CaribSeek Books | Windjammer - The Wreck of the Mairi Bhan | The Adventures of Captain Don by Donal A. Stewart

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Windjammer

Windjammer is the wreck of the Mairi Bhan, a 239-foot bark, built in Scotland in 1874 and sunk off Bonaire in 1912. She was out of Trinidad with a load of tar; her next port of call is unknown. Discovered in 1968, she lies beyond the range of sport diving. These photos were taken by Don with available light at 225 feet. The diver in the inset gives a sense of scale.

"I'm L.A.-certified," he said proudly. "So let's do it!"

I was impressed. Los Angeles County certification was the ultimate from what I'd seen. The roughest-toughest came from that club. Somehow he had heard about the Jammer and wanted me to take him down. I looked at him, thinking of others I had taken and was about to decline. But I changed my mind when I saw the pressure gauge attached to the first stage of his single hose regulator.

"Hey this is great!" I really was impressed now. It was the first of these gadgets I'd seen. At a glance a diver knew exactly how much air was still in his tank. Better than the J-valves that shut you off at anywhere between 25 to 1000 psi.

I knew I had to have that gauge for my visiting divers. Not only didn't we have gauges, we didn't have octopuses either. At least once a month a diver would frantically swim over to me, the whites of his eyes running together like eggs in a skillet, and grab for my regulator. This wasn't fun. I would have to shuck my tank, pull down the J-valve, take a few fast breaths to hyper and give him my regulator, tank and all. Then I'd pat him on the head and split for the surface.

"Okay," I said, prying my eyes from his gauge. "Be here. Tomorrow morning. 0900 hours with a cold tank at 2400 psi." Next morning I was on the breakfast line by 0730. Had a beer and a peanut butter sandwich. Diving the Jammer itself was no big deal, but swimming the 1600 feet to the site was. Snorkeling down, returning at depth. That was a lotta work for a seven- minute dive. Truth was, I never really knew just how much air I had at any given time. This gauge could be my breakthrough.

The truck was loaded and ready to go by 0830 and we drove way off into the boonies. The old truck called for mercy as we fell into the deep, axle-breaking chuck holes along the way. At a small pile of rock I pulled off the road. We could have been at the edge of the moon.

"Is the Jammer out there?" L.A. asked, pointing out to sea. "Sure," I returned, "it's out there just a couple o' thousand feet." "Thousands?" he exclaimed. "Then why're we parking way up here?" I thought I detected a tremor in his voice but ignored it. "This is as close as we can get. Here's the plan."

The cave at Karpata, 116 feet with available light

I dropped down on my knees, cleared the coral rubble aside with my hand and found a clean sand table beneath. Then, with a long coral branch, I drew the dive program out in the sand.

"We enter here, wade in thigh deep and launch yourself into a good-sized wave. Snorkel out to sea until you're over the first shallow drop, turn right; now the waves are at your back. Set your bezel for 17 minutes and enjoy the reef as you go. Don't push it. Save your strength. At exactly 17 minutes you turn around and head into the waves.

"Relax for 2 minutes at least. Hyper-ventilating all the time to build up a good oxygen supply. Then swim down. Mask clear, all gear snug. That's when I practice reciting my little 'pome':

Starkel Starkel little twink,
How the hell I are you thing?
I'm not on inkahol like thinkel
peep I am.
For the sitter I drunk here the
longer I get;
So home me the way to go show.

His mouth gaped as he looked at me, and for some reason I thought he was holding his breath. "OK, you got that? Every diver's got to have his 'pome'. When you think you're getting a little deep, recite the 'pome'. If you stumble on even one word or can't remember how it goes, you're too deep, Pappy. Get your ass out of there now!

"Okay, now here you hang at the edge. Reset your bezel for 7 minutes. Blow out all your air and dive off into space. Keep your lungs empty and you'll drop like a stone. Don't want to waste any of that bottom time.

"The Jammer is lying on her starboard side so you'll hit the port side first, that's 140 feet. Take a few breaths, swim to the edge and look over. You'll see a mast, a lotta wire and the crow's nest. Say your 'pome' and drop off again.

"At 180 feet you will be on the cargo, Trinidadian tar. From there you can admire the entire ship. Recite the 'pome' some more. Turn left, towards the bow and stop to admire the beauty of the bow sprit, a hanging anchor and all that stuff. That's 225 feet." I looked up from my drawing to see if I still had his attention. "Okay?" He nodded and I continued. "Here is not the time to screw up. When that big hand hits the zero on your bezel it's time to go home. Take a long shallow angle up to the right

"Stay against the wall; in about ten minutes you should be at the edge of the drop off, stay there until you see a huge pillar coral. Then turn left and swim until you hit the beach. You're now back to Go."

Silence. Then a scrambling noise in the coral rubble.

"Hey! Where you headin'?" I said to L.A. as he heaved his gear back onto the truck. "What are you doin'? We gotta dive to do."

He turned, leaned back onto the truck, looked at me sadly and said. "I can't go. I don't know any poems."

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