by Eric Douglas
*****
Two o’clock rolled around bright and clear as the sun beat down on the island. Andrea appeared right on time, something that pleased Jackson.
They quickly loaded their equipment, and the lunch Andrea brought, into Jackson’s Boston Whaler, the Daydreamer, where it was moored in the slip beside his houseboat. The Daydreamer was a fiberglass-hulled boat built for fishing and diving. Its twin diesel engines could get it moving quickly. Jackson’s houseboat on the other hand, hadn’t actually left the dock in years. As a matter-of-fact, Jackson wasn’t sure it could move. It was in its slip when he bought it and moved in. Within just a few minutes, Jackson had the Daydreamer heading for open water.
Andrea was taking a moment to sun herself on the open stern of the boat. Jackson took a moment to look her up and down. She was an attractive woman, after all. His eye caught on the choker at her throat, however, not her more obvious attributes. It was a locket in the shape of a dolphin, jumping through the air.
“That’s an interesting necklace,” Jackson said to begin the conversation.
“What’s that?” Andrea asked, as his statement drew her back from her distant thoughts.
“That’s an interesting locket?” Jackson repeated. “Is there a story to it?”
“Well, sort of. My dad gave it to me a long time ago. He loved the ocean, too, and inspired that in me. We went to the ocean every time we could. I used to love to sit with dad on the sand dunes and watch the waves,” she said as she got up and walked back to Jackson. “He would tell me stories about being a diver and exploring the ocean. He died several years ago. That’s what got me where I am, today. I feel like I’m honoring him and his work.”
“Nice story,” Jackson replied. “It’s always interesting to hear how people fell in love with the ocean. For most water people, it’s usually a better story than their first kiss.”
Changing the subject, Jackson got back to the task at hand.
“So, please tell me you have coordinates of the place where they’re going to sink the Beauregard?” Jackson half asked and half-instructed Andrea.
“I’ve got the GPS coordinates right here,” she said handing him a slip of paper.
“Great. I had heard the general vicinity of where they were planning on putting it down, but not the exact location,” Jackson said as he entered the numbers into the digital readout on his GPS guidance system and hit the button to save them, which would also allow the autopilot to steer the boat directly there. He engaged the autopilot, and relaxed in the captain’s chair, but he didn’t get up. Like most boaters, he relied heavily on the electronics that helped him drive the boat, but he didn’t trust any of it completely.
“So, where did you get these coordinates?” Jackson asked after a moment. “I thought they were supposed to be secret.”
“They are, but the local organizers had to file them with the Coast Guard to make sure they weren’t going to impede shipping channels and that sort of thing,” Andrea explained. “You would be amazed what you can find out if you know where to look.”
“Hmmm. This is interesting,” Jackson said, staring at the GPS screen.
“What is it?” Andrea asked getting up and walking over to look at the display.
“Not sure yet. How recently did you say you got these numbers?”
“Just last week.”
“Interesting. This is not exactly where I thought they were going to sink her,” Jackson said. “According to the charts and the GPS readout, this area is completely covered in reef. I thought they were going to drop her further out on open sand.”
“They’re supposed to. It isn’t supposed to be sunk on a reef at all, or really all that close to it,” Andrea replied, peering at the digital display with a troubled look on her face.
Within a few more minutes, they were on the site, as indicated by the GPS coordinates.
“We’re here,” Jackson said. “Let’s get in the water and see what we can see.”
Jackson looked over the side of the boat and stared down into the water for a moment. With the sun high in the sky, he could easily see to the bottom, nearly 100 feet of seawater away. It was covered with reef for as much as he could see. It was a perfect day for a dive.
“I have to drop an anchor somewhere or this boat might take off and leave us behind. It looks like there’s a sandy area a few hundred yards that way. Let me head over there and we can navigate back to this spot,” Jackson said.
He guided the boat until he found a place he could comfortably put down an anchor. It wasn’t just the presence of the pretty environmentalist on his boat that made him want to be careful with the anchor. He understood that people came to visit the Keys for the convenience, as compared to flying to the islands, but also the quality of the reefs. If they all looked like torn up, no one would come here and the dive industry would fall apart. It was up to him, and everyone else for that matter, to take care of it. Jackson chuckled to himself when he thought of the conch walking across the sand floor and how it would handle someone dropping an anchor directly in front of it.
Once he found a good place to drop the anchor, Jackson measured the distance and the direction using the boat’s GPS system and plotted out their dive. Then they geared up and got ready to get wet.
“OK, you’re a dive instructor, but I’ve never been in the water with you, so here’s my normal routine. I hope you take all this as seriously as I do, or we can head back in. I don’t dive with anyone I don’t trust,” Jackson began.
Then he proceeded to show Andrea several of the hand signals he used in the water, and they discussed how they would dive together, when they would turn the dive to return to the boat and the signals for problems. Even among experienced divers, there are different ways to signal the same thing, and Jackson wanted to be sure they were on the same page.
“That all looks good, and thanks for going through that with me. There’s nothing I hate worse than some diver on a boat to tell me how experienced they are and not pay attention to my dive briefing. I’ve had divers brag about making over 1000 dives and then be the worst ones in the water,” Jackson said.
“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Andrea agreed. “To be honest, I was relieved when you said you wanted to run through a buddy check because I was afraid you were some cowboy, going to jump in the water and run off without me.”
“Fair enough. I’m glad we agree. According to the GPS system, we are about 400 yards from the actual spot where they are planning to sink the boat. This is as close as I could get to your coordinates and find sand,” Jackson said. “I’m not sure what’s going on with that, but I circled around the entire site and this was the closest bare patch I could find. And it isn’t big enough for the Beauregard. To get to the actual site, we need to swim 400 yards on a 300 degree bearing.”
“You don’t think your GPS could be off, could it?” Andrea asked.
“I just calibrated it this afternoon when I got off work,” Jackson explained. “Anything’s possible, but I doubt it.”
“Well I’m not sure what’s going on either, but let’s take a look,” Andrea said. “Shall we?”
“We shall.”
Jackson and Andrea back-rolled into the warm clear waters off the Florida Keys. Back rolling is almost always a slightly disorienting experience as you push backwards, holding your gear up tight, and fall into the water, usually a couple feet. You flounder on your back for a few seconds until the air in your buoyancy compensator jacket pushes you back to the surface.
The pair bobbed to the surface for a moment to make sure everything was fine and then they signaled to each other and immediately began their descent.
They were both able to drop quickly through the water, equalizing their ears to the surrounding pressure every few feet. As soon as they got a few feet underwater, Jackson took a bearing and began swimming in the direction they needed to head. There was no reason to waste time dropping st
raight down and then swimming along the bottom when they could simply swim forward while they descended. The water was clear enough that they were able to see the bottom clearly. Instead of trying to navigate the entire distance, Jackson spotted landmarks along the heading and swam to that spot, before spotting another landmark and repeating the process. Experienced divers learn roughly how far they travel underwater for every fin-kick cycle, or for every 10 cycles. It was an easy exercise for Jackson and Andrea to count their kicks and be able to guesstimate when they had traveled 400 yards.
By the time they reached the bottom, at about 100 feet, they were half way to the spot Andrea had been given for the sinking site. They both swam along for a few minutes, simply looking at the coral formations and the reef fish. While the area wasn’t exactly pristine reef, and wasn’t perfectly healthy, there was definitely coral there. It appeared to be struggling somewhat, but it wasn’t a sand bottom.
The general area of the planned sinking was consistently 100 feet deep. That made sense considering the overall height of the ship itself. What didn’t make sense was the coral structure all around. They would never drop an artificial reef on top of an existing reef on purpose. There wouldn’t be any reason to do that.
The divers made a broad circle around the area Andrea’s coordinates indicated the dive site to be. They were looking to see if they were missing something. As they finished the circuit, they began ascending and swimming back toward the boat, reversing their path on the way out. When they were within 15 feet of the surface, they leveled off and continued swimming back to the boat. When they got to the anchor line, the divers waited a few more minutes at that depth, allowing the nitrogen built up in their systems to escape as much as practical before ascending to the surface.
Back on board the boat, Jackson and Andrea admitted to each other that they were confused.
“Well that’s the spot, but I don’t see any place where they could possibly sink a ship. I also don’t see any sign that they’ve done any site preparation, either,” Andrea said.
“I agree. I’d think there would be some flags or something marking out approximately how the boat would lie on the bottom. But that would also be on the sand,” Jackson acknowledged. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”
“The only way it makes any sense is if we have the wrong coordinates somehow,” Andrea said, echoing the doubts in Jackson’s mind. “But I know I copied them down correctly. Unless there was a data entry error or something in the actual report from the Coast Guard, I just don’t understand how they could have the wrong spot as well.”
“I have no idea,” Jackson said as he finished pulling up the boat’s anchor. He started the twin diesels and headed back for the shore.
“Neither do I, but I intend to find out,” Andrea said.
