What can happen at such high levels of oxygen is similar to an epileptic fit, which if not caught very fast, can lead to the diver not being able to get a DV back in their mouth and drowning. For this reason some divers use full-face masks for oxygen because if they fit, they cannot lose it and can be brought to the surface, put on air and taken back down. But Verna did not have this very expensive piece of equipment. Her dive had been designed to minimise this risk, but the danger was there.
Verna during the long decompression of her dive to 221m. Photos courtesy of Theo van Eeden, 2004
As a support diver you tend to watch your charge very carefully and be very close during these last few critical stops. For a brief moment I thought I might have a problem when Verna made one of her scheduled switches from oxygen to air. This is done to help prevent the oxygen toxicity I mentioned above. But, I was a little occupied helping her move the oxygen tree and the air cylinder up about a meter to make it easier to breathe when I looked again the air cylinder was gone! In that instant I thought she’d had an oxygen hit. I looked straight at Verna expecting signs of acute oxygen toxicity. She was grinning her head off. She’d seen my reaction to the missing tank, which she was holding in her hand while I moved the oxygen. Talk about relief.
Verna’s dive profile in summary
Depth in metres
Run Time in minutes
Mix
35
2
Ean36
220
15
7:75 Trimix
130 (deep stop)
21
7:75 Trimix
80
36
15:50 Trimix
35
75
Ean36
23
91
Ean50
15
128
Ean50
10
190
Ean50
8
206
Ean50
6
321
Oxygen
4
334
Oxygen
(Courtesy of Verna van Schaik 2004 once again this table is shown for information only and is not intended for use by anyone other than its author)
Verna described her world record dive as follows;
“I had fifteen minutes to get to 221 metres and the descent split into 50 meter sections so that could monitor my descent rate and ensure that I was descending fast enough. I also had two critical pressures, one which was the ideal and would guarantee that I had more than enough reserve mix to get back and the other which was slightly riskier and would require a little more discipline to get back to 150 metres. What can I say? If you want to set a world record or personal best you have to take some risk and be prepared to push the limits. This is not something you can do in absolute safety and once I had committed to this dive, I know only one way of diving – put everything I can into it. If it does not work it should not be because of something I could have done better. No regrets! 100% commitment to do what needs to be done....
My descent went like clockwork and I started to enjoy the dive, looking around me, curious about this fantastic cave. Before I knew it I had reached 180. I was still on my side slung with 150 bar still to breathe. However, I needed to reduce my work load at depth, so I changed onto my first back mount. Then a resounding pop as one of my head lights blew, an invasion in the silent black water. The only reference the shot line that was inexorably feeding out through my hands. My depth gauges slowly clocking up the depth. I remember thinking, brilliant, I have broken my last depth. Then I was at 200 metres. Brilliant, that was my second milestone. I could stop anytime now if I felt like it. I did not feel like it. No fear, no nerves. Just calm resolve. I was actually having fun. I had two milestones left, 212 and then 221.
Theo had told me to look out for a marker on the line, when I reached that I would have broken the current world record and suddenly there it was. I was only nine minutes into my dive. Well early and hardly breathing my precious helium at all [...] I was five min early and had hardly dented by back mounts. I started a leisurely ascent, taking the time to look around me. Far, far above I could make out the glimmer of Don and Dave as they descended. Out of site there would be the hushed suspense of the rest of the support team, wondering where I was, if I had made it, if I was coming back. [...] Never had I felt so alive, so content, so at peace with the world, with myself. This dive had always been for me and not for the world. This dive was for me to recapture the joy and pleasure I normally associated with diving and had lost in the pressure and fear of breaking my own limits. All of a sudden 250 seemed quite attainable. I was having fun! The rest of the dive went perfectly. I surfaced five hours thirty four minutes after I descended feeling really good - cold, but good.”
Back in the big city
Looking back at the trip and the week or so after I got back to Johannesburg and ‘normal’, life I found myself feeling at a bit of a loss, as if the very intense nature of the trip was still with me. I felt a bit like everyday things were somehow removed from me. Issues that colleagues felt were important seemed not to be that critical. Eventually I began to think about what could be causing this. I think the kind of diving we do is so intensive that it takes our whole focus to make it work and ensure that everyone is safe. When we arrive back after a successful expedition we are still in the groove so to speak. All our efforts are focused on getting one diver to a target depth and back safely. This time we had two divers achieve remarkable dives. It usually takes me a while to slot back into my normal pattern of life. I guess a part of me would rather stay exploring permanently. The sudden way that these trips come to an end can be something of a culture shock. To put it in diving parlance, it’s like I need to decompress back into normal life. Slowly let the stress bubbles off-gas, mentally adjust to the fact that I was not going to do something today that someone’s life would depend on. In reality the end of a trip feels more like an emergency ascent to me. One moment we’re all working as a team, getting tanks mixed, putting stages in place, doing build-up dives … then the deep push and everything is fine … and then the tension is all gone. We are all safe. We have accomplished our task.
Sponsors calling me to get equipment back, wanting to know where this or that piece of equipment is (never mind that I left a day early so have only a vague idea of where everything is!). Anyway, the logistics is sorted and everyone is keen to get pictures and interviews from Verna for possible use in advertising etc. This is great, I think. For next time we’ll have a lot more behind us, who knows, maybe even DeltaP will come on board, or maybe not. We’ll probably have to buy VR3 Trimix computers, Oh well, c’est la vie as they say.
At times like these my mind started to skip ahead to future possibilities. I’d proved to myself that I could still dive. I looked forward to going back down the shaft at Badgat, to doing another 100 metres at Boesmans. Perhaps even helping Nuno make another attempt on the world record? There is one more incredible dive from that 2004 expedition to Boesmansgat that cannot go unmentioned.
Another man on the bottom of Boesmansgat
Until October 2004, only two men had ever been to the bottom of Boesmansgat. Sheck Exley (1993, 262 metres) and Nuno Gomes (1996, 282 metres). Almost unbelievably Sheck Exley died in 1994 on an attempt to reach the bottom of a cave called Xacatun in Mexico and in the process reach 300 metres. Exley’s death shocked the cave diving community worldwide and left a void that even those of us who did not have the privilege of meeting him felt. Sheck Exley’s contribution to cave diving is immeasurable. That left Nuno Gomes as the only living person to have seen the bottom of Boesmansgat.
Then in 2004 Australian Dave Shaw decided to try and take his MK15-5 rebreather down to the very bottom of Boesmansgat. Since Dave and Don would be coming along as part of Verna’s support team, Dave’s dive was planned to happen the day after Verna made her attempt on the women’s world record. Given my relatively limited
exposure to rebreather technology and the relatively high number of incidents we’d seen that involved rebreathers, I have to admit, I was sceptical. I guess as a result of the strange way in which technical diving in South Africa was split between the closed circuit and open circuit groups. I was a little defensive.
I had visions of rebreather divers swamping us in the already crowded space in Boesmansgat. I’m happy to say I should have had more trust in Don Shirley and once I came to know him, Dave Shaw. Not only had these two men done some really incredible dives, they were, to my mind, very nice people, with that same dogged common sense and plain-spoken way about them that make me like people like Verna, Nuno, Craig and the rest.
Nuno Gomes (right) and Sheck Exley (Left) at Boesmansgat in 1993
At the time of Verna’s dive I’d known Don Shirley slightly since he’d taken over the IANTD operation at Komatie Springs (Badgat to the rest of us), so a good five years. But until Verna’s expedition I’d never done any diving with him. Don’s very wide diving experience includes being a part of the expedition in the UK that discovered the lost navy vessel called the HMS Pheasant. That expedition alone gave Don a certain celebrity in technical diving circles. But he never even mentioned it. During the trip Don was always a perfect gentleman. Some might even say he shied away from the limelight, preferring to help others achieve their objectives. I know he’s always been willing to discuss methodology and training methods with me; something I didn’t often see in people who were in technical diving as a profession. I often got the impression that since I didn’t train with xyz organisation I was regarded with a certain amount of suspicion.
Dave Shaw decompressing after his epic 270 metres dive in Boesmansgat
Prior to Verna’s trip I’d only met Dave Shaw briefly while he was staying with Don at Badgat. In typical cave diver fashion he’d never made a great fuss about what dives he and Don were doing. It was only during Verna’s trip that I learned a little more about Dave, including that he was an airline pilot, with diving experience from all over the world. More significant for Verna’s upcoming dive, he’d been with Don when he did 181 metres dive down to the end of the same incline shaft that had almost killed Verna. At the time no one in the world had taken a rebreather deeper than they had.
For Verna to have the level of safety cover she wanted on her record attempt she needed someone who could meet her at 150 metres and if necessary stay with her for an extended period. For an open circuit diver (the usual scuba kit) this would mean carrying a volume of gas that was really logistically impossible. The only safe alternative was rebreather technology. If anybody could help Verna do this dive, it was Dave and Don. Although I didn’t know it before he actually did the dive, Dave’s objective was not only to reach the bottom. He’d made the fateful decision to attempt a brief exploration of the bottom of Boesmansgat.
A mystery finally solved
Deon Dreyer vanished on the 17 December 1994, he reappeared on Thurdsay 28th October 2004, at 270 metres, on the bottom of Boesmansgat. Since his initial disappearance the police, using a sophisticated remote control submarine as well as groups of divers working under Nuno Gomes had searched for Deon, to no avail.
Verna achieved her record dive on the 25th of October and on the 28th October 2004 Dave Shaw successfully completed a truly remarkable dive on a rebreather. He dived down to 270 metres and the bottom of Boesmansgat. But he did not stop there. When he hit the bottom Dave tied on his cave reel and started to swim off into the darkness when an incredible thing happened. It was one of those one-in-a-million chance things. Had he looked just a metre to the left or right of his position he would have missed it. There imbedded in the mud and covered by a fine layer of silt were the remains of Deon Dreyer. Deon was lying where he’d landed that tragic day ten years earlier. Dave’s dive would last over eight hours, but the news was relayed to the surface via support divers Don Shirley and Derek Hughes.
In fact I had left Boesmans’ a day earlier, and I found out about Deon via the amazing technology of mobile phones. Verna called me up as soon as she heard and whilst Dave still had many hours of decompression to go. Our old friend Theo van Eden, who had been involved in the initial investigation, felt it was his duty to bring closure to the Dreyer family. He duly relayed the information to Deon’s family. As I wrote this chapter Don Shirley and Dave Shaw were busy trying to organise a recovery of Deon’s remains for his family. Time would tell if it is at all possible. Ultimately Dave Shaw got back to the surface after nine hours and forty minutes underwater. Due to the exertion of trying to lift Deon’s body, he had decided to extend his decompression by over an hour. Even so he paid a price for his incredible effort. By the next morning Dave was experiencing enough pain in one of his shoulders to request that he be taken to a decompression chamber. He was experiencing symptoms of decompression illness. Fortunately Dave made a full recovery and could be very satisfied with the fact that he had successfully used a rebreather deeper than anyone else ever before.
At the time of writing I got Dave’s permission to included some of his impressions of that world record dive.
“Passing 240m I started scanning below to see what the status of the shot-line, bottom and so on was. I could see the shot-line was coiled up with about five metres in a bundle on the rocky bottom. There did not appear to be silt in the immediate vicinity, rather a debris pile of rock. As soon as I reached the bottom of the shot line I clipped on my reel. I scanned through about 270 degrees to select the best direction to go, made a decision and started swimming. I was headed for what appeared to be a deeper section of the cave, and was laying line as I swam. This was cave diving at its best. I scanned the floor as I went, taking in the scenery. It appeared the cave would not go much deeper. I swept right and left with my HID light as I moved forward.
One VR3 had failed as I reached the bottom but the other soldiered on faithfully. I had tied off and was exploring, at a depth of 260 metres and descending. The unit was breathing well. The Hammerhead was keeping an accurate 1.3 PPO2 and I was relaxed and could almost not believe where I was. I was slowly descending and reached a depth of 270 metres. The floor bottom appeared to be not any more than 280m deep ahead. I had laid about twenty metres of line and as I swept left with my HID light, at an angle of about 30º, and 15m away I saw a body, as plain as day.
This had to be the body of Deon Dreyer, who died on the 17th Dec 1994. Even following extensive searches his body had never been found. He was lying on his back, arms in the air and legs outstretched. There was no shock on my part, but rather a decision making process of what to do. Do I continue for depth or go to the body? The decision was easy really. I turned and was soon next to him. I needed to try and make a recovery of the body.
Time was critical. I was within seconds of my turn time and I needed to make a decision. I tried to lift him, but to no avail. I knelt next to him and tried harder. I was now puffing and panting with the exertion. This was not wise I told myself. I am at 270 metres and working too hard. The problem was his twin 10.5lt tanks and large old fashion battery pack was stuck in the mud. Time to go; I was one minute over my maximum bottom time already. I tied off my reel to him so that he could be found again, not even wasting time cutting the reel free. I followed my line back to the shot line and started my ascent. Time for some mental arithmetic! I also concentrated on getting the ascent rate right until the first deco stop at 221 metres, Verna’s world record depth set a couple of days earlier. At 150 metres, 48 minutes into the dive I removed my four bottom gas bailout tanks and clipped them to the line. I then clipped on the two new tanks, plugged in one of them, did a diluent flush and continued the ascent. I met Don as planned at 135 metres. He checked I was okay and then continued down to 150 metres to retrieve the tanks I had recently left. He soon caught me on the ascent again and paused for some communication. I wrote a note on a slate: “270m found body.” That raised his eyebrows somewhat, he shook my hand and then I signalled that he could continue with his ascent. I w
as alone again.”
In spite of his achievement Dave was not satisfied. He undertook to return to Boesmansgat to make an attempt to retrieve Deon Dreyer’s body.
A third death at Boesmansgat
In this book I’ve tried not to comment about any expedition that I was not personally a member of, but I feel one exception can be made to this since it has a direct link to the trip that I’ve just relayed to you.
With the cooperation of the South African Police Services, a careful and detailed plan was put in place to recover the body of Deon Dreyer. The expedition took place in January 2005, a mere three months after Dave Shaw’s record-breaking dive. It brought together some of the most experienced rebreather divers from around the world and held up great hope that Deon’s remains would finally be brought home. The recovery attempt took place on the 8 January 2005, beginning at six am and planned to be a twelve hour dive. Dave entered the water on time and with a last wave, made his way slowly through the entrance crack of Boesmansgat. At the predetermined time Don Shirley followed Dave down the crack to rendezvous with him at 220 metres.
Into The Deepest And Darkest Page 12
