Niagara Article
Reel Passion slipped her mooring at Tutukaka Marina early on the morning of Wednesday Jan 26th 1999. The healthy apprehension normally experienced when embarking on a deep dive, was dwarfed by my grave responsibility for the safety of the dive team. This was the biggest expedition I had ever led. My personal dream was about to become reality. After months of cajoling and persuasion, a dozen people had literally bought into my dream by contributing to the cost, and placed their trust in me as the expedition leader to know exactly what I was doing. I thought I did; but I’d never done this before; so it was the greatest burden I had ever known. I was terrified.
From boarding the vessel to arriving at the dive site I was consulted on details ranging from my need for a coffee to the contingency of a type 2 bend. I was so stressed I could hardly think straight. The only way I got through the 2 hour voyage to the dive site was by “toughing it out”. When we arrived on site the practical work started. Setting out the shot lines and preparing the drop lines focussed my mind and kept me busy. It was a lifesaver. Launching the ROV diverted everyone’s attention off me and gave further relief. I used the time to prepare my equipment and psych myself up. The appearance of a 14ft hammerhead cruising the dive site was as welcome as boils. I could have kicked it around the county in my frustration. After some 20 minutes it got the message and scarpered, but where had it gone? The time had come.
The First Dive on RMS Niagara
The visibility was excellent at over 100ft with clear blue water. My dive buddy, Dave Apperley, spent 10 minutes at 6m breathing on his Buddy Inspiration Closed Circuit Rebreather. This technique is necessary to ensure the CO2 absorbent reaction is fully underway before the dive starts in earnest. We used this time to check for leaks and to relax from the exertion and apprehension of kitting up. Dive Marshall Brian Oxenham logged our decent at 11:53. Dave was ahead of me initially. I switched my breathing gas from air to trimix as the depth increased. Dave sank slower now as he checked the setpoint of his rebreather and I passed him. At 60m I was startled by a dark shape moving fast. Was it the hammerhead we had seen earlier, or tricks of the fading light enhanced by nitrogen narcosis? A school of kingfish swept into view from the depths and circled us rapidly. My mood ricocheted from alarm to euphoria! I knew then that we were in for a stunning dive. The bright sunlight was fading now and a twilight world approached us from below. At 80m we passed through a thermocline. The temperature dropped from 20 degrees above to 16 degrees below the watery divide. I shivered as I crossed this barrier, psychologically entering a new world. An unknown dark mass was taking shape in the gloom below. As we approached, it receded, undulating ominously. We pressed on. The outline hardened. Spectres of my imagination fled and familiar objects took their place. Fish! A shoal of golden snapper parted like the curtains in a theatre, dramatically revealing RMS Niagara! The stress was gone. Suddenly I knew exactly where I was. On a wreck, and a good ‘un at that. She was lying on her port side all right. Two rows of handrails curved downwards following the rounded stern. Rows of portholes perforated the slab like expanse of her mighty hull. As I looked left and down, ventilators and deck fittings filled my view. Up and forward revealed an ongoing line of handrail and hull with yet more portholes. The expanse of the ship seemed far greater now than her vital statistics would suggest. My eyes adjusted to the dim blue light revealing more and more detail to take in. I turned to Dave. He too was gazing in wonder. Our excitement mounted. Dave was now calling profusely into his rebreather with a voice distorted by helium and gesturing with his arms. I couldn’t understand a word he said but I knew exactly what he meant. It was a stunning sight to be the first divers to see the huge ocean liner lying undisturbed on the seabed. We had achieved a major personal goal. A giant step for man but an insignificant step for mankind. Not everything we saw was so pleasing. There was an old trawl net snagged across the wreck which demanded respect. At 110m deep this could be a real hazard. It had trapped a large tuna (6ft long) which now lay dead as a warning to us. We avoided it carefully. As the ship lay on her side the timber decking that should be below us, now formed the wall on our right. The wood had decayed releasing its hold on the screws and bolts which secured fittings to the deck. These had fallen onto the now horizontal walls of the superstructure. We were passing the ships hospital located on the uppermost part of the superstructure at the stern of the ship. Dave examined a deck light comprising 3 glass prisms set in a brass frame. It would have allowed daylight into the compartment below the deck while being strong enough for passengers to walk on during a stroll around the ship. Now it lay loose on its side with no deck to hold onto. I saw an oval brass fitting which might have been the mounting socket for a hand tool. An open hatch cover invited access to the inside of the wreck. I shone my torch inside and revealed a huge void with no visible end. Within this black maw the only visible object was a large cylinder some 5ft in diameter with numerous regularly spaced perforations. An unusual item like this might be identified later but so far we haven’t found out what it was. We do know we were looking into the hold beneath the stern mast where cargo would have been loaded. Gravity would have caused most of the cargo to tumble to the lowest point when the ship came to rest on her side. This may explain why the space was so large and apparently empty. I checked my depth gauge and timer and realized it was already time to turn back. We had been at 110m for a fleeting 11 minutes and had only 4 minutes more before we had to leave. The return trip took us along the starboard boat deck. A hemispherical light with a brass cage around it, drew my attention briefly. I pointed it out to Dave. This type of fitting would definitely show up in old photos. As we worked our way back we swam under the starboard docking bridge. This was a steel platform with a handrail around it. Officers could walk out to the end of this gantry to a vantage point where they could see right along the length of the ship. There was a telegraph here, which the officer would use to send manouevering instructions to the engine room below. Tempting as it was to go in search of this telegraph, prudence prevailed. I reminded myself that I was in “Davy Jones Locker” nearing the end of my planned gas supply, and still had a long decompression obligation to face. We stayed respectfully clear of that ghostly trawl that formed a canopy overhead! The ascent began with both of us looking down, reluctant to leave so soon. As we ascended up our shot line, the golden snapper once again closed around their home and the wreck faded into the depths below us.
Euphoria
3 hours later I climbed out of the water feeling a mixture of euphoria at having succeeded to dive the Niagara, a deep sense of achievement that our dive plan had worked effectively, and immense relief that everyone had returned safely. A quiet moments reflection would have been welcome to gather my racing thoughts, but it was not to be. Members of the surface team thrust a dictaphone in my face, cameras flashed continuously and a barrage of questions began! And who can blame them? Veteran Kiwi divers; they all regarded Niagara as a sort of New Zealand diving Everest. One infamously proclaimed “You knocked the
--deleted-- off!” They all dived with us in spirit, and had an insatiable need to know everything we experienced. I had planned as much of this dive as I could and rehearsed all the contingencies I could think of but I just wasn’t prepared for this reception. I hope there aren’t too many expletives!
How it started
Routine dive trips to the magnificent Poor Knights Islands inevitably include a hospitality stop in the Whangarei Deep Sea Angling Club at Tutukaka. Among the fiberglass casts of giant marlin fixed on the walls and ceiling, I noticed a small picture frame containing 3 photos. The photos showed a grand ocean liner called RMS Niagara, a small coaster with an observation chamber suspended from a rickety crane, and group of very cheerful men gathered around 3 columns of stacked gold bars! Clearly something spectacular had occurred. I went straight to the bar and asked the barmaid the story. What I heard beggared belief.
RMS Niagara
The Royal Mail Ship, RMS Niagara was designed by Coll McDonald of New Zealand’s “Union Shipping Line”, and built by John Brown & Co. in Clydebank, to the highest standards of the great ocean liners of her time. 525ft long, 66ft beam and 34ft draught with a displacement of 13,415 tons she was a luxury ocean liner. Her route lay between Vancouver and Sydney, so every voyage faced winter conditions at one end and summer conditions at the other, with tropical humidity in between, irrespective of the time of year. To maintain passenger comfort Niagara was fitted with a special new ventilation system to ensure warmth during the cold weather, and cooling ventilation during the heat of the tropics. It was the first attempt at an air conditioning system of the day. Niagara could burn coal or oil so was also one of the first “duel fuel” driven steam ships. Launched in Glasgow in March 1912 she was nicknamed the “Titanic of the Pacific” but following the tragedy of the Titanic in April the same year, the reference was dropped. Niagara’s maiden voyage began in Sydney in May 1913. RMS Niagara crossed the Pacific Ocean between Sydney, Auckland, via the Pacific Islands to Vancouver. She traveled more miles than any other passenger ship, having covered a total distance of 2,295,000 miles during her 27 year career; a record which still stands.
She served the Pacific route for over a quarter of a century and became an icon of style, quality and reliability. The Union Line considered her “their perfect ship”.
Sinking
On June 19th 1940, Europe was at war and New Zealand as part of the Commonwealth was included. Captain Bill Martin had been in command of the majestic RMS Niagara for 4 years, but this voyage was special. He was entrusted with a secret mission to ship 8 tons of gold bullion to Vancouver! There it was to be paid to the USA for “munitions” for Britain’s struggle against the rising threat of the Nazis in Europe. Japan and the USA had not entered the war when RMS Niagara left Auckland that fateful day, but the German raider “Orion” had. The Pacific Ocean was out of the range of German U boats so “raiders” were used instead. A “raider” was a commercial cargo ship fitted with various armaments including a range of artillery guns, torpedoes, a seaplane and mine laying capability. Able to disguise herself as a neutral merchantman she sought out targets using the seaplane, then came within range before revealing her true intent. A sneaky but devastating tactic. Orion became particularly notorious for her success, sinking dozens of ships in the vast Pacific Ocean entirely unchallenged. On June 13th 1940, under the cover of darkness, Commander Kurt Weyher spent his evening laying an extensive minefield in the Hauraki Gulf, the approach channel to the port of Auckland. Once more he was unchallenged during his task so completed it all too well, laying a total of 228 moored contact mines. The Niagara was the minefields first and richest victim. Ray Nelson was an able seaman on Niagara. He had gone to bed when at ~ 3.30am a blast shook the ship. He found himself pressed up against the deck head. He scrambled about in the dark for his trousers and got out to find the forward hatch gone and the deck splintered. There had been a large American car lashed on this hatch cover, but it was gone along with the hatch cover and part of the deck. Niagara was mortally damaged and settled by the head developing a list to port. All 148 passengers and 203 crew transferred to the lifeboats. Even the ships cat was “saved” but found conditions in the lifeboat less sumptuous than she was accustomed to, so jumped back aboard Niagara to become the ships only casualty during the sinking. The survivors watched the Niagara from the lifeboats, hoping she may remain afloat but at 05.30 she gracefully sank bow first. Everyone was returned safely to Auckland later the same day, but RMS Niagara now lay in “Davy Jones Locker” 120 metres down with 8 tons of gold in her strong room. Coll McDonald, designer of the Niagara, was broken hearted that his “perfect ship” had been lost, but took comfort that she “sank like the lady she was”. Captain Bill Martin went on to command other ships and completed a distinguished maritime career but Niagara remained his favourite command. This is how special the Niagara was in service, but her fame was to increase even further after her loss.
Deepest Salvage Ever Attempted ?
Needless to say The Bank of England wanted their gold back. In 1940, 8 tons of gold was valued at £2,500,000. It was lying in ~ 400ft depth, locked inside a reinforced steel strong room, within the bowels of a sunken ship, which was herself lying in an un-swept minefield. Like true bankers, they struck the stingiest salvage deal imaginable, reluctantly agreeing to pay the salvage team £27,000 expenses plus a measly 2.5% of the value of any gold recovered. (I’ve seen the telegrams in the Bank of England Archive). Despite the terms, one of the worlds most famous salvage expeditions was embarked upon. A salvage crew, led by Captain J P Williams, was assembled, and an old decrepit coaster, the Claymore, was made available to the salvage team. First they had to salvage the Claymore which had been abandoned in Auckland as a hulk. She needed major repair and refitting just to make her useable and colourful accounts of the salvage make it clear she never regained the title “seaworthy”. Her 4 bladed propeller had only 3 blades, the hull was “paper thin” and constantly needed patching and the engine broke down 4 times in one day. Despite this she was the only salvage platform available so the “United Salvage Syndicate” set about the salvage of Niagara’s gold with what equipment and expertise was available to them. They spent 2 months locating the wreck by dragging their anchor through the minefield. Not surprisingly they found plenty of mines before they found the wreck and were extremely fortunate not to join the Niagara on the seabed. Once the Niagara was located they changed tack and began salvage. Explosive charges were used but these very nearly shattered the Claymore’s delicate hull more efficiently than demolishing the way into Niagara’s strong room. Winter gales threatened to sink the Claymore as she attempted to hold position moored over the wreck. Despite the obstacles a monumental effort ensued against all the odds. Using a purpose built observation chamber Chief Diver “Johnno Johnstone” was successfully lowered to the wreck. From there he guided a grab, operated from a crane on the ship 400ft above him, by telephone. Slowly progress was made. The ship was systematically dissected exposing the bullion room then the grab began to recover gold. I later met Ray Nelson, one of Niagara’s crew and subsequently a member of the Claymore’s salvage team. He was a fine character and reminisced of the time he was aboard the Claymore cleaning mud off recovered gold bars. He would “accidentally” drop the ingots against protruding steelwork to scrape off shavings of gold! He eventually collected enough shavings to make a gold ring which he gave to a local girl. She rewarded him by high-tailing it over the horizon; so he concluded that it was ill gotten gains and justice had been done!
In 1941 the Niagara salvage was claimed to be the “Deepest Salvage Ever” but in fact the Niagara salvage had closely followed the technique used by an Italian team in 1932.
Commendatore Quaglia successfully recovered gold and silver from the P&O steamer Egypt which sank following a collision off Ushant. In 2002 I was very fortunate to join an expedition to dive the Egypt, organized by Chris Hutchison and Christina Campbell. By diving both wrecks, (using the same depth gauge) I was able to establish that the Egypt lay in 410ft and the Niagara lay in 405ft, so the dispute over which was the deepest salvage was solved; however the environment at that depth makes 5ft totally irrelevant and personally I’d rather work from a seaworthy boat and be without the mine field.
Dive The Niagara !
Imagine your ultimate wreck. No loss of life? A top quality liner? Intact? Good viz? A haven for aquatic life? Big pelagic fish? Undived? A personal challenge? Contains treasure? The Niagara was all these things and more. It was 1996 and I had just completed an open circuit trimix course. I knew at 120m deep Niagara was way beyond my skill or experience at that time. However I also knew it could be done, so became possessed with a will to learn more and to gain the necessary experience to dive RMS Niagara. At that time the New Zealand dive establishment hadn’t even come to terms with nitrox so suggesting a 120m trimix dive was like announcing a lunar landing. Everyone thought I was mad and said so. Over the next 2 years I built my experience by joining Australian trimix divers on other expeditions. I met Dave Apperley on a cave diving trip to the Pearse Resurgence where I observed that “the rocks at the bottom were just the same as the rocks at the top”. To a cave diver this “just ain’t the right attitude” but we became good mates anyway. Next I joined Kevin Denlay’s expedition to USS Atlanta in the Solomon Islands. During this expedition I was enrolled as a support diver. As well as sorting out my own skills I paid meticulous attention to Kevin’s dive planning and organization. After 3 weeks of support diving, Kevin gave me the opportunity to dive the Atlanta in 130m and in doing so, I gained the confidence to run the first Niagara Expedition.
Next step was to build a team
RMS Niagara lay less than 60 miles from home and by mid 1998 I finally thought I had enough experience to dive her. Dave Apperley had expressed a strong interest to join an expedition if I organized it. I knew I could rely on Dave so he was a cert. Members of the Auckland BSAC dive club were well versed in wreck diving procedures and could provide a potential support diver crew. In particular Brian Oxenham was an ex submariner officer and ideally suited to the surface organization role. The dive charter fleet at Tutukaka could provide boat support. Phil Bendle of Norseman Charters was our usual dive boat skipper but Norseman was too small for a big trimix dive so Phil kindly introduced us to Alastair Parsons of Reel Passion. Pete Mesley was the only other diver I knew of in New Zealand with a trimix qualification so he was invited. Keith Gordon of Searov Technologies owned a Remote Operated Vehicle (ROV) and had filmed Niagara some 10 years earlier but had never returned to the wreck. I contacted Keith to split costs and hopefully to record the dive with his ROV. If I could mobilize this lot, to all work together, in the same direction, at the same time, there was a real chance of a New Zealand Team diving on RMS Niagara. The ingredients for a fantastic expedition were in place. All I had to do was follow the example of the crew of the Claymore and make it happen!
Planning The Dives
The “4 lemons” principle was born. Like playing a fruit machine we decided it was “Probable to get 1 problem, Possible to get 2, Unlikely to get 3 and Rare to get 4”.
Plan A was to ascend up the shot line carrying our own gas supply for the entire dive. Plan B was to stage spare cylinders on the line, as back up, if our personal gas supply was low. Plan C was to release a delayed SMB if separated from the shot line. This would initiate a drop line deployment followed by a visit from a support diver. Plan D was to clip onto the shot line during ascent. If the diver became unconscious we didn’t want the diver to sink and be lost altogether. The only action the support diver could do under that circumstance was to bring the stricken diver to the surface. (As Brian maintained “court marshals are always held on the surface”) Nowadays this kind of logic is nothing new but in New Zealand in 1998 it was. We reasoned that irrespective of the problem facing the diver, first he must receive a continuous breathing supply, hence the term “any gas is better than liquid” and second he must be connected to the surface. Once the diver was supplied with a drop line both these objectives were met plus the surface team had only one course of action, irrespective of events, so confusion under stress was also eliminated. If decompression stops were missed or times overrun the diver just had to stay longer, and now had the extra gas to do so, hence the second term ”its only numbers”. (referring to the Depth / Time / Gas consumption relationship). By stabilizing the diver on a line to the surface with ample gas and the presence of support divers we reasoned there was little more we could physically do to assist a stressed diver. If the divers failed to return to the shot or to deploy an SMB we reasoned that they were “beyond aid”. The limitations of what the support crew could actually do to help, were made very clear to everyone, and it was emphasized that we were taking on the dives at our own risk. If the support team could assist us great; but they were not to risk their own safety. That’s why I always refer to them as support divers and never as safety divers. Support divers are not responsible for the safety of deep divers. They are just there to assist if they can. Finally we briefed the Devonport Hyperbaric Hospital (Auckland) and Westpac rescue helicopter of our plans so they were aware of what might come their way (which they dismissed as incredulous) (Ironically it was Dr Simon Mitchell of Devonport Hyperbaric Hospital who subsequently dived to 175m on the Centaur in Australia in May 2002)
Practice
It’s a personal obsession of mine that most divers know how to conduct contingency drills, but without practice individuals cannot co ordinate these skills as a team. Practice exposes numerous trivial problems that make all the difference between a slick deployment under stress, and a confused panic. We also found that by drilling for contingencies the very contingency is predicted and therefore avoided in the first place.
So we practiced. The first few times we dropped lines, the stressed diver below would have been psychotic by the time the operation was sorted out. Ropes tangled, the chase boat drifted, the SMB was accidentally let go, the drop line didn’t meet the diver, the stage cylinders were fitted at the wrong depths, etc etc. All simple mistakes with potentially catastrophic consequences. After about 4 attempts, techniques were modified and it soon became pretty slick. During practice for the 2001 expedition Dave Apperley sent up his delayed SMB and afterwards made the famous (sarcastic) comment to the support team: “Yer gonna have to sack ‘em. 30 seconds ‘till I heard the boat: 45 seconds ‘till they picked up the buoy: 2 bloody minutes ‘till I got gas: Shockin!”
Off the soap box and back to the yarn.
Niagara 2000
In January 2000 Dave Apperley and I chartered Lady Jess owned by Peter Saul. Base Camp was an anchorage at the Mokohinau Islands, which is superb diving in its own right plus is very close to the Niagara. Pete Saul expertly cruised over the wreck surveying with the echo sounder. Pete took the time to carefully position our shot line on the forward section of the wreck then we deployed our stage cylinders.
Dave and I were both using Closed Circuit Rebreathers or CCR's (Buddy Inspirations) for these dives. Dave also had a video to record the dive. The descent was rapid at 30m per minute but it would still take at least 4 minutes to reach the bottom. Constant monitoring of the ppO2 displays was necessary to ensure our breathing gas remained within our acceptable oxygen setpoint range. During depth changes vigilance is especially important when using a Closed Circuit Rebreather as the unit blends gas to adjust for the new depth. At 90m I heard a deep thud! I turned round to see Dave behind me pointing at his helmet mounted torch. It had imploded unable to withstand the pressure at this depth! Dave was fine so we continued the dive. The wreck came in view and we settled on the upturned hull at 105m. Visibility was excellent at 10m with plenty of natural light to provide a twilight view of the wreck. We were very close to where the bridge used to be. To our left a wall of steel punctuated by square framed windows was all that remained of the superstructure above shelter deck level. To our right lay an expanse of hull plating with rows of portholes. Beyond them (out of sight) would be the opening made by the gold bullion salvage 60 years ago. Forward was the mast now pointing horizontally. We had seen a tantalizing glimpse of this mast last year with the ROV. I opted to swim forward, then left and down, over the gunwhale towards the mast. Dave filmed as we went. (Fortunately there was sufficient natural light to capture some images) We descended to the mast base at 115m. On closer inspection I realized that the mast was also the central tower of the loading crane. This explained its structural integrity, as we had been surprised it had not collapsed. Black coral trees grew off it at various points and the crow’s nest still afforded a panoramic view over the forward deck. The view now was a scrap yard of jumbled wreckage and alongside us a vast wall of timber decking. This dive was an excellent orientation so now we knew exactly where our shot line was positioned. We left it in place ready for a second dive to explore the strong room on Friday. If a stray gold bar should be lying gleaming on the bottom, it would be rude not to return it to the Bank of England.
~~~
The upshot of it is that there are still two gold bars down at 410 feet, deep in the engine rooms maize of tortured wreckage, for the brave and or the foolhardy.
rangler
