Author: oceanquestadmin

One of the most beautiful aspects of expedition life is the amount of pure living that you can pack into a single day. We’ve always said that we would be successful if we began and ended the day with laughter. At dawn the general call to wake up was laced with a request for urine to check for concentration that could help describe the state of hydration of the divers. Stefanie cradled her bag of samples in her lap on the way over to the mine where equipment was available for testing.

The dive day consisted of finishing the last tasks of creating a safe line navigation structure for future visitors. We also needed to complete survey objectives and retrieve all the safety bottles from the mine.

The pack out of the mine took hours and when we reached the ferry, the seas were looking rough. I sat in the back of the van with Neal Pollock and Stefanie Martina and got a very basic education in grading ultrasounds. It was an interesting process spotting and counting bubbles and their location. We had a solid two hour run of talking about Immersion Pulmonary Edema, Decompression Stress and active drysuit heating. For the uninitiated, it might have made their eyes glaze over, but I was giddy with the prospects of having the undivided attention of the best tutor in the business.

Back at Ocean Quest Adventure Resort, we held a traditional screeching ceremony to welcome the new friends into the family. For those of us that are not drinkers, Newfoundland Screech is a a substance better used for wound cleaning than human consumption. The amber liquid boasts 40% alcohol and is a key player in the ceremony called a “Screech-In.”

Newfoundlanders perform the ritual for visitors who “come-from-away.”  The ceremony includes eating some traditional niblets of local survival food such as hard tack biscuits, salted dried fish and pressed meat that looks like boloney (Newfoundland Steak).

The ceremony began with lots of local folk music interrupted by the official recitation. Our leader Nick asked participants if they would like to become a Newfoundlander. The proper response: “Yes b’y!” Each participant is asked to introduce themselves and their hometown, often interrupted by the ceremony leader who pokes fun at their accent. Local history and folklore follows with a few tricks that leave the screechers soaked in water.

Finally, each individual is given a small dram of screech and are asked, “Are ye a screecher?”

The response is: “’Deed I is, me ol’ cock! And long may yer big jib draw!” (Though with a Newfie accent, it often sounds like this: “‘Deed Oi is, mee-all cahk! An’ lahng may-yer big jib-jrah.”) Translated, it means “Yes I am, my old friend, and may your sails always catch wind.”

After the shot, the screecher must kiss a cod fish – or any other fish ugly enough to suitably replace the cod. A certificate is offered after the ceremony but it might have been smarter to distribute aspirin and water rations.

Today we arrived at the mine to discover a major river running down the

slope. With the intense rain and snow melt on the island, all the water had to go somewhere. When we walked down to the dive staging area we were shocked to discover that we had lost more than 20 feet of waterfront. The dock was close to the ceiling and the benches and staging area were submerging. It was simply not safe to use our walkways and dock.

Not to be discouraged, the skeleton team jumped into action. Volunteers were unable to make it across The Tickle on the ferry, so we were a little short handed. All hands moved tanks, tables and gear and deconstructed the lighting system and rest of the infrastructure. Repairs will need to be made when the water level drops. The water came up six feet through the day. With a hard freeze tonight, we are hoping the inflow subsides.

The rushing water also destroyed visibility for a significant distance. Cas Dobbin and I entered the water in another column and groped through 250 feet of zero-visibility muck. When we finally emerged from the clay colored water, we could see white misty in-feeding seeps further polluting the visibility. We made our way down to 130 feet of depth and spent some time shooting equipment near the pumping station. We found a lot more interesting graffiti and even managed to identify one of the people named on the wall. His friends were assisting at the mine and told us about his prowess playing strongman on their hockey team.

Cas and I were the only ones eager to make a second dive. We worked on a video mission and searched for the best area to lay line the following day. The visibility seemed to be best on the east of our entry, as far away as possible from the in-feeding meltwater. Our dive went well until our decompression stop when Cas tore a mouthpiece and experienced what we call a caustic cocktail. Water leaked into his rebreather and mixed with the carbon dioxide absorbent material, creating an alkaline fluid that can burn the mouth. We were in inches of visibility when he quickly switched off his loop and got on open circuit air.

He coughed and I reached out to hold him. The scuba air was the same temperature as the water at 3 degrees, so he became quickly chilled. Rebreathers create an exothermic reaction that gives a diver warm moist air to breathe. Traditional scuba is like inhaling freezing air, chilling the diver more quickly. Cas handled the emergency like a really well practiced explorer and managed through the chill to complete his full decompression obligation.

After the dive, we jumped right into our medical tests and learned many more new things about decompression stress. I’ll leave the details for a future blog, but suffice to say, the medical research being done here is incredibly valuable to the team and to understanding extreme dive profiles. We are grateful for Neal Pollock and Stefanie Martina who have to put in days as long as ours to collect the important data.

We awoke to screaming winds and were worried about getting across The Tickle to Bell Island. We packed everything we could and rushed to the ferry. At the dock, the winds were blowing 80 kph and getting stronger but most of us got across on the last boat before they had to suspend service. With winds increasing to 100 kph, one team vehicle and important equipment was left behind at Portugal Cove. Rick and Debbie Stanley will never say never. They grabbed the critical gear including shoulder height T-cylinders of oxygen diving gas and loaded it up in their inflatable RHIB. In gale to hurricane force winds, they made the dangerous crossing to deliver the goods to keep the expedition running. Torrential rains are continuing to pour down and fill the boat quickly. Every two hours, a team member will need to go to the dock and bail the boat. It is so rough and wild, we are unable to pull it or secure it any better. Just the act of bailing is risky in this weather.

Meanwhile, thanks to Tricky Rick and Debbie Stanley, we had a stellar day in the mine. The rain has decreased visibility due to runoff, but we managed to lay lots of new line. Phil Short and Gemma Smith dumped two more large reels of permanent guideline While Cas Dobbin and I continued with photo and video work. Sabine Kerkau continued documentation of artifacts with John Olivero and Steve Lewis finished a significant amount of survey work.

Medical tests on the dive team continued and we have discovered that there are some incredible learning opportunities form this study. I’ll save the medical news for later in the blogs, since a single day of information cannot really be treated as much more than anecdotal evidence.

After a very long day, we returned to the Grand Wabana Inn, where owner Alfred Hynes literally opened the door and took in the entire stranded team. We have grown to 20 people from off island in addition to mine safety staff, so there will be some cozy sleeping conditions tonight. There may be a fight for the extra couch downstairs if the snoring gets too intense! We’re all very tired. Mary from Dicks’ Fish and Chips by the ferry dock generously sent over fresh hot pizza and garlic sticks for us for dinner. You simply cannot be a stranger on Bell Island because the kindness of the local residents is overwhelming. We have had so many visitors and volunteers helping us out in our quest and their generosity is quite humbling.

At nearly 130 feet of depth, Cas Dobbin and I slowed to look at a broken ladder. On the floor, we saw billowing piles of iron bacteria. But what caught my eye was a tiny cross on the wall; a sign left to indicate where a miner had lost his life. These moments give us pause to remember all the people lost while working hard to support their families; the men in the mine, the lost sailors and those that went to war.

Doris is just one of the many people taking care of us on Bell Island. Hot soup, fresh baking and great sandwiches are never far from reach.