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When Things Go Wrong

M att and I were working on a lay barge installing a 12” steel oil and gas pipeline on the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico. Our working depth was around 170 feet deep when we all learned just how easily things can go wrong.

My diving incident occurred sometime in the middle of the night. I’m not really sure on the exact time; I just remember a galley hand waking me out of a deep sleep, stating, “Hey bud, it’s your turn to dive.” I jumped out of my bunk and began shaking off the sleepy head syndrome. I slowly mosey over to the galley and grab a gallon of hot water that I would use to pour inside my wet suit. The hot water would keep me warm on this winter dive. On my way out of the galley, I snag a hot biscuit and then head out to do my chore.

When I get to the dive shack, the guy running the dive lines me on what I would call a normal run. There were no special details involved, I was to go down while the whole pipe laying operation was on all-stop, at least until the I returned to the surface. This was a safety precaution we tried to follow. It was one safety rule we liked, we didn’t want anything moving down there but the diver, especially in total darkness.

On my dive, I was to check all hydraulics and Popeye lines on our jet sled. Then, crawl over inside the excavation that’s below seabed level, walking down the ditch line away from the barge, checking depth of pipe and depth of ditch. The gas company wanted us to walk back at least three to four pipe joints away from the barge, checking depth of the ditch to ensure proper cover, so that nothing would harm the pipeline as it rests in this seven-foot pipeline grave.

To get a better understanding of how deep and far away from the barge we were working, you could add depth, length of pipe, angle to the sled and be safe to say we were pushing around 450 feet from the barge. Just saying… if a diver should get into trouble at this distance from the surface, you could be in a world of hurt. Now back to the story.

After a bit of small talk with tenders and a couple other divers, we hear the intercom echo across the deck, “Jump diver.” At this point, I quickly pour the gallon of warm water inside my wet suit, while the tender assists me with my dive helmet. He walks me over near the edge, then turns away to check my dive lines insuring nothing is tangled. While he’s busy with a final safety check, my heart begins to race with excitement as I stare down observing the twelve to fifteen-foot seas crashing against the barge. Now in position to jump, this familiar surge of adrenaline continues to grow, taking away all fear. Within the final seconds, I gaze down at the violent sea and whisper a prayer. Lord God, thank you for allowing me to be on such a wild ride. I am in your hands .

I feel the tender’s hand tap me twice on the back; a signal letting me know that everything is a go. At this point, I jump with a 12-foot drop to the water. I splash down and immediately descend, grabbing onto the down line that leads directly to the jet sled. As my speed picks up on the descent, it seems my ears pop every few feet. I continue to feel the minor shock from the decrease in water temperature as I swim through each atmosphere. The illumination from the barge lights begin to fade as I pass through the light penetration level and then, total darkness.

Within a few minutes, I reach my first destination: the jet sled. Upon each dive, I would get a sense of comfort when I arrived at the sled. I really never understood that, but a feeling of peace at this depth was nice. After arriving at the bottom, I immediately begin inspecting the two-story monster. Being totally familiar with this huge underwater ditching machine and all its checkpoints, it would only take a couple minutes to find everything in working order.