In Silence and Darkness
For weeks Dan Carlock had been looking forward to this trip with the Ocean Adventures Dive Co. It was the technical engineer's way to escape the stresses of his job in the aerospace industry.
It wouldn't be a scenic cruise this morning, however. As he boarded the Sundiver at dawn on Sunday, April 25, 2004, wet gray fog blanketed the Southern California coast.
It took an hour for the Sundiver, with 17 recreational divers, three dive masters and Capt. Ray Arntz aboard, to rumble to its first dive location of the day —— the massive Eureka oil rig, which lay seven miles off the coast of Newport Beach. At about 8：30 a.m. Arntz powered down the engine. And Carlock stared up at the looming skeleton of the rig.
Certified for advanced open-water dives, the six-foot-two bachelor carefully checked his equipment： an underwater camera, a slate on which divers write notes, a whistle, and a yellow-green neon safety tube that could be inflated as both a marker and a flotation device. As an engineer, he paid attention to details.
Aboard the training ship Argus, resting in a cove of Catalina Island, some 20 miles away, 17 Boy Scouts and Sea Scouts were finishing breakfast. It was the second day of a two-day trip for Troop 681 out of Rancho Bernardo, California.
The day before, the Scouts had climbed a mast of the century-old wooden tall ship, swung out on ropes and dropped into the calm dark blue waters for a swim. They had also conducted a man-overboard drill.
But the training did not go well. When First Mate Al Sorkin threw a “pretend person” in the water, half the boys failed to locate and keep pointing at the object as required. Sorkin, 50, had the gruff bearing of a movie pirate. “If that was one of you,” he scolded, “we wouldn't find you. You would drown.”
Carlock was in the first group of divers to venture into the water at the rig. There was a stiff current, and it required a hard swim to get underneath the main platform.
Once they got into position, Carlock and the others were told to stay within the rig's structure during their dive. That way, they could use its columns to keep from being swept along by the current.
It was about 8：45 a.m. when Carlock and three other divers headed down into the darkness.
In the heavy fog, even the rambunctious Scouts were subdued. Capt. Fred Bockmiller, Sr., who at 72 had helmed the Argus for more than 25 years, knew that to make their way back to harbor in Newport Beach, they would have to cross busy shipping lanes. When the sun was shining, that was as easy as crossing the street. But fog changed everything. Most modern ships are made of plastic or metal. The Argus is made of wood —— easily missed by radar.
Minutes into his dive, at about 30 feet, Dan Carlock felt pressure start to build in his ears. He stopped, and waited for them to “pop.” The other three members of his group continued on down. He'd catch up by following their bubbles.
But when he began his descent, he found that the bubbles disappeared. At 108 feet, still not seeing the team, Carlock halted. Where were they？ In the silence and darkness, he deliberated —— and decided the only logical thing to do was return to the surface.
He moved upward to a depth of 15 feet. He rested there for a routine three-minute decompression to allow his body to adjust. Anemic light filtered down from above.
When Carlock finally splashed to the surface, all he could see was the heavy layer of fog over gray water. He thought he caught a glimpse of the boat, but then it disappeared. The rig was in the wrong place —— the current must have swept him away.
He was alone.
For weeks Dan Carlock had been looking forward to this trip with the Ocean Adventures Dive Co. It was the technical engineer's way to escape the stresses of his job in the aerospace industry.
It wouldn't be a scenic cruise this morning, however. As he boarded the Sundiver at dawn on Sunday, April 25, 2004, wet gray fog blanketed the Southern California coast.
It took an hour for the Sundiver, with 17 recreational divers, three dive masters and Capt. Ray Arntz aboard, to rumble to its first dive location of the day —— the massive Eureka oil rig, which lay seven miles off the coast of Newport Beach. At about 8：30 a.m. Arntz powered down the engine. And Carlock stared up at the looming skeleton of the rig.
Certified for advanced open-water dives, the six-foot-two bachelor carefully checked his equipment： an underwater camera, a slate on which divers write notes, a whistle, and a yellow-green neon safety tube that could be inflated as both a marker and a flotation device. As an engineer, he paid attention to details.
Aboard the training ship Argus, resting in a cove of Catalina Island, some 20 miles away, 17 Boy Scouts and Sea Scouts were finishing breakfast. It was the second day of a two-day trip for Troop 681 out of Rancho Bernardo, California.
The day before, the Scouts had climbed a mast of the century-old wooden tall ship, swung out on ropes and dropped into the calm dark blue waters for a swim. They had also conducted a man-overboard drill.
But the training did not go well. When First Mate Al Sorkin threw a “pretend person” in the water, half the boys failed to locate and keep pointing at the object as required. Sorkin, 50, had the gruff bearing of a movie pirate. “If that was one of you,” he scolded, “we wouldn't find you. You would drown.”
Carlock was in the first group of divers to venture into the water at the rig. There was a stiff current, and it required a hard swim to get underneath the main platform.
Once they got into position, Carlock and the others were told to stay within the rig's structure during their dive. That way, they could use its columns to keep from being swept along by the current.
It was about 8：45 a.m. when Carlock and three other divers headed down into the darkness.
In the heavy fog, even the rambunctious Scouts were subdued. Capt. Fred Bockmiller, Sr., who at 72 had helmed the Argus for more than 25 years, knew that to make their way back to harbor in Newport Beach, they would have to cross busy shipping lanes. When the sun was shining, that was as easy as crossing the street. But fog changed everything. Most modern ships are made of plastic or metal. The Argus is made of wood —— easily missed by radar.
Minutes into his dive, at about 30 feet, Dan Carlock felt pressure start to build in his ears. He stopped, and waited for them to “pop.” The other three members of his group continued on down. He'd catch up by following their bubbles.
But when he began his descent, he found that the bubbles disappeared. At 108 feet, still not seeing the team, Carlock halted. Where were they？ In the silence and darkness, he deliberated —— and decided the only logical thing to do was return to the surface.
He moved upward to a depth of 15 feet. He rested there for a routine three-minute decompression to allow his body to adjust. Anemic light filtered down from above.
When Carlock finally splashed to the surface, all he could see was the heavy layer of fog over gray water. He thought he caught a glimpse of the boat, but then it disappeared. The rig was in the wrong place —— the current must have swept him away.
He was alone.