2 days, 2 dives, and Why We Do It

The RPM team spent its first seasons (2007-8) in Albania conducting a multi-beam survey of the coastline in the vicinity of Sarande and ancient Butrint, followed up by ROV exploration and sometimes by human dives on targets of interest. Some of those targets were, of course, the anomalies in the multi-beam data. Others were areas where coastal topography, fresh-water sources, prevailing winds and currents, and patterns of land usage suggest that ships may have stopped or crashed in antiquity. In the mid-range depths, diving supplements the ROV images; in the shallows or in areas of rocky terrain, diving is the only way to find what’s down there.
This summer begins a more methodical approach to the diving component of the survey. Cove by cove, shore by shore, the team will make its way along the coastline, documenting all that it finds, ancient through modern. Most of all, this takes many eyes on the seafloor and we are energized this year by students and volunteers who have come to help and to learn. More on that in a later posting. Now, two pictures that illustrate why we are doing what we do.

26 May 2009: The first dive today was in a cove within eyesight of Sarande. It looked like a place where we might find something but there was only sand, sea-grass and rocks. At the surface, huge horseflies and wasps pestered us incessantly, trying to bite even through our wetsuits. Todd, James, and George were awesome swatters but in the end the insects won and we left that cove. The next cove closer to town was a known quantity. The team had previously located and dived on a car-ferry that had capsized a few years earlier. After coming up with negative evidence on all our dives yesterday and this morning, we were psyched to see something on the seafloor. George told us exactly where we would find the cemetery of cars and the broken hull. I jumped in, quickly found the swath of scoured rock that the ferry had scraped on its downslope slide, and followed it to the broken hulk of the ferry’s aft half. Vance and I spent some time poking around, peeking into doorways, sitting on the rails, taking goofy pictures. Then followed the trail of debris upslope again, expecting to come upon the cars. But there was only one, at 60-70’ depth. And if you look at the picture of the one car, you see the explanation.

Did you figure it out? No wheels. A broken hawser, at one time rigged as a sling under the car. The scene of an abandoned attempt at salvage. But all the other cars had been recovered. I am all for recycling. But at the same time this picture of the lone and dismembered automobile reminds us of that there are the means and the need here to recover anything of value within the reach of divers.

27 May 2009: Late Roman shipwreck, 2nd-3rd century AD. THIS IS WHY WE DIVE!

The car picture reminds us that we need to work hard and fast to encourage Albanian initiatives towards establishing the legal framework and practical means to preserve their maritime cultural heritage.

It takes a team, innovation. And laughter helps.

I wonder if my bathing suit will last the month. Of course I brought an old one. I noticed today that the stretchy parts are getting thin and loose. Usually the rate of decay progresses rapidly from this point.
It is my only worry, and I am keenly aware of how lucky I am to be able to say that.

I am buoyed by many things today. The last couple days of diving have been fabulous. Both because of the things I am seeing [check out the RPM site for pictures and updates] and because of the many things I am learning. One of my objectives in coming here this summer is to increase my diving competence. I have close to a thousand dives under my belt, almost all 120-150' (note for non-diving readers: this is deep, for air diving), I have experience doing many different kinds of tasks underwater (measuring, drawing, airlifting, chiseling, recording) and dealing with many potentially dangerous or at least troublesome situations (stone-fish, blown O-rings, free flows, lost fins, dropped weight belt, panicking partner, for example). So in some senses I have a great deal of experience. But at the same time, it is limited: with few exceptions, all of my dives have been to work on two shipwrecks, both conducted by the Institute of Nautical Archaeology, i.e. using essentially the same set protocols, the same equipment, even diving with the same core group of people. Almost every dive has been a square dive: go straight down as quickly as possible, take off fins and work on the seabed, put fins back on and go straight up at the end of the dive, decompress. The dive plans were simple and repetitive -- no need to think about dive tables, decompression time, or finding my way back to the boat. It's a whole new world for me here in Albania: new equipment, new people, new diving objectives that require very different skills. Some things I expected to challenge me: figuring out which buttons to press on the dive computer, how to navigate underwater, for example. Others surprise me. For example, last night -- after my first day of diving -- I got teased at dinner because I was using my arms while swimming underwater. First of all, I had no idea I was using them. Second, it would never occur to me that this is a bad thing. I use my arms when I swim along the top of the water and I used them all the time, of course, when I was working on the seabed without fins. But underwater and with fins the point is to streamline -- like a fish or torpedo. Arms flailing about only create drag and use up energy and air. Propulsion and maneuvering should be all from the legs. OF COURSE. It made sense the moment it was first mentioned at dinner (though it was mentioned many more times than once, OF COURSE -- the band of brothers grows tight by sharing laughs) and luckily it was easy to implement (years of diving not for naught) But who would ever have thought that I needed to be told how to move underwater?! I assure you, it is not the only piece of humble pie I have had to eat this summer, and certainly not the last.
A small price to pay for learning. And the teasing is with kind intent. The plan is for me to direct a project here soon and the more I learn the better. So I am asking and observing.

I am also asking and observing and learning on land. I am buoyed today by several interactions with people of Sarande. One of today's adventures was conveying the request for a receipt for the 10 minutes I had spent at the internet cafe. It took another 10 minutes, 3 people, and finally an on-line Albanian-English dictionary. And then another 5 minutes for the kid sitting at the front desk to write proudly a painstakingly hand-lettered note of my expenditure on a scrap of paper. The bill was 80 cents. I have to turn in the receipt to my university. But maybe I'll forego that reimbursement and instead frame the original. A reminder of the fun of solving a problem by team using innovative means of communication. And the sense of accomplishment and comradery (sp?) shared at the successful resolution. Actually, now that I think about it, that's the theme of today's posting. This is also how we search for wrecksites underwater.

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(Almost) back!

I remember my mother telling me to smell the air when I stepped out of the plane in Athens. She must have traveled there in the very early 60s. She described her experience as stepping into air thick with the smells of herbs and citrus, laced with the sea. It’s different now, of course. The air at Athens airport is dense with the smells of the city. I have learned to be patient and wait.
I have been patient a long time today. I left San Antonio before the sun rose yesterday and only now, the following sunset, am I breathing the Mediterranean. I reached Corfu just as the sun began to golden. I quickly splashed off the thirty-plus hours of travel with a quick shower and strolled the town.
I have been to Corfu once before, more than two decades and a lifetime ago. Then I was suffering the throes of the break-up of my first True Love and I surprised myself today by seeing nothing familiar. I must have been lost deep in myself then. Because, really, this place is fabulous. It starts with the airport: a small place (think Casablanca of the movies, Long Beach, Knoxville, Larnaca), big windows, all open, the spaces in-between halls filled by gardens of palms and hibiscus, the lobby uncluttered by gated entries, instead filled with families greeting friends and relatives. I was one of only a handful of foreigners on the plane. I am sure it changes once the summer peak season kicks in. It was nice this way. Kids zipping in and out of the crowd, proudly helping their parents identify and lift suitcases off the carousel. My taxi driver took the direct route to the hotel. The clerk had my reservation. And I got to explore the town in its golden hour, just as its residents were awakening from their siesta, coming out to stroll or sit and gossip or play. Perfect.
The town is picturesque at its edges: a sea-walk frames the promontory and a Venetian fortress exclaims at its tip. Narrow and wider — but never wide or straight or level— streets meander inward and upward from the edges, squiggling through close-set buildings perhaps best described as fading Italiante. “Fading” is a statement of architectural fact but it does not carry into the atmosphere. Life bubbles ferociously in and around and out of these buildings. Especially at dusk, when the town comes out to play.

It is a town mainly of townspeople now, but I can see that once the summer season gets into swing the character of the place must change drastically. Big swathes of streets in the center are dedicated to tourism: lines of boutiques filled with olive-wood accessories, kumquat liquor (apparently a local specialty), wool slippers, and the usual glut of Greek souvenirs probably made in China. I found my way out of the tourist jungle, bought a gyro at a small cubbyhole on a street of local shops (hardware, stationery, plastics, sheets), carried it out to the park and watched the kids chase soccer balls.
Came back to the hotel and brought a beer up to the rooftop terrace. Not open yet for the summer, it was blessedly quiet. In high season they serve drinks and music up here. Now, just the muffled sounds of the town, six storeys below, the quiet conversation of a German couple who have also found the terrace, and the call of a coxswain, urging a double and an eight across the quiet waters in the lee of the fortress.
It’s time for me to turn in. Tomorrow morning I catch the ferry to Sarande. I just learned that my internet connection there (the Hercules) sailed off for Montenegro, so I am not sure about how often I’ll be able to update this page.