Tales from the Logbook--Journalism: Diving San Clemente Island

 Over the past 40 years, I have dabbled in "dive journalism" writing articles for various scuba and wildlife publications.  My first such effort was a description of the Mesa Lane dive site in Santa Barbara also known a Mohawk Reef.  that article appeared in the mid 1980s in California Diving News.  

Most of the articles that I wrote were in collaboration with my friend and wildlife photographer, Brandon Cole.  Essentially, Brandon's photography sells the story, my words kind of fill the space between the images, although I get the by-lines.  This aspect does not disparage my writing style.  I acknowledge that in diving journalism, the images drive the story.  Without great images, no sale.  Mostly, the magazines contacted Brandon with story ideas.  He included me on a couple assignments which I will reproduce here from time-to-time.  We had some marvelous dives together as a result.  One of those articles about diving at San Clemente Island, California, appeared 15 years ago in the November 2009 issue of Alert Diver Magazine.  

I reproduced the article as it appears on the web version below.  Obviously, the model/diver in the article is not me.  Rather, it is Brandon's wife, Melissa Singh Cole,  a successful artist.  

A strong current sweeps the pinnacle known as Nine Fathom Reef, never completely dissipating as we descend the anchor line through the darkening blue water. At the top of the reef, I pause to get my bearings. The depth gauge shows 40 ft (12 m), and mindful of the plan presented to us by the captain, we immediately work forward from the anchor to avoid getting pushed out into open ocean.

We drop down a chasm that runs to the bottom at 90 ft (27 m). The near-vertical route takes us through an overwhelming reefscape. Brown palm kelp stalks, red gorgonian fans and foot-high tufts of purple hydrocorals all provide camouflage for our approach. “Purple” doesn’t quite describe the color; each hydrocoral illuminated by my dive light exhibits a slightly different hue ranging from electric blue to deep violet. Pretty. But we’ve got an objective to achieve, and so we push on.

My light sweeps across the reef, and there they are! Hunkered down beneath an overgrowth of gorgonians rests a platoon of lobsters, their wary antennae now tracking my every move. My excited yelp startles my buddy to attention, and he moves in for the shot — with a camera, of course. Mission accomplished.

Military Secrets

It’s hard not to think in military terms when you’re diving remote San Clemente Island, southern California’s best-kept diving secret. The 21-mile-long (34 km) island is the most southerly of the eight Channel Islands, and it’s owned by the U.S. Navy, which uses it as a combat training ground and bombing range. On your surface intervals, you can watch F-18s scream overhead or imagine what it must be like to be a SEAL scrambling ashore. But the best action is found underwater, on more than 12 dive sites that are open to civilians.

The sites are accessible only by infrequent multi-day charters, like the one we took aboard the Conception out of Santa Barbara. It’s a bit of a haul to get here, and the ever-present current can be a challenge, but the island gathers into one largely undisturbed place everything that seems rare at the other Channel Islands — pinnacles, steep walls, underwater arches and kelp-covered rock reefs, all populated by an unbelievable variety of marine life.

At Truth Rock, which rises from the bottom at 45 ft (14 m) to within 15 ft (5 m) of the surface, we anchor within view of what looks like a villa on a terrace overlooking the sea. This is no high-end beach house; Navy SEALs use this structure to stage amphibious assaults. Underwater, sheepshead abound, with females vastly outnumbering a few large males, and the combat for their attention is real. During the dive we see several female sheepshead approach each other head on, abruptly stop, bare their large mandibles, and break off, reverse course and quickly swim away.

Pyramid Head — a large, conical volcanic rock, one of several that sprout on the southeast corner of the island — is home to a quintessential kelp forest towering over a shallow reef. An outer wall steps down to a depth in excess of 100 ft (30 m), colored by yellow sponges intermixed with a variety of anemones. Ascending toward the surface, we take a kelp forest canopy tour and discover the wonders of mid-water diving. The ever-present opaleyes kiss the kelp fronds, kelp bass saunter about, and a silver sheet of bonito — one fish wide, by 50 fish deep, by several fish long — passes by like a shimmering mirage.

About a half-mile west and seaward of Pyramid Head lies Mystic Mountain, a conical shaped feature that rises from 140 ft (43 m) to about 65 ft (20 m) below the surface. The filtered light of an early summer’s morning illuminates a kinetic panorama. Large sheepshead plow the water. Blacksmiths swim through the current-loving red gorgonians. Golden seafans gently sway in time with the kelp.

Our last dive is China Point, where an extensive kelp mat shadows a series of low-profile reefs and narrow sand channels. We start the dive at about 65 ft (20 m) and head shoreward, where we find all the expected critters — lobster, garibaldi and blacksmith — in great numbers. We also spot a specimen of the really big fish this area is known for: calico bass, which turns and accelerates away from me, hugging the terrain like the fighter-bombers that buzz the terrestrial range above.

Our reconnaissance complete, we withdraw to the surface to ponder San Clemente Island’s dichotomies: isolation adjacent to a crowded coastline and peaceable diving in the midst of military operations. Diving this good is supposed to be impossible to find. Yet here it is, hiding in plain sight.

How To Dive It

San Clemente Island is owned and controlled by the U.S. Navy. Waters around the island are usually open to divers, though officials may restrict access to certain operating areas. Visit San Clemente Island for more information on closures.

Conditions: Average water temperatures are in the mid-60s°F (15°C), with lows in the low-to-mid 50s (10°C) in winter. Visibility ranges from 40-60 ft (12-18 m) in winter and spring and 60-90 ft (18-27 m) in summer and fall. San Clemente Island offers a variety of dive spots whose offshore location, deep water and variable currents combine to make for challenging intermediate to advanced diving.

Getting There: The island’s relatively remote location from the mainland means that it is not as frequently visited by charter dive boats as the other Channel Islands. Multiple-day liveaboard trips are the norm, with occasional all-day trips from the Los Angeles and San Diego areas.

Dive Operators: For more information on the Conception, which leaves from Santa Barbara, visit Truth Aquatics. For information on charters from other Southern California ports, visit California Dive Boats.

© Alert Diver — Q4 Fall 2009

Tales from the Logbook--Feeding the Wolf Eel

One of the tasks I enjoy the most is feeding the wolf eel (Anarrhichthys ocellatus) in the Bird Habitat tank at the Alaska Sea Life Center.  This activity takes place at the beginning of the first part of the dive when I do a quick survey of the habitat for mussel shells, large kelp, and other debris that might get caught in the siphon used to clean the habitat surface.  I carry a large mesh goody bag to hold the items I collect.  A small side compartment contains the half dozen or so pieces of squid that I wolf eel.

As described my Milton Love, “wolf eels are marvelous eel-shaped fishes withextremely long bodies, large canines and molars, and dorsal and anal fins that taper together to form a point.  Adults are blue-gray, red-brown, or sometimes almost white, and darkly spotted (sometimes heavily, sometime not).  Females are sometimes brownish….Adults live over reefs or around hunks of human-made material.  You mostly see the adults with their heads sticking out of crevices and caves, although they will go out for undulating sojourns on occasion.”

Bird Habitat hosts a long rock-covered den near the side viewing window.  I seldom see the wolf eel, which is about four to five feet long, swimming freely the habitat.  Rather, she resides in the den face near one opening, tail near the other.  Taking one piece of squid out of the bag at a time, I dangle it near the opening of the den to coax her out.  Most of the time, she emerges from the den and pursues the squid that I hold in my fingertips.  Other fish in the habitat may try to move in on the morsel but the wolf eel is pretty adept at getting the squid.  Soon, all the pieces of squid are consumed and the wolf eel returns to its lair as quickly as it emerged. 

If guests have been watching the feeding, I turn to them hold up my gloved hand which held the squid, and with the index finger of the other hand count my five fingers and then pass my wipe my hand across my forehead to show relief that all five digits are intact.  It is a bit of a shtick, but the kids seem to really like it. 

Sometimes the wolf eel will not eat what is offered.   She generally refuses all food when she is fecund with eggs.  During that time, usually around October, we don’t attempt to feed her.

The Youtube videos below demonstrate the feeding of the wolf eel.

Tales from the Logbook--Demonstrating Diver Hand Signals

In the summer of 2019, the education staff at the Alaska SeaLife Center in Seward worked with the habitat maintenance divers to develop an education program for the visitors.  The program emphasized the basics of scuba diving, the equipment divers used and how we communicated underwater using hand signals.  The five- to ten-minute program started just before the divers entered the water.  The narrator encouraged the youngsters to sit up close to the floor to ceiling window, with the adults near the back of the crowd. 

By the time we descended to the habitat’s floor, the program was well underwater.  The interpreter motioned the diver cleaning the window that communication would be demonstrated using hand signals that divers commonly use such as “up,” “down,” and “turn around.”  As I cleaned the windows rather than vacuum with the siphon, it fell to me to do the demonstration.  The interpreter had the crowd do the signal and I responded with the appropriate move.  Thumb up, ascend; thumb down, descend; and so on.  Sometimes the hand signal for “shark” would be indicated and I would feign fear and look nervously around the habitat.  The crowd loved it, especially the youngsters. 

At the end of the demonstration, guests would inevitably line up for photos with the diver.  On more than one occasion, I motioned for a group to gather in front of the window, as I reached into my dry suit’s external cargo pocket and produced an underwater camera like I was going to take their photograph.  After all the photos were done, I waved goodbye and started cleaning the window.  The demo then ended and the crowd dissipated. 

Every so often a youngster would linger or return and start flashing some of the hand signals.  I always took the time to execute the move indicated.

The interpretive program only lasted the one summer.  The following summer (2020) was at the height of the Covid-19 pandemic.  The Center was open, but only at a greatly reduced capacity and following the “stand at least six foot apart” guidelines.  Out of concern for our guests’ wellbeing, the program was suspended.  When the pandemic was over, the demonstration did not return. 

Tales from the Logbook--The Supervisor

One of my most cherished images from my dives at the Alaska Sealife Center shows a youngster, probably about four or five years old, closely examining the results while I remove algal growth from the Bird Habitat window.  I call that image “The Supervisor.”  He appears to be fascinated with the all the activity between the suction cups which give me stability and leverage, the pad, and the diver.

A couple of weeks ago my Facebook Memories tab highlighted a post from October 2014 that I had done my first dive as a volunteer helping to maintain habitats at the Alaska Sealife Center in Seward, Alaska.  Ten years and more than 100 dives later, I can say that I look forward with anticipation to my next dive as I did my first.

I recall that Chip Arnold, the Chief Operating Officer at the Center, told me early on to be sure I interacted with the visitors, especially the children, during the dive if I had the opportunity.  Doing so is one of the best things about the job.  

During another dive, a youngster reluctantly approached the window.  With a little bit of encouragement from his mom, he pressed a phone against the window.  On the screen he had typed the message, YOU MISSED A SPOT.  I thought it was quite funny and appreciate the ingenuity that went into transmitting the message.

Most people are very receptive to interacting with me through the glass, but only the kids will really engage.  Some do so reluctantly, a bit shy at first.  I imagine a diver in all that gear can appear a bit scary.   Usually, I motion to them to come close to the window and initiate a “high five” or “fist bump.”   Pretty soon the parents are taking photos and video.  I try not to exhale during the photo shoot.  Pictures without exhaust bubbles are so much better than ones with them.  I stay there as long as there are kids looking to engage.    

Some encounters are more spontaneous.  A couple of ‘tweens started to mimic my underwater movement.  One did a seal hop across the floor which I repeated much to their delight. I upped the challenge by pushing off the bottom, going inverted and spinning in circles.  There are things a diver can do with the neutral buoyancy that can’t be replicated on the dry side of the glass.  Think of it as break dancing in zero g.