Lust for Rust: A Wreck Diving Adventure

A private charter, a bespoke diving itinerary, and a load of new gear: every wreck-diver’s dreamIt was almost two years in the planning and execution. Chartering the M.Y. Nimar for a private trip wasn’t particularly difficult, but negotiating a bespoke itinerary aimed squarely at ‘wreck heads’ was. Organizing 24 divers, from two continents and four countries was, quite frankly, like herding cats.

It started in September of 2014. I had suffered a subarachnoid haemorrhage—a bleed on the brain—the preceding December which had almost claimed my life, and had kept me out of the water for almost 10 months. The trip on the Nimar was my first liveaboard post-SAH, and it was also my first trip outside of the UK and away from my doctors.

Negotiating the itinerary was difficult, there were certain wrecks that we wanted to dive. In particular were the M.V. Million Hope, the S.S. Turkia, S.S. Ulysses and the M.V. Loullia. We also wanted to go back and dive some wrecks that we had dived several times before. The S.S. Carnatic, M.V. Giannis D, M.V. Salem Express, the S.S. Thistlegorm and of course, we planned to show our respect and dive the S.S. Rosalie Moller.

The months passed and eventually it was time to think about packing as our departure date was drawing close. Water temps were reported to be in the mid-to-high 20s, so it was wetsuit time.

I elected to take a full-length suit, knowing that I would be doing three or four dives a day and that I would no doubt have lengthy decompressions to complete on some of the dives. I packed a 5mm BARE Velocity Ultra wetsuit. The Velocity benefits from enhanced durability and warmth, so I knew I’d be comfortable in the water.

One of the frustrations I have always had with full-length wetsuits is donning & doffing them, especially once they’re wet. Out of frustration, I usually end up resorting to plastic bags over my feet and hands! However, I don’t need to do this with the Velocity as it’s fitted with substantial zips on the legs and arms that allow you to get in and out of the suit a lot easier. I also find that the cut and shape of the suit is very well suited to my body shape, it’s not so tight as to constrict and as soon as I release the zips it’s easy to take off and then get back into, even when it’s wet.

The Velocity also benefits from a number of other features that prevent water from flushing through the seams or the neck. The attention to detail on this suit is typical BARE, it’s exquisitely detailed and superbly manufactured. I particularly like the ‘suit saver’. Which is a simple flap that folds over the velcro tab on the neck seal that prevents it from damaging the suit when it’s not being worn. A simple, yet effective, addition that helps maintain the suit’s longevity.

I also opted to dive sidemount as it allows me to carry a significant amount of gas without having to organise a twin set. I packed a set of Hollis LX 200 regs which I’ve done some serious dives with and know I can trust in demanding UK conditions—so diving them in the Red Sea would be a breeze.

I also packed my Hollis Katana sidemount wing. The Katana is an epic bit of kit. I pretty much consider it sidemount perfection in its design and execution. It trims beautifully and is very quick to adjust. I also packed a pair of BARE Ultrawarmth Booties and a set of Atomic Aquatic Blade Fins. I also packed my favorite mask, the Oceanic Shadow. And my Atomic cap!

The journey to Egypt was fun, and I was soon onboard the M.Y. Nimar and reunited with old friends from ‘down under’. Hugs were exchanged, gossip was caught up on and then it was down to the serious business of diving—after a good night’s sleep.

I’m inclined to consider a check-dive to be an essential and mandatory part of any diving trip abroad. You simply don’t know what will need to be adjusted until you get in and dive— So you can imagine my delight when I discovered that all of my gear was spot-on.

After taking my first stride off of the swim deck into the sublime waters of Egypt’s Red Sea, I took a moment to savor my delight before slipping beneath the surface into the gloriously warm blue waters that would become my home for the next six days.

I stopped at six meters and did a second bubble-check and started to run through how the kit felt. I noted that the wing was snug and didn’t need any further adjustment and the cylinders were perfectly horizontal along my torso. Beforehand, I had attached a couple of weights to the tails of each cylinder to counteract any buoyancy issues as the gas depleted. My weighting appeared to be correct and everything felt comfortable, especially the wetsuit.

I glanced at my computers and double-checked my SPG: all good to go! I reached across to my left shoulder and grabbed the large toggle and gave it a short tug to release just enough gas to allow me to drop slowly down towards the seabed.

The grin broadened across my face with every meter I descended. Everything felt great.

The check-dive duly completed, it was time to motor to Ras Abu Nuhas and dive the Giannis D. I didn’t need to adjust or change anything. The kit had all been set up in under 20 minutes the night before and it was perfect, even once the cylinders were down to 50 bar, they still sat nicely.

Giannis D (Shoyo Maru)

The Giannis D (Shoyo Maru) is a favorite wreck of mine. It sits on the seabed at about 45 degrees and this makes it particularly good to dive as the crazy angles can play games with your head. The Shoyo Maru is also a photographer’s dream with its mighty derricks rising up off the seabed.

We took the zodiacs to the wreck and, due to the current running across, performed a negative entry. You have to have a great deal of faith in your kit to be comfortable doing this—it’s definitely a rush!

As I rolled backwards off the side of the zodiac, the water engulfed me and I immediately dropped down to six metres. I orientated toward the wreck and got myself neutrally buoyant with a quick blast of air into the wing, I held position just long enough to bubble-check and make sure everything was as it should be. Then I dumped some gas and finned for the wreck.

The Atomic Aquatic Blade fins surprised me with just how much ‘oomph’ they have. They’re designed to ‘capture’ and ‘contain’ the flow without spilling it over the edges while ‘channelling’ water down the blade and off the vertical stabilizer edge tips.

I was at the port side of the wreck in no time and had my camera switched on and set-up. I shoot with a Canon EOS 60D, set on fully manual, in a Nauticam housing with twin YS-D2 strobes.

The huge derrick posts tower over the bridge and make for an iconic shot. I got myself into position and started taking a few pictures, adjusting angle and aperture as necessary.

The Katana wing held me in perfect trim, allowing me to position myself in the water column and remain ‘planted’ without so much as a twitch of a fin. I feel like a Jedi, all my childhood dreams wrapped up into one glorious moment

Penetrating the bowels of the wreck was relatively simple, the engine room can be accessed from several points but it’s those crazy angles that make it so much fun. The corridors are all at 45 degrees to my horizontal. When I start to swim down, it adds a third angle for the brain to process, and this can really start to mess with your head.

I reached the engine room and the beam from my Hollis canister torch cut through the darkness. The light penetrated to the farthest corners of the engine room with ease and I oriented myself towards the ceiling—actually a wall.

I swam for a hatch that took me through into another corridor and forward to an adjoining corridor running perpendicular to the seabed. I then turned left and headed down, adding a fourth crazy angle that conspired to confuse, until I popped out at the bottom and outside the wreck.

I then kicked across a debris field: the remains of the mighty cargo ship’s holds. I reached the crumpled bow and explored the damage inflicted upon her from the impact with the reef. It’s sobering.

Later, back aboard the Nimar, I processed my photos, wrote in my log book and settled down for lunch. The crew refilled all of our cylinders and the guides discussed what was next…

S.S. Kingston

The wreck of the S.S. Kingston made for a great dive. I entered the water from the swim deck of the liveaboard, and the current was running like a steam train.

Pulling myself hand over hand along the trail line to the main shot was hard work, I was breathing hard by the time I had fought my way across the 100 meters or so against the torrent, then I dragged myself down the shot to the wreck, clinging on with all of my strength. Eventually I took refuge on the leeward side of the wreck. I then worked my way around to the stern and was able to shelter from the current within the wreck itself.

The Hollis LX200s do a remarkable job of delivering gas on demand, and at no point did I feel that I was struggling to get enough air as I worked against the heavy current. They delivered every breath with ease.

I gave myself a moment to recover and just hovered, taking in the sight that is the myriad of coral that has been growing for tens, if not hundreds of years or more, as the boat sank in 1881.

I worked my way forward, picking my way through the wreck, it became difficult to distinguish wreck from reef as I reached the remnants of the bow. By the time I had reached the coral garden, the current had subsided and I was able to explore freely for a solid hour.

S.S. Thistlegorm

No trip to Egypt would be complete without at least a couple of dives on the mighty S.S. Thistlegorm. The wreck needs no introduction and I make no excuses for wanting to ferret around this Aladdin’s cave of a wreck.

The Hollis canister torch again came in handy as it lit the way as I penetrated the wreck from the impact site at the stern and squeezed through a narrow gap in the deck plates and into one of the holds on the other side. Away from the other divers, I made my way into an isolated section of the wreck and wove through the time capsule, forever trapped in 1941, deck by deck.

For me, the best part of diving the S.S. Thistlegorm is the exterior of the ship. It holds me in awe as I work my way around.

Heading forward, I reached the bow and swam onward, out into the open ocean, away from the wreck—only to turn around and take in the sheer magnificence. The bow towered over me. I hung in the water column, motionless, the hiss of the LX200s my only reminder that I was in an alien world, mesmerised.

I kicked back toward the bow and reached the enormous anchor that hangs from its port side, working my way along the outside of the superstructure, I came to the bridge and made my way inside.

Continuing aft, I swam across the broken back, a scene of utter carnage. Reaching the stern, I visited the mighty propeller and then went around to her deck guns, poised, silent and motionless.

I glanced at my computer: it was time for me to make my ascent. I returned to our shot line and stopped briefly at 12 meters. Then, a 40-minute decompression stop at six metres. I was extremely grateful for the warmth that the BARE Velocity provided—the minutes ticked by.

The wrecks of the Red Sea are where it’s at—I have a lust for rust. But these relics of warfare and misadventure also provide a sanctuary for our ocean’s wonderful marine life, and I enjoyed the challenge of trying to share just a few moments with some of them.