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'Having
a horrible time dearie?'
How
NOT to take decent pictures
by
Pat Morrissey
Reproduced
from in focus 65 (June
1999)
They
say a leopard never changes its spots, and it seems I never
learn the easy way. You'd think my own experiences on dive-trips
abroad would have taught me that it's never a good idea to
take a camera into the water with a group who have no similar
interest in photography; but no, it hasn't - or to be more
accurate, it hadn't, as of last June. I can only claim it
was an excess of bonhomie which led me to listen to, (never
mind accept) the following offer: . comin' on the trip to
Scapa, Pat? We've got a week on a live-a-board sailin' out
of Kirkwall, there's loads of us goin', it's the last trip
of the year and it's CHEAP...'
God
bless Essex! A trip to Scapa Flow, in November, travelling
there and back by minibus and living on a cramped dive-boat
for a week's deep-water wreckdiving! But, gentle reader, it
was cheap, wasn't it? I knew I had to have a go, having never
been to Scapa and fancying the photographic challenge of it
all.
So,
come November, when others were planning trips to the Galapagos
or Truk, there was Paddy en route for the Far North, camera
case on knee for a 17 hour drive and surrounded by The Salt
Of The Earth. Amazingly, there were no fights or deaths on
board the bus, and we all arrived in different stages of crippledom
- personally, it felt like I'd been given an arse-transplant
without anaesthetic - and embarked onto the dive boat, our
snug little home for the coming week. (I use the word 'snug'
much as an estate agent uses the words 'in need of some modernisation';
you get the picture). Once ensconced in my half of the ship's
locker, and careful not to trip over the dead cats that had
failed to be swung, I headed for the deck and the open air.
At least THAT was reassuringly fresh and I soon felt the need
of food, drink and sleep, in that order.
The
cabin doors were all of the louvre variety, so privacy was
a relative term - relative to King Kong's boudoir, to judge
by the strange noises that punctuated the cold hours of the
night. If I'd complained previously about the Gents at Stoney
Cove on a Sunday morning being the nearest thing to a casbah
this side of Calcutta, I knew better now.
We
were moored alongside a public jetty, and a drunk came aboard
at about 3.00 am, which made for some entertaining badinage,
and there was a pump somewhere in the bilges which groaned
away all night long like a tortured soul. At least, I hope
it was a pump; that's what they told me the next morning,
anyway.
The
days were beautiful, and wonderfully orchestrated to present
the islands in all their glory; as we assembled on the dive
deck on the first morning, I noted that a fine spray of water
was being blown sideways from the wavetops, always a welcoming
sight. As the days followed inexorably on, I saw half-inch
thick ice on the deck, then snow shrouding the tops of our
BCDs, and was treated to the most piercing winds I had ever
encountered - and I spent a couple of hapless years in Benwell,
West Newcastle, where if you had both your ears they questioned
your sexuality. Cold? Not at all; mind-numbingly freezing?
Well, perhaps, on a good day. (Bear in mind that word 'cheap'...)
'But
tell us of the pictures', I hear you cry, 'or better yet,
show us some!' And I would, if I could, but I can't. Shame
(not modesty) forbids it. Suffice it to say that, like most
of you, the underwater camera is my special care on a divetrip,
a thing with its own personality and name. Imagine my surprise,
then, to be told by the Captain on the first day that we were
all expected to exit the boat in a constant line of thrashing
scubadivers, all hand-gear with us or to be thrown to us as
the boat continued on its way! After expressing some concern,
it was agreed that the ship's Mate would lower my baby down
to me via a hank of rope and a carabiner clip; this was the
best (and indeed only) option available, and so, of course,
I accepted it. And apart from the occasional coronary as the
boat heeled and bucked through the cold black seas and I did
my impression of a trained seal trying to grab and unclip
my camera, it was a viable system, if not one to be recommended
for the faint-hearted.
The
snaps were few and far between, mostly close-ups of crabs
who looked more amused at my temerity in trying to take their
pictures than anything else. The dives were deep, and very
dark. I enjoyed them (as wrecks will always be enjoyable),
but from the photographic perspective, forget it.
And
this year? Well, if I can get the local dive-shop owner to
book a week in August, and can fly up there, and can live
ashore in a decent hotel - then I might try it all again!
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