You Goin’a Fish or Work?

By Mike Johnson
Ex-Commercial Diving Consultant

Several years ago, I was working off the coast of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil on a semi-
submersible drilling rig, searching for new productive oil deposits. This was a relatively
new rig with a beautiful saturation diving system aboard, capable of making dives to a
depth of 1500 feet and remaining there for days, weeks, or even months to complete
needed repairs. The diving system was designed to have its two living chambers and one
utility chamber remain pressurized and resting on the deck of the drilling rig while the
sealed diving bell, with divers inside, could be disconnected and lowered to the sea floor
on the end of a large wire.

The weather was perfect this particular day, you could see forever in all directions,
nothing but blue water and blue sky, decorated at intervals with white caps and clouds.
There was a light warm breeze blowing, much to my appreciation, as I was working on
deck doing some life support system maintenance to the diving system, when the “Tool
Pusher” (Boss) approached with a problem and asked me to make a dive on the BOP
(blow out preventer stack). The Tool Pusher needed to operate hydraulic control rams on
the BOP as it rested on the sea bed, at the end of the drill casing. A hydraulic hose had
broken and must be repaired before the rams could operate and drilling operations
resumed.

I notified the rest of the diving crew and we immediately began pressurizing the diving
system living chambers to the working depth. I was to make the dive with my partner
“Sandy” who joined me in preparing the diving bell for deployment.

Sandy was a native of the UK who had spent a good deal of time working in South
Africa after being discharged from Her Majesty’s Royal Navy. He had a massive sense
of humor and was slow to irritation, good qualities for being shut away inside a
saturation diving system, living and working for a week. Aside from being a good hand,
if things got too boring you could always read Sandy, he was covered with tattoos head
to foot. He said getting tattoos had started as a hobby while he was in the service. I think
it probably coincided with other hobbies, like late nights and hanging out in pubs.

We were ready to deploy in good time, all the crew gathered for a pre-dive conference
and off we went. Sandy and I entered the diving bell as it rested on deck with its bottom
hatch open. We secured the hatches, pressurized the bell to working depth as we sat on
deck (pressurizing caused the bell to heat up) then braced for interface (passing from air
into the water) as the bell was lifted from deck and lowered into the water, for descent to
the ocean floor. This was all pretty routine, and as soon as we were submerged the bell
temperature began to cool. It took about half an hour to lower the bell and get us into
proper working position, with the bell suspended at the end of its lifting wire and
stationed within 10 feet of the BOP.

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The bell was getting really cold at this depth (510 feet) and the breathing atmosphere, a
mix of helium and oxygen, increased body heat loss. We turned on the bell heaters,
opened the bottom hatch to allow exit and entry, then hooked hot water hoses to our
diving suits and began to warm up as the warm water flowed and filled the suits like big
hot water bottles.

Sandy was to lock out of the bell first. We were in communication with the diving
supervisor and deck handling stations through a round robin system. This meant that
everything said by the diver when outside the bell could be heard by the supervisor, the
men on deck, and the bell tender. Everybody hears everything through two-way open
speakers. It is a good way to keep informed and maintain smooth operations. It is also a
source of entertainment and sea stories when things get interesting.

After putting on his diving helmet and doing a pre-dive check, Sandy dropped through
the bottom hatch into the open sea below. He had just disappeared from view when there
came a scream of terror and incoherent babbling over the communication system as
Sandy’s head popped back into the bottom bell hatch, still ranting about this huge fish he
had met outside. The close quarters made it difficult for him to get his arms above his
head as he exclaimed “it’s this big” throwing his arms wide until they could spread no
further being stopped by the bell walls on either side. As I made comment that a fish that
size was not a big deal, he returned, “that’s the distance between its eyes, this thing
dwarfs a mini-van”.

By this time we were getting flack from topside, “stop playing and get to work”, so like a
good bell tender, I put my foot on Sandy’s diving helmet and began to encourage his
return to the business at hand by standing on his head and forcing him to drop back
outside. The fish was still there, a huge grouper. It didn’t appear aggressive and
followed Sandy about with a childlike inquisitiveness. It wanted to see exactly what was
going on.

Sandy finished removing the damaged BOP hydraulic control hose and returned to the
bell, his friend followed. No sooner had the behemoth been left alone than he began to
ram his weight into the body of the diving bell causing quite a jolt to us passengers
inside. He repeated his message 3 or 4 times. This time it was Sandy’s turn to be
encouraging. He showed absolutely no sympathy for my apprehension as he handed me
the diving helmet and said, “my half is done, partner.” Going outside to reason with a
giant rampaging fish was not something on my top ten list of fun things to do, but being
a good bell tender, Sandy slapped the helmet on my head and began insistently stuffing
me through the bell hatch.

With all pre-dive safety checks complete, I dropped through the hatch into the crystal
clear water. Although it was dark at this depth, where no light could filter down from
the sun, there were plenty of lights mounted on the bell and on the camera frame
connected to the BOP guide wires. I always find it an exhilarating experience to make
that jump, and this time there was an added bonus… there, just in front of me, was the
biggest fish I had ever seen. Sandy had made no exaggeration when he compared a mini-
van to its size. As soon as it saw me the ramming of the bell stopped and it came close to

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see what I might be up to. With apprehension, I gathered my tools and jumped from the
bell to the top of the BOP stack, where I stood for a moment to get oriented.

The view was magnificent, light flooded from all angles, lighting the landscape and
equipment in an unearthly, greenish pallor, starting at a bright center about the working
area, and fading into the gloom of the distance. I was aware of the warm water flowing
into my diving suit from a hose attached to the bell and the fresh, cold, musty smell of
the helium and oxygen breathing mixture being sucked into my helmet as my lungs
expanded. I had stood here many times before and found the scene quite natural even
comforting, except for the very large friend recently acquired.

He came close to inspect, putting his lips against my side. His rhythmic breathing caused
both mouth and gill plates to open and close slowly, in unison, giving a threatening
appearance. I imagined a quick suck and my body being inhaled, head first. Would my
helmet come off? Could I entice the beast to release me from such a position? There
was little time to ponder the meaning of life, I could hear Sandy over the communication
system asking, “hey mate, you goin’a fish or work out there”?

I climbed down the BOP moving to the work area and “turned to” with my friend in tow.
He wanted to be right where I was, not close, but right there. I found myself placing
both hands on his side and pushing him away like a large log. It didn’t last long, as back
he would drift, gently nudging me away from my work until we had to repeat the
process. His eyes were big as pie plates, great inquiring eyes. They would pan and tilt
following movements, with seeming interest, as he maintained his position.

Finally my work was complete and I retraced my steps, back to the bell. Climbing to the
top of the BOP I stood there with a wrench in hand, scratching the side of my faithful
friend as he hovered at my side and maintained his watch dog position. I remember
feeling this to be the natural way of things by this time, and wondering if, again, the big
guy would demand someone come out and play when I went inside.

I returned to the bell and climbed inside through the bottom hatch as Sandy helped me
get settled. We secured the bell and closed the bottom hatch in preparation for our return
trip to the surface. There was no ramming this time. The fish was visible through the
bell observation porthole, holding position and watching. Our work was tested and
confirmation passed from the drilling floor to all stations, over the communications
system.

Slowly the bell was hauled back up to the land of warm breezes and sunshine, leaving
behind a tested and confirmed job, with a large, scaly security patrol. I hoped to see my
friend again. The bell hatch was locked onto the deck decompression chambers (still
under the pressure of 510 feet of seawater). We climbed through the transfer trunk, from
the bell into the deck chambers, where we lived as the pressure was slowly reduced
during decompression, for the next 5 days. We were headed for the surface.

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