Beneath The Sea: Diving and Other Life Adventures

By William (Bill) L. High

With a career spanning more than 65 years, Bill is probably the oldest living person that has spent as much time underwater as he has and found many adventures throughout his life both below and above the ocean. These stories are individually written, so you may enjoy them in any order you wish. You are bound to be amused and enlightened with his story telling of how things were and how some things came to be.

Share with Bill as he tells you of his time spent living underwater, his adventures with the sea life he encountered, what it was like to dive in a fish seine with all the fish bustling and jostling about. Learn what it was like to be alone in the Alaska wilderness with nothing much to do but count fish.

These are stories of an exciting life well lived. Enjoy the adventure, then go out and find your own!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 14, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667874579

Book preview

Chapter 1

First Dives

In 1955 I went to Leavenworth, Washington (not Kansas), to begin my diving career. At the time however, I had no thoughts that this job would start me in the direction that the many facets of diving have pushed or pulled me for more than 40 years now. That small, Eastern Washington town was the site of a fishery experiment designed to determine if juvenile salmon could be directed as they migrated downstream to the sea.

The basic principle of the study was to place an electrically charged fence across the river, in this case it was Icicle Creek, and hope the fish coming near the submerged and charged wire would sense the electrical current before being zapped and continue to move along the fence, thereby guided toward a safe channel. If the whole idea worked well, similar fences could be placed above dams so the migrating fish would be diverted into fish ladders rather than be sucked into the turbines or dropped over the spillway. Both those routes were nearly 100 percent fatal.

[ An electrically charged fence array was the object of my first underwater experiences.

Our diving platform.

Our team of 5 to 8 Seattle biologists and technicians rented a small bungalow from Mrs. Bullet, owner of Seattle’s KING TV station. The house was located very close to the study site out in her wooded hunting acreage. Icicle Creek had a small diversion canal with a low dam we could use to test our theories.

Initially, we had to energize our underwater fence (called an array) with a wide variety of electrical current patterns to learn how far away from the fence the energy could be detected by instruments and presumably fish. All of this activity had a considerable danger element, that is, putting a lot of electricity in the water then standing around on a raft next to the fence to thrust probes in the water at given distances away. We could float the raft along the entire fence which crossed the 6 to 15 feet deep waterway at a 45-degree angle.

One of the regular tasks was to change where the electrical power source was attached to the fence sections. In some manner, which I have long forgotten, that task would modify the current pattern. That activity took several people, the most important of which was the fellow who sat in a chair on shore, next to the main circuit breaker. His only job was to be alert and to pull the switch when we were ready to work or, in a most unlikely event, if someone were to fall into the water while the fence was charged.

The project leader brought one set of diving gear, a rare commodity in that year and place. Now, a set of diving gear in those days included few items and those were certainly simpler in design than gear used today. We did have an exposure suit. It was called a Bell Aqua Dry Suit. The long-sleeved rubber shirt, with an attached hood, hung down below the waist. The pants rose to the chest and included attached boots. The shirt tail and the high-rise pants were to be rolled together to form a watertight seal. In practice we never made the seal function correctly but, since our time underwater on each dive was to be short, it served our need.

Volunteers were needed to conduct the dives. Tony Novotny and I were eager and therefore selected. We alternated the diving duty and both of us made several descents each day. No, I did not omit the training period from this narrative. What did one need to know? Not much considering we were in a location that had never previously seen diving gear nor had any of the team who took part.

Our task was simple, so we immediately perceived it as routine. After completing a set of measurements, the switch man was notified by loud yelling to cut all power to the array. Down went the diver to change the electrodes among the various possible combinations of location on the numerous wires. The diver surfaced to report all was correct, gained the protection of the raft and, the power switch man was again told to energize the system.

Tony’s turn came up so he dutifully put on the diving gear. Power switch off said the foreman and, into the water went Tony. All of us on the raft watched down into the water as Tony made the electrode change. In an instant there was a bright blue flash under water. We could clearly hear Tony emit a banshee scream below the surface. He was surrounded by a blue light. Then he shot to the surface still screaming! We pulled him onto the raft and surprisingly, found he was conscious. It was several moments before he could talk. Obviously, the power had been on when he was near or touching the fence. The switch man later explained that he thought he heard someone yell to put the power switch on. He was too far away to tell that the diver was down. I tend to believe that, like several previous occasions, he was asleep. Something awoke him so pulling the switch was what he usually did.

We revised the communications between raft team and switch man. Tony resigned from the dive team making me the sole underwater specialist. One of my jobs after Tony’s close call was to swim along the bottom, just below the fence, and pick up the native trout that had swum near the fence before the power switch came on. If in the electrical field at the moment energy was applied, the fish tended to be electrocuted. Tony will confirm that, I’m sure.

That was my first serious contact with the world of diving and underwater adventure. I should point out, however, that my first look beneath the sea took place in 1940 while living in Hawaii. There, I was given a pair of small, eye fitting goggles so I could thrash about a few feet underwater wide eyed at that mysterious part of the earth. Perhaps those first peeks imprinted on my 7-year-old brain gave rise to the 1955 and later travels to inner space.

Chapter 2

Fish Hunt

Barview was selected for a spearfishing tournament in 1959. Nothing in this village, along the Oregon coast, would cause you to blink as you drove by except, of course, the magnificent Pacific Ocean. There is a long, massive rock jetty there which vaguely shelters a small segment of land and water from the clutches of the endless waves. My dive team, and teams from throughout the North Pacific gathered at Barview to compete in this breath-holding diving event.

At dawn of tournament day our band of semi-rowdies went looking for a large restaurant that could accommodate all of us and our huge appetites. No such place existed for several miles around. Barview seldom had need to feed more than a few local residents. Tourists seldom slowed down at this wide spot in the road. Food for the 30 or 40 divers was critical as we would be in the cold Pacific Ocean all day burning energy every minute. Breath holding for world class divers took training, skill and breakfast!

In the village we found just opening, a small, a small café, operated by one middle-aged woman. The café could reasonably handle fewer than half our number. Despite that detail, we all packed in calling for food. The dear lady mentally, if not physically, had a fit. I think she was about to throw up her hands and go running from the building when Dale Dean, by far the largest diver in the café, went behind the counter, put his arm around the lady and told her that we must have food because the tournament would not wait. But he said to her we knew it was beyond her capability. He urged her to just go over and sit by the cash register. Thereupon, he essentially lifted her out of our way.

Several of us with cooking experience (I had been both a field camp and ship’s cook) took over. Steaks, eggs, toast, potatoes, and juices by the carton went to all hands standing and sitting. Round and round we went until all had been filled. Each checked in with the proprietor as she sat, awed I’m sure with what was happening around her, telling her what they had eaten. She received more money than her cash register had ever seen before and, we were ready for diving. She probably still tells of the day she was held hostage.

The ocean was rough and dirty as was usual for the Barview area. We only went there because the Oregon divers always came north to Puget Sound for our tournaments. As the competition began, I finned out above the underwater portion of the huge rock structure. Waves and surge threw us about while we divers rested on the surface between breath hold dives. Visibility was so limited that few fish were seen. On a descent, I passed right through a small school of even smaller rockfish before realizing it. Those fish hardly seemed worth spearing but, in a spearfishing tournament, especially this one, every fish might be a winner as few were taken. I rolled over, fire and poorly struck one. Remember reader, this is all done on one breath of air. Even a champion has less than 2 minutes.

The fish tore off as I pulled in the spear and reached for the shaft. My target was bigger than I had first estimated and definitely a keeper. The rockfish swam down about 10 feet deeper and ducked into a narrow hole between two jetty rocks. If I returned to the surface for a breath of air before chasing the fish, I would never re-locate the hole as most of the breakwater rocks look the same. Therefore, I followed the fish to the hole entrance and looked in. There it was. A quick shot would put a nice fish on my stringer and endear me to my teammates.

Suddenly, an object was alongside me and literally attempting to push me aside. Could another diver be trying to beat me out of my fish? I looked up into the yellow eye of a large lingcod. It seemed about as big as me. No bigger fish would be seen in this tournament I was certain. I was thoroughly out of air and my spear-gun was not loaded. The loose spear lay beside me useless, or so I immediately thought.

Like my thinking when planning to deal with the rockfish, I realized I couldn’t return to the surface, refill my lungs, rest a moment, and expect to again locate this trophy fish 30 or more feet down into the sea. Certainly, there was no time left for me to reload my gun, shoot the ling cod, and wrestle the monster to the surface. Lack of oxygen would, I thought, put me to sleep while still submerged. During these few moments while I considered the options, the lingcod took over the entire hole entrance and was engrossed in its attempt to pull out the rockfish. The rockfish resisted by flaring all its fins and spines against the rocks.

I had no idea of what the result might be but, nonetheless, picked up the spear shaft and, with all my strength, drove it into the side of the fish. My power surprised me and certainly must have surprised the now skewered prize. The spear went entirely through the fish up to where my hand held the shaft. It was however, in the soft portion of the body, causing the lingcod to thrash violently. I was concerned that it might tear loose.

There was literally no time to lose. Even so, I may have stayed too long and not reach the surface conscious. I had to secure the fish to prevent it from holding me down and also, it had to be streamlined so I could swim FAST! With my fingerless gloved hands, I grasped the only suitable place on a fish – the gill rakers beneath the gill covers. On the lingcod, long, needle-like bones cover the gill rakers. I gripped the fish securely but equally so, the gills held me firmly, tearing into my flesh. Worse than a Chinese finger puzzle, both hands were imprisoned inside the massive head.

Obviously, since I’m telling this story, I reached the surface still alive and with the lingcod. I couldn’t climb up onto the jetty rocks to rest or better control my fish. It still thrashed about, thoroughly lacerating my palms and fingers. While I doubt, I would have seriously considered releasing the fish to regain use of my hands, that was not an option. Forcibly pulling my hands out from the entrapment, would have more seriously injured them. I swam back to the staging beach hugging the lingcod in a partly successful attempt to reduce its pain producing movement. Fortunately, divers use their finned feet for propulsion instead of their hands, otherwise I would have been hard pressed to make progress.

Tourists, families and other competitors came rushing to the shoreline to fuss over my catch. Nobody but me fussed over my fingers. A nearby diver carefully killed the fish with a knife thrust in its brain. Carefully I say because beneath the fish’s brain were my two hands. A careless thrust might get me too. Lingcod have huge gapping mouths, so it was fairly simple to reach in with a sharp knife and carry out the process of cutting away the gill rakers. It was hard to separate my fingers, lying back alongside the throat, from the rest of the fish. The surgeon was directed to cut as little as possible to prevent the fish from losing weight. I still wanted to win the tournament.

Eventually, the fish made it to the official scales and topped 27 pounds. By no means the largest lingcod ever taken by a diver but, certainly the largest taken at Barview, Oregon, during a spearfishing meet. And for me, that is where it counted. Over the years I took many competitive diving trophies, but none took so much of my real blood and sweat. My fingers and palms looked like hamburger for days.

Chapter 3

Victoria’s Sewer Outfall

The telephone call came from Don Sorte, an old friend from the International Hydrodynamics Co. Don and his partner Mac Thomson were the designer-builders of the Pisces Class of deep submersibles. Their company also had a commercial diving division that was faced with a difficult problem. Don said he needed an underwater photographer right away. Without hesitation, I assured him I had the equipment and expertise to meet any need.

After I had glibly agreed to take the pictures, Don went on to explain a little about the job. First and foremost, two other professional diver-photographers had failed on previous attempts to produce the needed images. The diving location was in Victoria, British Columbia, at a depth of 215 feet. He didn’t stop there. The Hyco diving barge was anchored over the city’s sewer outfall at great expense and they could not continue until photographs were obtained to adequately illustrate the nature of the break in the pipe. From the pictures, a construction team would fabricate a patch that could be lowered over and around the damaged site.

The dive was only possible during a short tide cycle window when the current slowed enough for the divers to descend and ascend the taut cable secured between the barge and the break. Also, it was necessary to coordinate the dive with the city pumping station so effluent would not obscure the details of the break nor contaminate the divers. In addition, we had to consider the allowable time at that great depth with the necessary penalty of decompression time up near the surface where current flow would be at is maximum. This was obviously serious commercial diving and considerably more complex than any dive (except the Tektite II saturation program) I had undertaken up to that time. Fortunately, Don ended the call by assuring me that his commercial divers would handle all the technical details, I only had to shoot the pictures.

At the time I only possessed a Calypso camera, a fine small 35mm unit designed to go no deeper than 175 feet. My friend Dan Twohig had just purchased a state-of-the-art Giddings underwater housing for a Nikon camera with motor drive. I borrowed it. I reasoned that if my easy-to-use Calypso camera flooded at the excessive depth or, its electronic flash (strobe) failed from any of several common reasons, I could switch to the less familiar but sophisticated system. I was careful not to tell Dan how deep I intended to go with his very expensive housing and strobe light but, I knew that no quality professional photographer would take on such a critical assignment without backup gear. Certainly, the image created for the barge load of commercial divers had to be that this foreign scuba-duba-do diver would be right at home with their very technical dive plan.

Scuba divers were not regarded very highly by conventional commercial divers. I was well trained in both scuba and commercial gear and certainly had a lot of complex diving experience even though I had not previously been down more than 175 feet. Fortunately for me, I had made a number of deep submersible divers as well as having recently completed a then relatively famous saturation dive. Few of the commercial divers that were to stand by or assist me had that experience so they were a bit more tolerant of this outsider than they might have been otherwise.

I was quickly rushed from the Victoria airport to the waterfront and onto a fast boat. Much action at the site was underway preparing for the dive. Radio contact with the pumping station was established. Our dive plan was carefully reviewed. Gary, one of the divers who had already inspected the sewer pipe where a freighter’s anchor had broken it open, explained exactly what I should expect to see. He would be my buddy and help in any way that I demanded.

Timing was all important. If we could finish the job in 10 minutes or less, then the decompression period on the ascent would be only 10 minutes. However, to stay 11 or up to 15 minutes, we would be required to decompress at 30 feet, 20 feet and 10 feet for a total of at least 27 minutes. That meant we would be holding onto a line below the surface in a fast-running tide. Should some accident compel us to stay on the bottom 16 minutes, we would become dangerously chilled hanging in the current for over 43 minutes on the way up.

My partner and I rehearsed our photo plan. Gary would carry my Calypso camera system and a yard stick. At the bottom I would take a position, determine visibility, and set the camera focus then shoot using Dan’s more professional Nikon. Only a few seconds would be necessary for the strobe to recharge itself; so rapidly, with the power film advance, I was to shoot the entire 36 exposure film roll from changing positions and at various light settings. In the unlikely event that some glitch developed with the primary camera, I was to signal for the spare. We would make the switch and continue per the plan. While I took pictures, my partner was to place the yard stick conspicuously near the pipe break so it would provide a scale reference with the photos.

What a scene for a movie! Around the table the entire team hunched over charts and diagrams. Fingers pointed as though to pinpoint a vast treasure. We scratched and pondered appropriately. I was quietly getting more apprehensive by the minute. Just maybe, I had bitten off more than I could chew.

The timekeeper set the event cycle in motion. A call went out to the pumping station off in 10 minutes, said the radio operator. I moved out on deck to lay out my gear. It was gone! Then I saw it neatly arranged near the dive entry platform. Stand here said a burley fellow as he took my arm in his paw and shoved me toward my gear. Never before had I experienced the joy and slight fear of having a diver tender handle my gear and suit me up. I hardly knew how to receive the equipment components from a stranger. Normally, I would always double check connections and fittings but not today. That would have been a terrible insult to this skilled technician and a diver never should have his tender mad at him. He lifted the big set of double cylinders onto my shoulders. I started to reach for the mask, but he neatly knocked my hand down. Each piece of equipment went to the right place in the right order and timed to the minutes remaining until the dive.

At the correct second, we two divers jumped into the harbor. Each took the prescribed camera and started down to the sewer pipe, 215 feet below. The cable slipped through our gloved hands as we descended. The water was quite clear but quickly the light faded to a sinister gloom. We paused at 100 feet just to confirm with each other that all was well. I had to stop looking at my depth gauge after we passed 150 feet because I didn’t know how I would react seeing the needle pass the 200 feet mark. On we went, the sound change in the air supply regulator clearly told me what I didn’t want to see on the gauge, we were deep! Rather suddenly, the surroundings became a bit lighter, and I could see the 4 feet diameter pipe below us. Some of the low penetrating light reflected off the silt and sand bottom to brighten the area. We were at the bottom, and it didn’t seem so treacherous after all.

Now, to concentrate on the task at hand. Would narcosis rob me of my rational thought? Thank goodness I didn’t have to keep track of the bottom time because I was using every ounce of concentration to arrange the focus and the light settings. The strobe ready light blinked brightly. I could barely see, through the camera lens, the anchor impact site with the huge crack and missing pieces of concrete. Carefully I squeezed the shutter trigger for the first shot.

The strobe flashed, much to my relief. Then, without hesitating for a moment, the trigger switch, stuck open by the great water pressure caused the camera electric motor drive to continually fire off the entire film roll in about 10 seconds. I was doomed! Quickly I handed over the camera to the commercial diver and signaled for the questionable alternate. Gary had no idea what the problem was. Every moment counted. We could not afford a delay because of the huge penalty posed by the required decompression time.

With elaborate care I composed the next picture. Possibly I would only get one shot with this manual camera because some other failure would arise. I saw no water within the lens. Presumably, so far at least, it had not flooded from the excess depth. The trigger was very stiff, but it all seemed to work. About halfway through the roll of film I looked up at the other diver. Gary was pointing to his watch and motioning me to hurry. More camera adjustments and more exposures brought me to frame 32 of 36. Again, I looked up. Gary was using a stick to point to me and then point up toward the surface. Hurry, hurry his actions implied. Oh my God, the stick! Together our narcosis fogged minds realized that he had, through all the pictures, failed to hold the reference measuring stick near the break.

Forget the hurry, hurry, I must use all my will power to ensure every detail was correct. Just a little fresh water began to rise from the break. Now what? Had they turned the pumps back on? With the measuring stick in place, I fired off the remaining 4 film frames. We immediately rose up the reference cable. Again, Gary was in charge, so I followed his measured ascent rate while monitoring my perilously low air supply.

At 30 feet two sets of scuba cylinders were waiting on the line. They undulated slowly in the rising current. Another support diver descended to us to confirm that all was well. I wasn’t about to try explaining the reasons why we might not have any pictures. He took the cameras on to the surface so we could use both hands to hold the line. From 30 feet to 20 then to 10 feet. By now the current pulled our bodies out from the line like flags. Several weeks later it seemed (about 34 minutes after leaving the bottom) Gary gave the signal to surface.

No one wanted to hear our excuses and certainly, I didn’t want to elaborate among the commercial team on the barge. Their pay and job success were dependent upon my pictures. Quickly, my gear and I were loaded onto the fast shore boat. We raced to the harbor dock where a film processor was waiting in his car. He grabbed the two rolls of film and sped away to his shop. We followed to learn the results at the earliest moment. I would either stay over to try again at the next allowable tide or rush to the airport for the soon to leave flight to Seattle.

Fortunately, film processing is a relatively fast procedure. We didn’t have long to wait. We heard a cheer from behind the blackout door. Don rushed out all smiles. We got one that’s perfect he said. Handshakes and slaps on the back all around brought relief to my ego and reputation.

Without a thought I slid into the airplane seat about an hour later. Only a short flight home. Divers who read this account will realize the monumental hazard of flying immediately after conducting a dive that required 30 minutes of decompression. But, in October 1971, we divers often chose to believe in the theory that all’s well that ends well. No bubbles on the flight except for the big fat round ones attached to my paycheck made a fine ending for my deepest scuba dive.

Chapter 4

A Hero

We all have heroes I suppose. Who they are and what they are vary with one’s interpretation of the word ‘hero’. To me, a hero is a person greatly respected by me or many others. He or she will have done something I consider important, well beyond the range of most of the rest of us. A hero is especially wonderful when you actually get to know him/her personally and he/she turns out to be downright nice and even friendly. One of my heroes, Captain George Bond, MD, overflowed in all these categories.

Dr. George Bond, often called Pappy Topside led the world into saturation diving and living under the sea. As a navy medical officer, he directed Sea Lab habitat programs. He had exited a fleet submarine from a depth greater than 250 feet without breathing apparatus to prove controlled exhaling ascents could be done successfully. While I gained experience with diving in the late 1950’s and early 1960’s, George Bond was at the cutting edge of inner space technology. He was a person to be read about in books.

My first recollection of meeting George Bond was during 1964, in Mexico City. He, Coles Phinizy, Al Tillman and I stood before a world symposium to receive our NOGI awards, the Oscars of the diving profession. The list of NOGI recipients is honorable indeed but from the worthy roll, my name was listed next to Dr. Bond, the Master of all divers and that honor was bigger than the award itself.

George Bond and I met again a year or two later in Philadelphia at the convention of the Underwater Society of America. There I just walked up to Dr. Bond and renewed our acquaintance from the Mexico meeting. He knew my name and recalled bits of past conversation. Yes, that did make my day! Both Dr. Bond and I presented research reports to the delegation. Following those reports, Mrs. Clare Booth Luce, the symposium keynote speaker, asked Coles Phinizy (Coles was an editor for Sports Illustrated, one of Mr. Luce’s publications) to inquire as to whether Dr. Bond and I would be available to join her and a small group the following day at her hotel for discussions.

I, of course, was flabbergasted. Why would the former Ambassador to Italy want to talk with me? Surprisingly, George appeared equally at a loss even though I’m sure he must have many times been the center of attention at gatherings of important people. For the rest of that evening George included me in his circle of friends and admirers. I quickly came to realize that George Bond was one of the most pleasant, down-to-earth people among the hundreds of diving leaders present. Soon I was to learn that George Bond had practiced medicine in Bat Cave, North Carolina before entering the navy. He claimed only to be an old country doctor taken in by the Korean War.

George and I caught a cab the next morning to the aristocratic hotel where Mrs. Luce stayed. The doorman expected us. The Bell Capitan escorted us to some high floor. We were greeted by Coles and ushered to a fine sitting room where Mrs. Luce was chatting with two men. We were introduced to Gerald Heard who was a significant author, and his companion Michael Barrie. Later, I read several of Gerald’s books, mostly on religious history and duly noted he had over 20 titles. And so we began.

Mrs. Luce was a marvel. She artfully directed the conversation among the entire group. Around and around, we went, with the topics ebbing and flowing across the broadest spectrum of knowledge. From Gerald Heard we explored ancient history. George shared many of the adventurous details about breakthroughs in saturation diving as well as what it was like to administer to his neighbors in Bat Cave. Coles traveled broadly with Sports Illustrated so his topics were diversified. I felt greatly outclassed but Mrs. Luce insisted on knowing about giant octopuses, king crab and other adventures in Alaska.

From Mrs. Luce we learned about top-of-the-rung politics. After Jack (John F. Kennedy) took office Mrs. Luce stopped by his office to share some concerns. I don’t remember the nature of the business, but Mrs. Luce chatted along with us about how she just sat Jack down and told him this and that. Also, she told us about a day in Italy when she and the General of the Italian army were attending some event in a huge stadium. With a serious and straight face, she explained that a flying saucer zoomed over the stadium, hovered momentarily and then sped off. She said she turned to the General and asked him if he saw what she saw. He said no, I didn’t see that saucer. They continued with the event and never spoke of it again.

At 1 pm, Mrs. Luce asked us to join her for lunch. We went to the hotel restaurant where we obviously were expected and shown to a table with only the correct number of settings. Following a delightful lunch, we adjourned to her sitting room and continued through the afternoon. Finally, Mrs. Luce asked if George and I could return the following day to continue the conversation since the group obviously had not exhausted our adventures. In the cab going back to our hotel, George and I agreed that we wouldn’t miss that next day for any reason; and, like the first day, it was filled with conversation. But reader, don’t confuse what most of us do, that is TALK, with conversation. Those two days may be the only time in my life that I will have experienced true conversation. It was very exciting, especially when the conversationalists included Clare Booth Luce and Dr. George Bond. I like to believe that when George and I left Philadelphia we were friends. Certainly, we had shared what both considered to be a once-in-a-lifetime happening.

George Bond and I only occasionally crossed paths in the diving world for several years. I was, however, able to