Unspoiled Reef in the Red Sea

Unspoiled reef in the Red Sea

by B. N. Sullivan

This is the kind of scene that divers' dreams are made of: a pristine reef in a remote location.

We have been asked many times to name our favorite dive destination.  While it's difficult to choose just one location, we would have to include the Brothers Islands in the Red Sea among our top choices.  The remoteness of these two tiny specks, situated about 67 km (about 42 miles) off the eastern coast of Egypt, has helped to keep their lush reefs unspoiled.  The middle-of-nowhere location also attracts many large pelagic fishes of the sort not often seen around near-shore reefs.

The only way to get to the Brothers Islands is via a live-aboard dive boat.  It takes a full day (or overnight) at sea for the boats to reach the Brothers from coastal ports like Hurghada, Safaga or Quseir.  The voyage to the Brothers and back to the coast can be punishing due to rough seas, and dives there can be challenging due to unusually strong currents and choppy surface conditions.  But for experienced divers, the reefs along the near-vertical walls on the flanks of both seamounts (Little Brother and Big Brother) afford some of the most spectacular underwater scenery on the planet.

I photographed this dreamy, tranquil reef scene at Little Brother Island.   We think it illustrates why this location, in our experience, is a contender for Diver Heaven.

Stingray City, Grand Cayman Island

What: Divers interacting with Southern Stingrays (Dasyatis americana).

Where: I took these photos while diving at Stingray City,
a well known dive site in the Cayman Islands.

[Click on the photos to enlarge.]

Diving the Wreck of the Dunraven in the Red Sea

by B. N. Sullivan

This is the third post in a series about the wreck of the Dunraven, a 19th century cargo ship that sank in the Red Sea on April 25, 1876. The ship went down after hitting rocks off the coast of the Sinai peninsula. The rocks pierced the forward section of the vessel's hull, causing it to fill with water and sink. The first photo on this page, at right, shows divers examining the large hole in hull that ultimately sank the Dunraven. (Earlier this week I wrote about the history of the ship and how it met its end, and some wide-angle photos of the wreck. )

Today's topic is diving on the wreck of the Duraven. The photos in this post have been reduced in size. If you click on the photos to enlarge them, you will be able to see more detail.

We have dived the Dunraven on a number of occasions. As wreck dives go, it is a fairly easy one. It does not really require specialized wreck diving skills, however divers who visit the Dunraven should get a detailed briefing ahead of time from a qualified dive guide about what to expect, especially if they intend to penetrate the vessel. Prior to the dive you should know about the layout of the vessel, the route you will follow, and the conditions at the site. If this information is not volunteered by your dive guide, ask!

By the way, the bottom at the site of the wreck is at roughly 30 m (100 ft), so divers who visit the Dunraven should be prepared for that depth.

As the Dunraven sank, its water-filled hull capsized, and it settled onto the bottom upside down. Today the ship's inverted hull is split in two at about the midpoint of its length. The opening there makes for easy entry to the inside of the wreck by divers: A standard dive on this wreck entails entering there, swimming forward through the wreck, and exiting through the hole in the bow that was created by the impact that sunk the vessel.

Here, divers are approaching the large break in the middle of the hull, where they will enter the wreck:



The inside of the wreck is dark, so it is necessary to bring along bright hand-held lights in order to find your way through the vessel, and also to see features of the ship's interior, its boilers, and the marine creatures that now call the Dunraven home.

Some of the divers in our party did not want to penetrate the wreck. I took this photo from inside the wreck while they were peeking at us from the outside, through a hole:



Large, dense schools of Glassfish live permanently inside the Dunraven. Divers must swim through these schools of fish as they pass through the wreck. Also seen frequently inside the wreck: Squirrelfish, Bigeyes, and Lionfish.

In the photo below, divers are swimming through a swarm of Glassfish and exiting the wreck via the hole in the bow:



Having been at the bottom of the sea for well over 100 years, the exterior surfaces of the Dunraven are totally encrusted with corals. Many small creatures live amongst those corals, and it is worth taking the time to poke around to find creatures such as Nudibranchs, and Pipefish. You might also spot a bottom-dwelling fish such as a Stonefish or Scorpionfish alongside the hull where it touches the sand.

Here is a photo of Jerry swimming along the bottom, outside of the wreck of the Dunraven. You can see how the hull is completely covered with marine life:



One word of caution to divers who intend to visit the Dunraven: the area is prone to strong currents. Here is Jerry, swimming near the Dunraven. You can see by the angle of his bubble stream that he is swimming across a substantial current:



When a current is running, a good way to dive this site is to have a boat drop you right over the wreck site, and then pick you up 'downstream' at the end of the dive. It is important, in such cases, to descend to the wreck quickly, before you are swept away. A good plan is to explore the wreck, and then ride the current while gradually ascending along the face of the nearby reef wall to a downstream pick-up point.

The beautiful reef wall that is adjacent to the wreck of the Dunraven is very lush. The wall is well populated with fish, crustaceans and corals of many types. You also may encounter larger fish in the area, such as Napoleon Wrasse, Barracudas, Sharks and Stingrays.

Related:

• History of the Dunraven, a Shipwreck in the Red Sea
• Photos:The Dunraven, a 19th Century Shipwreck
• More wreck diving stories and photos on The Right Blue

History of the Dunraven, a Shipwreck in the Red Sea

by B. N. Sullivan

A popular dive site in the northern Red Sea is the wreck of a ship called the Dunraven. This shipwreck is located near the southernmost tip of Egypt's Sinai peninsula, close to a landmark called Beacon Rock (AKA Sha'ab Mahmoud), near the mouth of the Gulf of Suez.

Today we will review the history of the Dunraven. In the next two posts, we will present more photos of the Dunraven, and tell about diving on the shipwreck.

The Dunraven was a British cargo vessel that was built, operated, and sunk in the late 19th century. Over the years since the vessel's remains were discovered by divers, many stories have been circulated about the history of the Dunraven. At one time it was thought to have been either a spy ship or a treasure ship associated with Lawrence of Arabia. These stories later proved to be false. Instead, it appears the Dunraven had a far less romantic history.

The Dunraven was built in England, at Newcastle, and launched in 1873. Like many of the most modern vessels of that era, she was powered by both steam and sail. The ship was nearly 80 m (260 ft) long, with a beam of just under 10 m (33 feet).

The Dunraven plied the route between England and India. On what turned out to be her final voyage, the ship had carried timber and steel from Liverpool to Bombay, and was making the return trip laden with general cargo when tragedy struck. According to historical data about the vessel compiled by Ned Middleton, the Dunraven left Bombay on April 6, 1876 loaded with cargo bound for Liverpool. The ship, with her crew of 25, crossed the Indian Ocean in good time and entered the Red Sea, stopping at Aden for coal. She continued northward through the length of the Red Sea, apparently headed for the Suez Canal.

In the wee hours of April 25, 1876, the Dunraven, running at full speed under steam power, was approaching the mouth of the Gulf of Suez. As the story goes, a sailor on watch spotted a large dark object, and thought it was a buoy. The Second Mate also saw the object and thought it was a boat.

In any case, the Captain ordered the engines stopped, but it was too late. The ship hit what turned out to be rocks, and the hull was breached at the fore compartment (see photo at left).

Middleton writes:

The steam pumps were immediately set to work and a fruitless attempt was made to heave her off by means of a kedge anchor. By 7am, the water reached the engine room and put out the fires. By midday the starboard side of the upper deck was under water and the Master and crew took to the lifeboats. They remained with their doomed vessel and at 4pm an Arab Dhow came alongside and took the shipwrecked mariners on board. It was only at this time that the Master of the Dunraven was made aware if his actual position - off the southern tip of the Sinai Peninsular.

At 5 pm, the Dunraven slipped off the reef and sank in 15 fathoms (27 m) of water. For three days the Dhow lay at anchor over the Dunraven until Captain Care and his crew were transferred to the passing Italian steamer "Arabia" which conveyed them to Suez. The Peninsular and Orient steamer "Malwa" later transported them all back to England.

Tomorrow, we will post some more photos of the wreck of the Dunraven for Wordless/Watery Wednesday. Then, later in the week, we will tell about diving on the this famous shipwreck in the Red Sea. Stay tuned!

Sexy Stuff on the Reef - Ruby Brittle Stars Spawning

by B. N. Sullivan

Our favorite Caribbean dive destination is the Cayman Islands. In particular, we like to stay on Cayman Brac. From there we can make day trips by boat to dive at Little Cayman, in addition to diving the many excellent sites around Cayman Brac itself.

In fact, one of our favorite night dives anywhere is a site on the north coast of Cayman Brac known as Radar Reef, which reportedly got its name from a landmark visible to boats offshore -- the antennas at a nearby telecommunications facility.

You don't need to hire a boat to dive Radar Reef at night, since it is easily accessible from shore. There is a boat ramp at the shoreline end of Kirkconnell Street at Stake Bay. Some concrete steps alongside the boat ramp lead right into the water, making it incredibly easy to enter and exit the water.

Some undersea communications cables come ashore nearby, and the trick is to locate the cables where they lie on the sandy bottom near the boat ramp, and then follow them offshore to the reef. (They're actually quite easy to spot.) At the end of the dive, you simply follow the cables back to shore again. It's next to impossible to get lost there, as long as you keep the cables in sight.

We've been to Cayman Brac a number of times, and while there, we always do a few night dives at Radar Reef. The area is well populated with small creatures, so it is a macro photographer's paradise. Particularly plentiful are critters that only come out at night. One of those is the Ruby Brittle Star (Ophioderma rubicundum), which forages only at night and hides in crevices in the reef during daylight.

Just before 7 PM one dark August evening, we waded into the water next to the boat ramp, located the cables, and swam out to Radar Reef. Fortunately I had set up my camera for macro photography in anticipation of the small critters we expected to see. Still, we had no idea what an amazing sight we were about to chance upon.

Once we arrived at the reef, in about 45 feet (14 m) of water, we shined our lights around on the coral heads to look for photo subjects. I spotted a Ruby Brittle Star almost instantly. I photographed it, and then noticed there was another of the same species very close by. As I was preparing to photograph the second one, I noticed a third, and then another and another.

Jerry was right beside me, but shining his light on a different coral head. I finished taking a photo, and he nudged me to look where he was shining his light.

There we saw more Ruby Brittle Stars -- lots more. Dozens and dozens of these critters seemed to be appearing out of nowhere, converging on the reef. They were literally draping themselves all over the coral, the sea fans, and the sponges growing on the reef. We had never seen so many Ruby Brittle Stars in one place at one time. We both had the feeling that something was going on, but we didn't know what.

I took a few more photos, and then we began to notice that some of the brittle stars appeared to be standing up. We had never seen this behavior before, but here they all were, standing up on their tippy-toes, raising their disc-shaped bodies off the corals or sponges where they had been resting flat a few moments earlier. They were beginning to look like so many miniature footstools.

Now completely fascinated, I shot frame after frame of what to us was a novel behavior. Then all of a sudden, the critters -- still balancing on the tips of their rays -- began to eject clouds of tiny red beads into the water. It took just a few seconds for the realization to hit us: these brittle stars were spawning!




As soon as they finished expelling spawn, the brittle stars ceased their peculiar uplifted posture and dropped back down into their more usual flat position, rays extended around them. Some individuals were entwined with others, but now they all just lay there. With their spawning orgy over, the brittle stars became immobile. They seemed totally spent -- in more ways than one!

We noticed little else on that dive, and I never did photograph anything but the Ruby Brittle Stars that night. I was shooting film, and I very quickly shot the entire roll of 36 frames, all the while thinking what incredible luck it was that brought us there to just the right place, at just the right time, to witness this amazing mass spawning event.

The photos on this page all were taken during that one night dive at Radar Reef. These photos are 1:2 macros. To give you an idea of the actual size of these creatures, the body disc of the Ruby Brittle Star is about a half inch (1.3 cm) across.

I have reduced the size of some of the photos on this page so that they all would fit into the text. You can click on any of them to see a larger view. In particular, you may want to look at the enlarged view of the 4th and 5th photos, so that you can see the red spawn more clearly.

Caption: "Was it good for you??"

Meet the Mantis Shrimp

by B. N. Sullivan

Let me introduce you to one of our favorite marine creatures: the mantis shrimp. Why are they a favorite? They're cute (sort of), they're very smart (for a crustacean), and they're fun to watch. Unfortunately, they're also difficult to photograph -- more on this a little later!

The individual in the photos on this page is a Shortnose Mantis Shrimp (Odontodactylus brevirostris), from Hawaii. I know that the critter looks pretty big in these photos, but it's not. These are macro images. The mantis shrimp in these pictures was only about two inches (5 cm) long. You can click on any of the photos to see a larger view.

Despite the name, mantis shrimps are not true shrimps. I guess I don't need to explain that they are not mantises, either -- although they apparently acquired their name because they resemble praying mantises somewhat. Like crabs and lobsters and true shrimps, mantis shrimps are Crustaceans.

All mantis shrimps belong to the order Stomatopoda. Stomatopods have a number of features that set them apart from other crustaceans. Among the most notable -- and noticeable -- are their raptorial arms, and eyes that are highly evolved.

Mantis Shrimp Eyes

I've always wondered what the undersea world looks like through the mantis shrimp's eyes, because their eyes are like no other eyes. Take a look at the photos, and notice that the eyes are set at the end of stalks. Each eye is independently movable -- and they seem to move constantly, giving the critters a hyper-alert look. Each eye is trinocular, that is, each has three separate perceptual regions. This would be sort of like having built-in trifocal lenses, except that instead perceiving things at three different levels of magnification, each eye region is specialized to perceive a different kind of visual information -- but all at once.

Mantis shrimp eyes are capable of hyperspectral vision. In other words, not only can they see the visible light spectrum, like we can, but they also can see spectra of light that we cannot, including infrared and ultraviolet. Very recently it was discovered that mantis shrimps have the ability to perceive circular polarized light, too.

Raptorial Appendages

The mantis shrimp's raptorial appendages actually are legs that have evolved into claw-like arms, specialized for killing prey. There are two types: some species have thin, barbed raptorial arms that can spear prey; others have club-like raptorial appendages that smash their prey. (The mantis shrimp species in the photos is a 'smasher'.) When mantis shrimps are at rest or walking about, they keep those killer appendages folded up like closed jack-knives against their bodies, just as the creature in these photos is doing. When they go after prey, those appendages unfold at an incredible speed and they spear or whack the prey.

The spearers tend to choose soft-bodied prey like worms and little fish. The spearers are ambush predators. That is, they sit quietly and concealed until prey comes along and then they attack. In contrast, the smashers usually pursue their prey -- and that is one of the mantis shrimp behaviors we love to watch, when we get the chance.

The smashers use their raptorial arms not just to kill prey, but also to break it apart to eat. The species in the photo eats things like small crabs, and gastropod snails that live in shells. When the mantis shrimp sees one of those and goes after it, first he punches it silly, then he uses his raptorial arms to crack open the shell so that he can pick out the meat with his little forward legs, which are also specialized for that purpose.

The Star of the Puako 'Petting Zoo'

The mantis shrimp in the photos on this page lives off the coast of Puako, Hawaii in an area where we have made countless dives. When you dive in the same area again and again and again over a period of years, you become aware of things that a visiting diver probably never would notice in the course of just a few dives. One thing you learn is where all the different types of creatures live. Except for pelagics that roam the open sea, most marine creatures have a relatively small range. Once you spot where they live, you can usually count on seeing them in the same general area any time you go there. Once you know where to look, there they will be.

Puako has a wonderful fringing reef that parallels the shoreline for a couple of miles. The coral reef area is beautiful, and very accessible, but there are areas beyond the reef that are just as fascinating, if not quite so pretty. Where the seaward edge of the reef ends there is a steep slope. The top of the slope has many rocks and is still covered with quite a lot of coral, but deeper on the slope where less sunlight penetrates there is little live coral. There are more rocks, plus lots and lots of coral rubble -- lumps of dead coral washed down the slope from the reef over time. At the base of the rubble slope the terrain levels out into a sandy plain.

There is an area near the base of the rubble slope, at a depth of about 100 ft (30 meters), that we named the Petting Zoo. We called it that because it teems with small creatures. Sometimes we would go directly to the Petting Zoo, plop ourselves down in one spot, and spend the entire dive watching all the little creatures go about their business. You can learn a lot about marine creatures' behavior that way.

On one of our visits to the Petting Zoo, we noticed this particular mantis shrimp. Some mantis shrimp species are nocturnal, i.e. they only come out at night. This species works the day shift. We first saw him when he emerged from his burrow and began scurrying about. Mantis shrimps can swim a bit. If you look at the second photo above, you'll notice that this creature has a tail not unlike that of a lobster. They can use their tails to propel themselves through the water for short distances, but their more usual method of locomotion is to run about. Notice I said run. They move quickly -- usually too quickly to get a good macro shot.

Mantis shrimps live in burrows. This one had excavated a double-ended tunnel under the sand. I have no idea what it's like inside the burrow -- we used to joke that he probably had an overstuffed chair and a TV in there for all we knew. We did notice that outside the entrance to the burrow we would sometimes see pieces of broken shell in little piles. A few times we saw the critter in the process of housecleaning -- literally throwing bits of shell out the door.

On successive visits we saw this mantis shrimp stalk and kill prey -- usually a small crab. One time we saw him smack a crab that was bigger than he was, dismember it, and drag the body to the opening of his burrow. The mantis shrimp disappeared inside the burrow for a few minutes, then re-emerged and whacked the shell of the now legless crab a couple of times to crack it open and began to dig out the 'meat' for his feast. We watched him until it was time for us to begin our ascent. He was still working on the crab when we left. When we came back a day or two later we looked for the remains. Sure enough, there was a recognizable piece of the crab's empty shell not too far away from the entrance to the mantis shrimp's burrow.

I mentioned in the first paragraph of this article that mantis shrimps can be difficult to photograph. That's because they seem to be in motion constantly when they are outside their burrows. It's not too difficult to get a shot of one peeking out of its burrow, but capturing an image of the whole animal had eluded me for years.

Then one day at the Puako Petting Zoo, this little mantis shrimp came out of its burrow and just stood there looking at us. And -- Hallelujah! -- not only did I have my camera, it was set up for macro photography. Moving as slowly as I could, not to startle the critter, I lay down on my belly on the sand at the edge of the rubble slope, and sort of inched toward the mantis shrimp. He didn't run away.

I focused carefully on his wonderful eyes and pressed the shutter release, figuring this would probably be my one and only shot. So often in underwater nature photography, the flash of the strobe startles a photo subject and it quickly leaves, so one shot is all you get. But no, not this mantis shrimp. I expected him to high-tail it to his burrow, but instead he actually came toward me a bit, stopped and turned sideways, almost posing. Now practically touching him with the end of the lens port, I took another shot, and a third.

Then he turned the other way and positioned himself as if to say, "How's this? Can you see my tail a little better now?" I shot once more, and then he finally scampered over to his burrow and disappeared inside. I did press the shutter one more time while he was in retreat, but his movements had stirred up the sand by then.

I've often wondered what it was that made that mantis shrimp decide to be such a cooperative photo model that day. I've never again had an opportunity like that.

Sipadan Turtle Cave: The Video

The story I wrote last month about The Cave Where Turtles Die, at Pulau Sipadan, has turned out to be the most popular story ever published on The Right Blue. I guess it just captured people's imagination.

Now a reader has alerted us to a video of the Sipadan Turtle Cave, produced and posted to YouTube by Dutch diver Paul Vermeulen. It looks to us as though the diver only visited the first chamber of the cave -- or at least that is all he filmed. Watch for shots of the entrance to the cave, shot from inside. Spooky!



(If the video does not play or display properly above, click here to view it on YouTube.)

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 3

by B. N. Sullivan

This is the third in a multi-article series about Pulau Sipadan, a magical dive destination off the coast of Borneo. If you have read Part 1 and Part 2 of this series, you know that the accommodations at the 'resorts' on Pulau Sipadan in 1993 were rather spartan. One thing that was not lacking, however, was excellent food.

There are trade-offs inherent in traveling to remote locations such as Pulau Sipadan to dive. The more remote the destination, the more likely it is that the underwater environment will be relatively unspoiled. At the same time, less developed destinations are likely to entail certain privations. In the previous articles, for example, I described the lodging and bathing facilities at Sipadan Island, which were rather spare.

Facilities for traveling divers usually offer all-inclusive packages -- lodging, diving, and meals. In fact, at more remote spots like Pulau Sipadan, there is no other option. There are no off-site restaurants or snack bars. It's a case of eat whatever they provide, or don't eat at all.

Traveling divers tend to be a hungry lot. During stays at dedicated dive resorts, and on live-aboard dive boats, it is not unusual to make five dives every day. All that physical activity can really work up an appetite! God forbid you are stuck at a place that has lousy or insufficient food when there is no alternative place to eat.

Like many other traveling divers, we learned to take along some food items on these trips -- peanut butter, canned tuna, packets of dried soups, etc. It's impossible to haul enough food to live on for ten days, but there were times when we dipped into those supplies to supplement for sparse meals, or when the food offered was, erm, unappetizing. (Don't get me started on some of the weird things we have eaten while ensconced at some of these places!)

Fortunately food was not a problem at Sipadan. In fact, the daily mealtime offerings at Pulau Sipadan Resort (PSR) were nothing short of amazing, especially in light of the fact that every tidbit had to be imported, and the kitchen facilities were as basic as the rest of the accommodations.

A highlight of each day was the dinner buffet, although I should note that it helped if you liked fish and other seafood. Each day, local fishermen paddling open canoes would arrive at the beach to sell their catch. (See photo at the top of this page.) The cooks would go down to the water's edge to bargain with the fishermen, and soon we would see them carrying fresh fish -- often still flapping -- back to the kitchen to prepare for what we all called The Catch of the Day Buffet.

Depending on which kind of fish the cooks bought from the fishermen, we had baked fish, poached fish, fried fish, fish with sauce, fish curry -- you get the idea -- and it was all very good. Along with the fish dish, the buffet always had homemade soup, big bowls of rice and steamed vegetables, and lots of fresh fruit. We never, ever went to bed hungry.

One day in particular, we all felt like we had hit the jackpot. The fishermen arrived with a very large billfish lashed to the side of their (nearly swamped) canoe. Considering that these fishermen had no tackle except hand lines, it seemed inconceivable that they could have caught such a fish, but they had. That's Jerry posing with the fish in the photo at left. To give you an idea of just how big that fish was, I should mention that Jerry is six feet tall.

I'm sure that such a prize fish must have fetched quite a sum for the fishermen, but the guests and staff at PSR were the real winners. With limited refrigeration (run on a portable generator), it was necessary to eat as much of the fish as we could, as soon as we could. What a feast we all had that evening and the next.

As a main course, we had grilled steaks from that big fish. There was so much of it that everyone was encouraged to have second and third helpings: better to eat it than to let it spoil for lack of refrigerated storage. Some of the choicest flesh of the big fish was sliced up for sashimi.

About two thirds of the divers staying at PSR at the time were Westerners -- mostly Europeans, plus the two of us Americans. The rest were Asian nationalities, as were most of the staff. When one of the cooks brought out a huge, heaping platter of sashimi, Jerry's eyes lit up. One of the British divers, a new arrival on the island, asked, "What the &$%@ is that??"

"Sashimi," Jerry told him. "You know, raw fish." The Brit made an awful face, shuddered, and walked away muttering something about cat food.

None of the other Europeans seemed interested in the sashimi either, but we lined up with all of the Asians to take our turn at the sashimi platter. When we got to the table and held out our plates, the server asked us, "Aren't you guys Americans?" We nodded yes. "Americans like sashimi??" he asked with raised eyebrows -- and then added, "I don't think so."

"We're from Hawaii," Jerry told him, as if that explained everything. Turned out it did.

"Oh, I see," said the server with a knowing grin. "So you're used to Asian food then." He heaped big slabs of the glistening sashimi onto our plates, while another server handed each of us a small bowl of shoyu and wasabi. It was a heavenly treat. We went back for seconds and thirds of that!

It turned out that the poor Brit who apparently found the thought of sashimi so distasteful didn't much like fish to begin with, much less raw fish. The servers noticed that he took none of the fish -- only rice and vegetables and fruit. One of them sprinted back to the kitchen, and returned about 15 minutes later with a plate. On the plate sat a grilled pork chop. He set it down in front of the Englishman, announcing, "Special for you."

For the rest of his stay at Sipadan, the non-fish eating diver was served a pork chop or a sausage every day. How can you quibble with hospitality like that?

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 2

by B. N. Sullivan

Yesterday, I began to tell about what it was like to stay at Sipadan Island in 1993. These days, staying on Sipadan Island is not allowed. Following a 2004 decision by the Malaysian government, lodging facilities on the island were closed down in an effort to preserve Sipadan's fragile ecosystem. Divers can still visit the dramatic walls and lush reefs of Sipadan on day trips, but they must stay elsewhere. In 1993, however, there still were a few facilities on the little island where visiting divers and sport fishermen were accommodated. Those 'resorts' were only for the hardier breed of traveler, however.

We stayed at an establishment called the Pulau Sipadan Resort (PSR), which could accommodate about 25 to 30 guests at a time. The place was well run -- clean and organized, with a friendly and competent staff who did an amazingly good job, given what they had to work with.

The accommodations on Sipadan were adequate, but spare. As I mentioned yesterday, the island was (and is still) without electricity and other utilities. Each of the lodging facilities had its own generator to produce electricity for its own use.

All supplies used on the island -- fuel for the boats and generators, foods, beverages, cleaning supplies, and so on -- had to be imported by boat from mainland Borneo. Potable water was regularly delivered to the island this way as well, arriving in large plastic bladders. Potable water was a precious commodity on the island, and it was carefully rationed.

Lodging consisted of small thatch-roofed huts, with virtually no amenities, save for beds and some plain wooden shelves. The huts had no running water -- much less bathrooms.

Aside from the resorts, there have been no permanent human settlements on the island, in part because there is no reliable source of fresh water on Pulau Sipadan. When the resorts were established a system was devised to tap into a brackish water source in the island's interior. That water was unsuitable for drinking or cooking, but good enough for bathing and cleaning.

Bathing on Sipadan entailed a ritual that became a part of the adventure of the place. PSR had a single bath house for everyone to use. It was an oblong structure made of concrete blocks. Inside, a row of stalls lined each side, and at the end of the corridor between the rows of stalls were a few sinks. The toilet stalls were on one side of the building, and on the opposite side were the shower stalls. As best we can recall, there were six toilet stalls, and six shower stalls. Nothing too unusual so far.

The bathing ritual began outside the bath house where prospective bathers lined up at designated hours, carrying their towels, robes, soap, and shampoo. Alongside the path leading to the bath house was a stack of plastic pails. Each bather was instructed to pick up a pail.

Near the door to the bath house, a few PSR staff manned a charcoal fire over which a very large cast iron kettle was suspended. In the kettle, fresh water simmered, warmed by the charcoal fire. Just before entering the bath house, each bather held out his or her pail, and the staff used a large metal dipper to fill the pail with warm, fresh water.

Each of the shower stalls had a pipe -- no shower head -- that emitted lukewarm brackish water. We soaped up and washed with the brackish water, and then poured the fresh water from the plastic pails over ourselves to rinse.

By the way, we were never alone in the shower stalls: several pairs of eyes always watched us as we bathed. The eyes belonged to creatures from the island's dense jungle behind the bath house. The creatures -- mostly large Monitor Lizards, and the occasional Coconut Crab -- liked to hang out in the bath house.

The lizards, which were between one and two feet long with a hefty girth, liked to walk along the tops of the partitions between the stalls, and from that vantage point, they 'monitored' the bathers. This was a bit unsettling at first, but it soon became apparent that they only wanted to watch, and by day three, we just ignored them.

The big crabs were more difficult to ignore. If they felt challenged, they would rear up, holding out their rather large pincers in a threat display. Those pincers are capable of cracking open coconuts -- hence the name 'Coconut Crab' -- so when one appeared in a shower stall where we were standing naked, we were inclined to behave in a way we hoped the crab would not perceive as unfriendly.

Of all the aspects of the Sipadan bathing ritual, though, the thing that became legend among the guests was that big iron kettle of water simmering over the fire outside the bath house door. The daily allotment of warm, fresh rinse water was welcome, of course, but that big pot also evoked cartoon-inspired images of cannibal tribes. After all, this was Borneo. We all joked that, should we see sliced carrots and onions floating in that kettle one day, we would know we were about to become soup!

Next, for Wordless Wednesday, we will post a photo of one of Sipadan's reef creatures. After that, we have a few more stories to tell about Pulau Sipadan.

Sipadan Island - Being there, Part 1

by B. N. Sullivan

In the previous two posts, we told the story of our first trip to Sipadan Island, also known as Pulau Sipadan, a remote oceanic island off the coast of Borneo. It was a long and complicated journey, and we arrived on the little island in a dazed and disheveled state.

Because of its physical remoteness, one had to exert considerable effort just to get there: Pulau Sipadan is not on the way to or from anywhere else. As someone we know described it, "Sipadan is not exactly at the end of the Earth, but you can see it from there."

The island is a nature preserve, and a nesting ground for sea turtles. At the time we first went there (1993), the island had three resorts (I use the term loosely) catering primarily to divers and sport fishermen. Then, in 2004, the Malaysian government ordered the operators of tourist facilities on Pulau Sipadan to vacate the island. As a result, it is no longer possible to stay on Pulau Sipadan, although several companies still run boat trips to the island so that divers can still visit Sipadan's underwater wonders.

Pulau Sipadan is remote by its physical location, and it also is figuratively remote from the mainstream of human civilization by several orders of magnitude. Although we concluded that it definitely was a worthwhile thing to do, staying there entailed quite a few improvisations.

Those improvisations began with the accommodations on Pulau Sipadan. The operators of the visitor facilities on the island called them 'resorts' but they really were more like semi-permanent camps. Guests were lodged in 'chalets' that actually were little huts on stilts, with thatched roofs. The one in the second photo on this page was where we slept during our ten days on Pulau Sipadan.

The huts each had two beds -- mattresses on metal frames. The beds did have linens, and each hut had one wooden shelf, but there were no other furnishings. The huts were wired for electricity, sort of. Each had one electric light in the form of a bare light bulb suspended from the center of the roof on a wire. That was it. There was no running water in the huts, so there were no bathrooms -- not even a sink or a tap. (More on this a bit later.)

Pulau Sipadan is quite distant from mainland Borneo, and there are no underwater cables between the two. When we stayed there, the island had no regular telephone or electric service. Each facility on the island generated its own electricity, and a radio telephone -- also run on a portable generator -- was the primary means of communication with the rest of the world.

Electricity from the generators ran everything on the island during the day. Fuel for the generators had to be imported by sea, so it was expensive. Shortly after sunset, the generators were switched off as a conservation measure. As a result, life on the island matched the rising and setting of the sun. We rose with the first rays of light, and, since there was no light source after sunset, save for our flashlights, everyone retired early.

Next - more details about daily life for visitors to Pulau Sipadan, including the most 'interesting' bathing facilities we have ever encountered.

Sipadan Island - Getting there, Part 2

by B. N. Sullivan

This is Part 2 of a story I began to tell yesterday -- the story of our first journey to Pulau Sipadan, a tiny island off the coast of Borneo. The story so far: we flew first to Kuala Lumpur, then to Kota Kinabalu, and then to Tawau. From Tawau we traveled by car up the coast to Semporna. This episode picks up at Semporna, where we began the final leg of our very long journey.

By prearrangement with the folks who managed the place where we would stay on Sipadan, a smallish motorboat was dispatched to ferry us to the little island. Since our flight to Tawau had arrived late, we had missed the mini-bus to Semporna. We traveled to Semporna by taxi instead, and we were running a bit late, so we were relieved to find the boat waiting for us at the fishing pier in Semporna when we arrived there.

Our friends who had preceded us on this journey had warned us about this final stage. They told us that the trip would be made in an open boat that went very fast and created a lot of spray. They said we should be prepared to get wet during the boat ride, and advised us to dress accordingly. They were not kidding!

Our boatman loaded all of our things into the stern of the little vessel, and indicated that we should sit on some bench seats beneath a tarpaulin sunshade. We cast off from the pier, and gently motored through the harbor. Near the outer edge of the harbor, we passed by numerous clusters of houses built on stilts over the water, and then by a few tiny islets. As soon as we got to the open water, the boatman increased speed. A lot!

Once we left Semporna and the islets behind, there were no more landmarks at all -- nothing but the glistening surface of the Celebes Sea in every direction. Later we discussed how we both felt a bit leery at that point, heading straight out to sea at a high rate of speed in a small open boat, hoping against hope that the boat driver actually knew how to find Sipadan. At the time, though, it was impossible to discuss this or anything else. The noise from the boat's motors was very loud, and we were traveling so fast across the water that we couldn't even turn toward each other for fear of having our sunglasses blown right off our faces. All we could do was hold on tightly to the edge of our seats, and, squinting against the bright sunlight reflected from the sea surface, pray that we would eventually make it to Sipadan.

About an hour after we left Semporna, the boat driver slowed a smidgen, and pointed toward the horizon. A tiny tropical island appeared before us. From a distance, it looked just like Gilligan's Island. As we glided up to a sandy beach, the boat's engines were cut and a few men ran down to the shoreline to catch the mooring line. We were instructed to hop out -- which we did, into thigh-deep water -- and several staff from Pulau Sipadan Resort, where we were staying, waded out to fetch our belongings.

Once ashore we glanced around quickly and noticed a number of people sitting on a sort of deck, chuckling and grinning at us. It turned out that the arrival of new guests was one of the most amusing events of the day at Sipadan.

On each of the following ten days that we spent on the little island, we would join the group on the deck to watch the latest arrivals to Sipadan. They all looked like we did when we arrived: disoriented, wilted from the heat, totally drenched, wearing sunglasses nearly opaque with sea spray, hair frozen by salt in whatever way the wind had blown it during the boat ride. Everyone, it seemed, arrived at Sipadan somewhat dazed and looking a wreck.

Here's a link to a map of Sabah state on Borneo. If you like, you can use it to retrace our journey from Kota Kinabalu, to Tawau, to Semporna, to Pulau Sipadan.

Next (after Wordless Wednesday) - what it was like to stay on Sipadan Island in 1993.

Sipadan Island - Getting there, Part 1

by B. N. Sullivan

Often we are asked which is our favorite place to dive. While it is difficult to choose even one general area, let alone just one dive site, Sipadan Island certainly would be a top contender for "diver heaven."

We first learned about Pulau Sipadan, as it is called there, by asking that very question of someone else. In 1992, while we were on a Caribbean dive trip, we met and befriended a married couple who both were marine biologists and underwater photographers. They had traveled all over the world to dive, for recreation as well as for their work. Naturally, we asked them which place was their favorite. One of the places at the top of their list was Sipadan.

Listening to our new friends' vivid descriptions of Sipadan's underwater world, we decided we had to see this place for ourselves. They had mentioned that Sipadan was in a remote location, and told us that just getting there was an adventure. Once we set about to plan our first trip there, we realized that they were not kidding about the remoteness -- nor about the adventure of the journey.

Pulau Sipadan (pictured above) is an oceanic island in the Celebes Sea. It is located off the coast of Sabah State, on the Malaysian side of Borneo. Getting there took several days.

First, we flew to Malaysia's capital city, Kuala Lumpur -- a major trip in itself. We stayed there overnight, and then flew to Borneo, landing at Kota Kinabalu, a coastal city in Sabah state, situated on the South China Sea. We changed planes in Kota Kinabalu for our connecting flight to the port city of Tawau, on the opposite coast of Borneo.

The flight to Tawau was the final air leg of the journey to Sipadan, but Tawau was just a waypoint in the journey, not our destination. We still had an overland leg and a boat ride ahead of us.

We were supposed to travel next by mini-bus from Tawau to Semporna, a smaller fishing port up the coast. That was the plan, but as luck would have it, our flight arrived late in Tawau, and by the time we cleared through the airport, the mini-bus had left without us. We took a taxi into the center of town to find some lunch while we figured out what to do.

Our taxi driver spoke no English, but he understood our hand signals indicating that we wanted to find a place to eat. He dropped us at a small hotel that appeared to cater to local business travelers. They had a curry buffet for lunch, and that was welcome, since it excused us from having to choose items from a menu we couldn't understand.

Bellies full of fish curry, fresh fruit, and tea, we set off for a nearby square where we had seen a rank of parked taxis. The taxi drivers eyed us warily as we approached. We must have looked a sight -- travel-weary Westerners hauling what must have seemed an inordinate amount of luggage. In truth, we took very few clothes with us on that trip, but we had several cases full of dive gear and camera equipment.

While I parked myself at the curb with all of the luggage, Jerry sought out a driver who would be willing to ferry us up the coast to Semporna. After much sign language and pointing at maps, Jerry struck a deal with the driver of a reasonably intact Toyota, and off we went. After about an hour's drive on a road that passed through vast palm oil plantations, we arrived at Semporna. (That's Semporna in the second photo.)

Now we were about to embark on the final leg of the journey, which I'll tell about in the next post. Meanwhile, here's a link to a map of Sabah state on Borneo. If you are interested, you can use it to trace our journey from Kota Kinabalu, to Tawau, to Semporna, to Pulau Sipadan.

The Cave Where Turtles Die

by B. N. Sullivan

Back in the early 1980s, the famous ocean explorer Captain Jacques Yves Cousteau and his team made their first visit to Sipadan Island, off the coast of Borneo. They made a film about Sipadan, and one of the highlights in that film was an eerie cave in which they found many bones and skeletons of sea turtles. They had never before seen such a sight, and they were puzzled by it. At the time, they theorized that perhaps old sea turtles just went there to die.

About a decade after Cousteau's first visit to Sipadan, we went there to dive. We had heard about the legendary turtle cave, and it was one of the things at Sipadan that we wanted to see for ourselves. Since it's a potentially dangerous dive, the Sipadan Turtle Cave is restricted to experienced divers who have had appropriate training, and it is essential to go with a guide who knows the terrain inside the cave. Fortunately, we were able to make arrangements to dive the Sipadan Turtle Cave with a veteran guide who knew the cave well.

As underwater caves go, this one is not particularly deep. The entrance to the cave is in the side of a limestone wall that begins a few meters below the surface and plunges straight down to a depth of about 600 meters (about 2,000 ft.). The mouth of the cave, found at a depth of only 20 meters or so (about 65 ft.), is small and partly disguised by large soft corals.

Just inside the cave's narrow mouth is a fairly roomy chamber, where we paused to let our eyes begin to adjust to the darkness. Once we passed beyond this first chamber there was no ambient light at all, so of course the three of us -- the guide, Jerry, and I -- carried multiple lights with us on this dive.

What makes the dive tricky is the cave's interior terrain - an intricate maze of chambers connected by narrow tunnels. The tunnels are not straight: they curve this way and that -- not just left and right, but also up and down, as if the whole works had been built as a bed for a roller coaster.

The bottom of the entire cave system was covered in fine, silty sand, so we had to be extremely careful to stir it up as little as possible as we went along. Once fine sand gets stirred in small spaces like that, visibility is quickly reduced to zero.

We saw and photographed the famous turtle skeletons, which we came across in several of the cave's chambers. Some were no more than disorderly piles of bones, like the first photo on this page. Others were more complete skeletons, with half-disintegrated carapaces, and goofy looking turtle skulls, like the second photo. [Click on any of the photos to enlarge.]

While Cousteau and his group conjectured that old or sick turtles may have gone there intentionally to die, our guide told us that Cousteau's original notion had been replaced more recently by a more prosaic explanation: Turtles occasionally wander into the cave system, perhaps to rest, or to hide from a predator, or maybe just out of curiosity. Then they become lost in the dark, disorienting interior of the cave. When they need to surface for a breath of air, they can't find their way out, so they drown. This explanation, while not as romantic as Cousteau's, made sense to us.

Turtles are not the only air breathing animals to have drowned in that cave. In one of the cave's chambers our guide used his light to direct our attention to a rocky ledge. There was the complete skeleton of an unlucky dolphin, which had shared the fate of the hapless turtles.

Diving in the Sipadan Turtle Cave was one of the highlights of our time at that remarkable little island in the Celebes Sea. We recently unearthed a cache of photos from our first trip there -- not just underwater photos, but some taken on the journey there, and on the island. For the next several posts, we will share some of those photos, and the tales that go with them. Stay tuned.

Final Dives on the Wreck of the Zenobia

by B. N. Sullivan

This is the final article in a series about our seven dives on the wreck of the Zenobia, a large ship that sank off the coast of Cyprus in 1980. If you missed the earlier episodes, we invite you to scroll down to the bottom of this article for links to the whole series.

In the most recent episode, we talked about our first dive inside the sunken ship. For that dive, we entered the Zenobia's upper parking deck through a doorway near the bow end of the ship, swam through, and exited through a larger opening closer to the stern. For successive dives, we took the opposite route, entering the parking deck through the larger opening and exiting through the doorway situated underneath the ship's bridge, near the bow.

The first dive inside the ship was all about getting a feel for the vast interior space that had been the big ferry's upper parking deck. Now that we were more oriented, we could concentrate on what there was to see of the Zenobia's cargo, and the creatures that had taken up residence inside the sunken ship.

I mentioned earlier that the Zenobia was carrying more than 100 fully loaded lorries (trailer trucks). Those trucks, which had been lined up in the parking deck when the ship was still on the surface, now lay in a jumbled pile against the port wall of the parking deck, having tumbled there as the ship sank and settled on the sandy bottom on its port side. Many of the trailers had broken up and released their pallets of cargo to scatter about. We saw shoes, clothing, machinery, and cans of house paint that had been destined for distant ports, but never made it.

We looked all around inside the big ship, shining our lights here and there as we went along. In one of those sweeps, we saw what looked like a pile of bones. As far as we knew, no one had died when the Zenobia sank, so we were very surprised to see bones -- big bones -- piled in disarray near the remains of a half-disintegrated truck body.

Looking more closely, we saw what looked like thigh bones and ribs -- BIG ribs. It was a grisly looking sight and we were taken aback at first, but on closer inspection it became clear that we were looking at animal bones. The bones were all that remained of the cargo of a refrigerated truck that had been on board the Zenobia. The truck had apparently been carrying sides of beef and other large pieces of meat. Over time the bones had been picked clean by fish and crabs, I guess. The truck in which they were being transported had decayed and broken open. In sum, it was a rather distasteful sight, and we didn't linger.

In addition to the lorries and what remained of their cargo, we did see a lot of other things inside the parking deck, including an amazing assortment of living creatures. We saw several kinds of crabs, and two species of small nudibranchs (snails without shells). We saw many crinoids -- also known as feather stars -- a class of creatures that are in the same phylum as sea stars (starfish), but with arms that resemble feathers and a separate set of little feet that they use for locomotion, and also for hanging on to wherever they are perched. The crinoids inside the Zenobia were very delicate and flimsy looking, compared to most we had seen elsewhere.

We saw quite a few fish, of course, darting in and out of the debris inside the Zenobia's parking garage. They were mostly small fish, like little wrasses and cardinalfish, and two small groupers. The photo at left shows the now-horizontal doorway that was our entrance for our first dive into the parking deck, and our exit for the final two dives. It looked a bit smaller when we were further inside the wreck, but it made a nice picture frame for fish that were busily going about their business outside the wreck. At one point we looked toward that door and saw framed there a small school of silvery jacks zooming past in a parade, a lovely sight we'll never forget.

While most of the fish we saw inside the wreck were small, we did see one large grouper. He was hiding in a nook a few meters inside of the door where we would exit. We disturbed him inadvertently, and he shot out between us and hurried through the door, away from us. Ten minutes or so later when we emerged from the wreck, there was the big grouper, hanging out near an algae-covered ladder on the exterior of the ship, not far from the doorway. As soon as we were completely out of the parking garage into the open again, the grouper hurried back inside, looking very annoyed. I could have sworn I heard him 'harumph' as he passed by us, probably calling us names under his fishy breath for having disturbed him in the first place.

On our next to last dive on the Zenobia, we saved a little time to swim through the ship's bridge. We also had a look inside what had been the ship's restaurant, where the drivers of all those lorries took their meals during the voyage. We saw three more small groupers in there, too.

One of our favorite finds on the Zenobia was a good-sized Mediterranean Moray (Muraena helena) that had taken up residence in a drain near one of the Zenobia's lifeboat stations. Ian, our guide, told us that eel had been living there for quite some time, and could be found in that spot reliably, just about every day. Click here to see a photo of the Mediterranean Moray that made its home on the Zenobia.

We felt fortunate that we had a whole week to spend on that trip, so that we could take our time exploring the Zenobia on those seven dives. This was not the first wreck we had dived on, nor was it the last, but to this day, we have never dived on a larger shipwreck. Diving on the Zenobia was a truly memorable experience.

We'll end our tale with a photo of the divers in our party ascending from the wreck for the last time, making their final decompression stop before climbing into Ian's boat to go back to the dock in Larnaca. Ian McMurray, who pioneered diving on the wreck of the Zenobia, and who was our guide for our dives there, is still taking divers to see this huge underwater wonder. If you are interested, visit the Octopus Diving Centre in Larnaca, Cyprus. Tell Ian that you read about the Zenobia on The Right Blue, and give him our regards.

Here are the links to all of the articles in this series about diving on the wreck of the Zenobia, near Larnaca Cyprus:

• Diving the Wreck of the Zenobia - Introduction
• The Wreck of the Zenobia - A Brief History
• First Dives on the Wreck of the Zenobia
• Bottom Time on the Wreck of the Zenobia
• Diving Inside the Zenobia's Parking Deck
• Final Dives on the Wreck of the Zenobia

More photos from the Zenobia:

• Taking Pictures on the Zenobia
• Diving on the Wreck of the Zenobia
• Mediterranean Moray

Diving Inside the Zenobia's Parking Deck

by B. N. Sullivan

This is part five of the story of our seven dives on the wreck of the Zenobia, a ferry full of commercial vehicles that sank off the coast of Larnaca, Cyprus in 1980. Here are the links to the story so far: the Introduction; a Brief History of the ship (including a photo of what it looked like before it sank); the story of our first dives on the Zenobia; and our visit to the ship's stern area and propellers.

Earlier, I mentioned that the Zenobia was a "ro-ro" ferry. "Ro-ro" is short for roll on - roll off, a reference to the fact that the ship was designed to transport fully loaded commercial trucks, which are driven onto the ferry at the departure point, and driven off again at the destination. In the Zenobia's case, more than 100 articulated lorries -- also known as double-trailer trucks -- were on board when the vessel sank. All of those lorries were full of goods that they were to deliver when they reached their destination port. They never made it. Although her crew members were safely rescued, all those lorries and their cargo went to the bottom with the big ferry when it sank.

After a few dives on the exterior of the Zenobia to orient ourselves to the vessel, we were ready to penetrate one of the parking decks to see what was inside. The Zenobia had several parking decks, in layers. We made three dives inside the upper parking deck, which was the most accessible.

For the first of the three penetration dives, we entered at the bow end of the Zenobia's upper parking deck, through a doorway located under the bridge deck. Because the ship was lying on its side, the doorway was horizontal now. As I said in an earlier post, it looked more like an oversize mail slot than a doorway. Ian, our guide, told us to stop once we passed through the doorway into the wreck, so that our eyes could adjust to the darkness.

We entered one by one, and paused for a moment. The interior of the parking deck was enormous and very dark, with almost no ambient light. Imagine a large gymnasium with high ceilings, then turn it on its side, and turn out all the lights. That was the sort of space we were in. Off in the distance, in the direction of the stern, we could see the faint glow of daylight at the opposite end of the parking deck. The stern end of the parking deck had a large opening. That would be our target for exiting the wreck on this first penetration dive.

We shined our spotlights all around before we proceeded. We saw ahead of us a hanging jungle of pipes, cables, and other material. We were near what had been the outer wall of the parking garage -- except now that the ship was on its side, that wall was overhead. After slowly deteriorating underwater for 12 years, all of the insulation and wiring and conduits that had been attached to the wall now were hanging down in a tangle.

Ian had briefed us ahead of time about this disorderly mass of obstructions that had the potential to entangle us. We had to descend quite a bit to avoid most of the hanging debris. We swam ahead cautiously, sweeping our spotlights in every direction in order to avoid getting snagged, and intermittently shining our lights onto our instruments to monitor our depth, elapsed time, and air supply.

We felt very tiny as we passed through the vast parking garage. The beams from our lights shone only a couple of meters in front of us, so there were few visual reference points as we swam. Because it was so dark, it would have been easy to become disoriented. We had to be careful to stay level, and not to drift down too deep for too long.

At first we were so focused on avoiding all these potential hazards that we almost forgot about the lorries inside the parking deck. Then we saw them, piled up in a huge heap against what had been the opposite wall of the parking deck. Some of the trailers had broken up, revealing -- and in some cases releasing -- their cargo. For example, we saw lots of shoes, and items of clothing. Some were floating around freely inside the wreck (creating yet another hazard), while other items littered the heap of trucks.

Ian had warned us ahead of time to watch out for the paint. At least one of the lorries had been carrying a full load of house paint, in large cans. The cans had typical pry-off lids on them, and over time, some of the paint had begun to seep out of the cans. Because the paint was thick and cold, when it seeped out it formed globs that were shaped like large, richly colored, upside down teardrops. It was fascinating to see them bobbing about here and there.

Ian had admonished us not to touch the paint globs. He said he had learned from experience that when the paint globs were touched, they burst like bubbles, and whoever did the touching ended up with paint all over themselves and their dive gear as a permanent souvenir. Then the paint-christened divers also brought their colors back aboard Ian's runabout after the dive. He teased us that if we came back to his boat covered with paint, we would just have to swim the mile or two back to shore. We didn't touch any of the paint globs, just in case he wasn't teasing.

Now that we had a clearer picture in mind of what to expect inside the Zenobia -- and now that Ian was satisfied that we could manage our dives inside the cavernous parking deck -- we were ready to make two more penetration dives, but in the opposite direction. On our next two dives through the parking deck, we would enter through the larger opening at the stern end, and exit through the 'mail slot' doorway near the bow. In the next (and final) episode of this tale, we will tell you about what else we saw inside the Zenobia -- including both living creatures, and some that were, shall we say, formerly alive. Stay tuned...