Nobody ever accused me of being a fast writer. But I promised so many people I would write a report of the Second Annual Red Neck Shark Fest (RNSF) that I couldn't procrastinate forever. Besides, now that diving season is over here in the Mid-Atlantic, It was good to remember and relive the adventures of the past summer. The photographs contained in this report are not mine, and I tried to credit them to the correct person. If any of the attributions are wrong, or if I mislabeled them, let me know and I will make corrections. Finally, if you would like to join us for the Red Neck Shark Fest III, mark your calendars for July 20 and 21, 2013.
The Redneck Shark Festies. Back row, left to right: Chuckitall, Wetjed, Tiller, Amazz, & RazorDiver
Middle row: Old_Diver & Dadrock33
Front row: Will, Johnoly, 1Honukane, & WJEIII
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
My great-great-grandfather, Callohill Minnis Newman, was a soldier in the 14th Virginia Infantry Regiment in the Confederate Army. In May of 1863, he went AWOL to come home to plow the fields and plant the crop; not an uncommon practice in those days. He rejoined the Army in June. Nine months later his son, my great-grandfather, William Henry Newman, was born. Sadly, Callohill never saw him, because he was wounded in Pickett's Charge, taken prisoner, and perished of dysentery in a Yankee prison in Maryland.
My great grandfather - "plowed" into existence in the spring of 1863
It's a sobering thought: but for some timely "plowing", I wouldn't exist.
Contemplating such things is enough to give you a healthy respect for the vagaries of life. And that respect can come in handy when you plan to dive the mid-Atlantic. The area is called the Graveyard of the Atlantic, after all. The turbulent clash of the warm, tropical Gulf Stream and the cold, murky Labrador Current tends to create unpredictable conditions. You can play the odds and schedule a dive during a time of the year when conditions are generally good, but there's no guarantee they will be good that particular weekend. The ghosts of the Graveyard of the Atlantic seem to delight in ruining your best laid plans. On the other hand, you never know when you are going to plow up a crop of ancestors, either. So it's best to be resilient.
The Gulf Stream and Labrador Current clash in the mid-Atlantic, bathing Central N. C. with warm, tropical waters
And that is the perfect environment for Sand Tiger sharks. This is what we were there for: Sand Tiger Sharks on the
Caribsea
(Photo by Mike Gerkin)
I should mention how I chose the name "Redneck Shark Fest" for our gatherings. Contrary to popular belief, it does not refer to the divers who participate, although there are several of us whose necks are various shades or red. Years ago, when I made my first dives off Morehead City, NC, I christened the resident Sand Tiger sharks as Redneck Sharks. They are beautiful creatures, but they have ridiculously small heads, beady eyes, and a snaggletooth grin. If you look at one close up, you will see what I mean.
(Redneck shark photo by Johnoly)
As I walked into Raps Restaurant the Friday night of the Second Annual Redneck Shark Fest (hereafter abbreviated as RNSF), I knew we had a resilient crowd, because many of them had been on board for the inaugural event. Veteran Festies included Capt. Mikey (Mike), WetJed (Jed), WJEIII (Bill), 1Honukane (Jim H.), Will (my youngest daughter's boyfriend), Old_Diver (George), Dadrock33 (Jim S.), and Ladyfish (Cathy) and her son, Josh. We were missing a few from last year: Divebum (Steve), Lepomis (Jim G.), and CNeal (Carl). But there were some new faces, too. The Jupiter Crew, Johnoly (John), Chuckitall (Chuck), and Amazz (Angie), had driven up from Florida to sample the North Carolina waters, and RazorDiver (another George), new to D2D, represented Arkansas.
Old_Diver, Amazz, and Chuckitall at Raps
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
I don't remember what I was saying, but Johnoly seemed to think it was amusing
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Wetjed and his lovely wife
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Johnoly & WJEIII
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Ladyfish & Josh being photobombed by Johnoly
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Will either wants to surface immediately or is indicating that he is ready to do some diving
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
WJEIII & 1Honukane
(Photo by Johnoly)
Group shot. Amazz is preparing to pour some more "tea"
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Group shot. Dadrock33 (first on the left) finally gets in the picture
(Photo by Johnoly)
We all had a good time greeting to old friends and making new ones. Moderate amounts of adult beverages were consumed (well, moderate for this crowd) and appetizers seemed to evaporate without causing a noticeable pause in the conversation. We missed most of the opening ceremony for the Olympics, but enjoyed the easy camaraderie of a group of people who share a passion for diving. The party ended after dark, and as Will and I lingered to talk to Cathy and Bill, we eyed the wildly flapping banner in front of Raps with some trepidation. Strong, steady breezes and diving do not mix well. Some of us went to bed that night wondering if the next day's dives would be canceled.
The alarm went off at too-damn-early o'clock the next morning. The first thing I did was start the coffee, and the second was to pull up the NOAA forecast for our area. They predicted 3 to 5 foot waves. Will was not happy to hear this. He had spent part of last year sprawled on the sun deck in the clutches of merciless mal de mer, missing one of the dives. This year, he had taken a prophylactic dose of Dramamine the previous day, and now downed another pill. Did I hear some ghostly laughter, or was it just the air conditioner?
When we arrived at Olympus, everyone was in a great mood, despite the wind (and the hour). We were booked on the Midnight Express again this year. The Captain, Mike Gerkin, remembered us from last year. When he asked us where we wanted to dive, the consensus was the U-352. So we settled in for the three hour trip to the wreck.
The
Midnight Express
(Photo from the Olympus web site)
If you recall, the trip in Gilligan's Island was supposed to be a three hour tour. Coincidence? As the song goes: "The weather started getting rough, the mighty ship was tossed. If not for the courage of the fearless crew"... I don't know how fearless they were, but the names of the crew were easy to remember. Along with Captain Mike, there was mate Mike, and our very own Capt. Mikey. Mike seems to be a popular name in North Carolina. More popular than Callohill, I suppose.
He works hard for the money - Capt. Mikey makes sure everything is secure in case the mighty ship is tossed
(Photo by Johnoly)
As we left the channel for the open ocean, I could see that the "three to five foot seas" was not an exaggeration. In fact, there seemed to be far more fives than threes. Moving about the boat required a firm grip on something immobile. It wasn't long before we were visited by the Puke Fairy. Folks began to make their way to the leeward rail to shout Technicolor protests to the ghosts of the GotA. The ghosts seemed unimpressed.
The Puke Fairy
I was dismayed to see Will amongst the shouters. The Dramamine did not seem to be working very well. As for me, hell, I've been through chemo. This was a piece of cake.
In the cabin of the
Midnight Express, trying to stay cool on the long trip to the wrecks.
Note Capt. Mikey in his hidey-hole, chilling with his tunes.
Everyone wonders what Mikey has on his iPod: it's mainly Disney musicals and Hip Hop
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
Amazz reads up on the wrecks
(Photo by Jim Stradling)
There were already boats on the U-352, so we anchored on the nearby Spar. The mate reported visibility around 20 feet and temps in the 70s. After the dive briefing, we all took a few moments to remember Craig Timms, whom many of us had met for the first time at last year's inaugural RNSF. He was a big guy with a big personality, and he was missed. Since I am not an atheist, and therefore not constrained to believe that death is the end of us, I could hope that he was aware of this gathering of fellow divers floating on the open sea and thinking fondly of him. Then we all got busy preparing to dive. We were anxious to get in the water after three hours of shake and bake (the air conditioner in the cabin was not working very well). Will gamely climbed into his gear and splashed right after me.
Old_Diver sporting the red Converse sneakers Craig liked to wear
(Photo by Johnoly)
The Spar was a Coast Guard buoy tender that was decommissioned in February, 1997. She is 180 feet long, with a beam of 37 feet. Her name is an acronym from the Coast Guard motto: "Semper Paratus: Always Ready". She was intentionally sunk in 2004 and sits upright and intact in 110 feet of water. This wreck is easy to penetrate, and often plays host to Sand Tiger sharks.
(Diagram from the Discovery Diving web site)
As we headed down the anchor line, a large barracuda swam up and eyed us curiously. He was so close I could have reached out and patted his toothy snout. It's a little unnerving to be scrutinized by a large predator like that, but I realized that he was probably just looking for his buddy Jim Grier, the Barracuda Whisperer. Jim (Lepomis) has a special affinity for barracuda. Unfortunately, he couldn't be with us on this trip, and the 'cuda, not seeing his friend, drifted sadly away into the blue.
Even without barracudas, my heart always speeds up a bit when I descend an anchor line into the deep. The line stretches down into the unknown, and you are aware that you are going to have an experience that few people on earth can share or appreciate. Then the outline of the wreck begins to appear, partly obscured by the massive schools of baitfish. When you are surrounded by one of those immense bait balls, you feel as Dorothy must have felt when she was sucked up into the tornado. I don't believe I would have been unduly surprised to see a wicked witch materialize out of that swirling silver mass.
This photo was taken on the
Schurz, and is typical of the schools of
baitfish on these wrecks
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Atlantic Spadefish are common on the North Carolina wrecks
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Instead of green ladies on broomsticks, there were squads of Amberjack cruising the outskirts of the bait cloud, along with one or two small Sand Tigers. Although the visibility was lower than normal, there was still much to see. I am always impressed with the amount and variety of the life on the North Carolina wrecks. There were the typical schools of Atlantic Spadefish, along with their tropical cousins, the French Angelfish. Will spotted a delicate teal anemone clinging to a piece of wreckage. There was also a small Sand Tiger, in the 4 to 5 foot range. The one thing we did not see was a Lionfish. Will was disappointed, since he had his lionfishinator in hand and ready for immediate deployment.
Small Sand Tiger on the
Spar.
(Photo by Old_Diver)
The same shark from a different angle
(Photo by Amazz)
Dadrock33 exploring the wreck, surrounded by Spadefish
(Photo by Old_Diver)
After nearly 30 minutes at around 100 FSW, it was time to ascend. For those of you who have never made a North Carolina dive, most dive boats run a setup called the "Carolina Rig". This consists of a vertical hang line on each side of the boat that runs from the stern and connects to the anchor line at the bow. As you ascend the anchor line after the dive, you proceed to either the port or starboard hang line for your safety stop.It is a simple and elegant system.
Simple illustration of the "Carolina Rig"
I always enjoy the
safety stop on the hang line. It's a chance relax after the dive, to burn through leftover air, and observe any passing sea life. Last year, I was treated to a barracuda feeding frenzy when Jed threw an undersized fish that he had speared back into the water.
Hanging out on the hang line. The only time I can do one-arm pullups
(Photo by Old_Diver)
And it's a good idea to relax on the hang line, because it gives you a chance to prepare yourself for the dive ladder rodeo. In five foot seas, this could be an Olympic event. You start by swimming for one of the stern ladders on the bucking dive boat. The trick is to try and catch the ladder in the brief interval between big waves. If you misjudge, the ladder will suddenly disappear in a swirl of bubbles, and you will have to back off and try again. When you do finally grab the ladder, you need to get your feet on the rungs quickly or you will be thrashed around like a wild bull rider as the ladder attempts to hurl you back into the sea. It's a bit of a relief when you finally clamber onto the stern platform and one of the crew removes your fins.
The first dive is always an icebreaker. After the experience of venturing underwater and then surviving the dive ladder rodeo, folks tend to feel expansive. We doffed our gear while comparing notes on what we had seen below. The captain asked us if we wanted to remain where we were or move over to the U-352. The majority of us wanted to move, so we pulled anchor and traveled the short distance to the sub.
Once we were anchored to the sub, the boat was still wallowing like one of those mechanical bulls. Although all of us had been on boats in these conditions before, it was still easy to lose your balance. I was sitting in the middle of the sun deck when I was amazed to suddenly find an Amazz in my lap. She had been walking behind me when the boat zigged while she zagged. There followed an awkward moment where she tried to get back on her feet on the lurching deck and I tried to help her without laying hold of anything that would cause Chuck to punch me out. I'm just glad I was there to break her fall.
Unfortunately, the wallowing caused Will to lose all interest in making a second dive, so I asked Bill if I could tag along with him. He had no objections, so after lunch and a healthy surface interval, we jumped in for another trip down the anchor line.
There is not quite as much fish life on the U-352 as there is on other wrecks in the area. Probably because the compact body of the wreck provides fewer nooks and crannies for the little fish to hide in. The U-352 was a Type VIIC U-boat that was launched on May 7, 1941, and was sunk by the Coast Guard cutter Icarus on May 9, 1942. She lies in about 110 feet of water, and is about 220 feet long. It is possible to see all of the wreck in one dive if you are careful with your air. Olympus rents aluminum 100 tanks with a 30% Nitrox mix, which usually ensures that you will run out of bottom time before you run out of air. Although intact, the sub is starting to deteriorate. If you want to see it while it is still recognizable as a submarine, I wouldn't put it off too many more years.
Panoramic view of the U-352
(Photo copyright by Chris O'Riley, 2005)
When we climbed back aboard after the dive, Bill told revealed that he had brought along a cooler full of Wisconsin micro-brews from New Glarus Brewing. Joy! After a quick fresh water shower, I accepted his proffered Spotted Cow Ale, and enjoyed some excellent beer on the trip back to the dock.
New Glarus Spotted Cow - a refreshing after-dive beverage
That evening, we gathered for dinner at Fish Tales Restaurant at the Beaufort Town Creek Marina. Capt. Mikey brought along his wife and one of the Princess Daughters (I don't remember if it was One or Two), and she proved to be just as charming as her lovely mother. These group dinners are almost as enjoyable as the dives. I was in the middle the group, and there was a passionate discussion of the merits of piston versus diaphragm regulators on one side and tales of exotic tropical diving on the other. The food was good and plentiful, although our waitress was completely clueless.
Good food and good fellowship
(Photo by Johnoly)
After dinner, I was saddened to learn that Cathy and her son Josh were going to be skipping the Sunday dives. They had both been a little green that day, but had made both dives. I was sorry to see them go, and murmured a curse at the ghosts of the GotA.
The next morning, NOAA reported calmer seas, in the two to four foot range. Will was guardedly optimistic. He had considered skipping the Sunday dives, but decided to risk it. We wanted to hunt for shark's teeth on the wreck of the Caribsea, where we had found dozens the year before. I had an odd sense that the ghosts of the GotA were amused again.
When we arrived at Olympus, the wind was calmer. But we were missing another member of the group. Capt. Mikey had surrendered his spot to someone who was anxious to go out that day. He is a true Southern Gentleman. As we prepared to get underway, the captain told us that two boats were already headed for the Caribsea, so we would have to pick another destination. Although the Caribsea has the largest schools of Sand Tigers, the big fish are so plentiful in the area we were almost certain to see a few on most of the offshore wrecks. So we decided to try for the wreck of the Schurz.
One of the older wrecks in the area, the Schurz was a German gunboat named the SMS Grier that was captured and renamed by the US. She sank after colliding with the USS Florida on June 21, 1918. Although originally 255 feet long, the ship is mainly a debris field now, scattered on the bottom at 100 feet.
(Diagram from the Discovery Diving web site)
The seas were calmer than on Saturday, and there was less spray flying onto the deck. I settled into one of the benches in the cabin and closed my eyes. These benches are almost wide enough to make a comfortable cot. Almost. But I managed to doze a little.
By 10:30 we were at the wreck. The mate returned from setting the anchor to report better visibility than the previous day, at 30 to 40 feet. Since I had been dozing in the cabin for most of the trip out, I was not aware that Will had been wrestling with the puke fairy again. He looked a little grim, but wanted to dive, so we splashed into the blue for the third dive of the RNSF II.
We could tell right away that the vis was better. When we got to the wreck, we headed to the sand and began to hunt for shark's teeth. But after ten minutes of futile searching, we gave up and explored the wreck. Most of the Schurz is a tangled mass of metal, but the boilers are intact and provide a good navigation reference. The fish life is plentiful, and we were often engulfed by the bait balls. I only saw one shark, which was disappointing. But the better conditions made it a good dive.
Wetjed Hunting
(Photo by Old_Diver)
1Honukane demonstrates excellent buoyancy skills while floating in a cloud of baitfish
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Colorful sea growth on the
Schurz
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Exploring the
Schurz
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Where there are baitfish, there are baitfish consumers. Jacks on the
Schurz
(Photo by Old_Diver)
This isn't a great shot, but I included it to illustrate how much the visibility had improved on Sunday
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Calmer seas also make it easier getting back on the boat. Once we were all aboard, we voted to stay on the Schurz for our second dive. That settled, we pulled out our lunch provisions.
I have discovered that one of the easiest things to take for between-dive meals is the sub sandwiches you can get pre-assembled at Food Lion. They are big enough to fill you up, and the turkey and cheese version lets you pretend it's healthy. Since they are wrapped in cellophane, you can toss them in the cooler. It saves the trouble of making your own sandwich, as I did last year.
Will had a sandwich, too, but he wasn't interested in eating it. Rocking at anchor just exacerbated his queasiness, and he remained on the sun deck under his towels. I asked Bill if we could buddy again for the second dive, and he agreed.
The last dive of the weekend is always bittersweet. You realize that another RNSF is almost history, and you want to stay under water as long as possible. Bill is an excellent buddy; never intrusive, but always there when I looked around.
WJEIII (aka Santa Claus), hovering unobtrusively
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Despite hovering a few feet over the wreck to squeeze out a few more moments of bottom time, after nearly 30 minutes it was time to return to the surface. I ascended the anchor line as slowly as possible, because I still had plenty of air. When I was about 40 feet up the line, I saw an enormous Sand Tiger swim right by where the anchor was attached to the wreckage, pursued by several RNSF divers with strobes popping like a pack of paparazzi trailing Lindsay Lohan. It was a good end for a great dive.
Happy divers: Capt. Mikey, Johnoly, WJEIII, and Dadrock33
(Photo by Old_Diver)
Once back on the boat, I checked to make sure that Will was still alive, and then stowed my gear and had a nice fresh water shower. As the boat pulled anchor and made for shore, we were treated to a post-dive celebration. It was Chuck's birthday, and Angie produced a bottle of champagne that she had smuggled aboard. We sang Happy Birthday to him and he opened his gifts, which were generally R-rated and hilarious. Then we toasted his health and Angie gave him a gook licking (literally). It was cool to be able to celebrate with Chuck, but I poured the rest of my champagne out when nobody was looking so I could plunge back into Bill's stash of Wisconsin beer. Hey, this was a red neck shark fest, after all.
When I planned this year's dives, my wife and I had decided to combine the trip with a week-long family vacation, and had planned on having a barbeque feast at our rental cottage for all the RNSF divers. I wanted my wife and family to meet some of the crazy folks they had been hearing about for many years. However, this year nearly everyone had made plans to leave after the Sunday dives, so only Jim S., George, and Jim H., made it to dinner. After we had stuffed ourselves (there was plenty of food; we ate leftover barbeque all week), we headed out to the beach to walk barefoot in the sand. George helped my daughter's dog, Peanut, dig a hole in the sand, while the two Jims supervised. It was a fitting end to a weekend of good diving.
Old_Diver giving Peanut digging lessons
(Photo by Dadrock33)
The Sunday night dinner crew celebrating another great Redneck Shark Fest on the beach.
Left to right: 1Honukane, Tiller, Dadrock33, Old_Diver, Will
(Photo by Dadrock33)
So I mark this Second Redneck Shark Fest a success, despite the bumpy first day. The ghosts of the GotA had thrown a few darts at us, but things had worked out OK. As I said, it pays to be resilient when diving the mid-Atlantic. But if you're lucky, every now and then you get to do a little plowing, too.
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