I took a little time off to head south to Bonaire for some diving in early December 2009. Here is a little video montage of our trip around the island. It was all shore diving, and I got in 21 dives, 2 of which were night dives. We had a real blast and really look forward to returning to the Dutch Antilles.

The Captain goes Equatorial in Bonaire Dec 2009 from Tortuga Charters on Vimeo.

Have you ever heard the expression: “the lower the latitude, the better the attitude”? Or maybe listened to the Buffett song “Changes in Latitude, Changes is Attitude“?

On a recent dive trip to the island of Bonaire organized by dive traveler extraordinaire Lauren Hermley, I discovered first hand what those expressions mean. It was the third day of the trip, Wednesday, and I had plans to meet up with the group around 8:30 to dive the island’s signature wreck, the Hilma Hooker. We had decided to make that dive a first of the day due to fact that she rests on her side in 100′ of water. My wonderful wife Jan, decided to sit this one out, preferring to keep her dives above 80′.

Earlier in the week on Monday, we discovered a local breakfast sandwich called a tosti at the City Cafe on the waterfront in Kralendijk. The tosti comes in several configurations, but basically is a grilled ham and cheese sandwich with a fried egg on top and eaten with fork and knife. I got mine with tomato, of course. We joined another couple in the group, Chris and Leslie, and we were served by an attractive and friendly young Colombian woman who provided great service and we were fed and on our way in less than 30 minutes.

Our plan before meeting the group was to take the short walk along the harbor down to the City Cafe and grab a tosti and a cup of java. We seated ourselves and after a longer than normal period were greeted by a tall, blond, apparently Dutch woman who asked if we wanted to order. Her stature was rigid and straight, her demeanor was stern and devoid of pleasantry. Adorned in leather and with whip in hand, she would be the model dominatrix.

“What would you like?” she asked in english that was obviously limited. I said the we would like an american coffee and a tosti. “We don’t have american today” she replied without a smile. We agreed to be served any coffee she was willing to bring. By the time the coffee and tosti finally came, it was 8:20 and Jan suggested that we ask to make them “take away”. I wanted to eat there, so we did. After we finished, and with a bit of an effort to get the bill and pay it, we were on our way back to the apartment at 8:40.

We were greeted with with a note stuck in the tailgate of our truck informing us that the group had left for the dive on the Hooker (yes all possible jokes were made referring to the wreck’s name). I was a little disappointed, I really wanted to do that dive, and Jan felt bad I had missed it, but hell, we were in Bonaire so really there we no worries. I knew that we couldn’t catch them, so we decided to go in the opposite direction to the north to dive, knowing the group planned on doing a second dive at Captain Don’s habitat and then have lunch. We would get a dive in close by and then catch up with them for number two.

We worked our way north along the narrow road searching for a suitable dive site. The further away you get from from the center of the island and the protection of the small island of Klein Bonaire, the more the surge of the sea can affect the entry and exit of the dive. Our first stop to look was at the site called Jeff Davis. We inspected the entry and found a very rough ledge that required handing down equipment. Not a chance, and we heading further north and began to ascend in elevation and the water was further and further above the road.

The view from the top of the dive site 1000 Steps

The next site we came to was aptly named 1000 Steps. I am not going to waste any keystrokes in explaining why we moved on to the next site. It was easily agreed between the two of us it was a no-brainer. On monday we did a dive called Karpata. There was a large cement slab that made it easy to negotiate the surge, so we decided to give that one a try. The only problem was that we were going to have to enter the section of road that was one way and required a trip through the town of Rincon and down the east side of the island back to Kralendijk (which we affectionally referred to as Cranky Dick because we had no idea how to pronounce it). The only other option was a dirt road “shortcut”.

Hey, we are in Bonaire, whats wrong with a little adventure? So we proceeded up the one way road to Karpata. It was becoming more and more obvious that the surge was really strong today on the north end. When we got to the dive site, one glance at the entry made the prospect of negogiating the 1000 steps with gear on seem like a stroll in the park.

The entry at Karpata this rough day

We got back in the truck and Jan turned to me and lamented “Things are just not going as planned today”. Feeling a little bad that she might be discouraged, all I could think to say was “Baby, things might not be going as planned, but nothing is going wrong. We are in the tropics on the beautiful island of Bonaire, if this is a bad day, we are doing pretty damn good.” We both laughed and agreed and the attitude in the truck was one of lightheartedness and joy. We were riding around having fun on a beautiful day, who could complain about that?

All of a sudden, things became very much in perspective and it was easy to have an attitude of gratitude. As a couple, that has 6 children (3 each) between us and are all now legal adults, we have had our share of challenges. Life has not always been a day in sunny Bonaire. But that is exactly where we were that day, and it started what was to become my favorite day of the vacation.

Our attitudes were adjusting to the latitude.

For those of you that read “Hiding on the Bottom” you know about what we affectionately call the “Swamphouse”. It is a very cool house built over water and owned by my brother, myself, my cousin Helen and 2 other families. It is built over water in the marshes of Calico Creek on the north side of the peninsula that is Morehead City. Here is what it looks like when the tides are normal.

The driveway when it is dry

Yesterday, the tide was 4.4 feet above the mean low water mark (MLW). My friend Brad came to visit me around 8am and took this picture from his phone.

Flooded in at the Swamphouse

I was finally able to get out nearly 2 hours later after the tide receeded. Today, I left the house before it came up and I am writing this at the coffee house. The tide is predicted to be 4.5 feet above MLW today and tomorrow. I took my suitcase off the floor and put it on the bed before I left.

I would like to share with my readers an incident that happened to me in early August. At first, I thought I would keep it to myself, but as time passed I realized how much I had learned as a diver as a result of the incident, I feel like I need to share it.

It was a beautiful and hot August day, the winds were light and the seas calm. I had a group of divers from Utah who were Army Reserve officers training at Fort Bragg for two weeks. I had a 2nd Captain on board, so I was able to dive. I had not been able to get much diving in during the summer, so I was truly looking forward to getting a couple of dives in.

A good customer and friend from New York agreed to dive with me as my buddy. The first dive was on the German submarine U-352. The visibility was not very good, and we both returned with stories of a little anxiety at the beginning of the dive at 110’. I was able to calm myself down and began to relax and enjoyed the rest of my dive. I had forgotten to set my computer to the Nitrox setting and it had me diving an air profile, although I was breathing 30% EANx. Even in that mode I didn’t go into decompression, but the computer had me with a minute of time when I began my ascent and I returned to the boat without incident.

For the 2nd dive we moved over to the Aeolus. After I got all the customers back on board I got ready to do my second dive with my buddy. One of my mates had shot a grouper and his spear had gotten stuck in some deck plating under the wreck. He ran out of time, so he ran a line around to the anchor and then ascended. He asked me if I could get the shaft and the fish and bring it back. I was able to successfully bring back the spear, but I had to cut the line and lost the fish. I worked harder than normal during the dive and spent the entire time at the bottom, which was around 110’. At the end of the dive I freed the anchor and ascended up the line in a normal fashion, nice and slow. I did remember to set my computer for Nitrox, and stayed well within no decompression limits, stopped at 15’ for 3 minutes and ascended safely to the boat.

After I climbed aboard, we laughed about all the trouble I went through trying to rescue the spear shaft, and how it consumed my whole dive. We pulled the anchor in, secured the ladder and headed home. After about 20 minutes, I started feeling dizzy and had some pain just under my breast plate. I asked the mate to take the wheel and I got a bottle of water and sat down for minute, but took back the helm and continued on. The pain in my chest moved to my abdomen and the dizziness came back. This time I asked the 2nd Captain to take the wheel and asked the mate to get me a bottle of O2. I was really worried that I might have decompression illness; even though I had dived what my computer said was a safe profile. I breathed the pure oxygen for the entire way to port, and my symptoms subsided after about 45 minutes, except for a little vertigo and lightheadedness. On the way in, the mate called Diver’s Alert Network, and their advice was to go to the ER once we got back, but by the time we reached the dock I was feeling fine, so I decided not to go. In retrospect, I should have gone anyway to be sure I was unaffected.

I ran the next three days and felt fine. The representative from DAN followed up and his assessment was that DCS could not be indicated for sure, but it could not be ruled out either. He did think that since I had worked the 3 days following the incident, that whatever it was must have been minor. His suggestion was to take 4 weeks off from diving and then get checked out by a doctor specializing in dive medicine to get cleared to dive. I heeded his advice and stayed out of the water for a month.

Around the 1st of September I called the DAN hotline and asked for a referral for a doctor who could clear me to dive again. I was anxious at this point to get back in the water. When the DAN representative discovered that I was in Durham, he immediately referred me to the Duke Center for Hyperbaric Medicine and I set up an appointment for the following week.

I was nervous, my mind had been playing tricks on me and I was concerned that I may have sustained some neurological damage had the incident been a Type II DCS hit. I have mild hypertension, and the young doctor commented that it seemed elevated at 160/110 and I assured him that I suffer from “White Coat Syndrome”; my blood pressure is always higher than normal at the Doctor’s office. Today was even worse because I was really worried that I might get some bad news related to my future ability to dive. I was given a battery of tests that I passed with flying colors, save one balance test which required me to put one foot in front of the other heel to toe, shut my eyes and twist my upper body from side to side with my arms out. I don’t care who you are, that’s hard. Add to the mix that I am 6’8” tall and my center of gravity is well over 4’ from the ground. We both just wrote that one off to me being top heavy.

The young doctor left and then returned with a 2nd doctor who was a bit older. He was one of the senior Hyperbaric Physicians and I was familiar with him because I had participated in a “Flying after Diving” study at the center. That is another story in itself, but I can thankfully say that is my only ride in a hyperbaric chamber. The older doctor really began to focus on the chest pain I had experienced, the family history of heart disease in my genetic make up, and my foolish love of nicotine for 20 years, that I gave up on New Years Ever 2007. He informed me that he wanted me to go upstairs for an EKG and not to dive for 4 more weeks and not until after a full cardiac stress test. I was disappointed, but he reminded me that 80% of all diving deaths are drowning due to an in water cardiac event. He then gave me his prognosis: DCS could not be confirmed or ruled out, it could have been expanding gastro-intestinal gases that caused the chest and abdominal pain, but that could not be confirmed either. The third possibility was that it could have been a cardiac event. The EKG and stress test could at least rule out the cardiac event. I went upstairs to the clinic that does the EKG and the results came back normal.

My general physician was informed and he set up a full cardiac stress test, but I had to wait 4 weeks for an appointment. I did a few shallow dives (<60’) in the interim, making sure to be super conservative and to under exert myself. While I waited, I intentionally pushed myself physically a few times to see if I could cause a chest pain. I mowed the grass aggressively in 90 degree heat. I walked up 6 fights of stairs as fast as I could. Nothing, not even loss of breath. That one chest pain, the only one I have ever had, was causing me a lot of grief. I so wanted to start back diving.

Two weeks ago I finally made it in for the stress test. I still have bald spots on my chest where they shaved me to wire the machine to me. I attacked the tread mill with a vengeance, and made it to the highest level before they told me to quit. My results came back totally normal, as the country song says “my ticker is ticking like they say it should.” When I called the nurse for the results, she said it was written on my chart in all caps; “OK TO DIVE”.

George Purifoy, the man credited with finding the U-352 and a pioneer in NC diving died last September of a massive heart attack. He was 62 years old, and a man that I had a world of respect for. He died behind the wheel of his Dive boat the Olympus. That was a wake up call for me, because I heard that he had been experiencing some chest pain for a while. I was happy to have the opportunity to find out that my heart is healthy.

I will conclude this post with a few of the lessons I learned from this incident:

1.    Anybody can take a DCS hit, even if you do things totally by the book.
2.    Dive conservatively as you age, there is no reason to push the envelope
3.    Don’t change your dive style to accommodate someone else if it puts you at risk
4.    Don’t ignore symptoms and if you have them, ask for the oxygen
5.    Seek medical attention if you think you are hurt
6.    Listen to your doctors and pay attention to what your body is telling you

I didn’t follow all of the above advice during this incident and the weeks that followed. I was lucky.

Captain James

This coming season, Tortuga Charters is having 4 special package deals for groups of six. The special will include 6 nights lodging, and 4 days of offshore diving. The lodging will be full run of Casa Tortuga which has 2 bedrooms with double beds, and a bunk room with 4 bunk beds. There is a full kitchen, lounge area with cable TV, and wifi internet.

Check in Sunday afternoon and dive every weather permitting day starting Monday, up to 4 days, for the package price. If the weather is good and you want to dive all 6 days, you can do that for an additional charge of $100 per diver. Or take a break to see a bit of the wonderful Crystal Coast. If we get blown out a day or 2, we can arrange a non diving boat excursion to Cape Lookout aboard Tortuga, or even a trip on the skiff Swampdogg.

The package also includes a “beer can chicken” feast cooked by Captain James himself, including your favorite cold beverage, and hosted at the Swamphouse.

Available Dates are:

July 11th-17th
July 18th-24th
August 29th- September 4th
September 5th-11th

$625 per diver (for a group of 6) all inclusive. Price is based on $2.50 per gallon for diesel fuel and a fuel surcharge may be added if prices rise significantly. Price does not include equipment or Air/Nitrox fills. Steel tanks in HP120 or HP100 sizes available for $20 each per day.

How can you beat that? A group of 6 friends (no instabuddies) with the whole boat to yourselves, and you get to pick where you want to dive. Wreck diving (mild tech) and Spearfishing groups are welcome. Tortuga is a custom dive experience.

Book your week for a $600 deposit with the balance due 30 days before arrival.

I received this email from my dear first cousin Helen….apparently she is SO proud that she has somehow escaped “Dingbatter” status. I am sooo jealous.

Hey Ken,

The news is this uplander is not a dingbatter.  As you know I was at the festival Saturday evening enjoying the fireworks and entertainment when I starting conversing with my neighbors at the main stage.  They were a friendly group, mostly from the Morehead area and one was a member of the band Nantucket.  One of them asked where I was from and  I told him that I am from Durham but am a weekender or what you probably call a dingbatter.
Well, the laughter erupted!  I continued to tell them that I have been coming to Morehead all my life  and even was conceived over there (pointing to the North) on Calico Creek in mom and dad’s place.  They shouted in unison  “then you’re NOT a dingbatter!”.  “Oh really?” I asked.  “I can’t wait to tell Captain James”!

Well, at least I can revel in the thought that I may be a dingbatter, but I am related to a non-dingbatter.

My daughter got married last Saturday September 26th. It was a joyous event despite all the laws by Murphy that could have rendered it disasterous. An outdoor wedding on the coast of NC in the peak of hurricane season, crazy divorced parents dynamics, stepfamily and new in-law dynamics, just to name a few. The wannabe tropical storm Frederick made an appearance late Friday afternoon and dumped buckets of rain on the festivities on and off through Sunday. Didn’t phase us. A tit for tat here and there in interpersonal family dynamics was just a scratch on the surface of what ended up being a blazing success in the Captain’s eyes. That is easy for me to say today, I still haven’t been presented with a final bill for the reception, which is a wonderful reflection on how easy the folks at Beaufort Grocery are to work with.

I will eventually write an entire blog dedicated to the wedding, or maybe I will just save it for a chapter in my upcoming new book. But I would like to comment on one minor success we enjoyed. Elena’s new husband Dan got Open Water certified last spring. I am not sure if he did it to please his fiance, or felt compelled because he was marrying into a SCUBA family. Up until Thursday before the wedding, his only dives had been in quarrys. We had two failed attempts earlier in the summer because of rough seas. Last Thursday, we were blessed with one of those perfect days. We didn’t have a lot of time, so we made a quick trip out to the Indra, 12 miles from the inlet. The seas were so calm, that I tossed the anchor on top of the sunken ship’s deck and it just laid there, it didn’t snag or drag.

Elena and Dan splashed in first, and I watched them descend down the guide line to the anchor line. Elena has quite a few dives under her belt, is trained through her rescue diver certification, but it had been over a year since she had been on SCUBA. I tried not to show that I was playing observant boat captain and divemaster, but I was paying attention. Couples don’t always make the best dive buddies, especially when there is a gap in skill and experience level. They seemed to be doing just fine. I gave Elena my dive computer, and I gave them a 15 minute head start and dropped in behind them with just a watch. It is a very easy dive, 70′ to the sand and 40′ up on the top deck. It wasn’t long before I found them, swimming along the port side of the ship. The visibility was about 30′ and as soon as I could see them clearly, I saw Elena snapping away with her camera.

sneaking up like a barracuda

Elena said I just “appeared” like the barracuda always do. I stayed with them for a view minutes watching as Elena was busy snapping pictures and Dan just seemed to be totally amused with being underwater. It was a very comforting and special sight, and made me think underwater that they make a good team. I disappeared off to the ledge on the starboard side to try and find a grouper.

Towards the end of the dive, I waited until they started up the line and after 10 minutes or so I took the anchor out into the sand and began my ascent. I did a 10 minute hang at 15′, I had been down about 55 minutes, and without the computer, wanted to be conservative. As I was there, I watched as Elena and Dan played on the surface behind the boat and from 15′ below them, I could tell they were having a lot of fun.

It may have rained on their wedding day, but mother ocean smiled on them for this day, and I was happy that Dan got his first of many ocean dives under his belt. The little bit of concern I had that he had been dragged into the sport was gone, because I could see how much fun he was having and how comfortable he was in the water.

After getting up Monday morning, making my coffee and checking the buoy reports, I knew immediately that a dive trip was out of the question. Waves 5 feet tall, coming at you at a period of 4 seconds apart in a driving, drenching rain are conditions that make going to sea for recreational purposes a fool’s folly.  Of course for me, it is not a recreational trip, I get paid to take people diving, but if I ever want to take them diving again, I need to make sure that the experience meets “most” of their expectations. Then of course, the decision not to run is easy when the NOAA forecast has posted a small craft advisory. From a business and liability point of view, it just doesn’t make since to take paying customers to sea when the national weather service clearly states you are an idiot to do so.

I called my customers and told them to sleep in, and I decided to head down to the local cafe to get some breakfast. My friend from Virginia was staying with me, he was planning on just tagging along on the dive trip without diving. He likes to boat ride as much as anything, and since I had room on the boat, it wasn’t a problem for him to ride as well as he honored his promise not to help in any way. Like most boat crews, Reid and I have a well thought out and thoroughly practiced system for doing things, and outsider help almost always results in more harm than good.

Tom wandered into the living room at the Casa where I was sitting at my desk and using my laptop. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee”, I said as I pointed to the coffee pot. Without really speaking, he got himself a cup and scavenged around the kitchen looking for the condiments he needed to add to the coffee to adjust it to his personal taste. His first words being. “You got any irish cream?” I let Tom know the trip was cancelled, and he walked to the front door and opened it, quickly shutting it as the torrential rain poured in through the opening. “What do you do when you get blown out like this and have to cancel the trip?” he asked. “We go get some runny eggs with sausage and hash browns.” I answered. I asked if he had a rain coat, and he said he didn’t know it was going to rain. So I lent Tom my spare rain slicker, the one I replaced because it was not even really water resistant, much less water proof. It was saturated before he even got to the truck in the driving rain.

We decided to try a new breakfast place, the Beaufort Cafe. It isn’t really new, it has been there over 2 years, but I am a Morehead City sort of guy, so I always tend to gravitate to things Morehead, and only venture to Beaufort when necessary. But the Casa is on the causeway between the two towns, a sort of never-neverland lost strip of sand that doesn’t belong to either. I guess it is Radio island, but the little strip of sand that is the causeway was created with the spoil materials that resulted from the dredging of the nearby intracoastal waterway. It was designed to connect the two communities without having to build a very long bridge, and as a result, a strip of waterfront lots was created, that in the day, were only worthy of mobile homes. Most were owned by a handful of families, and their descendants still occupy quite a few of them. One of those families sold out to the developers who built an exclusive waterfront condominium complex called Morgan’s Landing on the spot right next to a string of trailers. An attempt was made to continue to buy up the waterfront property along the causeway by the developer, and the first strike was down four lots from the condos. I guess the plan was to divide and conquer, but he underestimated his opponents and could not convince the property owners in between to sell out.

The trailer served as a sales office for a while, but when hard times set in, it became a “no sales” office, so they decided to put 3 really nice boat lifts and a wet slip behind the trailer and put it on the market for $495,000. Well, waterfront property is nice, and especially with a wide water view and moderately deep water access, and I can imagine when money was flowing and credit was available, it might have been possible to sell a 1200 square foot double wide trailer sitting across from a set of railroad tracks for half a million bucks. Not in today’s economy, and they decided to rent the trailer and throw in one lift in the deal.

Fortunately for me, I was able to rent “Casa Tortuga”, named by us to sugar coat the fact that it is a double wide trailer. The lease was for six months, which fitted my needs perfectly. Included in the rent came the deep resentment for the developer that was easily transferred to me and all of the casual inhabitants of the Casa, as we are “outsiders.” As hard as I try to be friendly, I cannot even cultivate the simplest of pleasantries from my neighbors. In a recent incident, after one of my guests accidentally parked with two wheels across the property line, we were greeted the next morning with, not one, but two “NO TRESPASSING” signs driven into the sand just inches from the property line.

We crossed the drawbridge over to Beaufort, looking North towards the Newport River and commenting the even the most causal recreational boating was out of the question in this nasty weather. After a quick sprint from the truck to the restaurant, Tom and I bellied up to the breakfast bar. It is just what Tom and I do when we go out to eat, whether it is breakfast, lunch or dinner, we just prefer the bar. Tom is a restaurant guy, and the occasional bartender, so it just seems natural to eat there. I like it because it allows you the opportunity to interact with others outside of your immediate group, whether it is other customers or the restaurant workers.

The Beaufort Cafe is a wonderful breakfast diner, and the restaurant was bustling with customers and the workers serving them. In the corner was the Captain, Mate and several customers from Discovery Diving, also victims of this unexpected low pressure system that appeared for our labor day at the coast. I began to converse with one of the waitresses standing behind the counter, a woman that was obviously a downeast native, with her good natured disposition and sassy sense of humor. I asked her how long the cafe had been there, and she happily told me that it opened two years ago.

It was obvious to me that the owners and cooks were not locals, but all of the wait staff certainly were. “I always seem to gravitate towards the Morehead City side of the bridge, but I have been meaning to come in here and eat.” I told her. “Oh you are one of them Morehead City slickers, huh?” she said smiling and  jokingly. With a slight pause, she continued “You a Dingbatter, too?” I had heard the term, but wasn’t sure of the definition, only remembering it had some Downeast slang significance. “I am not sure, whats a Dingbatter?” I asked. She looked at me with a face that explained that I had answered her question with my question, because only a dingbatter wouldn’t know what a dingbatter actually was. “Well, a Dingbatter is a tourist that don’t never leave.” I pondered a moment, then answered that I guess in fact that I must be a Dingbatter, although I had been coming to Carteret County since I was two years old (close to 50 years), I only spent a portion of my time here.

“How long do you have to be here not to be a Dingbatter any longer?” I respectfully inquired. “Three generations, if your grand daddy was a dingbatter and your daddy grew up here, then you ain’t a dingbatter.” I asked how long her family had been here and she proudly announced that it had been 500 years in Carteret County and Ocracoke. “Wow” I sighed, doing the math in my head and thinking that if her family arrived in these parts in 1509, they must have been some of the very earliest European settlers, since Columbus landed on San Salvador just 17 years earlier, and the Pilgrims arrived in Plymouth 110 years later. But I gave discretion a chance to be diplomatic and kept those thoughts to myself. “And a Dingbatter that has been here so long they start calling the newer folks  Dingbatters are Dit Dots.” she added, now really getting wound up and enjoying the platform to entertain. “Well, although it is not much, my grandfather owned property here, my father did and now I do, so am  I still a Dingbatter?” I asked. “Honey, you are sweet enough, but til you put some feet down in the sand, I am sorry but you are still going to be a Dingbatter.”

We finished our breakfast, and I left the Beaufort Cafe laughing in my mind about the exchange that occurred at the breakfast bar, vowing to myself to make this diner my new favorite place to go and to also send my customers to get breakfast when mother ocean keeps us in port.

I guess I will just have to resign myself to the fact that I will never truly be a Carteret County local, and lower my goals to reaching the status of Dit Dot.

What does the Captain do on his day off? Go boating, of course.

Hurricane Bill passed well to the east of the Crystal Coast yesterday, but the category 3 storm caused a 12′ swell to roll ashore causing hazardous sea conditions outside of the inlet. I had to cancel my charters for Saturday, Sunday and Monday. Although I have been at the coast most of the summer, my wife Jan, and maybe more important, our (her) dogs Kiya and Brady have not had much beach time. So we decided to take the opportunity to run the little Robalo Swampdogg out to the bight at Cape Lookout. It is one of our favorite places in the world. The ocean passage was out of the question in the 20′ skiff, so we decided to make our way through Back Sound by Harker’s Island and snake our way through the channel to the bight from the protected inside waters.

After getting some gas at Town Creek Marina in Beaufort, we headed out by Radio Island towards the inlet. There were scads of divers at the Radio Island jetty preparing to dive slack high tide. That was about the only spot available to dive during the hazardous sea conditions. I crossed the inlet as far north as possible trying to stay out of the swell being funneled in between Fort Macon and Shackleford Banks. We had a mile or so of bumpy ride until we could get behind Shackleford and it’s protection from the southerly swell. Jan commented that she needed to get used to riding in the skiff again, that it takes the waves a little differently than the heavy hulled Tortuga. I agreed, and said that I needed to get used to running the skiff again.

The 45 minute ride to the Cape was pleasant, the wind was light, the tide was high making navigating around the many shoals much easier, and the company was good. The dogs love boat riding. At 12:30pm, we arrived at the soft sand beaches at the western tip of the hook near Barden’s inlet. We could see the waves breaking on the ocean side of Shackleford Banks, but it was calm in the protected waters of the bight. The water in the lagoon that is created by the “hook” is 20′ deep. It is basically a complete circle of protection, and makes for a wonderful anchorage for sailboats and cruising yachts. It was once a favorite haunt of the Queen Anne’s Revenge Captained by Edward Teach, or more commonly known as Blackbeard. At the beach are 3 distinct shelves that are totally covered with water at high tide. There is about a foot of elevation change between them and the drop off to the deeper water is so steep that you can be knee deep one step and over your head the next.

The tide had been high about an hour earlier, and had drained off the very top shelf and was beginning to pick up velocity as it drained off the second shelf. Picture a plate under and inch of water and then imagine how the water would pour off as the plate was lifted. That is how the water runs off these shelves. I pulled as close to the beach as I could, well on to the middle shelf with the intent to offload Jan and the dogs, then quickly anchor the boat in deeper water. Before I could get the anchor deployed, I realized I was already in trouble. I hailed to Jan to come help, and we both pushed as hard as we could, but aside from some minor successes barely budged the boat from the sand. Each time I would stop pushing to catch my breath, it seemed another 3 inches of water would rush out from under the boat. A fellow boater came to help, but by then it was a losing battle. All we could do was get a beer, sit down in the 6″ of water and watch as it all disappeared and soon our little Swampdogg was “High and Dry”

High and Dry at the Cape

It was now 1:00pm and the tide had 3 hours of falling, and the 4 hours of rising again before we had a chance of floating her off. That would be around 7 pm and would give us about an hour of light to get home. I am not sure I could navigate my way back in the dark in Back Sound with no navagational electronics, the markers are not lit, and the channel is not straight. We were in a bit of a bind. Luckily, there is now cell phone coverage at the Cape. I calmly dialed TowBoat US and explained my predicament.

We rent a spot for Tortuga from the TowBoat US folks in Knasty Harbor and they are a fine operation. I used to be a member of the “other yellow” company, which the local franchise happens to be owned by my neighbor at the Swamphouse, but switched for a variety of reasons, the only one I will mention is that TowBoat US has a business model that favors it’s members. When you call them, it is a free service to you, but they file a claim with the mother company to get paid. So they are toally incented to help their members, opposed to the “other yellow” company who gets a large percentage of the membership fee and then has to absorb the cost of giving it’s members assistance. They are incented not to help their members until absolutely necessary.

“You may want to take your time coming up here, until some water comes back, I am high and dry” I explained. The dispatcher assured me that their boats had strong engines and it would not be a problem snatching the boat of the sand and putting it back in the water where it belonged. I was skeptical, but I figured that the worst thing that could result is that we had a ride back to Knasty Harbor, which is 300 yds from the Casa and where my truck was parked. I could always go back and get the little boat and tow it back with Tortuga when the weather settled a bit.

With the knowledge that we would not be spending the night at Cape Lookout in a 20′ skiff, we commenced to enjoying our stay. The dogs ran and swam had did what Labrador Retrievers do at the beach, chased a tennis ball with endless energy. Forty-five minutes later, the Red TowBoat US Captain showed up and without much effort or concern, hooked up a long line to the bow eye of the skiff and dragged her across 60 feet of sand and back into the water where she was floating once again. A boat full of people broke out into a enthusiastic cheer at the Captain’s success, and Jan and I sighed a big breath of relief. We even decided to stay another couple of hours, knowing that when we wanted to leave, we had that option.

35 years of skippering private boats for fun prepared me for a lot of the situations I encounter as a Dive Boat Captain on a daily basis. Long before the United States Coast Guard declared that I was a competent and capable Captain by issuing my Merchant Marine Officer credentials, I understood most of the necessary components of going to sea in small boats. I learned these skills at the “school of hard knocks”, making mistakes and finding myself in situations that tested my helmsman skills, my mechanical prowess, and general boating and navigation abilities. I didn’t have a lot of mentors and I never crewed under capable Captains. I pretty much figured it all out by myself with the help of laymen family members and friends, and by observing professionals from afar. Luckily, I am alive to tell the stories of the many times those situations could have had far more devastating outcomes than they did, and have the sea time and experience to show for it.

It has been a life long dream to do exactly what I am doing right now, running a charter boat. The dream evolved from fishing charters to diving charters when I fell in love with the underwater world a few years back. Now I can do both and I am having the time of my life at 51 years old. I just love going to sea.

Most Captains in the fishing and diving fleet came about it as a natural progression of life events. They grew up around the water, crewing on boats and working their way up the ladder to the Captain’s chair. For me, it was a lifetime of stealing time away from other commitments and responsibilities to go to sea. All the while, I dreamed of living the life of a Captain, while conducting the daily business of land locked activities, sometimes even wearing a suit, tie and expensive leather loafers.

So my path to the Captain’s chair has been an unorthodox one. I spent several years studying the things I needed to do to start a charter business, bought a boat, obtained all the necessary licenses and permits, and one day I just hung out a “Tortuga Charters” shingle. What I was not totally prepared for was that a “Captain’s Club” existed in the Morehead City/Beaufort area and I was not a member. Luckily, I have been around the dive scene for a few years and most people in the business knew who I was, if not personally, at least indirectly. But the transition from customer/private boat owner and diver to aspiring peer in the business has not been an easy one.

Most of it is my doing, being naïve enough to think all I had to do was “hang my shingle” and start taking people diving and fishing. I didn’t fully understand the hierarchy and politics of the Captain’s and crews of the various dive boats in the fleet. I am sure that had I worked my way up the ladder to the Captain’s chair in the traditional manner, then I would have understood better the dynamic that existed. “Baptism by fire” is an expression from my southern upbringing that best describes my indoctrination into the dynamic that exists, and I am finally figuring out the hierarchy of the group and the etiquette required for successfully participating as a member of the fleet.

I think the other Captains are slowly accepting me as a member in the club, or at least a Captain who is trying to play nice, although some have welcomed me quicker than others. Some have even offered advice and some mentoring. As my first season begins to wrap up, I am pleased with the way it has turned out. I learned an awful lot, and have had a whole lot of fun. It is the stuff books are made of. Tortuga is here to stay.