Remebering Lisa Vandergriff

I have known many fine people for whom living the life aquatic through diving is their passion which is shared with infectious enthusiasm.  Tonight, the person embodying this spirit who instantly comes to mind is Lisa Vandergriff.  She partnered in that passion with her loving husband, Jerry—the inseparable First Couple of Alaska diving, even when that diving was in Cozumel and Kona.  They were long serving ambassadors of Alaska diving.  Perhaps most importantly, they were the Keepers of the Cove at a time when the cove most needed someone to help keep it.  And they always had fun while doing all of it.

It is with great sadness that I learned yesterday morning that Lisa passed away at home in Kona.  The ocean will seem a little bit larger and the Cove a little more lonely because of her passing.

As a scuba instructor, Lisa certified countless divers in the wintry waters of Smitty’s Cove in Whittier, Alaska.  Smitty’s was Lisa’s office—an interesting place to practice her craft of transforming uplanders into divers.  This is a difficult task made even more challenging when one considers it is being done in cold water and with divers in drysuits---gear that makes some feel like the balloon in Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade.  Many instructors could probably certify divers under these conditions, but few can convince the student divers that they are having fun while learning the skills.  Lisa was one who performed that remarkable feat.  I recall the joy with which she certified her teenage nephew.  While she was always enthusiastic with every student or dive buddy, there seemed to be for her a particular glee from passing on the love of diving to one of her relations.

Whittier lies at the head of a fjord in western Prince William Sound.  In the winter, waters are cold--a few degrees above freezing--and clear, perfect conditions for diving even in Alaska’s low winter sun.  Whittier has a reputation for having a perpetual snowstorm that starts in October and continues until switching over to perpetual rain storm sometime around April or May.   An exaggeration to be sure, but only a slight one.  The sunlight of the lengthening days of summer triggers a plankton bloom which turns the waters green and drives the underwater visibility to from dozens of yards to a few feet. 

These conditions may explain the popularity of referral courses—start the class and pool work in Anchorage, finish the open water portion of the course in Hawaii.  Yet, if you were Lisa-certified in Whittier, you could dive pretty much in any conditions anywhere in the world.  I recall two teenage brothers certified by Lisa went to Bonaire.  They related to me how the resort dive shop owner was reluctant to let these two freshly-minted open water divers venture out on their own. The shop owner asked “where were you certified?”  They responded, “Alaska” and the owner asked no further questions.  Cove-certified divers have one added benefit.  When the weather is clear, the view from the Cove is stunning as one gazes seaward toward glacier-bracketed Canal Passage. 

I recall the order of the typical Cove dive.  For Lisa and Jerry, the routine and the route had the familiarity of walking down well-worn neighborhood paths.  Gear up from the back of the vehicles in the parking lot.  Walk down the ramp to the water.  Put on fins.  Do the gear check. Submerge and head to the first underwater landmark, “the box.”  From the box and with enough air, the divers could make all or part of the grand tour.  As the bottom dropped dramatically, divers  yonder  in loose formation  to the airplane, the sea pen bed, the crane,  the wolf eel in the pipe, sauntering over to the reef balls before heading “up the hill” to the box doing a safety stop at the foot of the ramp.  Lisa and Jerry guided divers through the terrain, taking note of every critter encountered, exhaustively recorded in meticulously accurate detail in their diver log book.  When you approach every dive as an adventure, nothing you find is ever routine.  A second dive followed, but only after a surface interval that cautiously assured no one would exceed the no decompression limits.     

The last act of the day’s ritual was to sign log books over burgers at the nearby Anchor Inn—a social way to decompress with their diving friends.  I do not keep a logbook, so I would sometimes skip the gathering at the Inn.  In doing so, I deprived myself of one third of the dive because the best parts of any dive with Lisa and Jerry were the before, the during, and the after.

The diving and camaraderie were not just limited to Whittier.  Every year during Alaska’s summer, Jerry and Lisa would venture to Cozumel, inviting friends to join them for part or all of their time on the island.  They opened their Kona home to a constant stream of Alaska divers.  Other dives included the spring cleanup of an Anchorage area lake.  Monthly dinners at area restaurants, pot luck dinners with their dive group were events not to be missed.  

Particularly special was the annual Christmas party at their Anchorage residence and the Underwater Easter Egg hunt in Smitty’s Cove  followed by a gathering in Begich Tower.

It was all quite amazing.  I miss my friend.