Manacles, 10/11/12 September 2004

Mandi had started planning the trip to the Manacles way before the season commenced.  It was promising to be special.  Mark had agreed to set off earlier than most to arrive in time to collect the keys for the caravans.  The rest of us would have to leave work at the usual hour and travel down to the far west of England well into Thursday night.

The eve before the storm:  are we ready for the off...?

Having had an unexpectedly stressful week I couldn’t have been happier when Thursday afternoon finally arrived and I allowed myself to get more excited about the coming weekend.  But then, minutes after arranging the final task of collecting a second cylinder for the weekend, I received a text message: 'Diving is blown out, don’t go to Cornwall.'  No!

I wasn’t sure whether or not to take it seriously.  I was completely dumbfounded, grounded to the spot on which I stood.  It was hard to believe that the weather would be bad enough on the south coast to call off the entire weekend, given that the sun was shining down on me and there wasn’t a cloud to be seen at that point in time.

Seconds later, another message populated into my mobile inbox: ‘Weekend has been cancelled.’  No!

My mood instantly collapsed to the floor around me and I sulked as I returned to work.  I had been looking forward to this weekend so much, for so long.  I hadn’t bargained on feeling such disappointment.

The afternoon was spent trying to arrange alternate plans but it transpired that all offshore diving was being cancelled along the south coast of England.

Some bright spark suggested that we should plan a day trip to Stoney Cove instead, our favourite inland wet spot oop north.  And more bright sparks agreed to the idea, myself included, despite the fact that my next dive would see me celebrating my 100th dive.  I was desperate to get wet again, I’d been dry for almost a month and I was suffering withdrawal symptoms.  I’d agree to anything if it meant I could don my suit and make a splash, although I may have drawn the line at Wraysbury...  Keith and Tom decided not to waste their Friday and declined the invitation.

Day 1  Stoney Cove

Moose and Harper made their way up to the Cove to sit outside the gate for an hour or so.  The rest of us decided to be social and arranged to meet at the Abbey with a plan to leave at half six.  As we traveled northbound the clouds became thicker and what little blue sky there was down south we sadly left behind.

Luckily, Fridays are not the busiest day of the week for Stoney Cove and we set up camp right opposite the main platform.  Most of us needed a fill of some descript.  Most of us hadn’t bargained on having to wait nearly two hours for a Nitrox fill!  When the chappy told me I had a richer mix than requested because we asked for quick fills, I couldn’t help but get vocal and responded with ‘well, we dropped them off over an hour ago.’  I was told I was lucky to get a Nitrox fill at all given that they don’t normally bother with only three staff in the shop.  How many people does it take to run an empty shop..?

We finally hit the water at half ten and made our way over to the shot line on top of the Hydrobox where we dropped down to 32 metres.  It was dark and chilly down there but with a flick of a switch virtually the entire quarry was illuminated courtesy of Inspector Gadget and his Ghostbusters style umbilical torch.  We vacated the area and bimbled around the 20 metre shelf, reached the Wessex and made our ascent to exit the water.

Our surface interval developed into the usual impolite banter.  Most expectedly there was the omnipresent target of an individual, the target kept changing but there was always a target.  The skies opened and showered us with wet stuff while we tried our best to ignore it and pretended we were somewhere on the south west coast.

Tom, Harper, Moose, Mark and Cat disappeared for a second dive while Ron and I stuffed our faces and guarded the vehicles.  Ron had sent Tom off with his twinset but seconds later he reappeared complaining of a freeflow on the octopus.  Instant remedial action was taken and he was sent back to the water accompanied by lardy.

Tom and I made our way out to the shot on top of the Stanegarth and dropped down to the deck.  The beginning of the dive was slightly stressful as Tom got to grips with the rig.  We circuited the wreck a couple of times before making our return swim along the bottom to the edge of the quarry, where upon surfacing we found Mark and Harper.

Back on land we learned that Cat had dropped her weightbelt from the surface above the Hydrobox.  That’ll be a 36 metre search and recovery dive then.  Ron reluctantly agreed to perform the operation, having sat the second dive out, as the weightbelt belongs to Stew.

I assisted Ron to the waters edge and patiently watched his bubbles around the shot above the Hydrobox whilst listening to a dear old lady telling me all about her late husband and her daughters.  There was little else I could do having just surfaced from a 21 metre dive.  And my cylinder was in for a fill.  The lads went to get coffee and Cat helpfully went for a shower whilst Ron recovered her weightbelt.

Fifteen minutes later Ron surfaced and we all sat down to resurrect the target practice.

Harper and Moose went to collect their cylinders from the compressor room and returned strolling across the car park like Batman and Robin.

Later that afternoon we had all enjoyed a sufficient surface interval and geared up for the last dive of the day.  The plan was to dive the Stanegarth.

I strapped a pony to my cylinder for fun and hit the water.  For some unbeknown reason I failed to register the extra weight and merrily plummeted towards the deck of the wreck faster than my ears would equalise.  So I ascended and tried again, this time with much more control…  The dive plan promised to be a repeat of my second dive with Tom, only it developed into something completely different…

Moose and Harper were leading the dive back towards the edge of the quarry.  Moose started kicking up the silt and reduced the visibility to that of Wraysbury on a good day.  I raised my fists at him in disgust and mimicked blindness.  He shrugged and continued with his dive.  Ron had other ideas.  He encouraged me to join him in a small retaliation.  And with that we each grabbed hold of a Moose fin and tried to rid him of his propulsion tools as he wriggled like a helpless worm.  We released him and continued the dive.  On reaching the edge of the 20m shelf, where we were faced with a fairly steep ascent, we found Tom, Mark and Cat ahead of us.  Moose and Harper were nowhere to be seen.  I drew my knife at Tom and he immediately responded with a similar kind gesture.  I wimped out and reversed.

We ascended the steep incline and reached the Viscount cockpit where we rediscovered the rest of our group and we all gazed at the school of perch hanging motionless inside the cockpit.

The group dispersed and Ron and I were happily finning around at a relaxed pace when all of a sudden Ron was ambushed by Moose and lost a fin to him.  I did my best to be a helpful buddy and at least witnessed him regain possession of his fin.  As I patiently waited for him to don his fin I was rudely attacked from behind and found myself in a full on tackle with Harper.  Disgraceful action.  What had I done to him?!  How low to attack a diver whilst she is providing assistance to her buddy?!  I was eventually released and Ron and I continued our dive.  My air consumption had increased to amazing levels and my mask was continuously flooding from so much laughter!

We lost the culprits for a grateful moment but soon had them in sight again.  Ron immediately launched himself at Moose and I to Harper.  I struggled to obtain his fin whilst Ron had hold of Moose’s cylinder.  Well aware that he had Ron behind him, and unsettled in the knowledge that it wasn’t I, who was far less of a risk to him, he instantaneously released his clips and removed his entire rig!  Ron let go and reappeared beside me, grinning with such delight at his victory!  And with that, we slowly made our ascent and found a happy Moose on the surface, fiddling with his kit.

With all divers safely back on shore, we packed up our gear and headed out of the Cove to return another day.

Round Up

In typical diver fashion, we endured a wet day at Stoney Cove and manipulated it into a fun adventure, as only divers know how.  It surely wasn’t the weekend we had all planned to enjoy diving the Manacles but it was the best we could do at short notice.

Lardygal
11 September 2004