On this particular dive, there was enough current after shutting down the jet sled, that the water begins to clear up midway through the dive. I open my eyes to the black darkness and to my surprise; I could see millions of glowing phosphorus particles. Each one suspended against a veil of darkness, all glowing, giving off enough light that I can almost see. This strange scene makes me wonder how the silt had moved away from my area and the particles of phosphorus remain.
Try to imagine standing inside a deep ditch on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico in total darkness while stoned on nitrogen and staring at this extraordinary scene. It was as if I suddenly discovered a distant galaxy within an arm’s length away. The only way I can possibly explain what I am seeing, is to envision standing in space, with a million tiny stars surrounding you. It is absolutely beautiful!
As I continue making my way down the pipeline, almost to the last checkpoint, I notice a change in the sound of my air coming out of the free flow valve. The free flow is a continuous stream of air in your helmet that works together with your oral-nasal air supply. The free flow would force additional air to a diver, insuring not over breathing or depleting the system, while you were working hard and fast.
This frightening sound is like hearing an air tank with an open valve, as it slows down losing pressure. Within seconds, I had just gone from enjoying the beauty of the phosphorus scene, to a hair-raising fear of dying.
At first, I thought I might have bumped the valve, somehow turning down my air. I immediately reach up on my helmet and begin twisting the free flow valve to the open position. However, at this point I had to really concentrate and was unsure if I was turning it in the right direction. Being saturated with nitrogen, feeling really stoned, I wasn’t sure of anything at this point.
To add to the chaos, my last bit of air suddenly takes on the smell of petroleum, I could even taste it in my mouth. Frantically I shout out to the guy’s topside, “Check my air!”
A moment of silence with no reply, a second time I shout even louder, “I BELIEVE I’M RUNNING OUT, CHECK MY AIR, CHECK MY AIR!”
5
Chaos on Deck
B efore my late-night dive, midway through the project we had several breakdowns. The equipment we had on board were two 5120 diesel air compressors. They usually work very well, but this job seemed to be what I call: snake bit... What some people might refer to as jinxed or cursed. After a few days of use, both 5120’s broke down, so we were now relying on the two small electric compressors located down in the barge decompression room. The trouble didn’t end there, we were informed the night of my dive, one of our electric compressors had blown a cooling line and was of no use. At this point, we should have halted the operation until everything was replaced, but time and money were more important, than the lives of our dive team. Go figure… a major dive company watching out for a few humans. Not a chance!
Depending on one small air compressor to supply around 200 psi and furnish the entire diving operation with breathable air was foolish. It takes that much pressure for one diver at a 200-foot depth. Here, we were using it to supply a diver and a chamber - with bad seals. That’s tough to stay up with, even for the 5120’s.
* * *
My adopted little brother Matt was in charge of running the decompression chamber that night. He usually did a good job, but I believe he was unaware of the air compressor issues.
As I just mentioned, not only were we having trouble with compressors, we were also having problems with the seals on both chamber doors. A decompression chamber has an inner area where you would have your diver lay back while you ran him through the decompression process. Time spent in the chamber depended on how long your bottom time was. It usually took around an hour on a normal 200-foot dive, following the Navy Dive Tables. When you finished running a diver through, and he was out of the chamber, you would then clean up the chamber, by wiping out the oxygen mask with some vinegar, and then blow the inner chamber back down to around 80-feet of depth pressure.
Leaving the 80-feet of pressure inside the inner chamber was a safety precaution. In the event, your compressors were to break down you would have enough stored pressure to save a diver in need of decompression.
* * *
On this particular cold winter night, Matt had just finished running a guy through the chamber and was in the process of getting it prepped for the next run. Actually, he was getting it ready for me. However, this was a chamber run that would never happen.
Matt, and the diver that just got out of de-compression, were having a hard time getting the inner door to seal. With the diver pulling as hard as he could on the heavy steel door, Matt throws as much air-pressure inside the inner chamber as possible. As they continue this fight with a worn-out gasket, Matt doesn’t realize he is draining the whole system, and about to kill his buddy 600-feet away .
I don’t blame Matt; he was doing all he could to work with the junky equipment we had. I’m pretty sure we were all to blame for this critical mistake to continue with the scheduled dives. The two old 5120 air compressors should have been taken out of service years ago. On top of crappy machinery, the rubber seals on the chamber doors should have been inspected and changed out before allowing any diver in the water. It’s strange how things turn out.
6
“Check My Air, Check My Air!”
W hile I was waiting for topside to answer my distress calls, I continue to twist and turn my free flow valve, hoping I had accidently bumped it to the off position. During this brief few seconds of panic, I’m trying to have positive thoughts; surely my air is about to come back on and I can continue with my work . This was wishful thinking.
All of a sudden, an unfamiliar voice comes over the com speaking loudly, and I could hear the panic in his voice, shouting over and over, “GET BACK TO THE JET SLED, GET BACK TO THE JET SLED”!
I am standing down inside the excavation at the end of the fourth pipeline joint, some 160 feet from the jet sled, when I receive an alarming communication. As the message echoes in my head, my heart begins racing as I realize the other sound I’m hearing is my air pressure slowly fading away. The intoxication of nitrogen narcosis has now saturated my entire body and I’m finding it hard to make decisions. Standing in total darkness and confused, I realize I don’t know for sure what direction the jet sled is. I can tell from reaching down and touching the pipe, it has to be either to the right or to the left. This simple decision has to be made immediately, because I am running out of precious seconds.
I quickly turn to my left and begin running as fast as I can go in deep water, wearing heavy dive gear. The loud voice on the com has stopped and all I can hear now is the last bit of air pressure coming from an exhausted system. As I lean into a forward direction heading for the sled, I suddenly have a horrible thought. What if I run into the back of the sled and break the glass in my helmet? I quickly stick my hands out in front to avoid slamming into this huge machine. By this time, I am heaving on the oral nasal for the last bit of air in the system. Even though I’m in the best physical condition of my life, I suddenly have to make the hardest 160-foot run in dive history.
On my arrival to the jet sled, the first thing I feel is the knotted rope hanging from the machine. I have to admit, making it back to the sled gave me a bit of relief. However, this small fragment of comfort didn’t take away the fear from knowing that I am almost totally out of air.
Getting a good grip on the knotted rope, I begin climbing out of the ditch and suddenly remember I have a small bailout bottle on my back - this bottle held extra air in case of an emergency. How could I have forgotten this? Being drunk from the effects of nitrogen narcosis, along with a measure of panic, would be enough to confuse anyone.
I immediately reach up with one hand and start to turn the valve on my bailout, while holding onto the rope with the other hand. Suspended still hanging over the ditch, I have another simple task. I was to turn the valve to the open position. Is it to the left or to the right? N
ow almost to the point of passing out, I begin twisting the bailout valve to the left… I keep turning and turning, but nothing is happening. It can’t be! I believe when I first discovered my air problem, when all the chaos began, I must have accidentally turned on my bailout bottle. This whole time, I was using up my emergency air. I have to face the fact that my last few pounds of air are just about spent.
My energy is beginning to fade. I am now struggling for every breath, trying hard to inhale the last bit of air remaining in the system. Against all odds, I continue to climb up this two-story monster, thinking if I could just make it back to the top, somehow, some way, they would get my air back on. Surely, by this time a standby diver is on his way down.
As I concentrate on these positive thoughts while scaling this huge machine, my forward motion is halted. I suddenly realize my dive line has snagged somewhere behind me. My heart sinks.
7
Killed My Best Friend
T he loudspeaker is booming, “DIVER OUT OF AIR, DIVER OUT OF AIR, JUMP EMERGENCY DIVER!”
The standby diver is supposed to be sitting in a chair on the back of the barge, with all his gear on and his dive helmet in his lap, ready to be in the water and to the bottom within a few short minutes. Our emergency diver was sitting in the dive shack, hanging out in street clothes, shooting the breeze with the tenders.
Workers begin gathering at the back of the barge, staring over the edge not saying much, some mumbling, “I wonder if he’s still alive.”
Two of the dive tenders grab hold of Chado Cole’s dive line and begin pulling as fast as possible, commanding some of the nearby riggers to join in. “Hey, you guys grab hold and y’all pull and pull hard, he’s out, he’s out of air!”
Matt and a co-worker are still jacking with the chamber trying to get a seal on the inner door. From the loud noise of the air blowing inside the chamber, they can hear the intercom but can’t make out what they’re saying.
As he shut off the valve, Matt complains, “This junky equipment, we need to let the air build back up, this electric compressor is a piece of crap, they should know one compressor can’t keep up.” The diver helping Matt holds his hand up, “Hey… hush up for a second, there’s something going on upstairs. What are they saying on the com?”
They both quickly step away from the noisy compressor. Now standing near the stairwell, they can hear the loudspeaker, “Jump diver, EMT to dive shack, diver out of air.”
Fear pours over Matt as he shouts to the other diver, “That’s my buddy; he’s still on the bottom!” He quickly runs back to the compressor, looks at the air gauge and it had built back up to a lousy 43 psi. Wasting no time, Matt takes off running toward the dive shack, repeating over and over, “Oh my God, oh my God, I’ve killed my best friend, oh my God!”
When Matt reaches, the shack, he begins shouting in a frantic tone, “Is he ok? Is he ok?”
At this point, the dive supervisor, Captain Lee, was on the scene and had taken over the dive operation. Matt enters the shack continuing to shout, “Is he alive?”
Lee responds, “Be quiet! I can’t hear!”
Jimmy, the guy originally running the dive, passes Matt on his way out. Without saying a word, the look on his face tells Matt, this is bad. Curious workers add to the confusion as they poke their heads in the door asking stupid questions. Showing aggravation, Lee’s face turns blood red, “Okay that’s enough!” He turns to Matt and shouts again “Get them out of here, now!”
Lee orders the crew over the intercom to stop pulling Chado up. At about the same time a tender rushes into the shack and announces, “He’s hung up! We can’t pull him up!”
Lee turns to Matt, “If they had pulled him to the surface as fast as they were going it would kill him.”
While staring through the shack window Lee asks, “What in the world is wrong with our compressors?”
Matt looks down at the floor and mumbles, “I didn’t mean to. ”
Lee responds, “What in the heck are you talking about?”
Matt explains, “Captain, I unintentionally drained the system trying to get the chamber ready for the next run. We lost all of our air pressure trying to get that inner door to seal. I didn’t realize…”
“Okay, okay, I get the picture.” Lee begins mumbling, “I knew we should have shut this whole operation down until we got some decent equipment!”
Matt sighs, “Captain, let’s just hope he’s got enough air in his bailout to hold him until the emergency diver gets down there.”
Captain Lee keys the radio, “Hey Chado, can you hear me? Talk to me son. Hey bud, are you there? Let me hear you ole buddy. Are you okay?”
Chado with a quivering voice, “I’m here. I’m here. It isn’t good Captain. My bailout’s gone.”
“Roger that. We’re jumping the emergency diver now. Where are you?”
“The sled, I’m at the sled.”
“Roger that Chado. Stay calm. We’re on our way.”
* * *
Continuing to struggle for air and only a few feet from reaching the top of the sled, Chado Cole is now delirious, with the onset of death. Having a strong heart, desiring to hang onto the last fragment of life, he begins whispering to himself.
Somewhere behind me, my dive line has fouled. I’m pulling as hard as I can. It’s no good. My line is tangled somewhere below. Why is this deep sense of fear coming over me? God, is this how it ends?
Suddenly out of nowhere, a sort of peace begins to push the fear away. I’m not afraid anymore. I believe I’ll let go of this rope .
Chado loosens his grip and let’s go. He slowly drifts with the ocean current, down and away from the jet sled. As he’s falling, with a soft voice he says, “God, I guess you’ve got me.”
Captain Lee responds, “Hey Chado, what did you say? Come back son, please repeat. Come back Chado, repeat.”
The motionless diver lands on his back, gently touching down on the soft muddy bottom. Dizzy and very weak, he can now feel cold water slowly seeping into his helmet, forcing its way in from lack of pressure.
Knowing at this very moment his life is almost over. He opens his eyes to this cold dark world and enjoys one last surprise on Earth. He begins to smile as watches the millions of phosphorus particles glowing against the darkness.
At this moment, a peace beyond all understanding or comprehension floods over Chado. He closes his eyes for what seems to be an eternity but is actually only a few seconds.
To Chado’s surprise, he feels a slight tug on his right arm and then the left. Could this be two divers coming to rescue me? When he opens his eyes expecting to see divers coming to pull him out of this dark tomb, it wasn’t divers at all.
* * *
Matt is now standing on the back of the barge. He is slumped over, with what looked like a half a can of snuff in his lip. He shakes his head as he looks over into the water wondering, what the hell just happened?
Captain Lee walks up and tells Matt, “Hey bud, the rescue diver is almost on bottom looking for Chado. Come on back to the shack and let’s listen in.”
They walk in the shack and hear the chatter back and forth. “ Roger that, I’m almost to the sled.”
“Okay, Nate; how’s your visibility?”
“Vis is good, no muddy water here. All the silt has cleared away. Dang!”
“Nate, what’s wrong?”
“Ah, it’s my light blinking on and off.”
“Roger that, just when you need them, they take a crap,” chuckle, “Roger that.”
“Okay, I’m coming up on the sled.”
“Roger, you see Chado?”
“Negative Sir. He’s not on the sled.”
“How’s the current?”
“Moderate.”
“Roger that. Is it enough to wash him away?”
“Maybe so sir; can’t tell yet.”
“Hey, Nate, this is Lee.”
“Hey, Captain.”
“Look, the last time I heard Chado on the com,
he said he had made it to the sled.”
“Roger that Captain.”
“Nate.”
“Yeah, Captain?”
“Nate, I believe I heard him talking to God.”
“Captain Lee.”
“Yeah, Nate go ahead.”
“Ahhh, come back on that last transmission.”
“I said he was talking to God.”
“Roger that Captain. Hey, Captain Lee, you mind telling me what they were talking about?”
“Roger that, I think I heard him tell God, ‘God, I guess you’ve got me .’ ”
“Roger that Captain. Wait… I found his dive line!”
“We copy you Nate.”
“Following his dive line.”
“Roger that, Nate.”
“Hey Captain, I see why the tenders couldn’t pull him up.”
“We copy; what’s it hung on?”
“All the slack he had out when he was at the end of the last pipe joint looped around when he was on his way back and must have hung on the bottom of the sled.”
“We read you bud; he’s got to be close.”
“Roger that Captain, I’m continuing to follow his line...Dang!”
“What’s wrong Nate?”
“My light, it went out again and it’s dark as a sack of black cats down here.”
“We read you, don’t waste time trying to fix it, follow his dive line.”
“Wow, what the heck is that?”
“Come back Nate, we didn’t read you, come back, what are you seeing?”
“I can’t believe.”
“We read you. Talk to us son. What are you seeing?”
“Ahhh, Captain I don’t need a light anymore.”
“Repeat last transmission, you say your light is back on?”
Scars of My Guardian Angel Page 3
