a mutiny.

     

As we were passing them, there deck-force managed a sign of there own “ONE MORE BEFORE THE GRAVEYARD”

The overhaul the Glacier would undergo would take place at Todd Shipyard. San Pedro. Since been shut down. Living on the ship as I was, we were required to stand fire watches on board . That consists of 4 boring hours watching a union welder in a tiny little claustrophobic space. It sucked. Life aboard ship in the yard is miserable. Hot, noisy, filthy. Union shipyard workers taking a siesta in our rec room. It was a relief when Master Chief Petty Officer Biel announced they needed a seaman to send up to the Small Boat Station Channel Island Harbor 50 miles north. Only 2 of us stepped forward . So the chief decided the decision will be made, with a coin flip.

I called Heads I win, and I sure did. Looking back sometimes I think of how different my life would have been if I had of lost that coin toss.

       During my tour of duty at Channel Islands Harbor. I was a deckhand on the 41ft Search and Rescue boats. We had towed in a couple of urchin boats, so I was familiar with some of the divers.

Back in those days, it was not too difficult to get the Coast Guard to give you a tow in. As far as me and the other guys were concerned, we did not mind at all. I t was the fun part , doing the rescues. Anything to get off the base for a couple hours. It was not uncommon for an amateur boater to run out of fuel, then call the Coast Guard.

      It was kind of a joke really.....Mick McHenry Fuji 3 denied he ever said this, but considering that his boat was towed in by the Coast Guard more times than any other vessel, in that period. ( Before the conversion to diesel v drive and the 3 ft length added on, he had a crysllar gas) I was on the 41 footer motoring in the harbor...I noticed there was an urchin boat slightly ahead of us...one of the passengers yelled something about meeting him at San Miguel Island, for a tow. I wont get into the details, but it was obviously a joke, but it did reflect the attitudes of the time. Last I heard Mick is a 2^nd mate now,     Sailors Union of the Pacific/US Merchant Marines

       President Ronald Reagan put a stop to the practice of Coast Guard vessels engaging in “rescue” operations that were less than an emergency. No way was he going to let the government compete with private enterprise. So he instituted policy that prohibited the Coast Guard from providing services to boaters unless property or lives were in immediate danger. This new policy allowed for private tow companies like Vessel Assist and Sea Tow room to operate.

      As I got acclimated to the local culture, I soon found out about a weekly softball game between Drifters Reef, which was a local dive/biker bar a couple of blocks down from the base, and the Rudder Room another dive bar located on the other side of the Harbor entrance. Turns out there was a scattering of urchin divers that participated in those softball games.

       I was due to be discharged in a few months, and I would rather remain in Southern California after my discharge. So I needed some employment"ASAP”
      The softball game is played at the elementary school and I overhear a conversation that interested me because it was about quitting a sea urchin boat.  I asked about the boat because I assumed they would be needing another diver so I actually got the phone number and called. Wallah  I am in !!!

    

Gary Wolloman pulled up at the fuel dock in the Sundown, a beautiful 27ft Farrallon The first one built for commercial I was told. She was brand new shiny white hull and gleaming chrome fittings and railings. We agreed to meet there that Saturday and I was excited. Gary was a very soft spoken gentlemen. He was also a professional. He was actually an officer in the Army. He was so mellow he never yelled and I rarely seen him very angry. A good guy to learn from. So off we went down the coast to Leo Carillo . .

I must of lost my wetsuit hood, but I did not think I would need it. These waters seemed almost tropical to me, since I broke in under the chilly waters of Puget Sound. Gary just laughed and said I could use his. I fumbled around down there with the gaff hook Gary used with the handle cut short and the sharp end filed down I filled the inner tube to float the net bag and then I grabbed the line hanging underneath for an assist up. Well I pulled too hard and the barrel knot was loose so all the urchins I just picked came falling down on top of me on there way back to the bottom.

        I was AWOL from the base that day because I was on restriction for some minor infraction. I returned that evening, just in time to hear over the PA "Seaman Thomas Please report to the OOD's office immediately!" The C0 ordered me to explain my whereabouts the last hour they had been looking for me. 'I was in my bunk and I could not hear the PA that well from there. I was taking a chance they had not actually checked my bunk, and I was right they had not. So I got away with it....YES I made 86 bucks that first day and I was happy with that.

  Everything just lined up, and I was in the right place at the right time and took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself, along with a little luck, and I was off and running Commercial sea Urchin Diver Southern California.  Eat your hearts out all you doubters.  Ha Ha

Decompression Diving

Decompression Diving

      Commercial sea urchin diving in California, in the early years was risky, competitive, and one hell of a good time when it was not miserable The urchins were plentiful at the shallower depths, so mostly divers stayed within the dive time limits, that would keep them from having to decompress at a slower rate than 60 feet a minute, which was considered the universal standard for a safe ascent, and no decompression required, while ascending to the surface.

       Rule of thumb for bottom time limits to stay in a “no decompression profile. 60 ft for 60 minutes, 70 feet for 50 minutes, 80 ft for 40 minutes, and so on. These times were valid On the first dive of the day, after that each successive dive would allow less and less bottom time. The formula to compute those times was taught in just about every basic scuba class. There were fancy slide rule like contraptions, that aided the diver to compute those times.

       It is interesting to note that decompression sickness first became a problem during the time of the construction of the Brooklyn bridge. Workers began coming down with paralysis pain and much of the symptoms associated with Decompression sickness. Workers were located under the riverbed, after the construction allowed air to be trapped for there use. However it was compressed air at depth. The partial pressure of nitrogen in the air was increased at depth and thus if the body was not allowed to dispose of the increased nitrogen , bubbles of the nitrogen would form in the body with devastating consequences as with deep sea divers.

       By this time the urchin business was maturing to a point where a decompression meter was available, for those who would rather not have to do all that math. The model available for most all divers was basically a gauge with a dial face and a needle that rotated threw a graph measuring the bottom times and decompression “hang off “ times required, if the no decompression times were exceeded. Inside the gauge was a bag that filled up as nitrogen levels were increased,as the needle reflected that.

       This equipment was really targeting sport divers. It was not meant for repetitive dives and said so right on the gauge It did , however make commercial sea urchin divers a little more comfortable .

       As far as I utilized the added assurance of the decompression meter, which by the way had to be re calibrated from time to time, at almost half the cost of the meter new, it was just an added safety feature that I would use in situations where I ran into a hot spot at near the end of my bottom time limits. I would go ahead and finish off filling my net bag and then slowly surface being careful to remain underneath my bag as I swam back to the boat and then maybe go hang off on the anchor line at ten feet as required for a few minutes, or until I was out of the red , as the meter indicated.

After I survived the sinking of the Fat City, I was able to land a spot on the Dusky. Now the owner Tom Craiger was a no nonsense very successful fisherman. He generally switched to the fishery that was the most profitable at any given time...some of those were also seasonal. In the summertime he would gear up for Albacore, and the divers had to find a boat since urchins were a year round fishery. He ran a tight ship, midnight to midnight to San Nicolas Island about 60 miles due south of Channel Island harbor. Only a 12 knot boat, she was 40 something ft well maintained. He was in direct competition with Mike Milman on the Triggerfish. A Highline Fisherman in his own right. Mike had invited Tom up from LA and allowed him to duplicate his operation. Depart at midnight, arrive at sunup

after coffee and breakfast was served to 3 divers. This was so the surveyor could be suited up and ready to splash in the water as soon as the boat settled in the kelp beds. It was a crap shoot when to head home, because if we arrived behind more than a couple boats, by the time we got unloaded, we would not arrive at the island until almost noon. That would screw up the schedule for the rest of the week and cut into Toms precious bottom line.

        Along with this operation was the culture and the attitude, cultivated by none other than Ron Rector, at the encouragement of none other than Tom Craiger. Somehow they got it into there greedy little heads that it would be perfectly profitable...I mean safe to push those decompression meters beyond any reasonable limits that they were not designed for.

       First jump 90 minutes at 60 ft. Hang off 10 ft 20 minutes. Deck time barely over an hour. Second jump another 10 ft hang off 25 minutes. An hour and a half deck time. Third jump 30 minute hang off at 10 ft. Hanging off the anchor line was miserable. If you were not cold enough from the dive, hanging off and not active would remind you of where you were. Cold Ass San Nicolas Island in the middle of the winter.

I was not too keen on maintaining this routine, even though I was making some real money. I went along to get along, not yet experienced enough to object to Toms antics on deck, as he was so impatient for us to get back in the water, it reminded me of a kid about to erupt in a temper tantrum.

      I had met Ron Rector once before about 5 years previous. I was interested in the Sorcerer, that was for sale and I maintained I was interested. The 30 ft Radon had a cabin that was a pilot house for one. Interesting design. Lief the owner suggested we make a trip and I could see for myself how the boat operated. The morning of our voyage, a long haired kid,only a few years younger than me showed up and I was introduced as the half owner of the Sorcerer. OK no problem, Ron would not shut up the whole way out. He was trying to impress me how good of a diver he was and that he was also a cocaine dealer with customers that included some of the Hollywood elite. I could care less, even if he was telling the truth, which I had my doubts.

        We got in really shallow to some wash rocks that were just plugged with big heavy urchins. the swell was throwing me around pretty good, but I did not care. I ended up with about a ton. After all that bluster Ron did not even get in the water.

So as you might expect I was not really anticipating having to witness Ron having his nose buried so far up Tom Craigers ass

it made me sick. There combined knowledge and experience insisted that , “fudging the meter would do no harm since a safety factor error of 5% was built into those meters...blah blah blah blah blah.

        I mostly accepted my situation since I was making some healthy bank, until one day on the way in, I started having some pain in my knee. Oh I must have bumped it on a reef or against the boat..I thought. Not to be, the pain would not go away and it was getting worse. I knew I was bent. I was surprised because our last jump was only in about 40 ft of water. I had so much nitrogen built up in me, even a 40 ft dive put me over the edge I must of got a little careless on my final ascent, anxious to get home.

I tried to sleep when I got home...No freakin way. The throbbing deep down pain, would not stop. Finally I called my brother who had made his way down here from Washington for a short visit. He stayed a year, but he had a car. I knew the CB base in Port Hueneme had a recompression chamber, because I did my discharge physical there and I took note of it. The stories I had heard..the next closest one was in Northridge, more than an hour away. My brother drove me to the guard shack on the base entrance. At first they were not going to let me in, since I was no longer active duty. But Matt started screaming 'HES DYEING” That did the trick, I was in.

        When I approached the chamber there were 3 or 4 Navy personal standing around getting coffeecup finger. I explained to them, about the fourth day on the profile I was maintaining. They did not hesitate. they pressurized the chamber to 120 ft and began slowly to bring me up. I was kept company and fed oxygen every 20 minutes or so. They gave me all the water I could stand. Then encouraged me to urinate as much as possible. Something about a good indicator, After about 8 hours in that tiny chamber I was more than ready to escape. They kept asking about my pain level. I finally had to lie just to get the hell out of there.

       I reported for duty aboard the Dusky the following day. I ruefully continued the same routine, and even agreed with Tom that it is probably the best thing for my injury, to carry on diving. I believe a week or 2 went by. Tom decided to give one of his pep talks. Like a football coach he would attempt to motivate us to do well and have a “Bonanza season” This time though he encouraged all of us to give input. He said he felt that it was important for his crew to feel part of a team and having a say in the operation would support that, and go a long way in creating the success he expected to have. So each diver said a few words, Nothing earth shattering, really just to humor Tom. I declined to give any input. Inside I knew if I got started he may not like what I would say, so I just kept silent. After he would not quit with the input thing, I explained to him that , it could get ugly if I said anything. Finally I relented....I dont think anyone has ever talked to him like that before. ON his face was utter shock and surprise. He kept on me so I finally agreed. I dressed him down and tore him up as only I can do. I shamed him for his juvenile behavior, I was merciless in my verbal attack. He finally asked me if I was finished. When I said I was he immediately ordered me to remove all my gear off the boat when we got in. I said I did not have my car and I could pick up my gear later. He would have none of that....He would drive me home, and he did in complete silence.

        I probably should not have blamed him for, me getting bent. I should have stood my ground when I was taking extra deck time, so I would have more bottom time. He would just stomp around the deck, and suggest he take a nap while waiting for me to get in the water. As if that wait would be so long to justify a nap.

       I survived the experience a little wiser and more determined to not allow outside influence to determine the safety protocols I practiced. The boat owner sure as hell would not pay for my medical treatment. 
      A few years later I was having a few too many at the Beachcomber.  A tiny little dive bar at the far end of Silver Strand Beach.  I suddenly found myself being approached by hillbilly looking guy with long hair and a straggly beard.  He asked me if I remembered him.  I did not and then he informed me that spending 8 hours together in a tiny little re compression chamber should leave an indelible memory, as it did with him.  I apologized and referred to his appearance being slightly different than when we first met.  He then told me he had worked there for about 3 years and of all the divers they treated, I was the only one they KNEW beyond any doubt that I was bent.  Most all the others was a precautionary treatment...just in case.  I was rather pleased with myself, hearing that and I said my farewell as I headed out to the beach to check out the surf

       As it was they came out with a state of the art dive computer that left little doubt of its accuracy and reliability.  It ended the controversy surrounding decompression diving with the old Bendo matic.  Funny thing is, the fleet did not adopt that decompression hang off routine, even with the new dive computers. I noted that a diver breaths more nitrogen off on deck than he does at 10 feet,  So as far as I was concerned, it made no real sense to push the limits and endanger your life and health for not even that much more bottom time.

      Later some boats went with Nitrox gas mixes...but thats another story