MKSAC Newsletter October 1997

The Sports Divers Tale

The number of times I've said "I must do a bit for the news sheet". Well here it is, although if I had a pound for every time I've started this article, I could have another holiday in Ireland and that's what it's all about. On Friday 5th of September at about 10 O'clock, Paul, Dave, myself (Pete) and George whose car we were in, set off for Pembroke Dock, one of four carloads for a dive holiday in Ireland.

Sunshine on the M4, a quick cup of tea in the shadow of the old Severn bridge, then away again. George's timing proved about right as, with barely a stop, the docks were gone, Milford Haven disappearing, and the "Isle of Innesfree" (I think) was steaming a millpond called the Irish Sea. Three hours plus later, with Tuskar Rock lighthouse flashing a welcome (in sunshine?) Rosslare had arrived. The B&B was reasonable, the meal at the Rosslare Hotel very good and a little Irish band in the back bar really had my foot tapping.

Across Ireland, through Wexford, Cork etc. and George, who had spent some years over here, giving a detailed commentary of the country and educating us in Gaelic pronunciation. A detour to check on Chris, at an airport just south of Tralee. She was there, in the buffet / restaurant, the one place we didn't look. Off to Portmagee, George taking a short cut on a B road. How do you tell a B road from an A road in Ireland? The tractors only do 15 MPH on the B road.

We were travelling on the north loop of the Kerry Ring, from Kilorglin to Portmagee. The scenery was breathtaking, a green patchwork quilt with a blue border (the Portmagee channel), we were there. The Bridge Bar and The Moorings, a little to the left of the bridge to Valentia Island was to be our home for a week. Patricia and Gerard had said so.

Sunday. The crack of…. Well, 9 O'clock anyway, over another mountain going south to St Finans Bay. At Atlantic Divers, we were welcomed by Willie and Kevin (more on them later). Weight belts sorted, bottles stowed, suits donned, six in one RIB and eight in the other we were off to get wet.

First dive, Puffin Island. 18 metres off the RIB, swim out for depth, George and I buddied. Anxious about suit, new cuff dump, descending, viz improving when suddenly, could I really see for 20 metres? It certainly felt it, I just didn't know where to look. I won't list and document all the dives, they were all good, I'll just pick out the special parts. Second dive of the day, a drift dive, out towards the headland, but we had to turn and swim back to avoid problems being picked up. Day two and the Skelligs (about 8 miles offshore). Kelp everywhere in the shallows, but crabs, lobsters (some as big as Transit vans, short wheelbase of course), Pollock, Wrasse plus more if you knew its name, wherever you cared to explore. The seascape of gullies, ravines chimneys and caves was always tempting you to extend your dive beyond limits. The night dive, on Tuesday, was pretty good but, with hindsight, my least exciting dive. My favourite, Wednesday dive No 2 was a rocky outcrop shaped like a Cathedral. Viz was incredible and, being near the shore, the gentle swell let you fly like a bird, gliding down the gullies then thermalling gently up again. Fish everywhere, our deco stop was in a school of Pollack, so many I couldn't count. Off to Skellig Michael on Thursday, another high spot, with George leading, me a meter back, entering a narrow channel at about twelve metres into a cave. Two darker shapes further in disappeared downwards, only to come up below us, seals, and we were dancing with them. Their curiosity satisfied, they bent double and disappeared down again, magic, pure magic.

Next day, our one wreck dive, although apart from the Cromptons anchor and some chain, about a ton of it, there wasn't much other shiplike debris. Saw Gurnard for the first time and a dogfish but all of us poking about on the bottom made it a bit cloudy.

Too soon, our last dive day, the first a pinnacle in St Finans Bay, the second another look at Puffin Island.

Throughout the week we had got to know our skippers Willie (No, that's wrong, lets try again), our Skippers, William and Kevin. Although endowed with a good sense of humour, Willie was the more quiet and gentlemanly of the two. Kevin had a wicked sense of humour, a real 'Jack-the-Lad'. Everyone on Kevin's boat had a go at driving the thing (both RIB's were Humber's, 7.5 meter with 200 HP Yamaha's) do they motor, enormous fun. Although there was hardly ever a lack of volunteers to stow and ship equipment, Kevin and Willie were always 'toting that barge, lifting that bale' to make our diving as easy as possible.

Tuesday night was Irish night at the bar when everyone was expected to do a turn. The newer divers looked to the more experienced of our party for guidance in upholding MKSAC's reputation for 'rising to the occasion' but it was not to be. The rest of the world may have the Spice Girls, bet MK have the Spice Boys. Well done to Simon, Lance, Paul, Dave and me. I dare not try to describe the dancing.

Too soon, it was all over. The southern part of the ring, a long stop in Killarney then back to Rosslare. It had been sunshine all week and would be well remembered. Many thanks to all 'the crew' for such a pleasing week and, inevitably, without Chris and Adrian it would probably never have happened. If they could arrange music as they arrange holidays, they would be top of the pops.

The Advanced Divers Tale

I am sure you have all heard about the Irish holiday by now, so I won't waste your time by re-telling all the boring details of the dives. If you haven't heard, go up to any of the cast, whisper "How did you get on in Ireland" and sit back. I suggest you make sure your pint (of Guinness of course) is full before you start. I'll just run through some of the highlights, both diving and social.

We found our first example of Irish logic as soon as we got off the ferry in Rosslare. Does anyone know why speed limits in Ireland are in MPH but distances are given in Km? The best guess from our party is that it's a subtle way of improving the mental arithmetic of the Irish youth (if you are 38 Km from Kerry and the speed limit is 60 MPH how long will....)

The first warning about the dive site was its altitude. Don't be silly we all thought, it must be at sea level. Well it was, but the only exit was via a windy road that led over the top of a 100 metre hill! The rule of the dive centre was no going up the hill until at least one hour after surfacing. This was not a problem, as a plentiful supply of hot tea issued from the dive shed.

The first dive was a checkout to see if people were happy diving together and to get weight belts sorted out. While most got their weight right, one or two were a bit buoyant and were heard muttering "I'll be all right as long as I get the same tank this afternoon". Since most of the tanks were the same white and rust colour, we were forced to invent a new Irish Jig, the dance of the bottles, as tanks were loaded onto one RIB, unloaded, inspected and re-loaded, sometimes into the other boat.

On the Monday, we had a night dive and, apart from the usual Wrasse, Gurnard and shellfish, most of us caught a glimpse of a strange fish shaped like a giant tadpole with a fat body and long thin tail. Next evening, the Bridge bar was full of fish reference books as authoritative divers said it could be "a young female this" or a "maturing male the other". Eventually, a quiet voice from the back said "It could be a tadpole fish". Cries of derision followed, along the lines of "Pull the other one". These slowly went quiet as, sure enough, pictures in a diving publication showed that a tadpole fish is exactly what it was.

Although we had been warned about the local Seals and Dolphins, nothing can prepare you for the reality. To turn round and see a soft grey shape swimming effortlessly alongside really is something special. Does anyone know the correct BSAC approved signal for "Excuse me, your fin is being nibbled by a seal"?

One of our dives ended up with a short walk on one of the Skelligs. Most of us were still attired in dry suits as we made the short walk up to the helipad. One of our members was surprised to hear his suit, which he had unzipped and pulled his neck seal off, described as a "Sexy, off the shoulder number" by a lady with a soft voice and a slight lisp. Unfortunately, he was too slow to get her name or phone number!

Some of us tried to bring souvenirs, apart from memories, back to England. I found a bit of lead piping on the Crompton which was variously described as "an interesting flange" or, more briefly, "tack". However, unlike one member, I was not made to drive back to the B&B carrying my trophy out the car window to avoid the smell. I am assured that the object in question is now quite clean and has pride of place in the members bathroom.

The Irish are famous for their drinking. While we were there we did see one gentleman (not from our party) have two pints of Guinness for breakfast! However, we knew we had been accepted into the locality when our hosts produced a bottle labelled Bacardi. The faded label and the broken seal were the give away as the local brew "Potean" was poured into mug's, wine glasses, pint pots or anything else that would hold liquid. Although strong in taste, the brew was pleasant, the more so for knowing that drinking it was illegal.