Arrived on the wreckless seabed, followed the anchor's drag marks, bounced the anchor along the seabed and wondered how many divers I was flying like kites. Reached the end of the drag marks and still no wreck. I was just working out how to get my kites to do a loop when Stephan saved them with some inspired compass work. A patch of darker water became a shoal of Bib. The shoal became the bow of the Lancer, a pebble dashed wall of pink and white Plumose anemones. Marsh mallows. Circling the bows we headed aft. Checked out the sea life apartments in the boiler tubes, crab and blennie neighbours. Hope they've got adequate parking, nothing worse than having to lug your kit for miles because of inadequate parking facilities. Some of the tubes were empty, second homers presumably. I'm musing about great crab hooks filling the skies of Newhaven and hoicking residents off their balconies and out of their flats when Stephen spots the biggest crab I've ever seen, huge barnacled claws, then a lobster who didn't seem to have any claws at all. Up the DSMB through sphere and teardrop shaped plankton, every metre or so a couple of strings with a tiny jelly fish type thing on the end, pulsating iridescent fringes. Must come up with a signal for "Not over there, here, here on the end of my finger"
Splash point gullies - 2m viz
We plough through the soup peering at sea life and each other. Fan worms withdraw into their tubes, velvet swimming crabs hunker down in their crevices and a couple of intimate edible crabs blush, "Excuse me, terribly sorry"
Into the waves, drop down a couple of metres, then back up for extra weight for some, down again but a sticky ear slows things down, I'm about to give up and surface when it equalises. At the bottom of the shot a lobster and a lump of wreckage away from the main wreck. Chris launches the anchor on a lift bag, and reels off to find the wreck, Tad lifts the line clear of the wreckage and looks like a dog owner in the park. Chris' regulator woofs in the distance and a cloud of silt billows out of the murk, he's found a bone? Chris returns and we try the opposite direction. Bib hug the wreck and lead the way. Ascending the hull we find what could have been a spare anchor. Peering into a hole I spot a conger, point it out to Chris but fail to realise he can't see it from his angle and watch with growing concern as he pokes his head in the hole tickling it's nose with his exhaust bubbles. Must come up with a signal for "Not over there, here, here on the end of my finger"
Bimble, bimble, Tompot blennies pout for pictures, blob and up.
Plankton fields forever.
Surface to discover the Sussex coast being erased by a fog bank, white cliffs of Beachy head, splash point and then Newhaven disappear. Returning to a marina encompassed by fog. Newhaven is transformed. The hills seem to crowd the harbour, I feel like I'm in Cornwall.