I celebrated the new millennium aboard the Conception. Leapt over the side of the boat into pitch black water off the Channel Islands at midnight on January 1, 2000, along with eleven other scuba divers. With multi-colored glow lights clipped to our gear, and underwater flashlights, we looked like a slowly descending Christmas tree as we followed the boat’s anchor line to the bottom, about 55 feet down. There was a round, white light mounted in the bottom of Conception’s hull to find our way back. We wouldn’t be going far. All I could see was what appeared in the path of my flashlight and the lights of the other divers. I swam close to my dive buddy, careful not to lose sight of the soft glow from the bottom of the boat. Spiny California lobsters snoozed in small caves, and Nudibranchs fluttered on nearby rocks. A bright orange Garibaldi loomed out of the darkness, startling me as it peered into my mask with its characteristic furrowed brow. A Soupfin shark slept on the sea bottom like a 1950s Cadillac parked by a rock. We swam past kelp beds, careful not to get caught in the swaying fronds. We eventually circled back and gathered at the anchor, shielding our flashlights and waving our arms to make the tiny bioluminescent plankton swirl in glittering underwater clouds.
We made our way up the anchor line slowly, listening to the soft hum of the Conception’s generator as we took our decompression stops. Reaching the surface, we climbed onto the dive platform and the crew, all dive masters themselves, took our fins and helped us up the ladder, asking, “Have a nice dive?”
The following morning some of the crew would cook us tasty breakfasts made to order as we scanned the shores across the channel and checked our cell phones for signs of the Y2K upheaval that never happened. They cheerfully filled our tanks after each dive and kept the boat neat and tidy. When we saw a school of Barracuda, they made sure the Heart song, “Barracuda,” was playing on the sound system when we came back up.
We would eventually make our way down the stairs to the warm, dry sleeping quarters at night – curtained bunk beds with comfy mattresses, pillows, blankets, and reading lights. I fell asleep each night listening to waves lapping gently against the hull.
I can barely wrap my mind around this unimaginable tragedy.
My only consoling thought is that those lost aboard the Conception experienced the pure joy and beauty of scuba diving during their final days on Earth, and I'm praying that their terror and confusion faded quickly as they moved on to other realms.
I offer my deepest condolences to their families and friends.
We made our way up the anchor line slowly, listening to the soft hum of the Conception’s generator as we took our decompression stops. Reaching the surface, we climbed onto the dive platform and the crew, all dive masters themselves, took our fins and helped us up the ladder, asking, “Have a nice dive?”
The following morning some of the crew would cook us tasty breakfasts made to order as we scanned the shores across the channel and checked our cell phones for signs of the Y2K upheaval that never happened. They cheerfully filled our tanks after each dive and kept the boat neat and tidy. When we saw a school of Barracuda, they made sure the Heart song, “Barracuda,” was playing on the sound system when we came back up.
We would eventually make our way down the stairs to the warm, dry sleeping quarters at night – curtained bunk beds with comfy mattresses, pillows, blankets, and reading lights. I fell asleep each night listening to waves lapping gently against the hull.
I can barely wrap my mind around this unimaginable tragedy.
My only consoling thought is that those lost aboard the Conception experienced the pure joy and beauty of scuba diving during their final days on Earth, and I'm praying that their terror and confusion faded quickly as they moved on to other realms.
I offer my deepest condolences to their families and friends.
Nudibranch
Garibaldi
Kelp Forest
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