More than frozen water
Posted: Monday, 24 November 2008 |
In the early morning monochrome, the smooth crystals of the nights snowfall sparkle on the windscreen. The street is edged in white, the bitter frost making stark edges glint in the steely grey light. Leaves rattle in the gutters, brittle and utterly frozen, the trees they came from poke their bare branches to the grey clouded skies.
Leaving the city to head back north we soon start to see thin patches of snow beside the road having been turned a dirty grey by the passing of a thousand vehicles and gritters.
The further north we travel, the slower the speed seems to get, snow encroaches the road until only one lane of the road is useable, funnelling the traffic so it slows to a crawl, unable to get past any slow vehicles ahead.
I love snow. The cold and disruption and occasionally destruction it brings are all almost part of the attraction. While it is snowing you are totally helpless. For me, it reminds me that we are a part of nature, not apart from it. We can shape this planet how we want, go to the moon, send space craft to other planets. However, small white fluffy flakes can all but cripple everything we do for as long as it falls and remains on the ground.
Snow turns the world into a black and white photograph. Black and white makes us see what we would normally miss – patterns, shapes, the form of the things we see every day. Snow obscures but in the same breath it adds so much. It takes away the detail so we can see the bigger picture.
People seem drawn to walk in snow, to feel the crunch of the flakes beneath our foot falls. To look back and see the temporary record of where we went. It almost opens our heads, to look back and see where we paused, others can somehow see inside our heads and witness our actions until either more snows come or the thaw.
Snow flakes are all individuals – unique from their neighbours. Just like people, we are all individuals in our own rights. But sometimes seen as a group, some of us are seen as a problem. The snow on your lawn and caught in the branches of your trees is just beautiful, but the snow on your driveway is a problem and needs to be dealt with. Only the last breaths of the wind influenced where those flakes came to rest, they had no say in if they were a lawn flake or a driveway flake.
Here are some photographs from our journey from Edinburgh to Aberdeen via Dundee and Fraserburgh.
Leaving the city to head back north we soon start to see thin patches of snow beside the road having been turned a dirty grey by the passing of a thousand vehicles and gritters.
The further north we travel, the slower the speed seems to get, snow encroaches the road until only one lane of the road is useable, funnelling the traffic so it slows to a crawl, unable to get past any slow vehicles ahead.
I love snow. The cold and disruption and occasionally destruction it brings are all almost part of the attraction. While it is snowing you are totally helpless. For me, it reminds me that we are a part of nature, not apart from it. We can shape this planet how we want, go to the moon, send space craft to other planets. However, small white fluffy flakes can all but cripple everything we do for as long as it falls and remains on the ground.
Snow turns the world into a black and white photograph. Black and white makes us see what we would normally miss – patterns, shapes, the form of the things we see every day. Snow obscures but in the same breath it adds so much. It takes away the detail so we can see the bigger picture.
People seem drawn to walk in snow, to feel the crunch of the flakes beneath our foot falls. To look back and see the temporary record of where we went. It almost opens our heads, to look back and see where we paused, others can somehow see inside our heads and witness our actions until either more snows come or the thaw.
Snow flakes are all individuals – unique from their neighbours. Just like people, we are all individuals in our own rights. But sometimes seen as a group, some of us are seen as a problem. The snow on your lawn and caught in the branches of your trees is just beautiful, but the snow on your driveway is a problem and needs to be dealt with. Only the last breaths of the wind influenced where those flakes came to rest, they had no say in if they were a lawn flake or a driveway flake.
Here are some photographs from our journey from Edinburgh to Aberdeen via Dundee and Fraserburgh.
Chasing Fish
Posted: Tuesday, 18 November 2008 |
Jumping off a perfectly good boat. I guess it goes hand in hand with jumping out of a perfectly good plane,. Madness unless you are equipped for it.
Lugging my gear around, I have the usual divers curse of “why can’t they make this stuff lighter” – it’s a non-question. If your cylinders were lighter, you would need more lead on your belt. Still, the words muttered into the early morning air make me feel a little better as I heft my twinset onto my back and I swear I can feel my vertebra being ground to a powder.
I dive a twinset – two cylinders strapped together with stout steel bands and joined by a manifold. Most people when they learn to dive start in a single cylinder – half the size and weight of what I dive. I have two cylinders to give me more gas, to allow me to stay longer and dive deeper, but also as a safety precaution. The manifold between the cylinders can be closed if there is a problem with valves or regulators on that side and I can still breathe the gas in the other The other reason, and I guess the biggest one for me, is that most of my dives are by myself. I dive solo because if I did not, I would hardly get any dives at all. Solo diving is a taboo in the sport, so many people do it but it has its obvious dangers.
I remember my first solo dive. We were in Malta in early summer; the Mediterranean warmth had yet to reach the sea which was a cool 14 degrees (which is warm by UK standards). My friends had decided to go off and dive a wreck I had dived several times before, I chose to explore a cove alone. The calm blue waters and the ability to take my time, pause for how long I wanted to and eventually finding a sea hare – a type of sea slug – made it a highlight of my trip. I could do whatever I wanted to do and didn’t have to worry about someone else getting bored at me looking at something tiny. Being alone has its drawbacks too though. If something goes wrong, you are on your own. If you see something truly mindblowing, no-one else is there with you to witness it too.
So why on earth do we do it? Step into fresh air for that second before we are immersed in freezing cold rough and occasionally rather mucky water? I have no idea quite what it is, I could never nail down that one feeling, that one thing that makes me do this time after time. I love chasing fish, and that was what I spent my last few dives doing – chasing fish.
Lugging my gear around, I have the usual divers curse of “why can’t they make this stuff lighter” – it’s a non-question. If your cylinders were lighter, you would need more lead on your belt. Still, the words muttered into the early morning air make me feel a little better as I heft my twinset onto my back and I swear I can feel my vertebra being ground to a powder.
I dive a twinset – two cylinders strapped together with stout steel bands and joined by a manifold. Most people when they learn to dive start in a single cylinder – half the size and weight of what I dive. I have two cylinders to give me more gas, to allow me to stay longer and dive deeper, but also as a safety precaution. The manifold between the cylinders can be closed if there is a problem with valves or regulators on that side and I can still breathe the gas in the other The other reason, and I guess the biggest one for me, is that most of my dives are by myself. I dive solo because if I did not, I would hardly get any dives at all. Solo diving is a taboo in the sport, so many people do it but it has its obvious dangers.
I remember my first solo dive. We were in Malta in early summer; the Mediterranean warmth had yet to reach the sea which was a cool 14 degrees (which is warm by UK standards). My friends had decided to go off and dive a wreck I had dived several times before, I chose to explore a cove alone. The calm blue waters and the ability to take my time, pause for how long I wanted to and eventually finding a sea hare – a type of sea slug – made it a highlight of my trip. I could do whatever I wanted to do and didn’t have to worry about someone else getting bored at me looking at something tiny. Being alone has its drawbacks too though. If something goes wrong, you are on your own. If you see something truly mindblowing, no-one else is there with you to witness it too.
So why on earth do we do it? Step into fresh air for that second before we are immersed in freezing cold rough and occasionally rather mucky water? I have no idea quite what it is, I could never nail down that one feeling, that one thing that makes me do this time after time. I love chasing fish, and that was what I spent my last few dives doing – chasing fish.
Armpit Cat
Posted: Sunday, 09 November 2008 |
When I very first came to Orkney, I was pleased to find that Hazel had a cat on the farm – Tuffy the Rodent Slayer, a rather short round farm moggy who took one look at me and decided her cuddle quota had just increased beyond her wildest dreams. She loves to follow you around the farm, you can be miles from anywhere and a small furry thing will be padding along behind you happy as anything. One afternoon I noticed that Tuffs was getting a little rounder, a little chunky around the midriff. On asking if she had been neutered I was told no, to which I replied I suspected we might be getting several more cats at some time in the future.
One early morning at around 5am the golden sun was making its lazy way up from the East a strange squeaking noise dragged me from the warm comfort of sleep. Tuffs was in the bathroom on a shelf, two small wet noisy kittens blindly blundering around. As I watched, two more emerged and I left her to it. Tuffy the Rodent Slayer gave birth to Willow, Giles, Sam and Simon.
By 10am I had them into a box with a blanket and mum was purring really rather proudly, four fat babies snoozing in the warmth. They grew quickly from blind and helpless into furry hooligans running riot.
Slowly growing too big for the lodge where I lived, they were evicted to the feed store, complete with furry blanket, box and food. Less than 24 hours later a mad scrabble and some muffled mewing told me that they really were less than impressed with this arrangement and preferred it in with me. However, perseverance paid off and they became rather ineffective farm cats, being really rather good at catching mice and feathers, and bits of straw and all sorts of things that really are no challenge to a normal farm cat.
I would miss my spells away from them, usually asking Hazel how they were each morning when she arrived at the boat. Sam disappeared first, he has been gone for over two months now and I hope he has landed paws down the way and has been adopted by someone who can cope with a cat who really would like a cuddle 24 hours a day. I miss him, he was my favourite one of the litter.
Giles was a handsome cat, beautiful tabby stripes of glossy fur, green eyes and so intensely friendly he liked nothing better than to stuff his head into your armpit while you stroked his back. He had the magic sense to find you as soon as you headed out of the house, suddenly a cat would appear and get in the way until a cuddle was supplied.
Giles died yesterday after suffering a fit. We have no idea what caused this, but it was totally unexpected. I don’t know where he is now, but I hope there are lots of armpits to stuff his head into.
One early morning at around 5am the golden sun was making its lazy way up from the East a strange squeaking noise dragged me from the warm comfort of sleep. Tuffs was in the bathroom on a shelf, two small wet noisy kittens blindly blundering around. As I watched, two more emerged and I left her to it. Tuffy the Rodent Slayer gave birth to Willow, Giles, Sam and Simon.
By 10am I had them into a box with a blanket and mum was purring really rather proudly, four fat babies snoozing in the warmth. They grew quickly from blind and helpless into furry hooligans running riot.
Slowly growing too big for the lodge where I lived, they were evicted to the feed store, complete with furry blanket, box and food. Less than 24 hours later a mad scrabble and some muffled mewing told me that they really were less than impressed with this arrangement and preferred it in with me. However, perseverance paid off and they became rather ineffective farm cats, being really rather good at catching mice and feathers, and bits of straw and all sorts of things that really are no challenge to a normal farm cat.
I would miss my spells away from them, usually asking Hazel how they were each morning when she arrived at the boat. Sam disappeared first, he has been gone for over two months now and I hope he has landed paws down the way and has been adopted by someone who can cope with a cat who really would like a cuddle 24 hours a day. I miss him, he was my favourite one of the litter.
Giles was a handsome cat, beautiful tabby stripes of glossy fur, green eyes and so intensely friendly he liked nothing better than to stuff his head into your armpit while you stroked his back. He had the magic sense to find you as soon as you headed out of the house, suddenly a cat would appear and get in the way until a cuddle was supplied.
Giles died yesterday after suffering a fit. We have no idea what caused this, but it was totally unexpected. I don’t know where he is now, but I hope there are lots of armpits to stuff his head into.
Addicted
Posted: Thursday, 06 November 2008 |
Almost over
Posted: Tuesday, 04 November 2008 |
Well, we are nearly there for 2008, with only a few days remaining until we can finally put our big heavy ropes to the pier and catch up on a lot of sleep and telly. This has been an amazing season, with many ups and downs.
I totalled up what we use in a season. Of course they are all a bit rounded to make life simple, but they probably show the scale of what we do.
350,000 litres of water
16,000 litres diesel
800 litres of milk
400 loaves of bread
2100 bread rolls
5200 teabags
1000 sausages
180kg chicken
56kg bacon
55kg rolled beef brisket
750 burgers
340 slices haggis
340 slices black pudding
70kg lamb
60kg cheese
210kg mince
500 eggs
30kg margarine
30kg butter
150kg potatoes
150kg pasta
400 jacket potatoes
140kg fruit
330 tins baked beans
115 litres sauce
15kg coffee
60 jars of jam
55kg cereal
50 bulbs of garlic
170 litres of orange juice
1200 toilet rolls
30 air fresheners
30 litre cooking oil
15 litres washing up liquid
I totalled up what we use in a season. Of course they are all a bit rounded to make life simple, but they probably show the scale of what we do.
350,000 litres of water
16,000 litres diesel
800 litres of milk
400 loaves of bread
2100 bread rolls
5200 teabags
1000 sausages
180kg chicken
56kg bacon
55kg rolled beef brisket
750 burgers
340 slices haggis
340 slices black pudding
70kg lamb
60kg cheese
210kg mince
500 eggs
30kg margarine
30kg butter
150kg potatoes
150kg pasta
400 jacket potatoes
140kg fruit
330 tins baked beans
115 litres sauce
15kg coffee
60 jars of jam
55kg cereal
50 bulbs of garlic
170 litres of orange juice
1200 toilet rolls
30 air fresheners
30 litre cooking oil
15 litres washing up liquid
Thinking warm thoughts
Posted: Tuesday, 28 October 2008 |
Not quite sure about the thinking warm thoughts theory. I keep thinking about warm feet, but they never seem to arrive.
It snowed today so we stayed tied to the pier all nice and safe. The problem with snow is that it can reduce the visibility to zero, no fun for divers and for other boats. A good choice to stay in port I suspect.
Here are some piccies I took.
It snowed today so we stayed tied to the pier all nice and safe. The problem with snow is that it can reduce the visibility to zero, no fun for divers and for other boats. A good choice to stay in port I suspect.
Here are some piccies I took.
Rude word cold
Posted: Sunday, 26 October 2008 |
The grey plumage of this years young tysties seems to hint at the coming season. Cold bites at exposed skin, fingers turn to useless rubber only to be revived by being wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. Leaves go from green to brown and fill the gutters with their dry wind driven rattle. Light on the Dwarfie Hammars is like liquid gold, deep shadow fills the valleys and clefts as the setting sun casts its last breaths of light from the west. Hats appear, gloves dug out from drawers and stuffed into coat pockets.
Rain gathers in puddles, dripping over the edge of the harbour wall, only to be blown back up into the air and land once again in the puddle. I have heard of perpetual motion, perhaps this is perpetual soggyness. The wind tears with sheer anger and fury at everything, slapping the boat against the pier, the squelch and squeal of the fenders cushioning our movements, our ropes bar tight and wrung dry. Dark horizons show on the radar, their passing leaving small piles of hail on the deck. Sometimes the wind will whip up the water and carry a smoke of seaspray in tiny tornadoes over the piers, the taste of saltwater on your lips as you scurry for shelter from the squall.
Winter has arrived all of a sudden, and the small green isles brace themselves for the dark months ahead.
Beneath the waves the now occasionally turbulent waters of the flow are brimming with life. A million fish swirl and dart around the wrecks, anemones bloom in their underwater gardens and scallops flip and flop away from you on the silty bottom.
Two weeks and we are done, our season over for another year. I am tired, dog tired and am looking forward to not having to move for an entire week although I suspect life may get in the way of that.
Rain gathers in puddles, dripping over the edge of the harbour wall, only to be blown back up into the air and land once again in the puddle. I have heard of perpetual motion, perhaps this is perpetual soggyness. The wind tears with sheer anger and fury at everything, slapping the boat against the pier, the squelch and squeal of the fenders cushioning our movements, our ropes bar tight and wrung dry. Dark horizons show on the radar, their passing leaving small piles of hail on the deck. Sometimes the wind will whip up the water and carry a smoke of seaspray in tiny tornadoes over the piers, the taste of saltwater on your lips as you scurry for shelter from the squall.
Winter has arrived all of a sudden, and the small green isles brace themselves for the dark months ahead.
Beneath the waves the now occasionally turbulent waters of the flow are brimming with life. A million fish swirl and dart around the wrecks, anemones bloom in their underwater gardens and scallops flip and flop away from you on the silty bottom.
Two weeks and we are done, our season over for another year. I am tired, dog tired and am looking forward to not having to move for an entire week although I suspect life may get in the way of that.
Two really rather nice days diving
Posted: Monday, 15 September 2008 |
Its not often I get to dive, and its even rarer that i get to dive with Hazel, or anyone for that matter. However, a week off and Bob on the Halton with space meant that we got to splash in on the Coln and on the Karlsruhe.
The Coln is one of my favourite dives and dropping in we descend the shot into what seems to be a green ping pong ball. Its pretty dark down there and the vis is poor at only 4-5m on the top of the wreck and 2-3m at the seabed. Hazel's torch refuses to fire up for a couple of minutes and then suddenly flickers into life. We make our way forward and i seem to spend the time looking at the fish which have been doing what fish are good at and making more fish The wrecks are really covered in life at this time of year and I love it. Slowly the metal wall on our left hand side rises up from the silty seabed and we come to the bow. Covered in plumose anemones it stands out nicely against the green gloom.
Going back over the top of the wreck i peer into the many holes and find a section of deck plate that has collapsed away, i am sure it was there last time i was here, although i could be wrong, i frequently am.
Back on the surface we find the weather has picked up a bit and there is a fair chop running but Bobs ladder is really pretty fab and i manage to get up it with the minimum of swearing/grunting, stagger to my seat and am greeted by a cup of tea and slice of cake. Perfect
A lazy surface interval with lovely thick pea and ham soup and a trip to Lyness and it is bliss to just sit back and do nothing. No cooking. No filling. Just chill. Ahhhhh thats better
The afternoon dive is on the Karlsruhe and Hazel decides to go off and play hunt the scallop while i go off and play hunt the fish. Getting to the bottom of the shot and i go the opposite way to the others on the dive and head for the stern. The vis is slightly better at around 6m and soon enough i am passing guns, the barrels of which are buried into the soft silt, the armour shielding and breech left sticking up into the water. Arriving at the stern i leisurley make my way back forward mainly looking for a conger, alas none were found, although a lovely ling with his electric neon blue highlights stayed out to allow me to admire him for a good minute or so. Moving forward i find the armoured control tower and peer in through the hole where the range finder once was, the mess of wiring inside testament to what was once in there. Forward still and i find another gun festooned with anemones making it stand out really well against the dark background. At what remains of the bow i follow a line of chain links into one of the hawse holes and then to the very bow itself where the rivets going around the horse shoe shapes bit of plate still stand proud.
Back to the shot slowly and i spend a little bit of time on the top of the wreck looking at fish and am really impressed by a rock cook wrasse, the blue in his colouring showing up so well in my torch.
Back up the shot and onto the boat in the choppy seas and once again am met by tea and cake.
_________________________________________________________________
Weeel, having done battle with the deer pens and admitted defeat, we decided to go diving today. Bob once again had some space, so off we went to Stromness for 0830 ropes off. Gently leaving the dock we head down the flow towards the Coln again. The day is truly stunning, one of the early autumn days which has been dipped in silver, the clean light filtering through the high level of cloud, the wind having dropped to nothing allowing the waters of the flow to settle to a mirror glassy calm. It almost seems like a shame to disturb it with our passing.
Dropping in on the Coln I am pleased to find that the fairly small green ping pong ball of Wednesday seems to have increased somewhat and the vis has cleared a little. Heading aft we remain high over the wreck and find the high elevation anti aircraft gun festooned with life, the torpedo tube sticking up like a metal chimney with a lid from the twisted green and grey metal of the wreck. Carrying on aft we find both of the big guns and eventually run out of wreck. I then get to drive, Hazel having satisfied her appetite for rust, we go off fish hunting. Sticking close to where the now flat-ish hull meets the vertical-ish deck we drift over empty black portholes, shining even both torches inside reveals nothing of the cavernous space below us. One has a large edible crab just swinging himself onto the hull, but he rapidly tries to disappear as we come closer. However, crabs maybe are not the brightest of marine life and he merely hangs upside down inside the wreck by leaving one leg poking around the edge of the hole. Well, this is too much for me to resist, and coming closer I gently flick the leg off its perch and watch him cursing his way into the dark oblivion below. If crabs could swear, I bet he was.
Coming to the blast access hole I signal to Hazel that she should possibly lead this bit as my underwater sense of direction is possibly akin to a blind sea slug with vertigo and she safely gets us from one side to the other. Getting back to the shot we slowly ascend and find the boat waiting only a short way from us.
A lazy surface interval is spent alongside the Moaness pier on Hoy where I take a small walk along the beach in search of a beadlet anemone unfurled in a rock pool.
Back to the boat and we gear up for the grand finale – the Tabarka. Sitting in Burra sound where the tide runs so fiercely that the wreck cannot be permanently shotted, the currents bring huge amounts of food for the animals and blow away any silt. People are not exaggerating when they say this is one of the best dives in the UK – it is truly stunning but is changing every week now as various plates finally give way to the elements and fall away.
With Bob’s shout out of the wheelhouse window we jump, dropping like stones with fantastic accuracy right onto the wreck and down into the lee of the current. Pushing our way against the current and into the dark interior I am met by a wall of fish, I swear it was almost more fish than water inside the stern section. Juvenile Pollack (they were sticking their tongues out and blowing raspberries) swirl and dance, chased around by some invisible foe, silver bodies moving almost as one animal through gaps and spaces, vanishing from view only to return from somewhere completely different. Once in shelter I start to admire the interior of the wreck, every surface inside seems to be alive, something has decided to make it home. Ballast rocks, beams of metal all covered in tiny squat anemones in orange and white. Crabs peer out from their holes between stones and miniature scorpion fish swim jerkily to avoid my gaze. Passing over the three massive boilers you cannot help notice the jewel anemones in shocking pink any 8 year old girl would love to be seen in. Their delicate arms stretch upwards from the rusted metal into the current, patches of other anemones grow on the same boiler, the borders between the different species so distinct.
Big wrasse with their strange mobile eyes watch you as you pass, hoping that maybe something edible might happen and the fixed open mouthed stare of the conger eel from his safe hole.
All too soon it is time to leave and we ascend from the side of the wreck to the surface with smiles so big the karma of this dive will last a long while.
Some piccies from the day:
" >
" >
The Coln is one of my favourite dives and dropping in we descend the shot into what seems to be a green ping pong ball. Its pretty dark down there and the vis is poor at only 4-5m on the top of the wreck and 2-3m at the seabed. Hazel's torch refuses to fire up for a couple of minutes and then suddenly flickers into life. We make our way forward and i seem to spend the time looking at the fish which have been doing what fish are good at and making more fish The wrecks are really covered in life at this time of year and I love it. Slowly the metal wall on our left hand side rises up from the silty seabed and we come to the bow. Covered in plumose anemones it stands out nicely against the green gloom.
Going back over the top of the wreck i peer into the many holes and find a section of deck plate that has collapsed away, i am sure it was there last time i was here, although i could be wrong, i frequently am.
Back on the surface we find the weather has picked up a bit and there is a fair chop running but Bobs ladder is really pretty fab and i manage to get up it with the minimum of swearing/grunting, stagger to my seat and am greeted by a cup of tea and slice of cake. Perfect
A lazy surface interval with lovely thick pea and ham soup and a trip to Lyness and it is bliss to just sit back and do nothing. No cooking. No filling. Just chill. Ahhhhh thats better
The afternoon dive is on the Karlsruhe and Hazel decides to go off and play hunt the scallop while i go off and play hunt the fish. Getting to the bottom of the shot and i go the opposite way to the others on the dive and head for the stern. The vis is slightly better at around 6m and soon enough i am passing guns, the barrels of which are buried into the soft silt, the armour shielding and breech left sticking up into the water. Arriving at the stern i leisurley make my way back forward mainly looking for a conger, alas none were found, although a lovely ling with his electric neon blue highlights stayed out to allow me to admire him for a good minute or so. Moving forward i find the armoured control tower and peer in through the hole where the range finder once was, the mess of wiring inside testament to what was once in there. Forward still and i find another gun festooned with anemones making it stand out really well against the dark background. At what remains of the bow i follow a line of chain links into one of the hawse holes and then to the very bow itself where the rivets going around the horse shoe shapes bit of plate still stand proud.
Back to the shot slowly and i spend a little bit of time on the top of the wreck looking at fish and am really impressed by a rock cook wrasse, the blue in his colouring showing up so well in my torch.
Back up the shot and onto the boat in the choppy seas and once again am met by tea and cake.
_________________________________________________________________
Weeel, having done battle with the deer pens and admitted defeat, we decided to go diving today. Bob once again had some space, so off we went to Stromness for 0830 ropes off. Gently leaving the dock we head down the flow towards the Coln again. The day is truly stunning, one of the early autumn days which has been dipped in silver, the clean light filtering through the high level of cloud, the wind having dropped to nothing allowing the waters of the flow to settle to a mirror glassy calm. It almost seems like a shame to disturb it with our passing.
Dropping in on the Coln I am pleased to find that the fairly small green ping pong ball of Wednesday seems to have increased somewhat and the vis has cleared a little. Heading aft we remain high over the wreck and find the high elevation anti aircraft gun festooned with life, the torpedo tube sticking up like a metal chimney with a lid from the twisted green and grey metal of the wreck. Carrying on aft we find both of the big guns and eventually run out of wreck. I then get to drive, Hazel having satisfied her appetite for rust, we go off fish hunting. Sticking close to where the now flat-ish hull meets the vertical-ish deck we drift over empty black portholes, shining even both torches inside reveals nothing of the cavernous space below us. One has a large edible crab just swinging himself onto the hull, but he rapidly tries to disappear as we come closer. However, crabs maybe are not the brightest of marine life and he merely hangs upside down inside the wreck by leaving one leg poking around the edge of the hole. Well, this is too much for me to resist, and coming closer I gently flick the leg off its perch and watch him cursing his way into the dark oblivion below. If crabs could swear, I bet he was.
Coming to the blast access hole I signal to Hazel that she should possibly lead this bit as my underwater sense of direction is possibly akin to a blind sea slug with vertigo and she safely gets us from one side to the other. Getting back to the shot we slowly ascend and find the boat waiting only a short way from us.
A lazy surface interval is spent alongside the Moaness pier on Hoy where I take a small walk along the beach in search of a beadlet anemone unfurled in a rock pool.
Back to the boat and we gear up for the grand finale – the Tabarka. Sitting in Burra sound where the tide runs so fiercely that the wreck cannot be permanently shotted, the currents bring huge amounts of food for the animals and blow away any silt. People are not exaggerating when they say this is one of the best dives in the UK – it is truly stunning but is changing every week now as various plates finally give way to the elements and fall away.
With Bob’s shout out of the wheelhouse window we jump, dropping like stones with fantastic accuracy right onto the wreck and down into the lee of the current. Pushing our way against the current and into the dark interior I am met by a wall of fish, I swear it was almost more fish than water inside the stern section. Juvenile Pollack (they were sticking their tongues out and blowing raspberries) swirl and dance, chased around by some invisible foe, silver bodies moving almost as one animal through gaps and spaces, vanishing from view only to return from somewhere completely different. Once in shelter I start to admire the interior of the wreck, every surface inside seems to be alive, something has decided to make it home. Ballast rocks, beams of metal all covered in tiny squat anemones in orange and white. Crabs peer out from their holes between stones and miniature scorpion fish swim jerkily to avoid my gaze. Passing over the three massive boilers you cannot help notice the jewel anemones in shocking pink any 8 year old girl would love to be seen in. Their delicate arms stretch upwards from the rusted metal into the current, patches of other anemones grow on the same boiler, the borders between the different species so distinct.
Big wrasse with their strange mobile eyes watch you as you pass, hoping that maybe something edible might happen and the fixed open mouthed stare of the conger eel from his safe hole.
All too soon it is time to leave and we ascend from the side of the wreck to the surface with smiles so big the karma of this dive will last a long while.
Some piccies from the day:
" >
" >
Seven years ago
Posted: Thursday, 11 September 2008 |
Ants in your pants
Posted: Friday, 29 August 2008 |
I make it no secret that I love cats, I miss the two I left back south more than anything in the world. Several surrogate cats now fill the small moggy shaped holes that exist, but as any feline owner will confess there is nothing better than to have a cat climb onto your knee, curl up and descend into furry blissful sleep, possibly with a quiet purr. Cat sitting for a friend last week made me realise quite how much I miss cursing the hairs on my clothes, the cat farts (which are probably classed as a WMD in some countries), the scratched furniture and the standing on an errant cat toy in the dark. I do miss these things, they add another layer to your life, something or rather someone else to look after and be loved by. Cat love is so much harder to achieve than dog love. Canine adoration is simple, give the dog a biscuit and you have a friend for life. Give a cat a biscuit and you have a friend for exactly how long it takes the cat to work out if you have another.
Anyhoo, I was bought an ant farm which remained ant-less for a very long time, until one of my divers quizzed me about it and its lack of inhabitants. Duly a small package arrived and lo the ants did descend into their new home and start digging! it’s a gel filled sealed box (lid taped on to be totally sure), where they can dig in the gel stuff but also eat it too, so you don’t have to feed them - ever. Hurrah, my kind of pets. I had never really looked at ants before, they were just something that might bite in the garden, but these guys are fascinating! They have dug a little tunnel down one side of the gel already, they get stuck with too many of them trying to dig at the same time….and I am sure if ants could swear they would do that too.
A random Lifeboat shot too.
_______________________________________________________
I got to go diving today, so here are a few piccies worth posting
People seem to come and go in my life, only a few remain solid, always there, always ready to chat on messenger or on the phone or send an email. Sometimes a relationship seems to get so intense, so utterly intimate so quickly you find yourself wondering how you never knew this person before, how you survived without them there. And suddenly, without warning, they are gone.
The tides of our lives are filled with strange subsea currents, dragging us here, pushing us there. Fight them and you get tired, go with the flow and who knows where you will end up. And so, with one final messenger conversation, a person who I can confess I loved is swept away to who knows where. I hope that someday, once the tides have moved him to a better place than where he is now he can forgive me.
Anyhoo, I was bought an ant farm which remained ant-less for a very long time, until one of my divers quizzed me about it and its lack of inhabitants. Duly a small package arrived and lo the ants did descend into their new home and start digging! it’s a gel filled sealed box (lid taped on to be totally sure), where they can dig in the gel stuff but also eat it too, so you don’t have to feed them - ever. Hurrah, my kind of pets. I had never really looked at ants before, they were just something that might bite in the garden, but these guys are fascinating! They have dug a little tunnel down one side of the gel already, they get stuck with too many of them trying to dig at the same time….and I am sure if ants could swear they would do that too.
A random Lifeboat shot too.
_______________________________________________________
I got to go diving today, so here are a few piccies worth posting
People seem to come and go in my life, only a few remain solid, always there, always ready to chat on messenger or on the phone or send an email. Sometimes a relationship seems to get so intense, so utterly intimate so quickly you find yourself wondering how you never knew this person before, how you survived without them there. And suddenly, without warning, they are gone.
The tides of our lives are filled with strange subsea currents, dragging us here, pushing us there. Fight them and you get tired, go with the flow and who knows where you will end up. And so, with one final messenger conversation, a person who I can confess I loved is swept away to who knows where. I hope that someday, once the tides have moved him to a better place than where he is now he can forgive me.
After coming to Orkney in May 2006 for 8 months, somehow I am still here. Running the MV Valkyrie in the summer and helping on the farm in winter is now my life. 
RSS Feed