Authors Note: This story is about the recovery of two portholes back in the early 80's. Almost 30 years ago. Before you condemn me for being insane, or some type of diving miscreant, you've got to remember, diving was different back then. Gear was different. Dive computers, not invented yet. SPG's (submersible pressure gages), not in use. My tank had a "K" valve, when it got hard to breath off the tank you reached behind you and pulled a lever which gave you a reserve bit of air, if you were lucky, another 300 psi or so. I had a horse collar BC with a CO2 cartridge attached to it. We attempted to follow the Navy tables which weren't even close to conservative.
Since I set up my brass restoration shop in the basement this winter, I've been re-polishing stuff I've collected over the last 30 years or so. These two portholes are examples. I recovered the three piece porthole ( with the storm cover) off the Horatio Hall. Although, recover isn't quite correct. We were the first divers to ever explore this wreck, and back then stuff was just laying around. I found this porthole just sitting in the sand, not attached to anything. The storm cover was bent nearly at a 90 degree angle. Several divers commented that they saw it and passed it by because it was twisted so bad. With a lot of work, I bent the storm cover back into shape, sadly, snapping one of the attachment arms completely off. I had a friend weld it back in place for 50 bucks. If you look closely you can see the weld.
The other porthole I recovered from the Aransas. I was dive mastering on the charter boat Peter used to run. I spotted it on the starboard side of the wreck adjacent to the boilers, amidships. Thinking that I could remove about half the bolts on this dive, I set to work. Things were progressing nicely, I was starting to think I could get this removed on one dive. I just got to the last bolt when I felt the first bit of breathing resistance. I had to abandon the job with only one bolt remaining. I gathered up the tools and made the 150 foot swim back to the anchor line. Now I'm on the reserve air, with less than 300 psi. I disconnect the hook from the wreck and with 30 pounds of anchor and chain I'm dragging it as fast as I can away from the wreck so the hook won't reset into wreckage. We still have to relocate the boat to the Pendleton. All the while, it's getting harder and harder to get air out of the tank. The tank finally goes dry, I'm not going to get the hook clear. All I can do is toss it a few feet and hope that somehow it doesn't re-hook itself as the current and wind drag the boat.
I'm easily over an hour of bottom time in 56 feet of water. By today's standards I'd be well into decompression. As I rocket up the line, with the decreasing pressure I can get tiny little sips of air out of the tank. With no safety stop, I don't think we did those back then, I board the boat. The Captain is glaring at me. He's upset I spent so much time on the bottom. He likes to get the boat over to the next dive site before the current picks up. That's not happening today. I watch him as he's pulling up the line and notice it's not coming up. Even with engine power he can't dislodge the hook. Now he's pissed, no words are spoken between the two of us in front of the customers, but I know I'm going to be hearing about this for a long time to come.
The hook is hopelessly caught in the wreck. I have to change tanks and go back down to free it. When I get to the bottom, I forget all about how mad the Captain is when I see the hook is only a few feet from my porthole. And, I still had my tools with me, which I had accidentally brought down. I had to get it, I couldn't leave it there with only one bolt left. I pop the porthole free, and dragging a 20 pound porthole in one hand and 30 pounds of grapnel and chain in the other I haul all of it clear of the wreck.
This second dive lasts about 15 minutes and the Captain is absolutely ready to kill me. Smoke is billowing from both ears and fire shooting out from his eye sockets. I had never mentioned why I was so late in the first place, all our communication to that point being nonverbal. I will never forget the look on his face when I hand up the porthole, a roll of the eyes, a head shake and a demonic smile. I'm surprised he didn't throw it back into the ocean.
With all the winter storms, I bet sections of these ships have been exposed revealing a treasure trove of artifacts.
Come recover them with me if you dare.
But, don't catch the dreaded Brass Fever from me. It's incurable.
~j~
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Previous 2009 Dive Stories can be viewed on the Newsletter Pages
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