MEL MORRIS ON HER ALTERNATIVE CHRISTMAS
December 17th, 2003 by susanna
Ever felt like leaving Christmas, with its relentless boozing, telly viewing, family squabbles and commercialism behind, and doing something more worthwhile and less boring instead? Mel Morris did just that. Here’s her story…
Last year, feeling that we should make more use of the time away from work, my partner and I decided to indulge in one of our shared passions and escape Christmas. The thought of spending a week on a hard bunk, sharing a boat with 16 other people, and being immersed in cold seawater four times a day may not sound appealing but that’s exactly what we were looking forward to as we packed our bags and headed for the Red Sea.
December 25th 2002 started early, very early. At six o’ clock the boat’s cabin boy, Tita, woke us, trying to make the shock as bearable as possible with a cup of hot, sweet tea. No point in showering yet, it was on with a swimming costume and a warm top (the winds out at sea are cold even in Egypt) and up to the top deck for the day’s briefing. Today was special, today we were diving the Thistlegorm!
Our dive guide spread a book out on the table and showed us pictures of the wreck we would spend the day exploring. A bit of a legend amongst divers, this wreck had been discovered by the famous Jaques Cousteau and was an untouched relic of the Great War. The Thistlegorm had been an enormous supply ship carrying motorbikes and side cars, wellington boots and even a whole locomotive. Then quick, quick on with wet suits, weights and breathing equipment and down the rope to the wreck.
I couldn’t wait to glimpse the first sight of this monster, home to coral loving fish, turtles and octopus and I followed my dive buddy down the rope. My mask was annoyingly filling with water and I bent my head back to clear it. Thankfully the water cleared and I could see the ship spread beneath me, flashes of silver as the fish darted around it and there part of a train carriage. Then my mask filled with stinging seawater once again and I could no longer see. I paused on my descent, trying to attract my buddy’s attention and clear my mask. I couldn’t do either. My breathing was getting faster and I told myself to be calm, panic is the diver’s worst enemy. Two divers following me down realised my distress. One accompanied me back to the surface and the other went down to tell my buddy where I’d gone.
Later that morning, after carefully checking my mask for faults and agreeing with the others that it was ‘just one of those things’ I prepared myself for another dive. My buddy and I agreed to wait a little and go down the rope together and take a different route around the wreck to the main group, then if I got into trouble again we could simply resurface without endangering other divers. A few more boats were now anchoring around the wreck and the sun was fully up offering some much welcome warmth as we shivered in our wet suits.
Down the rope again, mask fine, flashing the ‘OK’ sign at my buddy and monitoring our depth. Wow, this thing was huge. Even in the clear water of the Red Sea it was hard to see from one end to the other. But the fish treated it like a reef, darting in and out portholes and cannon holes. ‘Come on, this way’ my buddy gestured and we descended further over the end of the ship. I knew what he wanted to see, the propeller. And there it was, each branch of it taller than a man, we swam around it impressed by its size. Then up and as we hung weightless in the sea the back of this ship formed a proscenium arch stage. There, just for us, shoals of colourful fish met and retreated in an exquisitely choreographed ballet. I laughed taking in a mouthful of brine and applauded the piscine grace. One kick of a foot and we were part of the dance, surrounded by inquisitive mouths and eyes in every colour of the rainbow.
But air and time were running short, where was that rope? Here it is! Steady now, we went deep and so the ascent must be slow. Rest here a while. Look at all the bubbles coming up from the wreck, it must be full of divers now but how pretty it looks. OK, lets go. Our heads broke the surface and we blinked in the sunlight. Our boat was now surrounded by others, everyone keen to say they’d dived the Thistlegorm.
A bit of adventure, a fish ballet and an old wreck followed by chick pea salad and freshly caught tuna. It certainly beats family squabbles, the Queen’s speech and too much turkey any day.
