7)Ran Out, Chased Out and Just Plain Out. And You
Call This Diving?
As a land locked youth in New Jersey, with the closest water
being the Delaware river, and that was within walking distance,
the opportunity to dive usually meant the river, or a bath tub.
Going to the Jersey shore for a dive was almost exclusively out
of the question.
My interest in diving started in the mid 1950's with the family
taking vacations to Florida. Back then, the 2 1/2 day drive was
an experience within itself. I even remember cows on the road
in some forgotten Georgia town. But the real thrill was finally
hitting the Florida border. We were close now, but not as close
as it sounded. Florida is one heck of a long state!
Getting closer to Ft. Lauderdale, we would pass the occasional
dive store and I would just stare. In the window would be a small
yellow tank with straps, lots of straps and maybe a 2 hose regulator.
Even while at the hotel, getting to a dive shop was not easy.
A 9 year old is not allowed to drive in Florida. Not sure about
Georgia though. Being 9 though, it wasn't difficult to make friends.
With our green masks with plastic lenses and green rubber fins,
we would play frogman in the pool all day or look a 3 inch fish
in 3 feet of turbid water at the beach. Once I even saw a small
barracuda but was told by my mother not to mention it or my sister
might not go in.
My non-vacation diving time was spent watching Sea Hunt every
Saturday night. Even during a great summer game of bicycle tag,
I would quit ( to remarks like "chicken"), to go home
and watch Mike Nelson. Never missed an episode and always dreamed
of that 200 feet visibility. Many years later I would see it first
hand.
Each year we vacationed for 3 weeks in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida
up until 1965. By then I had my own tank and a Scuba Star regulator
which by today's standards would be deemed unbreathable and unexhalable.
Still it was mine and the dives at Pennecamp and off of Ft. Lauderdale
were beyond description. I was in heaven. Even though I had quite
a few dives in New Jersey I will never forget my very first dive
in tropical waters. The site was directly out from our hotel from
where I had actually watched the dive boat numerous times with
my fathers binoculars days before.
There wasn't much of plan. The man who had given me some additional
lessons the day before said follow me and that's what I did. I
had no watch or pressure gauge, just a J rod to pull when I thought
it was needed. After about 10 minutes I was told we should head
up. I pulled the rod just because I thought I should and went
back to the boat wondering why we all quit after such a short
time. On the way back one of the other divers, who did not have
a watch either, asked how long the dive had been. The leader of
our pack said 45 minutes and my jaw dropped. In my mind it had
really only been 10 but the overwhelming beauty and experience
just left me with no sense of time.
Back in New Jersey, my area had numerous quarries, most of
which were either off limits or a gray area of legal use. Almost
all were hangouts for drinkers, swimmers and whatever else people
did in and around these secluded places. One summer I recall preparing
for days for the journey to a quarry which had always looked interesting
but signs said "No Entry". It was actually a quarry
in a quarry. We had to climb down a rather difficult path to get
to the water. It was hot, really hot and we had to make 2 trips
hauling gear. When we finally started to suit up, a voice came
across from the other side. At first we couldn't see anyone. Then
the person became clearer. There was something about the clothes
he wore and his general appearance. My friend Steve looked over
at me and said "cop". We made it back up with all gear
in one trip, wetsuits on and sweating, threw everything in the
car and floored it.
We went back again next summer and to our surprise had probably
the best quarry dive ever. Visibility was an astounding 60 feet
or better. The overall depth was never much and we had an opportunity
to follow railroad tracks, enter what was probably a mess hall,
swimming in the rafters, around a steam shovel and generally enjoy
a perfect dive. Even after surfacing, not a soul around. The next
time was not so great. Expecting good visibility again and the
our driver promising he would go down a steep road, we packed
up and headed off. When the guy with his '57 Chevy saw the incline
and the state of the road, he said no way. Great! So we hauled
everything down including a little blue and yellow rubber raft
which I was so anxious to use. Upon arriving at edge, the water
was as thick and green as anyone could every dream. If you wanted
to get pea soup, this was it. Hot as could be, dehydrated and
near death, we hauled everything back up the road and headed to
Jimmy's Custard Stand where I chugged down 2 large orange drinks
none stop. I have never been that thirsty before or since.
There's another quarry that no one was allowed in but we thought
it would be easy to go anyhow. This quarry had slot machines dumped
in it eons ago as part of an illegal gambling cleanup. At the
time the police threw the machines in, no one thought there would
be recreational divers in a few decades. Steve and I thought we
would at least look at the place before trying to get in. One
Saturday morning we drove nearby, parked the car and started to
walk back the road. We got less than halfway before we were formally
stopped by someone who must have been some sort of authority.
I still have never even seen this quarry.
Of all the quarries, Stewartsville, NJ was the most used by
everyone and anyone. Some summer days, especially the middle or
end of the week, diving was not too bad. Weekends were of course
loaded with swimmers and sun bathers. But one day, after getting
a few friends together for a dive, we found someone had dumped
a few truckloads of dirt to block entry down the road. So another
favorite spot was supposed to off limits. No problem, just knocked
down a small tree, some bushes and drove around. The road and
quarry were such that unless someone came all the way back, no
one could see what was going on. Steve , Ron and I made many dives
there.
Not only New Jersey had these wonderful dive spots, but Pennsylvania,
just across the river, had a few also. One was Wind Gap, a very
deep slate quarry. I dove there only once to what was then my
greatest depth, all of 80 feet, swimming under a ledge of some
sort with visibility just enough to see the diver's fin, which
I was all but holding on to, in front of me. Unfortunately just
a few weeks later a young boy drowned while diving and that quarry
was shut down. This obviously scared a lot of people and better
steps were taken to keep everyone from all quarries. Stewartsville
now had a gate with no way around it.
As my quarry "expertise" grew, I heard of new quarries
to conquer. Oxford had a supposedly good one. Off limits of course
but remote enough that access would be clandestine. Another dive
buddy by the name of Bob had a plan to have a small tire tube
tied to a rope so we could use it as a down line. Another long
trudge with our gear and sweating more water that the quarry had,
we suited up, sweating more and went in. Overweighted, overheated
and inexperienced we soon found the small tube coming down along
with us. This upset Bob who suddenly looked like he wanted nothing
more that to get back to the surface at almost any cost. My first
reaction was to drop his weight belt but he somehow made it clear
that these were too expensive and even though things were getting
worse, we both managed to kick our way back up, exhausted but
not drowned.
My second dive at Oxford was a bit better. A different buddy
and the weather not as hot. We had an interesting dive with zip
visibility until we swam under a layer of algae and it just opened
up. The depth was around 60 feet by then and a sheer wall presented
itself going down to an unknown depth. We swam along a bit and
pretty much ended our uneventful dive.
I got a call from that same buddy, can't remember his name,
who said there was a quarry down around Trenton somewhere. So
we packed up and headed off. When we arrived there were some rather
questionable characters, both male and female swimming (sort of)
or whatever. The quarry itself was small and the road back, remote.
Shortly after submerging, visibility poor, we ran into a car that
looked newish. We were able to rip off the rear license plate
and after some underwater communicating, tried to open the trunk,
both not wanting to think what we might find. We couldn't so we
had no worry about what could be in it. That was the highlight
of the dive but on the way home, driving toward Flemington we
stopped at the State Trooper Headquarters to show them the license
plate. It was made clear that we should not have been diving there
but they took the plate anyhow. We were warned never to go back
and we didn't. Later we heard that it was a stolen car so we did
a bit of good in finding it.
Another quarry dive I remember making was at Raven Rock. This
was the smallest water hole I had been in. Again swimmers were
around and they warned us it was a bottomless pit. Strange but
it seems all non divers think water is a bottomless pit. It was
Steve as a buddy again. Visibility was zero, light was really
poor from a rock overhang. We grabbed hold of each other so we
would not separate and went down feet first. Dark turned to darker
and darker to black. All of 10 minutes bottom time and we said,
"No way".
My quest to become a dive instructor made it necessary to
get a recognized certification so I signed up for an evening class
NAUI course at a local school. This lead to helping out in future
courses which lead to a quarry near Frackville PA. The instructor
in charge was very good at teaching but apparently not so good
a paying bills. He was banned from most dive boats in New Jersey
and New England and most local swimming pools. So offbeat quarries
seemed the only option. The Frackville quarry with no tresspassing
signs was well hidden from any road so all the cars and divers
were more less safe from the authorities It was the the smaller
of the quarries in the area, shallow but remarkably unique. For
some reason, still unknown to me, it was crystal clear. 250 feet
plus visibilty clear with absolutely nothing growing it except
for a weird green cloud not more than a few feet in size the middle
at the bottom. It was a typical gray slate quarry but not a single
speck of algae anyhwere except for that cloud. No one seemed to
suffer any ill effects so it must have been safe. That was around
1972 so I am sure by now the quarry is either a housing development
or ruined with garbage.
In 1973 I arrived on Bonaire. Out of cowardice or being spoiled,
not sure which, I doubt I will dive in quarries again. I do have
a friend Harry in Alpha, who I think has dived that quarry with
the slot machines. Maybe if he can get me in, I'd try one more
quarry dive.