Covediver's Underwater World

When I first learned to dive, contentment came in the form of just exploring the underwater world and discovering its wonders with my new dive buddies. Every place that we went diving led to a new experience, most good but some bad. How I ever got through my first 25 dives is a mystery, doing it with a little help of my friends or in spite of them. I had no sense of mission on these dives other than to take “walks through the park” to see what I could and then try to make some sense out of it.

Two years into diving, I caught the shipwreck bug. My first real “shipwreck” (other than the derelicts placed inside the underwater park at Casino Point on Santa Catalina Island) went by the name Peacock or alternatively Spirit of America. She was an old coastal minesweeper that had sunk off Scorpion Point on the front side of Santa Cruz Island, part of the Channel Islands situated off the Southern California coast. Her sinking and confusion over her name were not shrouded in mystery as much as they were confused by conflicting accounts offered by anyone who had heard the story. Like a good game of “I got a secret,” each authoritative retelling of the story so convincingly added a little embellishment so as to convey the credibility of an eyewitness account. Each version had a core of commonality that made trying to get to the honest root of the story an exercise in infinite regression. With so many accounts, I was convinced I was the only person not present when the ship slipped beneath the waves. Still, I started an investigation of the wreck and learned a few things over the years. Still, the myth and conjecture hang over the wreck like a January fog.

Over the next few years I visited the wreck whenever I could convince the skipper to go to the site. Mickey on board Sea Ventures out of Port Hueneme was usually pretty receptive to the destination but then he liked to take divers where they wanted to go. A few times we steamed toward the area only to find a faster boat had taken up residence over the site. Rather than hang around waiting for them to clear out we would divert to a nearby site. On these occasions, I felt somewhat cheated; like showing up at your girlfriend’s house only to find another guys car parked in the driveway. So it was, hit or miss.

The continuing deterioration of its wood hull was apparent with each successive visit. I was able to get some video of the wreck while diving on the vessel as part of a Channel Islands National Park survey of wrecks. Today, that tape is tucked somewhere in a long neglected moving box. The mylar holds images frozen at a point in time, a very unnatural state for a shallow water wreck in the Santa Barbara Channel. I think a visit to the site would be enlightening but also melancholic. I hear that the site now looks more like an underwater refuse heap; bearing little resemblance to the wreck that I spent many dives exploring. Apparently, the sea has nearly reclaimed the vessel. I never had a chance to say “goodbye, old friend and thank you.”

I found the accompanying photo by Niels Feldman while surfing the net not long ago. Something in the image recalled my time on Peacock and the sense of wonderment that I experienced on my first real wreck dive.