It’s a little after daybreak. The quiet on board breaks without warning, replaced with loud commands delivered in terse Arabic as the agile crew swings into position to man the lines. We have arrived.

My dive boat has been motoring along the coast of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula for nearly four predaylight hours. I walk out of the main cabin, where I’ve slept most of the bumpy ride huddled on the thin cushions of the bench lining the wall, and see the divemaster disappear over the side, bounce-diving to tie a guide­line from our stern to the wreck. I pour a cup of thick Arabic coffee and groggily prep my gear in the early morning light. In a few minutes, I’ll hop off the stern myself and make my way to the seafloor to penetrate the deepest bowels of what is arguably the most famous and histori­cally rich shipwreck in the Red Sea.

A dive trip to the British supply ship SS Thistlegorm requires no small amount of effort, but it’s unquestionably worth it for an opportunity to slip inside this veritable World War II time capsule, bur­ied by a hailstorm of German bombs in 1941 while en route to deliver her cargo of supplies to Allied troops in Suez. After sinking, the Thistlegorm lay undisturbed for about 14 years, explains John Kean, an experienced Thistlegorm guide and author of the book “SS Thistlegorm: The True Story of the Red Sea’s Greatest Ship­wreck.” At which time a budding explorer named Jacques Cousteau — piloting another soon-to-be-legendary ship, the Calypso — moored up to her and made the first-ever scuba-fueled explorations of her decks. Today, the Thistlegorm draws tens of thousands each year.

I make one final check of the condi­tions. Out here at the mouth of the Gulf of Suez, current and surface chop are common, and today has both. So I giant-stride off the stern with an empty BC and make a beeline down the guide rope to the shelter of the Thistlegorm’s hull. Descending over the blast zone — where German bombs detonated munitions holds near the stern — I can see both sections of the 415-foot-long ship: The front half sits mostly intact, upright at the shallower end of the slop­ing seafloor, while the stern, twisted 90 degrees, rests on its port side in about 95 feet of water. As I approach the opening in the hull, I glide over the tracks of a pair of Mark II Bren Carrier tanks, upside­down in the pile of munitions.

Unlike a passenger ship, with an inte­rior full of winding passageways and cabins, the Thistlegorm features wide-open cargo holds and no shortage of vertical exit points. Slipping inside the wreck at Hold 3 feels a bit like walking into a war museum where shafts of sun­light illuminate the displays through skylights in the roof. I find myself sur­rounded by piles of  hand grenades and anti-tank mines scattered in a state of dis­array pretty much as they fell after the ship touched down on the seafloor. It’s an impressive collection, but I know the most striking is ahead of me in the for­ward compartments.

The Thistlegorm’s first and second holds overflow with a payload of large war material. My gaze extends across row after row of Bedford trucks, intact down to the tires and packed in the belly of the ship like sardines. And each truck bed is loaded to capacity with BSA motorcycles. Stacked along walls sit crates of medical supplies, Enfield rifles and endless boxes of ammuni­tion. The gravity of this cargo hits me like a wave. It’s a drop in the bucket of what was required to keep that massive Allied war machine moving, but peo­ple’s lives depended on this stuff — they never got it, and good people died try­ing to deliver it.

My time is running short, and I make my way shallower by traversing through the upper holds and spend a few brief moments exploring the rail cars, davits and a torpedo on the upper deck before finning to my guideline. My bottom time is maxed out, so I make a slow ascent and take an extra-long safety stop.

When I climb back on board, the boat has fallen quiet once again. It seems like we all need a moment to digest the experience. But before we can think too long, the cook swings up from the galley, cracking jokes through a smile as thick as his accent and ushering us inside for a hearty meal before we move on to drift the walls of Ras Mohammed.

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Gearing up on the platform for my last dive of the trip, I peer into the electric-blue water trying to visualize the winding path we plan to follow as Scott “Bear” Fritz, my fast-talking dive guide, fires off directions. “We’ll drop down this pillar here,” he gestures with his right hand. “At about 80 feet you’ll see a small opening. That’s the Secret Tunnel. It’s off the regular dive path, but it’ll get us to the Lake Room in a matter of minutes. From there we’ll follow the wall to the tar boat, go up a set of ladders through Clinton Shaft, follow the railroad ties into the Grand Canyon Bowl and loop back around into the Lake Room.” “Pheew,” I think, “OK, I’ve got it…maybe.” But then he starts talking again, “Then we’ll turn and swim through the Rope Room, pass through the Trail 3 slit into the 1095 Bowl and we’re back to the dock.” My mouth hangs open slightly. “Tell you what,” I say. “I’ll just stay right behind you.”

It’s a good choice. There’s no better guide to Missouri’s Bonne Terre Mine. Fritz has been diving the mine for more than 20 years, and he’s the training director who makes sure all the mine’s dive guides are fully prepared to take tourists or students into this underwater maze. There are more that 50 planned trails open to the public that the guides must know like the backs of their hands. Though, under special circumstances, exploratory dives are possible here as well. Dubbed “Bear” trails, these more advanced dives, lead by the eponymous guide himself, delve into the unlit and underexplored sections of the mine. But Bear Trails, like the one I’m about to dive, are only for divers who prove they’ve got the scuba skills and the air consumption to do them, and once we drop down the aforementioned pillar and enter the Secret Tunnel, I understand why.

We slide one-by-one into the narrow, square-cut shaft under a hundred feet of rock. Along the floor, a pair of metal ore-cart tracks stretches past the edges of our high beams. It’s easy to imagine men in this tunnel, urging stubborn mules hitched to ore carts, lugging load after endless load to the edge of this shaft, tipping the cart over the lip, sending a shower of ore into the bowels of the machine. But imagination time doesn’t last long. When we emerge on the other side, we’re in an unlit chamber, a cavernous void that swallows the beam of my light, and I focus on the bottom to maintain a point of reference until we reach the opposite end, and yet another square-shaped passage. This one is wider than the last, and we swim side-by-side until we arrive at Clinton Shaft, a system of round, tight tunnels, angling different directions as they traverse upward through multiple levels, with fragile wooden ladders leading from one hole to the next. Bear points his hand-mounted light into the narrow shaft and motions me forward. “Here we go,” I say to myself as I fin carefully up the length of the ladders, following, in the still silence, the footsteps of men who lived and died to create this labyrinth in the name of industry.

This is the lure of what the Bonne Terre crew has dubbed “deep earth diving,” a seemingly endless underground world, frozen in time. Fritz openly admits he has “the fever,” a driving desire to explore, to see what’s down the next tunnel, that has kept him coming back for more than two decades. Pillars, shafts, sheer walls and ceilings—hewn entirely by human hands—stretch for miles in all directions, leaving a sprawling, five-level catacomb beneath the town, and at every underwater turn all manner of artifacts—shovels, rock drills, ore carts and blasting caps—lay strewn across the landscape, as if the workers who left them simply went home at the blow of the foreman’s whistle and never returned to clean up after themselves. Of course, back in the day, the mine’s deepest reaches were not underwater. A massive pump system stemmed the flow of encroaching groundwater as the miners pushed ever deeper. But when this, the world’s largest lead mine, was all mined out, the men retreated, the pumps were turned off and the water trickled in to fill the void. These days, mine owners Doug and Cathy Georgens have turned the pumps back on, but it was never their intention to drain the mine completely, just enough to keep the water level constant and provide divers with access to their unique underwater vision.

And a big part of what makes that vision possible is light. The electric blue of the water is a product of the 500,000 watts of high-powered stadium lighting that the Georgens and their team have strung from pillar to pillar, through hundreds of feet of subterranean air space. The crystal-clear, rock-filtered water is clean enough to drink, and the long, blue waves of light that penetrate to the darkest depths of the motionless, billion-gallon lake lend an almost Caribbean illusion. But that illusion disperses as fast as your body heat when you make that first giant stride. Bonne Terre’s dive deck hovers on the water’s surface a full 150 feet into the earth, and though it’s a short walk down from the small shed that covers the mine’s only opening, the environmental change is complete. From the searing Missouri summer heat, it’s like entering the world’s largest walk-in refrigerator, where the air stays a constant 62 degrees, the water a brisk 58, year round.
Of course, those temps sound pretty good during the winter, which is Bonne Terre’s high season. Here in the Midwest, regional dive shops are short on spots to take Open-Water classes, especially when the quarry temperatures dip below freezing. So Bonne Terre Mine’s constant conditions provide year-round diving opportunities for students and divers who don’t have the time, money or desire to go coastal. But the mine has also attracted higher-profile attention. In 1983, Jacques Cousteau’s film team came to document the dramatic underwater scenery, in April 2000, “National Geographic Adventure” named the diving at Bonne Terre Mine one of the top 10 adventures in America, and over the years, a handful of documentaries have been filmed here and shown on the Discovery and History channels.

For everyday divers, the diving experience at Bonne Terre is very accessible. The town of Bonne Terre, Mo., is about an hour’s drive south of St. Louis. The dive operation is only open on weekends, and there are on-site accommodation options. The diving itself is totally safe because it is highly controlled—a necessary precaution in a place with innumerable overhead tunnels that can easily swallow even an experienced diver who doesn’t know his or her way around. Every group of divers has a guide and a safety diver, and every diver’s first visit to the mine starts with a checkout dive, no matter what their experience level. Visitors to the mine dive the 24 trails in sequence—they get a bit a harder as the numbers get larger—so if you make it through Trail 6 your first weekend, you’ll start at Trail 7 on your next visit. Dive lights are not allowed or necessary on the guided tours.

As for me, following Fritz around for a weekend proves a very tempting taste of what the mine has to offer. As we exit Clinton Shaft, I stay right on Fritz’s fin straps through the winding path back to the dock. Like an enthusiastic newbie, I turn my head in all directions—from rock walls and narrow passageways, to discarded drill bits and shovels—trying to take it all in, but at one point, we swim onto a ledge and Fritz stops me short. He puts his hand on my shoulder and points out into what looks like open water. Then he kicks his fins out in front of him, leans back and sits down on a rock like a man settling into his favorite easy chair. He looks over at me and spreads his arms wide. By this time, my eyes have focused, and I see pillar after pillar stretching out into the soft light like a massive forest marching into the distance; I settle down beside him to admire the scene. “That’s my favorite spot, where I go to relax” Fritz says when we climb out of the water. “We call it the Redwood Forest.” I nod my head in agreement, looking back over my shoulder at the water. Fritz laughs, “Looks like you’re getting the fever,” he says. “You’ll be back.”

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From the Philippines to the Solomon Islands, the Coral Triangle is the world’s hottest region for on-the-fringe diving, underwater photography, big animal encounters and so much more. Get the who, what, when, where and why of diving the Amazon rainforest of the seven seas.

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]]> http://www.travis-marshall.com/2009/05/01/cracking-the-coral-triangle/feed/ 0 http://www.mensjournal.com/whale-sharks http://www.mensjournal.com/whale-sharks#comments Thu, 02 Apr 2009 16:08:49 +0000 Travis Marshall http://www.travis-marshall.com/?p=573 Men’s Journal Magazine, Apr. 2009

WHEN YOU SLIP INTO THE OCEAN AND SWIM NEXT TO A whale shark, it’s the underwater equivalent of going on safari, then getting out of the Land Rover and running with elephants. Shark spotters in search of this ultimate in-water encounter travel far and wide for a chance to dwarf themselves next to these massive creatures. In spite of their status as the world’s largest fish -they grow as long as 50 feet-the animals are shy and spend much of their lives hidden from view. But in spring and summer the big-mouthed behemoths arrive en masse to feed at a few choice locations in the western Caribbean and in the Gulf of Mexico.

Flower Garden Banks National Marine Sanctuary, Texas

An oasis of life in the center of an oceanic desert, the Flower Garden Banks National Marine Sanctuary lies about 110 miles off the coast of Freeport, Texas-so no passport needed. The area attracts a slew of creatures and boasts such unique animal life that in 1992 it became one of 14 federally protected marine areas.

WHEN TO GO: Whale shark sightings at the Flower Gardens aren’t as common as at locations farther south, but a good time to try is in August and September. WHO TO GO WITH: Because the site lies so far offshore, the best way to experience it is on a live-aboard boat. Fling Charters offers two-and three-day trips (four and five days during coral spawning) aboard its 100-foot dive boat, the MV Fling (from $805; flingcharters.com). Trips include two to five dives a day, meals, and snacks.

Isla Holbox, Mexico

Each summer hundreds of whale sharks congregate off this island to feed on plankton blooms. Isla Holbox sits just a few hours’ drive northwest of Cancun, yet the atmosphere in this fishing community is a world away from its developed neighbor. There are no cars on the island; the only motorized transportation is a golf cart.

WHEN TO GO: May to September WHO TO GO WITH: Holbox Tours and Travel offers money back guarantees on snorkeling encounters from June through August (from $95; holboxwhalesharktours.com), making this destination your surest bet. WHERE TO STAY: Casa Iguana is a private beachside retreat surrounded by palm groves (from $55; casa-iguana.net). WHERE TO EAT AND DRINK: Edelyn’s, a hopping pizzeria, is located in front of the main square. Fill up on Chef Miguel’s signature lobster pizza, and when you’re finished, walk to local hangout Habana Nights for a nightcap.

Utila, Bay Islands, Honduras

Along Utila Town’s dusty roads, guesthouses and dive shops tout the seasonal appearance of the island’s biggest attractions: whale sharks. These giants feed on plankton blooms by following schools of tuna. Watch for fish “boiling” at the water’s surface: There’s a good chance you’ll find a whale shark circling underneath.

WHEN TO GO: February to June; August to October, WHERE TO STAY: Get an all-inclusive room and dive package (a great deal) at Utila Lodge, and hop on the boat straight from your waterfront bungalow along the private dock (from $209 per night; utilalodge.com), WHERE TO DRINK: At the Tranquila Bar, an open-air tavern suspended over the water, island expats and backpackers come together to down Flor de Cana rum and deconstruct the day’s dives.

Gladden Spit Marine Reserve, Placencia, Belize

Belize’s Mesoamerican barrier reef, the largest in the Western Hemisphere, lies just off Placencia’s shore and offers stunning natural scenery: The Gladden Spit Marine Reserve, a vital section of the reef, hosts the annual spawning of more than 25 species of fish. During the full-moon spawning, whale sharks gorge themselves on clouds of eggs and sperm. Sign up early: Tours fill up months in advance.

WHEN TO GO: March to June WHERE TO STAY AND DIVE: The Inn at Robert’s Grove boasts a dive center with a fleet of fast boats that dock on 22 acres of beachfront property five miles from Placencia Village (from $240 per night; robertsgrove.com). TOPSIDE ADVENTURES: Placencia makes a perfect base for jungle trekking up the Monkey River, exploring the Cockscomb Basin Wildlife Sanctuary (the world’s first jaguar preserve), and hiking the Mayan ruins of Lubaantun.

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On the one hand, there’s obviously something wrong with groups of tourists peering through the tinted windows of a bus as it makes its way through the grotty streets, but from what I can find, the growing “poorism” trend is not about passive voyerism. It seems that the demand itself is for the tangible experience of wading through the trash, interacting with the people and getting out of the comfort zone at least a little. One could argue that exploring a city on one’s own would prove the most rewarding leap out of the comfort zone. Nix the tour guide altogether. But anyone who has been abroad knows this is an insurmountable hurdle for the vast majority of travelers. So, maybe this is the next best thing.

Photo used under Creative Commons, taken from Flickr.

Ten tips for trouble-free dive travel.

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Ripping drift dives along lush reefs and dramatic walls draw more divers to Cozumel than any other location in the Caribbean. I took a look at the varied reef environments here and gave a service-heavy breakdown of Cozumel’s best dives, along with insiders’ tips from on-island diving experts that help readers dive Cozumel’s hardest-to-get-to reefs.

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When I stepped off the plane in the Bay Islands’ central hub of Roatan, two distinct faces of the dive tourism experience here immediately presented themselves. Outside the arrivals gate, taxi drivers jockeyed for fares for the 25-minute drive to West Bay, where the crowd is young, a variety of languages fills the air and the price tag leans toward budget. There, oceanside dirt streets lined with island guesthouses hum with divers loading docked boats and attending open-air certification classes.

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Guadalupe shark diving operators may lose access to one of the world’s hottest spots for white shark cage diving.

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From the planning stages to post-trip symptoms, here’s how to stay safe abroad.

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